Development in Phoenix isn't about art -- it's about the art of the deal. "If you build it, they will come" is the developers' mantra and where their philosophy starts and ends.
The "shade structure" is a case in point: utterly sterile, built on an inhuman scale without reference to human psychology, it's too large and open to provide either practical protection from the elements or a sense of comforting enclosure. The exposure of its guy wires, ribbing, and other structural elements uneasily suggests the innards of a gutted squid, or perhaps a collection of lampshade parts sown together by a madman.
A soulless post-modern pastiche (Frank Lloyd Wright meets Mathcad), it's the type of design created by an architect to impress his peers: "Look at this -- not a single vertical line to be found, and the whole thing looks like it would fall down if anyone actually tried to build it, but it's structurally sound. Aren't I clever?"
As an abstract intellectual exercise it has its place: but that place is the surface of a blueprint. As a human living space -- of any sort -- it fails miserably. Even as a monument it's execrable.
Architecture isn't (primarily) about tensor analysis on manifolds: it's about the uneasy marriage of beauty and utility. The proportions, at times, may be heavily biased in favor of one or the other of these ingredients, but a design which eschews both, relying instead upon mere uninspired eccentricity for its "relevance", may find the latter fleeting.
Speaking of flashes in the pan, prospective students of business studies and other graduate level courses already served by ASU's main campus may wish to reconsider before enrolling at a secondary campus located in "the ass-end of Scottsdale". The experience of students at the School of Global Management and Leadership at ASU West is a salutary case in point. Be prepared to relocate to Tempe (or face the long daily commute) whenever Mr. Bottom Line decides to raid the piggy bank.