America's Arched Wonders: An Italianate Journey

For anyone who truly appreciates the built environment, the Italianate style holds a peculiar, almost romantic, allure. Its presence across the United States, from the bustling Northeast to the quiet Southern towns, often surprises those accustomed to America's more ubiquitous Colonial or Federal forms. What, then, is it about these structures, particularly their signature arched windows, that continues to captivate? Having traversed countless miles seeking out these architectural treasures, I’ve found that the Italianate arch is more than just a design element; it's a historical punctuation mark, a statement of aspiration, and occasionally, a quiet testament to forgotten craftsmanship. ### Why Did America Fall for the Arched Window? Stepping back into the mid-19th century, America was a nation eager to assert its cultural sophistication, looking across the Atlantic for inspiration beyond the neoclassical ideals of its nascent republic. Italy, with its Renaissance villas and picturesque countryside homes, offered a potent antidote to Georgian formality. This new style, dubbed Italianate, promised a looser, more organic, and frankly, more opulent aesthetic. Picture the sun-drenched Italian countryside, rambling villas with wide eaves, and then imagine that vision transplanted to the burgeoning American landscape. The arched window, in its myriad forms—round-arched, segmental-arched, Palladian—became one of the most immediate and defining characteristics of this architectural importation. It broke the monotony of square and rectangular openings, introducing a fluidity and grace that felt both ancient and refreshingly modern to American eyes. Builders and architects, often self-taught or drawing from pattern books, embraced the form, using it to evoke a sense of grandeur, warmth, and connection to a storied European past. Consider the materials shaping these elegant curves; they tell their own story. Often, you’ll encounter window surrounds crafted from a specific material—perhaps a contrasting stone, or a meticulously detailed wood. These aren’t mere decorative flourishes; they are structural statements, highlighting the arch’s form and providing visual depth. Brownstone, a readily available sandstone in the Northeast, frequently framed these windows, offering a rich, earthy contrast to brick. Further south, where stone was less common, stucco-on-brick veneers, carefully scored to mimic ashlar masonry, often provided the desired look, a clever and economical way to achieve a high-status appearance. This wasn't just about aesthetics; it was about demonstrating wealth, taste, and a keen eye for the latest architectural trends, even if a budget required a clever illusion. ### Blandwood Mansion: Greensboro's Enduring Architectural Claim Venturing into Greensboro, North Carolina, one encounters Blandwood Mansion, a compelling argument for Italianate architecture’s early American foothold. This isn’t just *an* Italianate house; many historians consider it the oldest surviving example of the style in the United States, a bold assertion that immediately piques a seasoned traveler's interest. Designed by the prolific and immensely influential architect Alexander Jackson Davis, the mansion underwent a significant transformation between 1844 and 1846, evolving from an earlier Federal-style structure into the Italianate masterpiece we see today. Its central three-story tower stands as a powerful testament to the style’s defining features. Upon closer inspection, the tower itself is a study in Italianate fenestration. It showcases multiple arched openings on its three visible sides, featuring double casement windows on the second level and triple casement windows on the third. These aren’t just holes in the wall; they are carefully articulated features, providing a rhythmic ascent of light and air. The stucco-on-brick veneer, a common and cost-effective material of the era, was originally scored to give the illusion of expensive cut stone blocks, a touch of architectural trompe l'oeil that speaks volumes about aspirational design in the antebellum South. Visiting Blandwood means grappling with this history—it’s not a pristine, purpose-built Italianate from scratch, but a remarkable evolution, a testament to how architectural styles were adapted and layered onto existing structures. Parking is typically easy on-site, but I'd suggest calling ahead for tour times, especially if you're visiting during the week, as schedules can be limited to ensure adequate staffing for this significant piece of American history. Expect a quiet, reflective experience, quite different from more bustling urban sites. ### Litchfield Villa: Prospect Park's Shifting Facade Across the urban expanse to Brooklyn, New York, sits the Litchfield Villa, an undeniably grand structure nestled within the picturesque confines of Prospect Park. Also designed by Alexander Jackson Davis, this mansion, completed between 1854 and 1857, exemplifies the era’s taste for asymmetrical compositions and rich detailing. Unlike Blandwood’s layered history, Litchfield Villa was conceived from its very foundations as an Italianate showpiece for Edwin C. Litchfield, a prominent lawyer and railroad magnate. What makes this villa particularly instructive for understanding Italianate arches isn't just their elegant presence, but the story of their surrounding materials. The exterior walls were originally finished with a stucco-on-brick veneer, meticulously hand-scored to imitate costly cut stone—a recurring theme in the style's American adaptation, demonstrating a desire for grandeur that sometimes outstripped the local availability of ideal stone. Yet, in a fascinating twist of preservation history, this stucco was largely removed in the 1940s, revealing the underlying brickwork. While specific counts of arched windows on its primary facade are not consistently documented in available public records, their prominent role in the villa’s overall composition is undeniable, lending an air of sophisticated elegance to its towers and bay windows. Seeing Litchfield Villa prompts a question: What is architectural authenticity? Is it the original design, or the subsequent layers of history? It's a delightful architectural puzzle situated in one of America's great urban parks. Parking can be a challenge here, particularly on weekends; consider public transportation or arriving very early to secure a spot. The exterior is always accessible, but interior tours are rare, so manage your expectations accordingly. ### Newport's Early Gem: The Edward King House Journeying north to the grand coastal enclave of Newport, Rhode Island, one finds the Edward King House, another pivotal early example of Italianate architecture. Designed by Richard Upjohn, a British-born architect who would become a leading figure in American Gothic Revival and Italianate design, this brick mansion was constructed between 1845 and 1847. It was built for Edward King, a prominent merchant, and its robust brick construction, accented with brownstone headers and sills, offers a stark material contrast to the stuccoed surfaces of some other Italianate contemporaries. The King House is a masterclass in varied fenestration, showcasing the style's flexibility. Here, you'll encounter multiple window types, including striking triple-arched Palladian shapes on each level, a design that simultaneously evokes classical order and Italian villa charm. A large, round-arched window with delicate Venetian tracery provides another focal point, while the left tower features three arched windows on its top stage, elegantly echoed by triple-arched arrangements on the right tower. This asymmetry, coupled with the varied window shapes and sizes—all predominantly with round arches—demonstrates Upjohn’s early and sophisticated interpretation of the Italianate style, proving that architectural grandeur could be achieved without strict adherence to symmetrical plans. For a truly immersive experience, visiting Newport outside of peak summer season (think late spring or early autumn) allows for more comfortable exploration of its numerous architectural treasures, and less competition for street parking near the mansions. While the exterior of the King House is easily admired, its current function as a nursing home means interior access is generally restricted, a common practical reality for many privately-owned historic properties. ### Kenworthy Hall: A Southern Interpretation of the Arch Deep in the heart of Alabama, near Marion, stands Kenworthy Hall, a remarkably preserved Italianate villa completed between 1858 and 1860. This is another creation of Richard Upjohn, but one that presents a distinctly Southern adaptation of his Italian villa style. Here, the sheer scale is immediately impressive; the mansion was designed for Edward Kenworthy Carlisle, a wealthy planter, and its grandeur reflects the ambitions of the antebellum plantation economy. The structure is primarily brick, but Upjohn incorporated brownstone for the window headers, sills, and drip molds, providing a subtle yet powerful contrast that defines the openings. Kenworthy Hall boasts a remarkable sixty-four windows, the vast majority of which feature either round or segmental arches. These aren't just decorative elements; they're integral to the building's robust yet elegant character. Twelve of the fourth-floor tower windows are particularly intriguing, featuring inset brick panels beneath their sills, a detail that adds textural interest and reinforces the verticality of the tower. What’s often missed in typical guides is the sense of isolation and resilience that defines Kenworthy Hall. It sits in a rural landscape, a testament to a bygone era, yet it feels profoundly connected to its place. Getting there requires a conscious detour, but the quiet majesty of this site is its own reward. Check the National Park Service or local preservation society websites for specific visiting hours, as it's not always open daily. This is a place where you'll want to take your time, appreciating the details in solitude. ### Riverside: Tracing the Arch's True Genesis in Burlington Perhaps the most surprising and quietly influential of all these examples lies in Burlington, New Jersey: Riverside, the Bishop George Doane House. While Blandwood often gets the "oldest surviving" title, and King House the "earliest example," Riverside, designed by John Notman and begun in 1837, is widely believed to be the *first* example of Italianate architecture in the United States. This distinction matters immensely, as it positions Notman as a true pioneer, predating the more celebrated designs of Davis and Upjohn. Curiously, for a structure of such foundational importance, detailed specifications regarding the exact number of arched windows on its primary facade and the precise materials for their surrounds are not consistently documented in readily accessible public records. What we do know is that Notman's design featured an asymmetrical composition, incorporating elements that would become hallmarks of the style, including its distinctive fenestration. The documentation points to wooden construction details and trim, suggesting a less opulent, perhaps more vernacular, approach than the grander stone or stucco-clad villas that followed. Riverside subtly challenges our assumptions about what "first" truly means in architectural history—it wasn't necessarily the grandest or most elaborately detailed, but rather the earliest to introduce these revolutionary forms. This humble origin story often gets lost amidst the flashier later examples. A visit to Burlington allows for easy exploration of this historic town, and Riverside, though privately owned, offers a unique opportunity to see where American Italianate truly began. Street parking is generally available, and the quiet residential setting allows for peaceful contemplation of its historical significance. These structures, from the grand Litchfield Villa to the pioneering Riverside, collectively paint a vivid picture of America's embrace of the Italianate style and its iconic arched windows. Each building, with its unique history, materials, and architectural nuances, contributes a layer to our understanding of a period defined by both aspiration and innovation. The arches, whether grand or subtle, stuccoed or framed in brownstone, are more than mere openings; they are portals to an era when American builders redefined domestic grandeur, forever etching a touch of the Italian countryside onto the American landscape. So next time you see a graceful arch, pause. It’s not just a window; it’s a story.