Vitruvius’ book is chock full of bodies. It is by means of his oiled body that Dinocrates gains an audience with Alexander (2.praef.1), and by means of his naked one, and the equivalent body of water that it displaces, that Archimedes solves his well-known quandary (9.praef.9f.). The body is a living, vital thing (7.praef.2f.), even as it is a book, a body of work (7.praef.10), arising from a body of education (1.1.12). Most important of all, Vitruvius outlines a ‘body of architecture’ (corpus architecturae, 6.praef.7) to propagate and extend the reach of the deified Augustus, commander-in-chief (1.praef.1), and this idea arguably gives rise to that of the ‘body politic’ (corpus imperii). Vitruvius’ text has been interpreted in terms of these bodies in important studies by Indra Kagis McEwen and John Oksanish; both authors treat the body as replete with meaning, the site of contact between architecture and the political, between text and author. This chapter adds to our understanding of the repertoire of bodies in Vitruvius by looking at those earlier incarnations of circular and square bodies which Vitruvius inherits, and in terms of which he construes the human body as a site of ideal proportions.

Vitruvius’ famous description of the homo bene figuratus possesses a slightly paradoxical nature. The description is meant to illuminate a fundamental but very abstract principle underlying the building of temples: symmetry or proportion. For the purpose of illumination, an analogy is drawn between temples and the human body. But even though the description serves an illustrative purpose, it does not at first sight appear to have a specifically illustrative nature since it largely consists of numerical fractions and proportional relations. Additionally, it seems quite difficult to tell what the homo bene figuratus actually looks like because the figure hardly possesses any individual features. And yet, the description inspired a rich reception of drawings during the Renaissance and later (of which Leonardo's version is certainly the most famous). The passage even seems to have taken on a life of its own since in those drawings the homo bene figuratus is usually treated independently of its original purpose and remains unconnected with temples or other buildings. Apparently, the passage—somehow—has an easily comprehensible or even perhaps vivid quality, despite the fact that it mainly lists abstract numerical details.

In the first chapter of De architectura book 3, Vitruvius famously expounds upon the theory of proportionality, ultimately crafting the analogy of the human body as a composition of ideal ratios. In this exposition, the architect repeatedly makes use of technical jargon, implementing terms found nowhere else within the Latin literary corpus. Amidst this series of rare Latin vocabulary, however, Vitruvius also includes a striking twenty-seven Greek borrowings—of which twelve are novel terms not found in the corpus before this passage, and seven are terms not found again. While many of these Grecisms are explicated by Vitruvius through the use of subordinate clauses or apposition, the very existence of Latin equivalents and the resultant redundancy of terms renders Vitruvius’ linguistic vacillation strictly unnecessary and rather obfuscating in effect. After all, why borrow a term that requires definition when a corollary already exists within one's primary, ‘matrix’ language? Likewise, once one has committed to adopting a second language of technical vocabulary, why bother translating? Other, similar lexical borrowings are evident throughout De architectura, yet the opening of book 3 offers a unique opportunity to analyze Vitruvius’ method of code-switching in close detail, revealing how the author uses the technique to draw attention both to the technicality of his art and to the Greek tradition evoked by these words.

Vitruvius is a full-figured text. Bodies proliferate endlessly—as touchstones of measurement, as images of ideal proportions, as analogies for building, empire, discipline, or text—and they dance just as deftly around the scholarship. If we had to pick a metaphor by which Vitruvius lived in writing, we could do no better than corpus. He is perhaps antiquity's greatest embodiment of body. But what I would like to argue in this article is that the Vitruvian body is not uniform; not alone; not ideal; and as an instrument of scientific discovery, it is not enough. It is lacking—and it needs to lack.

For the historian of early modern Italian architecture, Vitruvius is unavoidable. In fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Italy, the study of Vitruvius, in conjunction with the surviving physical models of ancient buildings, was a project that united architects. With the difficult tract as their guide, architects teamed together, often with learned aides, to understand the principles of ancient design. Comparing Vitruvian dicta with antiquarian fragments, architects endeavored to recreate the forms, numbers, and proportional rules prescribed by the ancient author. And using pencil, charcoal, and ink, they created images, filling in the voids of the famously unillustrated text.

In the second decade of the fifteenth century, the book-hunter Poggio Bracciolini and two friends recognized Vitruvius’ De architectura among the moldy manuscripts at the monastic library at St. Gall in Switzerland. Although their find was not the first copy of De architectura to be identified, the reception of Vitruvius among Italian humanists tends to be afforded special attention in academic, public, and popular culture alike. Commonly shuffling at the center of that attention is L'Uomo Vitruviano of Leonardo da Vinci, usually dated to the 1490s. In Italian, and in his famous mirror writing, Leonardo mentions Vitruvius by name in the first word of his notes above his rendering of the homo bene figuratus and engages with the content of De architectura 3.1.2f. above and below it.

On September 16, 2017, the then-thirty-three-year-old Afro-Cuban American artist Harmonia Rosales presented her oil painting Virtuous Woman at her first art gallery exhibition, called ‘Black Imaginary To Counter Hegemony (B.I.T.C.H.)’, at the Simard Bilodeau Contemporary in downtown Los Angeles. The work is based on Leonardo da Vinci's famous visualization of Vitruvius’ description of the homo bene figuratus, that is, of the ‘ideal’ or ‘well-formed’ human being on whose symmetry and proportions the construction of temples should be modeled (Vitr. De arch. 3.1; fig. 5.3). Rosales retains the presentation of a nude human figure in an interlocking square and circle on a background covered in handwriting. Yet Rosales’ rendition of the lettering is even less easily legible than the Italian paraphrases of, and expansions upon, Vitruvius’ Latin that the left-handed Leonardo had written in mirrored script around his sketch. Moreover, Rosales’ painting fills not the page of a book, but a large canvas damaged at the edges and marked by red-orange blemishes. Most importantly, the person at the center is no longer the stern and, to a modern viewer, White-presenting man of da Vincian fame. Instead, she is a Black woman (fig. 7.1).