In case you had forgotten, I am a landscape architecture student. And although most of my courses here are only distantly relevant to my degree, that won’t stop me from commenting on English landscape issues. Here is my impression of some of the Oxford College quadrangles.

With the exception of some of the smaller colleges, with a more intimate sense of scale (like Jesus College for example), the quadrangle landscapes (specifically at St. John’s College and All Souls College), which consist of stone pathways encircling perfect geometrically defined areas of immaculate turf, are uncomfortable spaces and send a message that is no longer in keeping with the ideals of academia.

Walking through the quads, or even around the perimeter of the courtyards for that matter, you feel uncomfortably contained by imposing walls and it really makes one feel very small and apprehensive. The turf lawns emphasize the monumental and grandiose architecture of the colleges. Granted, they accomplish this goal very well, there is nothing to visually distract from the buildings. But the role of landscape is so much more than the “setting” for even the grandest of buildings. I think that the colleges, which are admittedly architecturally spectacular, could have been made to look even better had some creativity and spontaneity been employed in the surroundings. However, at Oxford, the buildings take such priority that it actually negatively impacts the experience of the visitor and I would guess, the students who reside there. There is no opportunity for interaction whatsoever – the lawns are to be looked at and nothing more. Walking on them is strictly prohibited and heaven forbid a picnic or game of frisbee. I think the world may end. The pathways are circuitous and designed to take you from corridor to corridor, there are neither benches, nor ledges for sitting. Perhaps that was the intent, perhaps it was a conscious choice that the landscape was going to be used only to convey a strong, painfully coherent message. Perhaps it was meant as a statement, and wasn’t intended to be pretty or interesting. If you ask me, it’s time it changed.

Part of the problem with conserving historical landscapes is that you run the risk of, as time passes, preserving and maintaining something even when it is no longer culturally relevant. I think this has happened with some of Oxford’s quads. In my opinion, the landscape of an educational institution should be one that reflects and encourages learning. In Canada there is an increasing movement to “green” schoolyards in order for students to interact with their environment and provide an outlet for their rampant curiosity. I see no reason why this can not happen at higher educational institutions as well. But in Oxford, the quads have been preserved in a condition that is (again, in my opinion) inappropriate for a university. The way I see it, the quads symbolize superiority, autocratic authority, elitism, exclusion, subjugation, and monotony. They emphasize human feats (the buildings) while minimizing nature to nothing more than a pathetic monoculture (the lawns) that is routinely stunted (mown). They restrict spontaneity, curiosity and interaction and encourage conformity. Those who threaten nonconformity (ie dandelions) are quickly and ruthlessly evicted. None of these are qualities that a contemporary university like Oxford strives to emulate. But the fact remains that the campus of a school is seen as a reflection of the institution’s character and mission, and the quads are no longer fulfilling that role.

Thankfully for St. John’s College, it boasts an expansive and charming garden at the end of the second quad. As I stepped through the tunnel my pace slowed and I was back in the realm that I enjoy so much. All of a sudden, gone was the air of pomp and circumstance, gone was the apprehension, and gone were the haunting echoing of my lonesome footsteps rattling off the stone walls. This was a marked contrast and although you still weren’t allowed to walk on the grass (this is England after all), the garden had been noticeably designed for visitors keen on relaxing and enjoying a moment of solace. There were benches, birds singing, and snowdrops in bloom. It may not be quite to the North American level of interaction (we are allowed to walk on the grass, and climb the trees in our parks), but the garden is a much better example of what an academic landscape should be: something that stimulates the mind and encourages wonderment, contemplation, discovery and curiosity.

If I can make an analogy, the Quad is like a respected elder statesman, properly dressed and groomed, but also uptight, and insufferably pompous. The Garden meanwhile is the Quad’s estranged hippie sister who everyone likes better. She is dynamic, carefree, and greets everyone with a smile, with hair a wild, gnarled mess and clothes mismatched and torn.

Now, this is only my opinion, and I don’t mean to deter anyone from visiting the quadrangles for themselves. They are after all, quite a tourist magnet, and other people (perhaps those with a fetish for nice lawns) may think they are the most beautiful places they’ve ever seen, and that is fine. For me (with my vendetta against lawns), and especially now that I have been cursed by my education, I can’t look at them and see a building with a lawn, so I have taken something very different from them. You may agree and you may disagree freely.

St John's College: front quadrangle

Front quadrangle

St John's College: Canterbury quadrangle

Canterbury quadrangle

St. John's College gardens

Gardens

Gardens

Gardens and shed

Gardens

All Souls College: front quadrangle

All Souls College: north quadrangle