I would argue that Frist epitomizes and encourages the best of college socialization, merging work with play and relaxation, thanks to subtle yet significant architectural gestures. As such, I argue that we should interpret Frist as a cause of our collective problem of loneliness; rather, it should serve a model for more spaces on campus to solve that issue.
Contemplating a building in this way, I argue, is not just enjoyable. More importantly, such an exercise restores and reorients us to physicality and reality. Architecture, firmitatis, will liberate our generation from the chains of digital fatigue.
Jim Sanborn shows us that art and science, while distinct pursuits, often relate in intensely enriching and informative ways.
These pictures are not art. More broadly, there is no “art of science.” And to say there is constitutes an insult to and assault on the special qualities of artistic pursuits.
If the University can connect the new and old campuses with innovative and effective pedestrian pathways, then it will alleviate the potential issue of inaccessibility. Likewise, if its new designs can successfully relate to historic structures in clear and explicit ways, then they will evolve with time to become extensions of our campus, rather than merely additions to it.
Instead of subtle design surprises greeting the pedestrian who rounds a corner, here everything was presented at once.
I hope to show that many of the qualities that some deride in fact possess tremendous value. When we critique other modernist buildings on campus like it, we should be careful not to overlook their perhaps subtle beauty.
In a series of articles, I hope to draw attention to a few buildings on our campus that do not fall easily into one of the two architectural extremes. Possessing neither the timelessness of Collegiate Neogothic nor the novelty of contemporary architecture, they occupy a perhaps awkward, or in the eyes of many students even undesired, position on campus.