As a freshman at NYU, I steered clear of Bobst Library as much as possible. Its red sandstone facade was not inviting, in fact I thought it was rather ugly, and though the atrium was an exciting area, the study spaces on the bottom two floors (the only places I was brave enough to explore my first year) felt cold and lonely. Bobst was claustrophobic and dark. It repulsed me.
Like many NYU students the place grew on me. I came to appreciate it more when my friend introduced me to the south-side study area on the 5th floor, and after I learned more about the building in my architecture classes.
The first idea that helped me really appreciate Bobst’s architectural significance was Philip Johnson’s and Richard Foster’s post-modern twist on a historical detail- columns. When you look at Bobst, you’ll notice that columns are seemingly absent, a perfectly normal characteristic of modern buildings. But if you look closer, you’ll realize that there are columns at play. You, the viewer, just need to fill them in. The niches that line the library’s facade aren’t just random voids, they are empty spaces that resemble the silhouettes of classical columns. A sort-of short base exists on the ground floor. They are then colossal from the 2nd floor up, ending in a capital-like void at the top. Stare at them for a moment and imagine the columns that fit into these spaces. Post-modern architects wanted people to actively engage with their constructions on a different level than just functional use. Boring buildings didn’t fit their bill.
The fact that the facade’s material, Longmeadow Redstone quarried in East Longmeadow, Massachusetts, is meant to blend with the redbrick low-rise buildings that surrounded Washington Square Park is, I think, a commendable nod to the importance of responding to locality. But that doesn’t mean that the material choice is perfectly suitable. While on the one hand the earthy tone provides a nice backdrop for Schwartz Plaza, on the other hand, Bobst (and its neighbor Tisch Hall) stick out like sore-thumbs on the south side of the park where red-brick isn’t as prevalent. I’m also not sold on the alternating light and dark portions of the sandstone, I can’t decide if it adds character or just looks blotchy.
I’m inclined to agree with Paul Goldberger that Bobst’s interior space is more important than it’s outside and “makes for one of New York’s most spectacular architectural experiences.” The central atrium is dazzling. I’ve only known the space from after the “digitally inspired veil” was put in place to keep more students from jumping from the buildings balconies (higher education has a serious student suicide problem that needs to be addressed). Despite the sorrow reason for the barrier’s introduction, it has transformed the space in a net positive way. Though the unobstructed view to the Venetian San Giorgio Maggiore Church-inspired floor below is now gone, the way that the ‘Pixel Matrix’ dematerializes from south to north in the building creates for interesting viewpoints that gradually morph as you move through the building.
Goldberger characterized the floor as splendid and witty but said that it was detached from the other aspects of the room and therefore added to a sense of fussiness. I see his point, but on a certain level, the disparate elements do blend. The ‘Pixel Matrix,’ from below, almost looks fluid; it flows from top to bottom, before condensing into a black and white pool at the ground; an exuberance of pop-art pleasure.
Bobst Library has been troubled in other ways, too: community organizers like Jane Jacobs and Ruth Wittenberg fought against its construction on the basis that its height and bulk would cast shadows on Washington Square Park, and both its namesake and its main architect were known anti-semites. Despite its fraught history, Bobst’ interior is grand in a way that can make one feel monumental. For that at least, it fits nicely into the lineage of New York’s best places.
Architecture begins to matter when it brings delight and sadness and perplexity and awe along with a roof over our heads. – Paul Goldberger
New York at its Best 