The Goldsmith Courtyard: The Secret Garden of the UT School of Architecture

As an architecture student, I spend more time in Goldsmith Hall than in my own dorm room. This building, nearly 100 years old, houses a multitude of studio spaces, including the one I share with my cohort. It is in this studio where I dedicate long days–and equally long nights–toward creating models, drawings, and plans. 

There is a certain type of madness associated with being an architecture student: the ever-approaching deadlines for work taking three times longer than you expect, the expectation of a constant stream of creativity, and, of course, the sheer size of our projects, which banish us into the four walls of our studios. 

Amidst the stress and chaos, however, I have found a respite. Nature.

Concealed between the limestone walls of Goldsmith Hall, enclosed by two iconic blue doors, lies a natural sanctuary in the heart of the UT School of Architecture: the Goldsmith Courtyard. 

In my first semester at UTSOA, I took this space for granted, only passing through while on my way to class. However, one Saturday, I arrived at the studio early, hastily trying to finish my work so I could have a day of freedom. And while looking out into the courtyard through my studio window, I saw something which elicited a pause: a blue jay, perched upon the branches of a pink magnolia tree. 

I watched the bird as it bounced from branch to branch, appearing so carefree and spirited. Akin to Mary Lennox following a robin into Frances Hodgson Burnett’s Secret Garden, I left my stool to explore the blue jay’s home. For the first time, I was able to truly appreciate the courtyard for the gem it is. 

Although the jay was gone by the time I stepped outside, I took a moment to sit and observe the rest of the beauty surrounding me. I listened to the sound of morning doves chirping and diving from tree to tree and to the rustling of the leaves. I watched a pair of squirrels chase each other through the grass and bound into the bushes. When a gust of wind passed through, I felt a large pink petal brush against my shoulder as it fluttered to the ground. 

The Goldsmith Courtyard, I realized, is overflowing with life. In addition to the pink magnolias, the space is home to flowering bushes, bundles of monkey grass, and a formidable gang of palm trees surrounding a now-empty fountain. 

Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of the space is the tranquil escape and sense of shared community it offers architecture students. On a typical day, you will find its wooden benches occupied by people catching up with each other, eating their lunches, talking on the phone, or simply taking a moment to catch a breath. 

Since acknowledging the courtyard’s allure, I haven’t been able to stay away for long. When I become overwhelmed by looming stacks of cardboard on my desk or start to feel a lack of creativity and inspiration, I step outside into this vibrant oasis. 

In the Goldsmith Courtyard, my worries fly away, much like the blue jay who led me there in the first place.