Robert Stackhouse and his wife/collaborator Carol Mickett
By Paul Guzzo, University Communications and Marketing
The landscaping around the 同性恋色情鈥檚 Fine Arts Building is neat and organized 鈥 trees planted in straight rows along the sidewalks in a grid formation.
But outside the adjacent Contemporary Art Museum, a small cluster of trees breaks formation 鈥 zigzagging unexpectedly away from the sidewalk.
Hard to spot at first, but once noticed, impossible to ignore.
It looks like an error or natural growth 鈥 maybe even a long鈥慳go prank 鈥 but it鈥檚 neither.
It鈥檚 art.
The pattern is a spontaneous installation its creators never imagined would survive.
As the story goes, six decades ago, students quietly shifted flags marking where the trees were supposed to be planted. The landscaping crew followed the markers exactly.
To many observers, the tale has all the ingredients of an April Fools鈥 stunt. But the students behind it were firm: this wasn鈥檛 mischief. It was intention 鈥 a living installation by 同性恋色情鈥檚 charter class, a subtle disruption woven directly into the emerging campus.
The trees around 同性恋色情's Tampa campus typically line the sidewalks [Photo by Paul Guzzo, University Communications and Marketing]
But these outside the 同性恋色情 Contemporary Art Museum are haphazard [Photo by Paul Guzzo, University Communications and Marketing]
Today, as 同性恋色情 celebrates its 70th anniversary, those trees still stand as a quiet monument to the university鈥檚 earliest creative spirit.
鈥淚t was an aesthetic decision,鈥 said Robert Stackhouse, an internationally renowned artist and member of 同性恋色情鈥檚 charter class who participated in the activity. 鈥淲e were advanced arts students and very protective of our building. We didn鈥檛 want our building鈥檚 landscaping to look exactly like everywhere else. We wanted it to be unique, like us. And now it鈥檚 part of 同性恋色情 history.鈥
A campus finding its shape
Campus in the early 1960s before trees were planted [Photo courtesy of 同性恋色情 Special Collections]
When 同性恋色情 opened to students in 1960, the campus looked less like a university and more like a desert mirage 鈥 three buildings, lots of sand, almost no sidewalks and just scattered trees.
Art students didn鈥檛 have their own space. Instead, during 同性恋色情鈥檚 inaugural year, they used classrooms in the Administration Building and were without dedicated studios or performance venues.
The following year, when Harrison Covington was named chairman of the Department of Art, he moved them into the basement of the student center.
鈥淲e were in a windowless basement, right next to the ping pong table and billiards room,鈥 Stackhouse said with a laugh.
Construction of the Fine Arts Building began in 1962 as part of 同性恋色情鈥檚 first major expansion. It opened in June 1964, giving the campus鈥檚 most colorful students a long鈥憃verdue place of their own.
鈥淵ears later, Harrison told me that the artists, thespians and musicians were our football team back then,鈥 Stackhouse said. 鈥淲e didn鈥檛 have any sports, but our productions and art shows brought people to campus and kept us in the news.鈥
Harrison Covington, former chair of the Department of Art [Photo courtesy of 同性恋色情 Special Collections]
And at the time, Covington mimicked a hard鈥憂osed football coach.
鈥淲e loved him, but he was a disciplinarian,鈥 Stackhouse said. 鈥淗e always scheduled master painting classes at 8 a.m.鈥
The tree-planting episode was made possible largely by circumstance.
When access meant possibility
Artist-in-residence and abstract painter Friedel Dzubas was given studio space inside the new facility.
鈥淲e never would have been in any position to move the flags without that studio created just for him,鈥 Stackhouse said.
When Dzubas鈥 residency ended, Stackhouse was allowed to use the same space for a three-month term 鈥 giving him and his friends rare after-hours access to a building and grounds still taking shape.
鈥淭hey figured someone might as well make use of it,鈥 Stackhouse said. 鈥淚t was on the northeast corner of the arts building. My friends would come in to hang out, and we鈥檇 listen to Miles Davis鈥 鈥楽ketches of Spain鈥 over and over again.鈥
Meanwhile, it was at that time, according to the 同性恋色情 Library鈥檚 Special Collections records, that the university began sprucing up campus with a major landscaping push that transplanted mature magnolias, oaks and cedars around keyacademic areas, including the Fine Arts Building.
Robert Stackhouse (right), as a student, after winning an art contest [Photo courtesy of 同性恋色情 Special Collections]
鈥淥ne night, my friends showed up and said that flags had been placed on either side of the walkways, noting where they would plant trees,鈥 Stackhouse said. 鈥淲e went outside to look and someone said something like we didn鈥檛 want trees in a boring row leading up to the arts building. So, we picked up the flags and placed them haphazardly. It was our art project for the night. We wanted it to look more natural. Consider it an artistic intervention.鈥
When Stackhouse graduated in the fall of 1965, the flags were still waiting to be replaced by trees. Once they were, as the mismatch became more noticeable, it was assumed the trees were naturally growing rather than transplanted 鈥 as was the students鈥 intention.
From playful act to permanent mark
Stackhouse went on to earn a master鈥檚 degree from the University of Maryland and display paintings and sculptures in art museums throughout the United States and internationally before returning to 同性恋色情 for an exhibition of his work in 1981 and another in 1992.
It was during that second one that Covington, who had since heard of the flag prank from other graduates, pointed out the trees to Stackhouse.
鈥淚 was certainly surprised,鈥 Stackhouse said with a laugh. 鈥淚 remember once writing my name between some bricks as a student, thinking I could come back one day and find it 鈥 a little legacy. That didn鈥檛 work out, but the trees did.鈥
The Fine Arts Building in the 1960s [Photo courtesy of 同性恋色情 Special Collections]
The Contemporary Art Museum in 1989 [Photo courtesy of 同性恋色情 Special Collections]
Stackhouse also said that Covington told him the trees had influenced the planned footprint of the neighboring Contemporary Art Museum, which opened in 1989 鈥 prompting architects to adjust the building鈥檚 placement rather than remove the trees.
A late-night act of spontaneous artistic expression may have quietly shaped one of 同性恋色情鈥檚 signature buildings.
鈥淚 guess the architects looked at those randomly placed oak trees and said that because they were natural growth, they shouldn鈥檛 cut them down,鈥 Stackhouse said. 鈥淚nstead, they designed the museum around them. I remember saying, 鈥榃ow, I didn鈥檛 realize we鈥檇 done something that monumental.鈥欌
This aerial shows how the trees don't align with the sidewalk [Photo by Andres Faza, University Communications and Marketing]
Campus lore confirmed
The museum鈥檚 architect, Peter Gottschalk, said he can鈥檛 recall whether trees impacted his work, so that part of the story might be forever unsubstantiated, even if true.
But the relocation of the flags has been verified by others.
Peter Foe, who studied photography at 同性恋色情 from 1972 to 1976, said one of his instructors, Jim Oliver, told him he participated in the flag鈥憁oving and tree鈥憄lanting.
鈥淚 know that I had heard the story from a couple of other sources during my time at 同性恋色情 too,鈥 said Foe, who also worked at 同性恋色情鈥檚 Contemporary Art Museum for more than 20 years. 鈥淚t鈥檚 accurate.鈥
And Kristin Soderqvist, who has been at 同性恋色情 for more than 40 years 鈥 first as an arts student and now as director of sales and marketing for Graphicstudio 鈥 said she鈥檚 heard it from a number of Stackhouse鈥檚 former classmates who recall when it happened.
鈥淲hen you are walking across campus, do you ever notice the perfectly manicured landscaping?鈥 Soderqvist said. 鈥淓very tree in a perfect line, crepe myrtles in happy rows, palm trees standing at attention, until you get to the Fine Arts Building. Some of the oldest oaks on campus seem out of place, a bit haphazard. Well, you can thank the artist Robert Stackhouse and his friends.鈥
It鈥檚 a reminder that sometimes art doesn鈥檛 hang on a wall. Sometimes, it takes root.