"The dramatic entrance to the building is up a narrow flight of steps that penetrate deeply into the mass of the main volume, between it and the main vertical circulation tower. Future extension of the building will simply connect to this. The strong vertical striations of the corduroy-textured surfaces are obtained by pouring concrete into vertically-ribbed wood forms, that are then stripped away, and concrete edges hand-hammered to expose the aggregate. This has become Rudolph's favorite treatment for exposed concrete surfaces, because, apart from being an interesting surface, it controls staining and minimizes the effect of discoloration inherent in concrete. Art works, restrained use of lively colors— mainly orange—and cleverly built-in furnishings enhance the architecture, which is intended 'to excite and challenge the occupants,' says Rudolph.

"Thirty-seven changes of level accommodate functional and circulation areas, and since walls are de-emphasized these levels are defined principally by floor and ceiling planes. Rudolph, like [Louis I. Kahn], is concerned with the method and drama of natural lighting. This has clearly been an important factor in the design of the building, as it contributes to the changing character and psychological implication of space.

"Internally the building is organized around a central core space defined by four large concrete slab columns that, similar to the external towers, are hollow to accommodate mechanical services. On two sunken levels, sculpture and basic design studios encircle a central auditorium, the approach to which is rather torturous and obscure. At street level, the library occupies a single story side. Above this, with the possibility of looking down into the reading area, is a two-story central exhibition hall, with administrative offices on its mezzanine, and a central, sunken jury pit. Starting at the fourth level is the most dramatic space: an architectural zone on five levels, each connected by a few steps, an element in yet a part of the greater space, above which run two parallel mezzanines spanned by a channel- shaped bridge. Between the four central piers two skylights rise as giant clerestories, intensifying natural light in the center of the space that receives it on all four sides through peripheral glazing. Painting and graphic art studios are on the top two levels, with an open terrace for sketching. Finally, there is a penthouse apartment for guest critics, that also has its own terrace.

"Rudolph has been criticized for the serious functional shortcomings of the building: that he put the areas he cared least about in the basement; that the painters are very disturbed by south light; that the sculptors are in the low-ceiling 'caves'; that the best spaces are reserved for architectural activity. Functionally, Rudolph's building is a studied, politically architectural statement. Architecturally, it tends to extened beyond its own urban context. It cleverly establishes a general urban scale and a particular internal scale, both compatibly and expressively related."

— from Paul Heyer. Architects on Architecture: New Directions in America. p300-301.

The Creator's Words

"External forces dictated that this building turn the corner and relate to the modern building opposite as well as suggest that it belongs to Yale University. The internal forces demanded an environment suitable for ever varying activities which will be given form and coherence by the defined spaces within. As the years go by, it is hoped other interests and activities will take place within the spaces, but the space itself will remain."

— Paul Rudolph. The Architecture of Paul Rudolph. New York: Praeger Publishers, 1970. p120.

"A small office cannot take on more than about seven million dollars worth of work a year, or its leader becomes nothing more than a critic of his draftsmen. Architecture is a personal effort, and the fewer people coming between you and your work the better. This keeps some people from practicing architecture... This is a very real problem, and you can only stretch one man so far. The heart can fall right out of a building during the production of working drawings, and sometimes you would not even recognize your own building unless you followed it through. If an architect cares enough, and practices architecture as an art, then he must initiate design; he must create rather than make judgments. The judgment of the artist is rather poor, as he is so personally involved he cannot objectively disassociate himself from the thing he is criticizing. So the critic, again, requires a certain type of mentality."

— Paul Rudolph. from Paul Heyer. Architects on Architecture: New Directions in America. p303.