Modernity is easy to inhabit but difficult to define. If modernity is to be a definable, delimited concept, we must identify some people or practices or concepts as nonmodern.

In 1662, the physician Christopher Merret presented his fellow members of the Royal Society with an English translation of Antonio Neri's “L'arte vetraria” (The art of glass, 1612). Central to the preparation and receipt of this book was a cache of objects relevant to glassmaking, now lost or dispersed. These materia vitraria served as a tangible appendix to Merret's written commentary. They also reified the society's interest in the development of domestic industry by offering a direct means by which fellows could appreciate the raw materials of contemporary glassmaking alongside evidence of the trade's longer history in the British Isles.

Leonardo da Vinci studies are in effect two different—almost antagonistic—domains: a narrowly defined field that is so specialized that it scares scholars away (it takes years of dedicated work to learn how to deal with Leonardo's legacy), and a phenomenon of popular culture that is so massive that news about the artist's works makes headlines worldwide. Both aspects of Leonardo studies—the specialized scholarship and the vast public interest—grew exponentially in the past few decades and exploded in 2019, the year that marked the 500th anniversary of the artist's death. Although they only rarely come together, their convergence may offer the best hope for the future of Leonardo studies. Indeed, the recent anniversary provided a reminder that Leonardo da Vinci still touches the imagination of scholars and the general public in ways that force us to ask what is it that connects to our current age. Why is the study of this master of visualization, who made visible what could not be seen—vessels, muscles, water vortexes, wind, the intentions of people's minds—in diagrams, maps, sketches, figurative images, and paintings, significant for the current historical moment? Can we learn something from Leonardo studies—and, more broadly, from Renaissance studies, of which Leonardo studies are a part—as we struggle to find new frameworks to teach, research, innovate, and communicate with one another, or, to quote the mission statement of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, “to build just communities enriched by meaning and empowered by critical thinking, where ideas and imagination can thrive”?

The article discusses an approach taken for the design of a new temple in Karnataka, India, to be built in the medieval ‘Hoysala’ style, which followed the Karnata Dravida tradition of temple architecture. This style is unfamiliar to present-day traditional temple builders in India. The design needs to be based on research into architectural history, of a kind that aims to relive the processes through which temples were designed, assimilating the architectural language and its principles. This kind of architectural history involves re-creation, and this kind of design can contribute to architectural history as ‘design research’.

An application of such research is the reconstruction of temple designs from ruins. The temples can potentially be rebuilt, or they can be reconstructed graphically, and presented meaningfully on site. Re-creation of temples through drawing is also a key for understanding canonical Sanskrit texts on architecture. These texts are not illustrated but call for interpretation through drawing. Temple types are typically presented in sequences of evolution from simple to complex forms, one type emanating from another in way reminiscent of how the architectural traditions themselves develop. Texts provide a framework for a design, demanding interpretation, improvisation, and invention. The results are only partly determined by an individual architect, and the framework can stimulate creations that an individual would never have thought of, as if such temples are svayambhu, or ‘self-creating’.

A ’svayambhu’ approach has been taken in the design of the new Hoysala temple. No texts survive from the Karnata Dravida tradition, but the surviving creations of that tradition display the emanatory logic of its unfolding. A ‘self-creating’ design for this temple can be achieved by exploring formal possibilities inherent in the tradition and extrapolating a new form, while accommodating ritual and iconographic requirements, and being open to the unexpected.

My fellow architects, let me begin this piece with a provocative, even blasphemous, proposition: it is time to do away with the twin terms ‘architect’ and ‘architecture’ as signs that stand in for what we are, what we do or as a ‘thing’ in the world.