A paradox of contextualism

How does one possibly add onto the formidable Regenstein Library? That was the question posed to architects once the University made the unique commitment to keep its amazing collection of books and archives on campus.

The University had already made a singularly bold statement in Regenstein 40 years ago when it replaced its football field with one of the nation’s largest university libraries. Its design is in stark contrast to the preceding campus architecture in the Quadrangles immediately across 57th Street to the south. The Quads are all about shaping and containing space and the activity within. They are comprised of 33 buildings linked around one primary and six secondary courtyards.

In contrast, Regenstein is all about a singular object commanding its space. Surrounded by lawn, its rough hewn “Brutalist” limestone panels separated by vertical bands of windows create an enormous abstract composition of solid and void. The setback from Ellis Avenue, a primary campus artery, served as a vast foreground to the limestone piles of Regenstein.

A traditional approach to urban and campus planning would suggest correcting the “problem” of Regenstein by re-establishing the street wall. That is in effect what the Max Palevsky residence hall does to the north. Imagine a new rectilinear building, perhaps connected to Regenstein by tunnel, south of Henry Moore’s “Nuclear Energy” sculpture that would be big and solid enough to house and protect 3.5 million volumes of books.

In a paradox of contextualism, the futuristic spaceship-resembling Mansueto Library actually works as a light and airy foil to the Regenstein and as an elegant landscape object set askew both to point on axis to the Henry Moore sculpture to the north and to deflect away from Ellis Avenue to reveal the corner of Snell-Hitchcock in the Quadrangles to the south.

The 3.5 million volumes are stored where they belong: below ground in a high-density, 60 ft deep volume with stable climatic conditions and an automated retrieval system that brings requested materials up to the light of day in three to five minutes.

The space above ground is for people—a vast winter (and summer) garden for study. A product of creative architectural genius and precision technical engineering, the 240 ft long, 35 ft high dome of the Mansueto Library provides a dynamic, transparent presence on the revitalizing Ellis Avenue.

From the Fall 2011 issue of Libra