Put me in a warehouse filled with extraordinary marble and quartzite, and I will happily lose an afternoon. I’ll find myself standing before a particularly remarkable slab, following a vein as it travels across the surface, studying the place where smoky green gives way to bronze, or wondering how something formed deep within the earth could look so much like a contemporary abstract painting.
Occasionally, I’ll come across a slab so extraordinary that the idea of cutting a hole in it for a kitchen sink feels almost criminal. And it makes me wonder: When did we become so accustomed to thinking of marble primarily as a countertop?
For thousands of years, natural stone has been one of humanity’s most expressive architectural materials. It has shaped temples and palaces, inspired sculptors, and given entire cities their character. Some of the most astonishing interiors in history were conceived around the color and movement of stone.
There is a great deal of inspiration to be found in that history. And, in my opinion, an equally exciting opportunity to do something new with it.
A Material Worthy of the Gods
The ancient Greeks had a marvelous appreciation for marble. They understood how it responded to light and what could be accomplished by putting it in the hands of a gifted sculptor or architect.
Consider the Parthenon, constructed largely from Pentelic marble, whose surface takes on a warm glow in the Mediterranean sun. Or the marble sculptures of antiquity, where figures carved from solid stone somehow appear capable of movement.
The Romans were considerably less shy about indulging their appetite for decorative stone. They imported colored marbles and other ornamental stones from across their empire, incorporating them into lavish interiors and monumental public buildings.
The range of materials was extraordinary, from deep green stone quarried in Greece to vividly colored stones from North Africa. Roman craftsmen assembled carefully cut pieces into elaborate floors and wall compositions, a technique known as opus sectile. The effect could be geometric, pictorial, or almost impossibly intricate.
They were creating entire works of art out of the material itself.
Centuries later, Renaissance artists and architects returned to marble with an imagination equal to that of their ancient predecessors.
Michelangelo saw extraordinary possibilities in a block of Carrara marble (as the saying goes, having seen the angel in the marble and carved until he set him free…). And Bernini, working in Rome during the Baroque period, somehow persuaded solid stone to behave like soft flesh, flowing fabric, and windblown hair.
If you’ve ever stood in front of one of Bernini’s sculptures, you know how difficult it can be to reconcile what your eyes are telling you with the fact that you’re looking at marble.
The Baroque architects were incredibly ambitious. In Roman churches, richly colored stone climbs the walls, defines monumental columns, and unfolds across floors in elaborate compositions.
These buildings have very little in common aesthetically with contemporary residential design, but I admire their ambition. Their creators understood that stone could do considerably more than provide a durable surface.
The Architecture Is the Canvas
Today, marble often enters the conversation when it’s time to select finishes.
Which countertop? Which backsplash? Honed or polished? I enjoy those decisions, and a beautifully chosen countertop can absolutely make a kitchen. But I find myself most excited by the possibilities that arise when stone enters the conversation earlier, while the architecture is still being developed.
An entire wall clad in a beautifully composed arrangement of slabs. A sculptural kitchen island whose form makes the material feel carved rather than assembled. A curved architectural surface wrapped in expressive stone. And with that, a staircase becomes one of the defining artistic gestures of a home.
There is something exhilarating about taking a material associated with antiquity and using it in a decidedly contemporary way.
Some slabs have the broad, gestural movement of an abstract expressionist painting. Others resemble landscapes viewed from above, with mineral formations tracing what look like rivers through mountain ranges.
I’ve seen stone with colors that would be difficult to invent convincingly on a drawing board.
When I encounter a particularly extraordinary piece, I want to know what we could create if we allowed its composition to influence the architecture.
What would happen if we designed a wall around that sweeping diagonal vein? Could the stone continue around a corner so that its movement becomes part of the experience of walking through the room? Could we position an architectural opening to frame one particularly beautiful part of the slab?
These are the questions that interest me.
A remarkable material can inspire decisions about the proportions and character of a space long before anyone begins selecting decorative finishes.
An Appetite for the Unexpected
There are plenty of beautiful houses where the marble is exactly where you expect to find it. And then there are the interiors that make you stop in the doorway. I tend to be interested in the latter.
I would love to see more interior compositions in which a monumental slab of richly colored stone occupies an entire alcove in a wall, with the surrounding architecture designed to give it the attention it deserves.
Or consider a kitchen island conceived as a piece of sculpture. Rather than treating the stone as a decorative covering for cabinetry, we could begin with the desired form and work with the fabricator to determine how the stone can best express it.
I’m particularly interested in curved surfaces. A sweeping staircase. An architectural wall that bends through a room. A sculptural kitchen island whose curves follow the movement of the material.
Traditionally, those ambitions could become complicated very quickly when working with natural stone. A conventional slab is heavy, rigid, and subject to the physical limitations of the material.
Recently, I visited a supplier in Toronto developing extraordinarily thin natural-stone veneers bonded to flexible substrates.
I held a sample in my hands and bent it. Actual stone. Bending. Naturally, I immediately started imagining the possibilities.
There are important technical considerations with any unconventional application, and I would want the architect, builder, and specialist fabricator involved from the beginning. The characteristics of the stone, the substrate, and the installation method all matter.
But I find it extraordinary that after thousands of years of building with stone, we’re still developing ways to use it that would have astonished the architects of antiquity. I find that tremendously exciting.
The Beauty of Something No One Can Reproduce
My appreciation for natural stone has a great deal in common with my love of original art.
I’m drawn to pieces that have a strong identity. I love being able to recognize the imagination and decisions of the person who created something, particularly when the work is unlike anything else I’ve encountered.
Natural stone offers another kind of originality. Its composition developed over immense periods of geological time. Mineral formations, changes in pressure and temperature, and movements within the earth produced patterns that belong to that particular piece.
You can find two slabs from the same quarry that look as though they have very little in common. This is one reason I enjoy selecting significant pieces of stone in person.
A small sample may tell me whether I like the general color or finish. Standing in front of the full slab tells me what I’m actually working with.
I want to see where the veining becomes dramatic and where it changes direction. I want to understand the scale of the movement and how much of the material should be visible for the composition to make sense.
And then I want to consider how it will be cut. A piece of stone can look entirely different depending on its orientation. Adjacent slabs can be arranged to create an almost symmetrical composition through bookmatching, or laid out to allow their natural movement to continue across a large surface.
These decisions can be as consequential to the finished design as the selection of the stone itself.
If a slab is going to occupy an important architectural position, I want to be involved in those conversations well before fabrication begins.
There is tremendous creative opportunity in the layout of an exceptional piece of natural stone. And sometimes, when a slab is particularly magnificent, I think the wisest decision is to give it an enormous wall and get out of its way.
A Certain Inheritance
My interest in architecture and materials has a family history.
My great-grandfather, Vincent Louis Russoniello, immigrated to the United States from Italy and became an architect in Pennsylvania. He designed civic buildings and other structures that were meant to become part of the communities they served. His work also maintained a connection to Italian materials and building traditions.
Architecture continued through subsequent generations of my family.
I find something moving about the idea of a building remaining part of people’s lives long after its architect is gone. A person makes decisions about proportions and materials, and decades later someone else walks through a doorway or sits beside a window and experiences the result.
The choices outlive the person who made them. That history influences how I approach interiors.
I want the architecture of a house to have a strong identity. I want the materials to be worth living with for decades, and I want the rooms to feel connected to the people who inhabit them.
I’m especially drawn to the possibilities that arise when elements from different periods are brought together.
A contemporary painting can look extraordinary against richly veined marble. A beautiful antique can bring warmth and history into a modern architectural space. I love thinking about those relationships.
And I think it is entirely possible to create work that honors centuries of architectural tradition while looking unmistakably like something conceived in our own time.
When Ambition Meets Architecture
Of course, there is a difference between an extraordinary idea and an extraordinary finished room. The architecture matters enormously.
A historic residence with an established architectural identity deserves a very different approach from a contemporary waterfront home. The challenge is to understand what each building can accommodate and where an interesting contemporary intervention will make sense.
Sometimes that might mean introducing a dramatic stone element into an otherwise traditional space. In a newly designed residence, there may be the opportunity to develop entire architectural features around a specific material.
Those are decisions I want to explore with the architect and builder at the beginning of a project.
Stone has real physical limitations. Some varieties require particular care in wet areas or high-use applications. Large installations may require structural consideration, specialized fabrication, or carefully planned support systems. And as a humanitarian myself, I care deeply about the methods of fabrication used and the safety and wellbeing of the people who work with the material at every step of its journey.
A beautiful end result is only as successful as the planning that allows it to be fabricated and installed properly.
That’s why I see early collaboration as essential to ambitious work.
If we know from the beginning that a client wants a staircase clad in dramatically figured marble, that ambition can inform the design and technical planning of the staircase itself.
If the intention is to create a monumental stone wall, we can think about slab dimensions and seam placement before finalizing the surrounding architectural elements. And if an unusual material suggests a particularly adventurous idea, we can involve the specialists who know whether it can be realized and what doing so would require.
This is exactly the kind of collaborative process that interests me: an ambitious creative idea developed carefully enough that the finished work lives up to the original vision.
Creating Something Worth Remembering
I can remember certain interiors years after seeing them. Occasionally, it’s an entire room that stays with me. More often, there’s one remarkable feature I can still picture perfectly.
A material used in a way I hadn’t encountered before. An architectural detail with an unexpected sense of humor. A piece of stone so extraordinary that I stopped paying attention to everything else.
I strive to create homes that offer those experiences.
To be clear, not every room needs a monumental marble wall. The most interesting houses have spaces with very different personalities, and I enjoy working with materials that range from richly expressive to beautifully simple.
But when the architecture and the client invite something more adventurous, I want to explore that opportunity fully.
Marble has been part of the architectural imagination for thousands of years. It has given form to some of humanity’s most celebrated buildings and works of sculpture. I find it thrilling that a material with such an extraordinary past still offers so much room for invention.
At Studio Russoniello, we aim to bring that sense of possibility into contemporary residential design, working with the architecture and the remarkable people who know how to turn an ambitious idea into something real.
Because every so often, you encounter a piece of stone that deserves considerably more than a countertop.
And I’d love to design the room that proves it.
A Home Worth Creating
Studio Russoniello creates distinctive residential interiors informed by architecture, original art, and an appreciation for extraordinary natural materials.
Based in Hickory, North Carolina, the studio collaborates with homeowners, architects, builders, and artisans throughout Lake Norman, Charlotte, and beyond.
