Last spring, while photographing in Florence, I finally visited San Giovanni Battista, one of Italy’s great churches of the 1960s.

I first heard of it almost ten years ago, during a university summer school in Florence. A local architect introduced the project, but his heavily accented English and rather unconvincing images failed to persuade me. I went north instead to see Aldo Rossi’s cemetery, and regretted it as soon as I saw my classmates’ photographs.

Designed by Giovanni Michelucci, the church stands beside a motorway service station west of Florence. It was built not for a parish, but to commemorate the Autostrada del Sole, the motorway linking Milan, Florence, Rome and Naples. It symbolised post-war renewal, while also honouring the workers who died during its construction.

Inside, bronze reliefs depict the patron saints of cities along the route. Beyond them, irregular columns rise like branches, supporting a tent-like roof with great expressive force.

Yet the building is not without problems. On a bright afternoon, the worship space felt unexpectedly sombre; light seemed absorbed rather than transformed.

Michelucci remains hard to classify: neither fully mainstream nor marginal. Perhaps this church is the same — powerful, imperfect, and slightly lonely beside the motorway.