History

The Interrogation Mark: From Greek Semicolons to Spanish Twists

Gianni Sarcone

In ancient Greek, questions were marked by a semicolon (Ερωτηματικό) rather than a question mark. This practice faded over time, and no special punctuation indicated questions in antiquity. The modern question mark emerged in the Middle Ages when scribes used “qo” (from Latin quaestio). To avoid confusion, they stacked the letters, turning the Q into a curl and the O into a dot, creating the question mark (“?”). In Spanish, the question mark was placed only at the end until 1754, when the Ortografía de la Real Academia introduced the inverted opening question mark (¿), as in: ¿Qué edad tienes? (How old are you?).

The Silent Orbit of Thought

Gianni Sarcone

The circle, a timeless symbol of wholeness, is found at the core of human thought. In the West, it evokes the Pythagorean harmony of the cosmos, the eternal return of Nietzsche, the indivisible unity of Being. A form without beginning or end, it embodies the perfect balance between presence and absence, the finite and the infinite.
In Eastern traditions, the ensō (円相)—literally “circular form”—is a distilled gesture of perception, a visual echo of clarity. Not merely a shape, but an experience, it is drawn in a single stroke, capturing the ephemeral moment where thought and movement dissolve into pure expression. It is said that the earliest Zen painting was an ensō, traced to offer a student something tangible yet elusive, a paradox to ponder.
A circle can be brushed on paper, traced in sand, drawn on a misted window, or merely imagined. It lacks nothing, needs nothing, yet contains all things. In its quiet completeness, it is not an answer, but an opening—an invitation to see beyond the limits of form.

When you untangle a comma, you often unravel a legend

Gianni Sarcone

In the 15th century, historian Flavio Biondo reported that the compass was invented by the people of Amalfi. Later, the philologist Giambattista Pio picked up the story and wrote it down like this: “Amalphi in Campania veteris magnetis usus inventus, a Flavio traditur,” which translates to: The use of the compass was invented in Amalfi, Campania, as reported by Flavio.

But then, something unexpected happened: someone shifted the comma. The new version—”Amalphi in Campania veteris magnetis usus inventus a Flavio, traditur”—completely altered the meaning: The use of the compass was invented in Amalfi, Campania, by Flavio, as reported.

This subtle mix-up passed through the ages, and just like that, Flavio Gioia, the “inventor” of the compass, was born. Interestingly, “Gioia” is a toponym, pointing to an imaginary birthplace in Apulia.

It’s wild how one misplaced comma can spin a whole new tale! While Gioia’s story is fun, the compass itself goes way back. It was first used in China during the Han dynasty (around 206 BC), but not for navigation—rather, for divination. It didn’t get turned into a navigation tool until the Song dynasty in the 11th century. And as for Europe and the Islamic world? They didn’t catch on until around 1190. So, the compass’s history is a bit more complex than a single legend.

The Soul of Books: A Journey from Bark to Pages

Gianni Sarcone

I must have been born in a library, for the love I hold for books is immeasurable. A book awakens all the senses in me: the visual pleasure, the tactile warmth, the scent of cinnamon or vanilla from old pages, the soft rustle of turning leaves, and even the taste… To me, no digital book will ever replace the presence of a real one, with its soul and essence.

But the journey from tablet to scroll, to codex, and finally to the modern book spans millennia. The codex, the direct ancestor of today’s book, introduced a revolutionary format—pages bound along one edge—laying the foundation for how we read and store knowledge today.

Books, as we recognize them, became widespread during the Middle Ages, largely due to Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press. However, the codex itself dates back much further. It was made of sheets folded multiple times, often twice, to form a bifolio. These bifolia were sewn together into gatherings, allowing for binding and, when needed, rebinding. The most common structure consisted of four bifolia—eight sheets, totaling sixteen pages—known in Latin as quaternio. This term later gave rise to quaderno in Italian, cahier in French, and quire in English. Interestingly, the Latin word codex originally meant a block of wood, a nod to the materials once used for writing.

Even the word book has deep roots—its Old English form, bōc, likely stems from the Germanic root bōk-, meaning beech. This isn’t just a linguistic coincidence; early writings may have been carved into beech wood. In Slavic languages, the word for “letter,” буква (bukva), shares this origin. In Russian, Serbian, and Macedonian, букварь (bukvar’) or буквар (bukvar) refers to a child’s first reading textbook.

Similarly, the Latin word liber, which gave rise to libro in Italian and livre in French, originally meant “bark,” reinforcing the deep connection between books and trees. The Greek root biblio, is believed to be derived from βύβλος (búblos), meaning “papyrus,” named after the ancient Phoenician city of Byblos, a major hub of the papyrus trade.

From carved wood and tree bark to bound pages and printed volumes, books have always been deeply rooted in nature—both in language and in form.

The Enigmatic Caroline Rivière

Gianni Sarcone

Caroline Rivière, a French girl immortalized in Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres’ 1806 masterpiece “Portrait of Caroline Rivière”, remains a striking figure in art history. This iconic painting frequently graces book covers, thanks to its timeless and deeply evocative qualities. Caroline is depicted as a delicate young woman in a serene, contemplative pose, her gaze imbued with an air of mystery and quiet melancholy. Tragically, she passed away at just 15 years old, shortly after Ingres completed the portrait.


This poignant backstory heightens the emotional resonance of her image, symbolizing the fragility of youth and the transient nature of beauty. It’s this haunting combination of innocence and impermanence that makes the portrait so appealing to publishers and audiences alike. Whether adorning the covers of literary classics, historical novels, or introspective works, Caroline Rivière’s likeness evokes themes of nostalgia, identity, and human vulnerability, bridging the gap between art and storytelling. Her enduring presence on bookshelves speaks to the universal, timeless appeal of Ingres’ artistry.

Even Lady Gaga was moved by this iconic painting, as she posed for filmmaker Robert Wilson, who created a strikingly similar piece—a close video replica of Ingres’ portrait, reinterpreted in his own unique style, incorporating subtle movements and nuanced expressions that added a dynamic dimension to its timeless stillness.

Genesis of G

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The lowercase ‘g’ is one of the most distinctive letters in the Latin alphabet, showcasing a variety of shapes across different styles.

The Latin alphabet, created around 753 BC, originated from the Etruscan alphabet, itself derived from Greek. Its earliest known inscription is on the ‘Praeneste Fibula’, a 7th-century BC cloak pin, reading “Manios med fhefhaked numasioi” (Classical Latin: “Manius me fecit Numerio” or “Manius made me for Numerius”).

Since Etruscan lacked the voiced plosive G, the letter G was introduced around 230 BC by Spurius Carvilius Ruga as a modified version of C.

As the Roman Empire expanded, the Latin alphabet spread throughout Europe, leading to its adoption in many languages. Today, it serves as the foundation for numerous writing systems worldwide, illustrating its lasting impact on global communication.

The Importance of Dots

Gianni Sarcone

It is often the little things that are the basis of progress… So let me tell you a little story about the tiniest thing on earth: the dot.

Thousands of years ago, a man in his solitude scanned the night sky and saw all those dots shining like so many still fireflies, and, perhaps for fun, he decided to join them together to form shapes. This is how zodiac signs and astronomy were born.

Far away, in ancient India, the dot symbolized beauty and the eye of knowledge. But even more, the dot they called “shunya-bindu” (शून्यबिन्दु) represented what we nowadays know as zero. It was first a placeholder and then a fully fledged number, for when it is added to the right of the representation of any given digit, the value of the digit is multiplied by ten. This is how our current numbers and decimal numeration system were born.

While drawing or painting, visual artists of all times used to fix a dot – or more specifically a point in space – which was traditionally visualized from the tip of their thumb. Eventually, when this point receded so far away in space, it became known as a “vanishing point”. A vanishing point is where all converging lines of a landscape meet at the horizon. This is how perspective and geometry were born.

One day, medieval musicians were tired of having to rely solely on their memories to remember songs. So they started to use dots, named “puncti”, placed on or between four lines to represent the pitch and duration of a sound. This is how musical notation and programming were born.

In the modern era, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, dots were used in many other symbolic forms: bumps, holes, single tones, flashes of light… Do the terms Braille, Morse, punched card, or pixel sound familiar to you? This is how communication and coding were born.

This is how the humble dot, often overlooked, has served as a fundamental building block for countless advancements throughout history. Never underestimate the power of small things; within a dot was the whole universe.

Bridget Riley, White Discs 2, 1964, emulsion on board, 41 × 39 inches (104 × 99 cm) © Bridget Riley 2021. All rights reserved.

(The text above has been used as foreword for the book “The All-Round Activity Book” available from Amazon)

Dalí’s Living Skull

Gianni Sarcone

Salvador Dalí : Sept corps nus et un crâne, 1951 (Human skull consisting of seven naked women).

Often symbols of MORTALITY (or some romantic notion of immortality – as the belief that a spiritual part of a person survives death) and POWER, skulls have been employed in human rituals and art since the dawn of humanity: from the ancient animal skulls in Paleolithic burial sites, to the curlicued cattle skulls that haunt Georgia O’Keeffe’s canvasses. Skulls cannot be assumed to be only a mere symbol of death, they are also used in initiation rituals as a symbol of REBIRTH, symbolizing the ‘sephirah daath’ (סְפִירָה – sephirah, “enumeration” in Hebrew) on the cabalistic tree of life, the gateway to a higher awareness only achievable through spiritual death and rebirth.

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