I used to half-jokingly refer to Paolo Soleri as "Saint Soleri." I have even spent Christmas at Arcosanti a couple times. His work is some of my favorite; whether it's the sculptures I live with, his architecture I visit over and over again, or the bells which have become my personal litmus test of whether someone is truly "in the know" of good design and architecture. It turns out he was far from a saint. Image: The Guardian Daniela Soleri, Paolo's daughter shared her story of abuse on Medium : I used to dream the same thing over and over. I am a child at home, and there in our living room is my father, Paolo Soleri, in a large cage, fuming. We, my mother and sister and I, quietly hand paper, pencils, crayons and charcoal to him through the bars, or we hand in clay, or Styrofoam and a woodburning tool, or large flat trays of moist, densely packed silt with knives to carve it, powders and washes to color it. He draws, forms, carves, s