The following is a guest contribution and reflects the author’s views alone. For information on how to submit a piece to the Opinion section, click here.
A museum is more than a container for art: it is an artifact in itself, a statement, an encounter, an experience. It does not simply house objects; it frames them, contextualizes them, and shapes the way we interact with them. The architecture of a museum matters as much as the works inside it, influencing how we approach and engage with art.
As an architecture student, I have spent a lot of time thinking about the new Princeton University Art Museum. I have walked past it at different times of day, in different weather, from different angles. I have watched its construction process, walking by it every day on my walk to breakfast and on my way home at night.
I’ve heard a lot of negative sentiment about the building on campus. Yet, I find myself resisting its outright dismissal. Undeniably, the museum sets a precedent for how contemporary design can coexist with Princeton’s historic Gothic and Collegiate Georgian architecture. It negotiates concrete against stone, mass against ornament, opacity against transparency. In that negotiation, there is something undeniably compelling.
Take the materiality: concrete, a material that suggests weight, permanence, and even impenetrability. In a campus where stone and brick have long defined Princeton’s architectural character, concrete marks a distinct and deliberate departure from tradition. The museum does not rely on designs that evoke past eras or decorative elements to establish its place. Instead, it embraces a modern, minimalist approach, prioritizing form, mass, and structure.
However, the building is not just a heavy mass. It is defined by several horizontal cantilevers — structural elements that extend over open space but are only anchored on one end. The structure does not rest on the ground — it hovers, creating moments of seeming lightness that feel almost paradoxical to the density of concrete.
These cantilevered forms introduce a sense of suspension. These moments are elegant, precise, and sculptural, and they transform what could have been a monolithic structure into something more dynamic. They demonstrate a mastery of structural balance, and an understanding of how to make the solid feel weightless, the static feel fluid, and the heavy feel light.
Cantilevered section of the Art Museum.
Photo courtesy of Kayleen Gowers
Another such moment occurs where the concrete dips downward but never quite touches the ground. This suspension of mass creates a subtle tension between weight and weightlessness. The deliberate gap between the structure and the ground introduces an element of ambiguity — is it floating, or is it simply unfinished? The mass appears heavy and monumental, yet the space beneath it lightens its presence, making it feel as though it is hovering rather than resting. It is a moment that resists expectation, forcing the viewer to reconsider their perception of mass, gravity, and stability.
A moment of suspension where the concrete dips downward but never quite touches the ground, appearing to hover.
Photo courtesy of Kayleen Gowers
But lightness is not the same as openness.
While the museum’s design is refined and deliberate, its relationship with openness and accessibility is more complex. Its concrete facades are not inviting but enclosed. Sight lines into the space are minimal. From the outside, there are few transparent openings, making it difficult to see what’s inside.
The museum’s current layout and structural grid could have accommodated a more permeable and open design. Instead of the solid facades and minimal sightlines, more transparent elements and larger entryways could invite more interaction. A museum should be a threshold, not a bunker. Princeton’s campus is defined by walkways, courtyards, and spatial sequences that guide movement intuitively. The new museum resists that language.
One could argue that this is part of its intent. Maybe the building is not meant to unfold itself so easily. Maybe it asks for discovery, like a work of art that resists immediate interpretation. Yet, there is something to be said for architecture that challenges rather than conforms, and for buildings that do not offer themselves up immediately but instead require patience, time, and exploration. But a public museum — especially one in a university setting — should position itself as something to be engaged with, rather than something to be deciphered.
A museum is not a sculpture to be observed from a distance. It is an experience meant to be fully engaged with. It is meant to foster curiosity rather than hesitation. But this building seems to create a sense of detachment rather than inviting participation.
Despite this miss, there are still moments of alignment. Standing at the corner of Dodd and Brown, looking up the side of the Art Museum, you see Nassau Hall perfectly framed in the background. I find this moment beautiful. From the opposite end, the view is just as striking.
Walkway at the corner of Brown and Dodd Hall, with Nassau Hall framed in the background.
Photo courtesy of Kayleen Gowers
The museum does not exist in isolation. It is part of a broader shift in Princeton’s architectural identity. From the new residential colleges to the engineering complex and new gyms, Princeton is actively redefining its campus with contemporary buildings that depart from its traditional aesthetic. This signals a willingness to experiment and embrace modern interventions, but it also raises larger questions about how the campus should evolve.
Is there a way to balance change with continuity? How can we create new buildings that contribute to the campus fabric rather than stand apart from it?
The Art Museum, in its current form, doesn’t answer these questions yet. It exists in a state of suspension — not just in its cantilevers, but in its relationship with the campus itself, and in its ongoing construction process. Whether it will integrate seamlessly or stand apart as an object to be admired from a distance remains to be seen.
In the meantime, I believe it’s worth looking for moments of intrigue, beauty, or even quiet appreciation within the museum. Rather than viewing it in strictly binary terms — good or bad, successful or a failure — we should allow space for complexity and evolving perspectives. Finding small moments of good can shift not just how we see the museum, but how we engage with change more broadly, both on campus and beyond.
Kayleen Gowers is a senior majoring in Architecture with a certificate in Urban Studies. She is from Los Altos, Calif. At Princeton, she is the Founder and President of the Princeton Architecture Club. She can be reached at kg7933[at]princeton.edu.
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