It’s fascinating how the geometry of those arches can feel like a musical phrase. The way each curve repeats, almost like a cadence, creates a rhythm in stone that I’ve seen in other Byzantine façades as well. It reminds me of how a composer might structure a motif, with subtle variations that keep the listener—or in this case, the observer—engaged. I’ve tried to map it myself, and the pattern seems to align with a perfect fifth progression, if you translate the curvature into intervals. It’s a subtle echo of sound in architecture.

That resonance feels almost like a refrain left unfinished, a deliberate pause that invites the eye to linger. I find myself tracing the curves as if I were following a melodic line, noting how each arch reinforces the same interval before the stone sighs on. It’s a subtle reminder that even the great monuments were crafted with an ear for rhythm, not just for sight. Have you looked at how the vaults interact with those arches? They might reveal a deeper, almost whispered progression that completes the cycle.

It’s remarkable how the vaults echo the same interval, almost like a second refrain that only a trained eye can catch. In a way, the whole building becomes a silent symphony, each curve and rib contributing a note to the same melodic line. I have started to look at other domes and cathedrals, hoping to find that same rhythmic loop, and so far the evidence is subtle but compelling. Perhaps the architects were more musically inclined than we often credit. What do you think?