Most of us can remember—not necessarily the first time, but certainly a moment in childhood or young adulthood—when we went to the library. Did you feel overwhelmed and excited by all the books lining tall shelves along the walls, forming canyons of knowledge? I certainly did.
I remember going to the central library in Pisa, right in the heart of the city, with its large windows facing the Arno River and the Lungarni. The library smelled of old books, and when the windows were open, that unique scent mixed with the breeze from the river and the city in a way that remains unforgettable. Sitting at a large wood table, surrounded by so many new and old books, I felt that I knew nothing and would never have enough time to read everything around me. Yet that very feeling fueled my curiosity and determination to discover as much as possible of what this place could offer.
However, my experience was also a lonely one. I could not share my excitement with others because my library—like many libraries of the past—was a “shh shh” library. There were no places to work collaboratively, and there were few resources beyond books and reading tables.
The city of Pisa, Italy
Today, the most compelling libraries are not measured by the size of their collections but by the depth of their impact. They are civic anchors, vessels for learning, research hubs, and public living rooms—or “palaces for the people,” as Eric Klinenberg describes these important forms of social infrastructure. Contrary to the paradigm of the old Pisa library, which was primarily a place for books and the accumulation of knowledge, today’s library is a place for people, where knowledge is discovered, debated, shared, and digitized.
Baskervill has had a front-row seat to this evolution for decades. We designed the Richmond Public Library in the early twentieth century, and decades later returned to expand it as public expectations evolved and grew. Today, we are helping reimagine the Library of Virginia (LVA), reshaping a vital research institution into a more open and welcoming civic presence.
The arc is clear. Libraries evolve because communities evolve, and architecture must evolve with them.
Collaboration with the Library of Virgnia, December 2025
In their earliest form, libraries were defined by scarcity. Books were precious and difficult to preserve. Even so, some of the great early libraries of the Western world—such as the Library of Alexandria in Egypt—were open to artists, musicians, poets, comedians, and astronomers. There is a reason why the library was associated with the Mouseion: it was a place dedicated to the nine Greek muses.
The Romans often co-located libraries with public baths—think of the Baths of Caracalla—where the health of both mind and body was nurtured together. The medieval period was, in many ways, a dark age for public access to knowledge, yet it is thanks to monastic scribes working in their scriptoria that we can still read the works of Greek poets and philosophers today. Medieval libraries were labyrinthine and full of mystery, beautifully captured by Umberto Eco in The Name of the Rose.
We must wait until the Renaissance to see the return of truly public libraries, beginning with the Biblioteca Malatestiana in Cesena, Italy, followed by Michelangelo’s masterpiece in Florence, the Biblioteca Laurenziana. Still, knowledge remained largely accessible only to those who could read. It was the invention of printing technology, followed by the expansion of public education, that finally made books available to broader society.
In the United States, Andrew Carnegie funded nearly 1,700 lending libraries. Their architecture was sometimes inspired by the Biblioteca Laurenziana, though many reflected other stylistic traditions. What made these libraries revolutionary was not their architecture, but the concept of open stacks, allowing readers for the first time to browse collections freely.
Then came the 1960s. As cities expanded and suburbs developed, there was pressure to build infrastructure quickly. Libraries often became utilitarian buildings—concrete and brick structures with few windows. With notable exceptions such as the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library in Washington, D.C., many libraries lost the sense of beauty and civic invitation that earlier generations had embodied. They became less inspiring containers for books and, often, less welcoming places for people.
The digital age introduced another shift. When information became ubiquitous, the value of the library moved from possession to participation. The building was no longer simply a container for materials—it became a facilitator of experiences.
Why is the history of libraries important? What does it teach us?
Ancient Baths of Caracalla
The emerging library paradigm is, in many ways, rediscovering the greatness of what existed in the past. Today’s libraries are becoming new Mouseia: places where people attend concerts, watch performances, encounter art collections, and engage in civic life. They are contemporary stoas—public places for debate, gathering, and social exchange. Increasingly, libraries are also co-located with gyms, wellness facilities, or natatoriums, echoing the Roman belief that the health of body and mind are interconnected.
Libraries should also remain places of mystery—spaces for both intellectual and architectural discovery, much like the medieval libraries that inspired wonder and imagination. At the same time, contemporary library architecture has opened up the fortress-like tendencies of the 1960s, filling buildings with natural light and creating opportunities for people to find spaces where they can work collaboratively or quietly alone.
What is compelling is that libraries have not abandoned their original mission. They have expanded it. Access still matters. Trust still matters. What has changed is how those values are delivered spatially.
An equally important shift is that the different types of libraries are becoming increasingly similar.
The construction of Alderman Library at the University of Virginia, 1937
The new library paradigm applies to university, state/archive, and public libraries alike. Subtle differences still exist based on their primary users, but the boundaries between them are blurring as services expand to serve broader audiences.
The university library, for example, has evolved into an intellectual crossroads of campus life. Students use libraries for collaboration and concentration, research and production. Writing centers, tutoring hubs, and digital scholarship labs are now standard parts of the academic library ecosystem.
At the same time, university libraries are moving beyond their traditional role as quiet academic repositories and positioning themselves as civic, cultural, and social infrastructure. Their outreach to communities now happens through public programming, cultural events, partnerships with schools, youth initiatives, and community archiving projects. A strong example is Charles Library at Temple University in Philadelphia, whose first floor hosts the Special Collections Research Center (SCRC). The SCRC serves as the primary repository for Temple’s history, alternative press collections, and historical Philadelphia media, while remaining open and accessible to all citizens.
Designing for this environment means orchestrating gradients of activity. Spaces must transition smoothly from public and collaborative to quiet and contemplative without conflict. Infrastructure must support constant technological change, while still preserving the enduring need for focused study. A successful academic library understands that energy and stillness belong in the same building.
Baskervill, throughout its long history as a design firm, collaborated with Taylor & Fisher Architects on Alderman Library at the University of Virginia. While Baskervill’s exact role is unclear, our archives include photographs documenting construction of the 1937 building. The architecture reflected the ideals of the “City Beautiful” movement, which began with the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago and later evolved into the “University Beautiful” movement. Characterized by Beaux-Arts principles, this movement inspired campuses across the country to organize buildings into unified plans with monumental quadrangles and civic compositions. Its influence came at a critical moment for the University of Virginia.
Public libraries operate under a different set of pressures driven in part by their more accessible location. They are among the few places left where anyone can enter without transaction or expectation. Communities rely on these “third spaces,” as Ray Oldenburg described them, for digital access, workforce development, children’s programming, and social connection. In many neighborhoods, the library functions as a shared living room.
Baskervill had the opportunity to design the Richmond Central Library during the Carnegie era, when books remained the primary focus, and later to expand it in the 1970s. While the original building was a remarkable example of Art Deco architecture, the later addition reflected the efficient Brutalist principles of its time. Yet its welcoming front porch still evokes the Greek stoa—a civic threshold inviting citizens into a democratic place of knowledge.
Richmond Public Library before (left) and during (right) renovation, 1970
The architecture of a library must communicate welcome before a single word is spoken. Clear sightlines, intuitive wayfinding, and durable materials that withstand heavy use without sacrificing dignity help people feel ownership of the space. A library succeeds when it reflects the community it serves. This is why we increasingly speak today about community-centric libraries. The concept applies not only to services, but also to architecture, which should draw from the history, culture, and surrounding natural or built environment of the local community.
Research libraries introduce another layer of complexity. Preservation and accessibility exist in constant negotiation. Collections require environmental control and security, yet the public deserves transparency and engagement.
Baskervill also designed Virginia’s first state library, the Patrick Henry Building, in 1938. Its monumental Stripped Classicism conveyed dignity, permanence, and protection for the Virginia state archives housed within. Today, Baskervill is part of the team, together with Shepley Bulfinch, renovating the current Library of Virginia building, which since 1989 has served as the home of the state archives.
In this project, the challenge is balancing stewardship with invitation—transforming an inward-facing institution into a more outward civic presence. New exhibition spaces will provide opportunities for Virginians to view original documents, engage with history, and better understand the forces that shaped the Commonwealth’s social, political, and environmental identity. The renovation will welcome not only researchers, but all Virginians, offering multiple paths to knowledge through archives, art collections, and new technologies.
While each library typology may focus on a particular constituency, their services are increasingly converging, and there is much they can learn from one another. Together, they reveal a larger truth: the modern library is not a singular model, but a spectrum of civic functions tailored to specific communities.
Richmond Public Library, circa 1930
Libraries are built on trust. Communities trust the information they find there. They trust that the space will be safe. They trust they will be welcomed regardless of background or circumstance.
That trust must also be translated physically. It appears in natural light and clear organization. It is reinforced through the careful separation of quiet study areas from active gathering spaces. It grows when buildings feel transparent and inviting rather than imposing.
In a culture defined by constant change, the library offers continuity. It remains a physical place where learning, reflection, and shared identity still matter. Architecture must protect that continuity while accommodating transformation.
Looking forward, I see libraries continuing to blur the boundaries history once established. I see libraries looking ahead by rediscovering enduring values from the past. I see libraries tailored to their communities, whether those communities are neighborhoods, campuses, or entire states like Virginia.
Libraries will continue encouraging collaboration, integrating maker spaces and digital labs, and becoming increasingly interpretive and community-facing. The most resilient libraries will not be those that predict every future need, but those designed with adaptability at their core. They will incorporate flexible frameworks and open-ended environments capable of evolving without losing coherence.
My hope is that the “shh shh” library of the past—like the one I remember in Pisa—will still exist, with the smell of old books and spaces for concentration and reflection. But it will become only one among many ways we experience learning in a contemporary society that is increasingly technological, multimedia-driven, socially diverse, and open.
The Library of Virginia, November 2025
Thankfully, at Baskervill, this is not new territory. Our early work reflected a belief in the importance of shared institutions, regardless of sector. Our current projects build on that foundation, translating historic stewardship into contemporary openness. The evolution is not a departure—it is a continuation.
The library has transcended its original definition, but its essence remains unchanged. It is still about access, connection, and the power of knowledge made available to all.
Every generation reshapes the library in its own image. Our responsibility is to shape spaces that allow it to continue becoming what it needs to be.
Andrea brings nearly three decades of experience to his role in the Civic Studio, guided by a lifelong passion for creating people-centered spaces. Known for his leadership in the design of communal environments—particularly libraries—he has delivered numerous award-winning projects grounded in thoughtful stakeholder engagement, research-driven programming, and community storytelling. With advanced degrees in both Architecture and Urban Design, Andrea moves effortlessly between big-picture thinking and fine-grained detail. He is a frequent lecturer, a published voice in the design world, and an active contributor to Richmond’s community landscape.