There is a reason why each one of us has a preference for either Moulton or Thorne. It's often more complicated than choosing based on where your sports team has traditionally sat or whether you'd rather get a hug from Patty or be greeted by Norma.
For every one of us, I would argue that dining hall selection is driven by the type of experience that each offers whether that's being one in a sea of many for Thorne's Thanksgiving dinner or feeling coddled in the Dark Room after an especially wild Saturday night.
What I intend to address in this column is how space figures so prominently in our lives even when we are not aware of it. Space is an intrinsic part of architecture, but we don't need walls to get a vibe from a place.
The word "space" is very basically defined as a three-dimensional entity separate from us as individuals, but one that also offers self-expression and assertion.
Regardless of the academic disciplines that you are fluent in, architecture is a language that speaks to all of us; it affects our behavior, it suggests something about who its users are, and contributes significantly to our general happiness.
It seems fitting that I begin by discussing the space where I remember first feeling comfortable at Bowdoin: Smith Union (or the "indoor Quad," as coined by a student who sat on the planning committee for the building).
As with many places on campus, ask a handful of students what they think about the Union and you're sure to get five different answers.
To some, it may seem like a place that begs for criticism, while others (like me) may feel more at home there than in many places on campus. What is it about this space that makes us feel like we are part of the Bowdoin community?
One of the unique qualities of the Union is the circulation through space that it offers. (When I use the term "the Union," I'm referring to Morrell Lounge and the collection of spaces above it.)
Despite what I was told by my tour guide when I first visited Bowdoin, I'll never be able to picture Joan Benoit Samuelson '79 running around the top of the structure, where the track used to stand
Nevertheless, the old field house existed until 1992, when President Robert H. Edwards spearheaded the movement to create a larger space for students to congregate.
What I appreciate about the ramp that replaced the indoor track is that it negates the concept of separation between floors.
The proximity of a group seated on the couches at the bottom of the space and an individual sitting at the Café hardly feels disrupted by the distance that technically separates them.
Then, of course, there is the element of white noise. The way in which sound travels is very much due to the openness of the space, and it's strangely comforting to glean from both familiar and unfamiliar voices that others are procrastinating just as much as I am.
To ignore some of the more bizarre aspects of the organization of space in the Union would be unfair, however.
Little pockets (I hesitate to call them rooms) like the box painted like wallpaper and the Lamarche Gallery—or maybe you know it simply as that awkward space with a glass wall and an occasional art show— are disconnected from the rest of the space.
The half-moon benches make for a wiser use of space, despite the fact that trying to sit on one with a large backpack, let alone proves more difficult than one might expect.
It's important to note that the creation of the Union as we know it today was part of a much larger set of goals.
Professor of Art Mark Wethli, who served as Chair of the Planning and Building Committee for Smith Union from 1992 to 1995, wrote in a email to the Orient, "As we were trying to attract a more diverse student body (diverse in every respect), I know that President Edwards wanted a space that would appeal to a student from rural Maine or the Upper West Side, Los Angeles or Japan, and the building needed to reflect that."
The Union not only played a role in attracting a broader base of students, but also helped drive College reform.
Wethli added, "When I asked Bob Edwards if the new Union was intended to undermine the fraternities, he insisted it was not, but in hindsight it would have been much more difficult to end the fraternity system if Smith Union had not been in place."
The complaints that I've heard over time with respect to this hub of campus life are often tied to its "ugliness" and the seemingly random assortment of shapes and décor.
It's true that when I look up at the lamps that can only be described as having a taco shell shape, I don't immediately see the connection to Bowdoin, but what I do see is a space that is lovable for its quirks.
If every building on campus offered as much in the way of diversity of styles as the Union does, it's probable that we would have no sense of cohesion on campus.
But within the confines of this particular place, what makes the vast majority of Bowdoin feel comfortable is the fact that there's room for all of us to make use of the space in our own way.