The first blooms are just starting to surface, and already I’m starting to notice (that other sign of spring)…groups of parents and their high school juniors touring our campus. It is very likely that the tours will make a stop along Packard Ave, at the top of Walnut Hill, where an architectural zoo of sorts gathers around the Tufts green.* I’m not only using that description because a giant statue of Jumbo stands at the lawn’s edge. The neo-Gothic West Hall, the colossal Ionic columns of Ballou, Philip Rinn’s rustic and eclectic duo of Goddard Chapel and Barnum Hall, the brick barn turned Neoclassical that is Packard Hall, and the quad’s newest addition—a dark cube (like the love child of the Borg and an Apple Store) that pops out awkwardly in front of the old Eaton Hall facade. The visiting group I’m imagining here may also take passing notice of the charmingly cheeky postmodernism of the Olin Center standing behind them. On the whole, the “zoo” tells the story of a thriving and evolving campus.
In the decade after its completion, Goddard Chapel was considered one of the most notable structures in the U.S. and was, at one time, referred to as “the most photographed chapel in the country.” I love the image of well-heeled American tourists (those wealthy enough to own a camera in the late 19th century) flocking to capture Goddard Chapel on the first rolls of flexible film. Today, I would argue, no single building at Tufts can make an equivalent claim. The question is: Is that a problem? Should a university’s architecture be called upon to “augment (its) reputation as a prestigious university?” This answer may surprise some people, but I’m not sure that’s what a university’s architecture should do. Consider, as a cautionary tale, one of MIT’s many, many trophy buildings: the Stata Center, designed by Frank Gehry. Despite its spectacular presence on the campus, its construction was riddled with problems, over which MIT famously sued Gehry’s firm. It is flashy and impressive, but does it center the needs of its users?
I prefer buildings designed to serve their users. This is by no means limited to the students, staff, and faculty who will use it every day, but also our neighbors in the surrounding community. The architecture should be comfortable and well-built. It should be pleasing to spend time in and a nice place to be and learn. At the same time, it should make overtures to our breathtaking hill-top site, prioritizing the vistas and outlooks that it naturally affords. To look at Boston from this campus is to understand the term “architecture” in another way—not just as buildings, necessarily, but as the structure of a relationship. When we view the skyline of Boston from our campus, we understand that this very special place is situated within the busy world but is also, at the same time, set apart from its harried daily rhythms. It is a place where our learning, our experimentation, and our speech should be fiercely protected while we consider our relationship to that wider world.
*Borrowed from architect Jim Stirling’s description of the similarly eclectic Harvard campus.
Photo by TJ Reiter