Collegiate Architecture   Though it often retreats into the mental background of our experience, architecture has an enormous influence on our sense of place. From my own experience, I know how quickly my mood can be affected by the space I am in: when I stand in the Blanton’s soaring atrium, with its light and openness, I feel content, as compared to feelings of fatigue and vague entrapment I experience when trying to find my way around the windowless halls of RLM.         Because it greatly affects my mood and state of mind, architecture, though not the main determining factor, was something I considered when choosing colleges. It was always exciting to step foot on a college campus and feel the change in the atmosphere, a shift in the “spirit” of a place. It was a combination of the “shared experiences, academic rituals, and memories of all members of The University community” (Faulkner 410) that creates this spirit, and the architecture helps both to create and embody it.         I was at first reluctant to accept the fact that the University of Texas would be the place I called home for the next four years, because, in many ways, it simply didn’t feel the way I imagined college was supposed to feel. It didn’t embody the same spirit that I felt at places like the University of Chicago , with its grand, gothic buildings – ornate windows, gargoyles and all – with grassy quads in between. However, after a few weeks, I’ve grown fond of the spirit, the “genius loci” (Faulkner 410), I’ve found here.   The buildings of the Honors Quad hum with a feeling of camaraderie; the names inscribed along the Main Building, as Rachel mentioned, inspire and remind me of my purpose here; and the walk through campus on quiet mornings led to my realization of the “footsteps of twenty generations” (Dougill 615 A) who have gone through before me. All of these old buildings and spaces have helped me find my place on campus, and I appreciate the feeling of participation and inspiration I find there.   Buildings such as RLM and Jester, the hulking and awkwardly unnatural monoliths of campus, don’t have the same atmosphere. They feel like fortresses in the negative sense of the word: places where I feel captive, uncomfortable, and entirely disconnected from the outside world. For this reason I strongly disagree with Brad in terms of the both the architecture style of UT and the value of unified architecture. I applaud the regents’ decisions to maintain a Spanish style despite pressure from one of the world’s most innovative architect. The Spanish style architecture here is not only reflects our climate, but also our heritage, and as Goodheart points out, good architecture should “meld seamlessly into what’s already there” (434), not set itself jarringly apart from its surroundings.   Like Faulkner insisted, I hope the University will strive to “preserve its special character” (410) and make architectural choices in the future that will further develop this character.