Scandal and bloody-mindedness

Controversy unfolds differently in architecture than in the rest of the culture.

A stand-up comedian or painter accused of sexual misconduct might apologize, withdraw, see his commissions dry up or be canceled, and then, after a period of exile and reflection, genuine or otherwise, mark his return with a Netflix special or gallery show that consists of new work made in the shadow of, or even atonement for, the earlier scandal.

In architecture, the slowest of the arts, not to mention the one most dependent on forces beyond its control—including, to name just a few, the performance of the S&P 500, the weather, the evolving mission statements of big philanthropies, the price of steel or plywood, the value of the dollar against the Euro or yen, and the shifting makeup of C-suites and boards of trustees—a controversy may instead appear in the middle of a long process of invention, gestation, and construction, which is to say after a building is designed but before it is complete. In a case like that, the final architectural product will not be a reflection, however sincere or opportunistic, of the scandal or its aftermath. It will instead speak to us of the time before, and of an architect’s state of mind at that point.

I give you this preamble as a delay tactic, really—a way of suggesting the complexity of the questions that face any writer considering the new Princeton University Art Museum, whose design team was led by the Ghanaian-British architect David Adjaye and which will open to the public on October 31.