Set­ting aside just one day for the Lou­vre is a clas­sic first-time Paris vis­i­tor’s mis­take. The place is sim­ply too big to com­pre­hend on one vis­it, or indeed on ten vis­its. To grow so vast has tak­en eight cen­turies, a process explained in under three min­utes by the offi­cial video ani­mat­ed above. First con­struct­ed around the turn of the thir­teenth cen­tu­ry as a defen­sive fortress, it was con­vert­ed into a roy­al res­i­dence a cen­tu­ry and a half lat­er. It gained its first mod­ern wing in 1559, under Hen­ri II; lat­er, his wid­ow Cather­ine de’ Medici com­mis­sioned the Tui­leries palace and gar­dens, which Hen­ri IV had joined up to the Lou­vre with the Grande Galerie in 1610.

In the sev­en­teen-tens, Louis XVI com­plet­ed the Cour Car­rée, the Lou­vre’s main court­yard, before decamp­ing to Ver­sailles. It was only dur­ing the French Rev­o­lu­tion, toward the end of that cen­tu­ry, that the Nation­al Assem­bly declared it a muse­um.

The project of unit­ing it into an archi­tec­tur­al whole con­tin­ued under Napoleon I and III, the lat­ter of whom final­ly com­plet­ed it (and in the process dou­bled its size). The Tui­leries Palace was torched dur­ing the unpleas­ant­ness over the Paris Com­mune, but the rest of the Lou­vre sur­vived. Since then, its most notable alter­ation has been the addi­tion of I. M. Pei’s glass pyra­mid in 1989.

The pyra­mid may still have an air of con­tro­ver­sy these three and a half decades lat­er, but you can hard­ly deny that it at least improves upon the Cour Car­rée’s years as a park­ing lot. It stands, in any case, as just one of the count­less fea­tures that make the Lou­vre an archi­tec­tur­al palimpsest of French his­to­ry prac­ti­cal­ly as com­pelling as the col­lec­tion of art it con­tains. (Fran­coph­o­nes can learn much more about it from the longer-form doc­u­men­taries post­ed by Des Racines et des Ailes and Notre His­toire.) And how did I approach this most famous of all French insti­tu­tions on my own first trip to Paris, you ask? By not going at all. On my next trip to Paris, how­ev­er, I plan to go nowhere else.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Louvre’s Entire Col­lec­tion Goes Online: View and Down­load 480,00 Works of Art

A 3D Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Paris: Take a Visu­al Jour­ney from Ancient Times to 1900

How France Hid the Mona Lisa & Oth­er Lou­vre Mas­ter­pieces Dur­ing World War II

Take Immer­sive Vir­tu­al Tours of the World’s Great Muse­ums: The Lou­vre, Her­mitage, Van Gogh Muse­um & Much More

Japan­ese Guid­ed Tours of the Lou­vre, Ver­sailles, the Marais & Oth­er Famous French Places (Eng­lish Sub­ti­tles Includ­ed)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Frank Lloyd Wright is unlike­ly to be dis­placed as the arche­type of the genius archi­tect any­time soon, at least in Amer­i­ca, but even he had to start some­where. At nine years old, as archi­tec­ture YouTu­ber Stew­art Hicks explains in the video above, Wright received a set of blocks from his moth­er, who hoped that “her son would grow up to become a great archi­tect, and she thought the cre­ativ­i­ty unlocked and prac­ticed with these blocks could kick-start his jour­ney.” Evi­dent­ly, she was­n’t wrong: “by the time Wright attempt­ed to design his first build­ing years lat­er, he spent count­less hours arrang­ing the blocks,” famil­iar as he was with “pro­por­tion, sym­me­try, bal­ance, and oth­er prin­ci­ples of design well before he ever picked up a pen­cil.”

Of course, most of us played with blocks in child­hood, and few of us now bear much com­par­i­son to the man who designed Falling­wa­ter and the Guggen­heim. But his moth­er’s toy selec­tion was just one of many fac­tors that influ­enced the archi­tec­tur­al devel­op­ment that con­tin­ued through­out Wright’s long life.

In fif­teen min­utes, Hicks explains as many of them as pos­si­ble: his ear­ly oppor­tu­ni­ty to work on “shin­gle-style” homes, whose cru­ci­form lay­out he would adapt into his own designs; his arrival in a Chica­go that was still rebuild­ing after its great fire of 1871, when there were vast sky­scraper inte­ri­ors to be cre­at­ed; the new Mid­west­ern man­u­fac­tur­ing mon­ey pre­pared to com­mis­sion homes from him; and his inspir­ing encoun­ters with Japan­ese aes­thet­ics, both at home and in Japan itself.

After return­ing from a 1905 Japan trip, Wright got to work on Uni­ty Tem­ple in Oak Park, Illi­nois. He had it built with the rel­a­tive­ly new mate­r­i­al of rein­forced con­crete, thus get­ting “in on the ground floor of a tech­nol­o­gy that could com­plete­ly trans­form what build­ings could do,” mak­ing pos­si­ble “soar­ing can­tilevers, grace­ful curves,” and oth­er ele­ments that would become part of his archi­tec­tur­al sig­na­ture. A few decades lat­er, the Unit­ed States’ sub­urb-build­ing boom made Wright’s rur­al-urban “Uson­ian” homes and “Broad­acre City” plan look pre­scient; indeed, “almost every sin­gle house inside of a post­war sub­urb bears his trace.” His will­ing­ness to appear in print and on film, radio, and tele­vi­sion kept him in the Amer­i­can pub­lic con­scious­ness, and he made sure to instill his prin­ci­ples into gen­er­a­tions of stu­dents. Frank Lloyd Wright may be long gone, but he made sure that his vision of Amer­i­ca would live on.

Relat­ed con­tent:

A Beau­ti­ful Visu­al Tour of Tir­ran­na, One of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Remark­able, Final Cre­ations

What Frank Lloyd Wright’s Unusu­al Win­dows Tell Us About His Archi­tec­tur­al Genius

A Vir­tu­al Tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Lost Japan­ese Mas­ter­piece, the Impe­r­i­al Hotel in Tokyo

What It’s Like to Work in Frank Lloyd Wright’s Icon­ic Office Build­ing

Frank Lloyd Wright Reflects on Cre­ativ­i­ty, Nature and Reli­gion in Rare 1957 Audio

Frank Lloyd Wright Cre­ates a List of the 10 Traits Every Aspir­ing Artist Needs

How Frank Lloyd Wright’s Son Invent­ed Lin­coln Logs, “America’s Nation­al Toy” (1916)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Pub­lic-tran­sit projects are the reli­gious build­ing endeav­ors of twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca, less because they’re moti­vat­ed by the belief in any par­tic­u­lar deity than by how much time and mon­ey they now require to com­plete. Take New York’s Sec­ond Avenue sub­way, whose less than two-mile-long first phase opened in 2017: its con­struc­tion had cost $4.45 bil­lion, and the line itself had first been pro­posed 97 years ear­li­er. That’s noth­ing by ancient stan­dards: the Tem­ple of Apol­lo at Didy­ma took six cen­turies; the Tem­ple of Olympian Zeus at Athens lagged a full 650 years behind sched­ule; and the Heraion of Samos end­ed up pass­ing the 800-year mark.

These facts come from the new Told in Stone video above on “the longest con­struc­tion project in his­to­ry.” Some of the struc­tures cov­ered will be famil­iar to Open Cul­ture read­ers: for instance, Notre-Dame de Paris, which took near­ly 200 years to build (and which reopened just this month after five years of fire-dam­age repair and restora­tion), or Sagra­da Família, which broke ground in 1882 and is sched­uled for com­ple­tion in 2026 — if you don’t count dec­o­rat­ing its exte­ri­or, which could go on until 2034. Orna­men­ta­tion is impor­tant in archi­tec­ture of this kind: it’s why the Duo­mo di Milano, whose con­struc­tion began in 1386, was­n’t tru­ly com­plete until 1965.

The dec­o­ra­tion process was also pro­longed in the case of the Basil­i­ca Papale di San Pietro in Cit­tà di Vat­i­cano, or Saint Peter’s Basil­i­ca, which took 120 years to build, span­ning the ear­ly six­teenth and sev­en­teenth cen­turies. As the time­line goes for such an ambi­tious project in that era, it could have been worse; that par­tic­u­lar High Renais­sance church owes its noto­ri­ety to its sheer cost, which works out to “tens of bil­lions” of dol­lars today. This video, being Microsoft-spon­sored, leads up to that soft­ware giant’s 3D, AI-assist­ed repli­ca of Saint Peter’s Basil­i­ca, which we fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture when it was released this past fall. Per­haps behold­ing its glo­ry will give New York­ers a lit­tle more faith that the Sec­ond Avenue Sub­way will reach 125th Street in their life­times.

Relat­ed con­tent:

An Archi­tec­tur­al Tour of Sagra­da Família, Antoni Gaudí’s Auda­cious Church That’s Been Under Con­struc­tion for 142 Years

The Cre­ation & Restora­tion of Notre-Dame Cathe­dral, Ani­mat­ed

Explore the World’s First 3D Repli­ca of St. Peter’s Basil­i­ca, Made with AI

The Beau­ty & Inge­nu­ity of the Pan­theon, Ancient Rome’s Best-Pre­served Mon­u­ment: An Intro­duc­tion

How the World’s Biggest Dome Was Built: The Sto­ry of Fil­ip­po Brunelleschi and the Duo­mo in Flo­rence

How Design­ing Build­ings Upside-Down Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Archi­tec­ture, Mak­ing Pos­si­ble St. Paul’s Cathe­dral, Sagra­da Família & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Between 711 and 1492, much of the Iber­ian Penin­su­la, includ­ing mod­ern-day Spain, was under Mus­lim rule. Not that it was easy to hold on to the place for that length of time: after the fall of Tole­do in 1085, Al-Andalus, as the ter­ri­to­ry was called, con­tin­ued to lose cities over the sub­se­quent cen­turies. Cór­do­ba and Seville were recon­quered prac­ti­cal­ly one right after the oth­er, in 1236 and 1248, respec­tive­ly, and you can see the inva­sion of the first city ani­mat­ed in the open­ing scene of the Pri­mal Space video above. “All over the land, Mus­lim cities were being con­quered and tak­en over by the Chris­tians,” says the com­pan­ion arti­cle at Pri­mal Neb­u­la. “But amidst all of this, one city remained uncon­quered, Grana­da.”

“Thanks to its strate­gic posi­tion and the enor­mous Alham­bra Palace, the city was pro­tect­ed,” and there the Alham­bra remains today. A “thir­teenth-cen­tu­ry pala­tial com­plex that’s one of the world’s most icon­ic exam­ples of Moor­ish archi­tec­ture,” writes BBC.com’s Esme Fox, it’s also a land­mark feat of engi­neer­ing, boast­ing “one of the most sophis­ti­cat­ed hydraulic net­works in the world, able to defy grav­i­ty and raise water from the riv­er near­ly a kilo­me­ter below.”

The jew­el in the crown of these elab­o­rate water­works is a white mar­ble foun­tain that “con­sists of a large dish held up by twelve white myth­i­cal lions. Each beast spurts water from its mouth, feed­ing four chan­nels in the patio’s mar­ble floor that rep­re­sent the four rivers of par­adise, and then run­ning through­out the palace to cool the rooms.”

The fuente de los Leones also tells time: the num­ber of lions cur­rent­ly indi­cates the hour. This works thanks to an inge­nious design explained both ver­bal­ly and visu­al­ly in the video. Any­one vis­it­ing the Alham­bra today can admire this and oth­er exam­ples of medieval opu­lence, but trav­el­ers with an engi­neer’s cast of mind will appre­ci­ate even more how the palace’s builders got the water there at all. “The hill was around 200 meters above Granada’s main riv­er,” says the nar­ra­tor, which entailed an ambi­tious project of damming and redi­rec­tion, to say noth­ing of the pool above the palace designed to keep the whole hydraulic sys­tem pres­sur­ized. The Alham­bra’s heat­ed baths and well-irri­gat­ed gar­dens rep­re­sent the lux­u­ri­ous height of Moor­ish civ­i­liza­tion, but they also remind us that, then as now, beneath every lux­u­ry lies an impres­sive feat of tech­nol­o­gy.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Did Roman Aque­ducts Work?: The Most Impres­sive Achieve­ment of Ancient Rome’s Infra­struc­ture, Explained

The Bril­liant Engi­neer­ing That Made Venice: How a City Was Built on Water

How Toi­lets Worked in Ancient Rome and Medieval Eng­land

The Amaz­ing Engi­neer­ing of Roman Baths

A 13th-Cen­tu­ry Cook­book Fea­tur­ing 475 Recipes from Moor­ish Spain Gets Pub­lished in a New Trans­lat­ed Edi­tion

His­toric Spain in Time Lapse Film

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.