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black/yellow/brown//other is a collective of POC artists studying at the Mackintosh School of Architecture.
Placed in the intersection between architecture, critical theory & research, and the contemporary culture of diverse creative expression, we work within multiple disciplines to shed light on the stories of
Oriental/Western/other.

Want to collaborate? Any inquiries?
Contact us at slashother@gmail.com

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black/yellow/brown//other is a collective of POC artists studying at the Mackintosh School of Architecture. Placed in the intersection between architecture, critical theory & research, and the contemporary culture of diverse creative expression, we work within multiple disciplines to shed light on the stories ofOriental/Western/other. Want to collaborate?

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-ism: Add sources here which you find relevant in regard to today's discussion, the built environment and identity.

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-ism: Add sources here which you find relevant in regard to today's discussion, the built environment and identity.

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"I DON'T MIND CONFRONTING MY OPPRESSORS " BY /OTHER

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/OTHERS: HIGHLIGHTED RESOURCES ON THEIR INSTAGRAM STORY

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/OTHERS: HIGHLIGHTED RESOURCES ON THEIR INSTAGRAM STORY

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On /others instagram there is a highlighted story with resources.

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Solange Knowles' newest album, A Seat At The Table, is her most commercially successful yet - it hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts last month. It's also her most political. On the record, Solange explores what it means to be black in America today. The songs in this album celebrate black culture, confront prejudice and explore the trauma of witnessing black people killed.

This is Solange's most personal work yet, too. The album includes interviews she conducted with her parents, and she wrote most of the lyrics in the town of New Iberia, La., where her family has roots. "I wanted to reclaim that space," she says. "I wanted to be able to go back as a descendant of my grandparents and stake my claim and create work that honored them."

Solange shared stories about her family and about the healing process of making A Seat At The Table with NPR's Ari Shapiro. Read an edited transcript of their conversation below; hear an abridged version at the audio link.
Ari Shapiro: This album seems to reach into a lot of history: There's personal history, there's family history, there's national history. And you wrote some of it in a place in Louisiana called New Iberia, which sort of taps into all these threads. Tell me about this place.
Solange Knowles: So, New Iberia is where my maternal grandparents are from. And they built their home there, their family life there, they were really grounded there. And there was a series of really, really awful events, to where essentially, in the middle of the night, they got pushed out of town.
What was that about?
Well, it's a really long story, but my grandfather was actually a miner, and there was a big explosion that happened; a lot of people really tragically died. They basically just kind of left him for dead, assuming that he had died, because most people did die. My family all got together and said, you know, "We will not just settle for you telling us that he's passed" - and believe it or not, my mother's cousins went in the middle of the night and they went and saved him.
They dug him out.
They did. And so, there were obviously a lot of people embarrassed by the situation - it was kind of a town scandal, and it became a little bit of a race war, and my grandparents essentially left in the middle of the night ... And they fled to Galveston and they set roots there.
In Texas.
In Texas. So the album has a lot of layers, but one of those, and one of the important reasons that I wanted to write the lyrics specifically there, is because I wanted to reclaim that space. I wanted to be able to go back as a descendant of my grandparents and stake my claim and create work that honored them and honored their strength and their resilience and their fight - basically say, "No one's pushing me out of town. No one is going to stop me from telling my story, our story." And there was a lot of power that I found in that: It felt really good, and it also felt really good to just connect to my lineage. New Iberia has a lot of rich culture and Creole and Cajun culture. Growing up in Houston, I would travel to Louisiana a lot, but I never really got to experience that at the core of it. And it was something really great about just shutting myself off from the outside world. I actually wrote the album in a house that was on a sugar plantation, and a lot of my family were actually caners. So there were just a lot a lot of links in that way that really, really empowered me. And it felt great to be there and to have the freedom now to again, just reclaim the space and do it in that way.
What is New Iberia like today? And how were you welcomed there when you returned? Did people know the story that had driven your grandparents away from there?
You know, what's wild is I actually went there with the intention of connecting with all of this family - and my family actually still owns a cemetery there, which I did visit a couple of times. But I actually got really, really lost in the isolation there, which I think really helped me to write this record in the most true way and honest way. I think that if I would have just really immersed myself too much, then I might have gotten distracted.

Because it really was a fun time, the times that I went out. There's still a lot of traditional zydeco and Cajun music. I actually went to a place in Mamou, Louisiana, that was not far from New Iberia that actually still has a radio show that's been running, I think, for 30 years. It starts at, I believe, six in the morning, and it's live in a club. And you go there around eight in the morning and it's full-on Cajun dancing, and it's still done in French. All of the music is still performed in French. And so I did that, but I also went to a lot of zydeco clubs - I had experience growing up going to a lot of zydecos. And that was really, really, really fun. And then also, obviously the food was - killing me, it was so good. So at a certain point, I had to just say, "I need to keep my ass in the house for four days and write this bridge that I've been stuck on for the last week."
I feel like people listening to you describe that might expect to hear a washboard and a harmonica on this album. And there is none of that. There is no zydeco. Where do you hear the sounds of the place - even if it's not in a literal way - where do you hear on this album something that wouldn't have come out if you hadn't been in New Iberia?
There are a lot of aspects of the album that draw so much from Louisiana culture, specifically the horn sounds. I think that there was a certain sense of triumph and glory and radiance and also regality that I wanted to convey with the horn sounds. And so much of that comes from me living in New Orleans and Louisiana and just brass bands and those brass sounds being sort of just the backdrop of the city. And then obviously with Master P narrating the album, I think he tells that through the lens very much so as a New Orleans self-made black man from the South. And I think overall the album feels very, very Southern in my storytelling, I feel.
What makes the storytelling Southern, especially?
Well, I think there's a certain sense of growing up in the South, I feel like storytelling is obviously universal - you know, we all share that. But there's something about the way that Southern men and women and aunties and uncles take their time with telling stories. And I think sometimes it becomes a matter of not caring how long it takes or how much you reiterate the message. I got concerned a lot of times that some of my lyrics and themes felt a little repetitious. But I think that that's something I grew up hearing so much from all of my family - the same story told in a thousand different ways.
Repetitious in what way?
Well, I think that I was concerned initially that maybe it wasn't as expansive as I wanted it to be initially - I had all of these feelings and thoughts that I wanted to work out while creating the album, and sometimes, you know, I would be working on "Mad" and then I'd be working on "Don't Touch My Hair" and I'd feel like - wait, are these the same messages? But that was my truth at the time, and that was what I felt, and so it was really about figuring out the different nuances in the way of telling those.
I want to continue this thought about the place of New Iberia and the history that you're wrestling with while you're also wrestling with the present-day reality of black people being shot in the street and protest and the sense that maybe things have not changed as much since your grandparents' time as you might have hoped. When you got to New Iberia, did you know the story of exactly what had happened to your grandparents or did you learn any of that while you were there?
I knew a little bit of it ... And when I interviewed my parents for this album, as you hear them on "Don't Touch My Hair" and "Mad," that was actually about a three-hour interview, both for just myself and me really wanting to close all of these chapters. I did it at the very end of the album.
Wow, really?
Yes.
And did you know at the time that you were going to include excerpts of these interviews in the album?
It was an idea that I had. I didn't know what would come out of the interviews.
And was it only at that point that you learned the full story of what had happened to your grandparents?
Yes, yes. So it was really, really, really powerful. I think having been there for so long and, you know, really getting down to the nitty gritty. It was a really, really long - and, even me telling it now, I shortened it and left out some of the details - but it was really shocking.
You know, I guess one thing that I wonder, given what your grandparents went through, given that your father integrated his school and got all kinds of abuse in the process, given that you have experienced acts of racism yourself and now you have a son - do you feel like this is a cycle from generation to generation that is doomed to continue repeating?
I think that while making the album, I actually gave a great deal of thought to how much responsibility I had to express optimism and hope. And ultimately, I decided that me expressing optimism and me expressing hope came from telling the truth - that gave me optimism that I was able to be explicitly honest about my feelings. And for it to have the reception that it's had, and for me to have people share with me that they listen to the album first thing when they wake up to empower them to get through their day and the micro-aggressions that we experience and the healing that, you know, they're expressing that they're feeling - that is the optimism. I think the optimism is in having the conversation and being able to have the conversation now. And people being open to having that conversation.
One of the tracks is called "F.U.B.U.," which stands for "For us by us." I read that your working title for the song was "Be Very Afraid." When you talk about choosing optimism over pessimism, "For us by us" versus "Be very afraid" is a pretty stark contrast.
It is, it is. And to be honest, "F.U.B.U." was the song I had the hardest time writing in terms of conceptualizing. Before, that song specifically was about people being afraid of us and fear being at the root of so many murders from policemen, so many murders that we have constantly seen in the past few years. And it was really, really hard for me to put that in a four-minute song. And I kept trying, and I kept trying, and it hurt so much and it was so painful for me and it was so sad. And one day, I put on the track again, probably the fifth or sixth variation of the song, and I swear it just felt like God speaking through me. I wrote it probably in six minutes. And it was just one of those moments where it really did not feel like it was just me.

And that is where I drew "For us by us." Because not only did I mean it, you know, in the obvious way. But it really was written by us. These are incidents that all of my friends go through on a daily basis. These are incidents that, by the way, you know, Oprah and Dr. Dre have expressed that they're going through - and they're billionaires ... And also there's a certain tonality of that song that also speaks to - when you exist as an unafraid and powerful black presence in this country, what happens as a result of that? And kind of the breaking down that people try to do on a daily basis when you present yourself in that way, which is something that I've really struggled with.
I was going to ask whether you thought about who the audience was. This album is obviously from a black perspective, and a black female perspective. But there are some songs, like "F.U.B.U.," that sound like you are singing to an audience of black listeners. And then there are other songs, like "Don't Touch My Hair," which clearly seem directed at a white person.
I think that honestly while writing the record, I was writing for myself, to be honest. I was writing for my family and my friends. I was wanting to be the voice of my group text chat. I was wanting to be the voice of my grandparents. I was wanting to be the voice of my son, my niece. So I think that's really the audience that I was writing from the perspective of. Some songs are received in a certain way, but I honestly was writing them for myself and for my healing and for my self-discovery. On some moments, that can be universal. And then some moments, I feel like that is for us, by us, and we deserve to have that moment.
Can we talk about "Don't Touch My Hair?" Your mother was a hair stylist - I guess you kind of grew up, almost, in a hair salon. The cover art for this album, your hair is this ornamented halo. Talk about the significance of this song - there's this lyric, "Don't touch my hair, it's the feelings I wear."
That is a really good observation in connecting my mother's hair salon with all of this. I think overall, black hair has such a significance in black culture. And also, it's such an insular experience. Growing up, being a young girl, transitioning to junior high school, then into adulthood, the hair journey of a black woman is so specific, and it's really hard. Your hair can send so many different messages to so many different people in the world that it becomes political. It becomes social. And I think that, you know, the hair part of the song is not just about hair, obviously. It encompasses a much bigger conversation of appropriation, of ownership, of protected space. And that all comes through in those things that I speak about.

But again, it's a broader message for black empowerment. And I think my mother's segment that happens before, her interlude that happens before that song is so powerful, and I think that she articulates what I'm trying to say in a totally different way, in a wonderful and powerful way ... Allow us to be pro-black. Allow us to be beautiful and take pride in that. Being pro-black does not mean being anti-white. Stop making the parallels and the analogies of black history month vs. all of the other months in the year. Allow us to have that moment and, just like the album, really take pride and celebrate our journey and look at where we came from and look at where we are today. That was not that long ago. Let us relish in that and celebrate that. And so "Don't Touch My Hair" is really a moment to do that.

I can't even put into words how overwhelmed I've been with the imagery, even Halloween - I had so many people send me photos. And the album cover itself, it was much deeper than that. It was, you know, the functionality of putting those clips into your hair to transition into another style and then also saying, "No, I'm actually gonna live in this transition." And live in all of the moving parts that gets to the result. Because I feel like that's what this album is - it's me working through all of the moving parts - the ugly, the beautiful, the fear, the brave, all of that, to get to the end result.
So is that cover image you getting ready for something or you deciding that that in-between place is an okay place to stay?
It's literally, I was getting ready to shoot the album cover and we put the clips in my hair to prep for the waves that I wanted in my hair, and that helps to set the waves, those clips. And I actually just said, "Wait a minute. Let's actually shoot this." And everyone was kind of confused and scratching their heads for a minute, and that was really, again about me living and working through the transition and saying it's okay to expose yourself and the awkwardness and the uncomfortableness of working through the transition. Everybody always wants us to be packaged and ready-made and healed instantly from these instances and these traumas. And that was about me saying, "Hey, I'm working through this transition."

And I think that there's a thread of, again, regality that I was yearning for throughout creating the visuals of this album. I knew mood-wise that I wanted to project this almost Mona Lisa - black Mona Lisa - type mood and imagery and power and also vulnerability, but the clips just happened to be the transition point. And after that I was like, that's actually the cover there. We don't need to take these out.
Solange, you are really good at writing a perfect, radio-friendly, three-minute pop hit or a dance-y club track.
Thank you.
This album is not that kind of music.
No, it is not.
And then it goes on to be the first album you've had hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts. So this is something that is specific and challenging and comes from a particular perspective and has a lot of talking. And yet, it's the biggest success you've ever had. What does that tell you?
I don't know. I'm still working through that - just like the clips, I'm still working through that! As a songwriter, I started writing professionally, I guess you would say, at 15. And I always took a lot of pride and joy in my versatility as a writer, but I think that yeah, most people would say that a lot of my strength lay in writing more pop-oriented songs. But in a sense, I feel like these are pop songs.
Really? Explain that to me. Show me the pop song on this track list.
I feel like that term, in the literal sense, it literally means popular music. And when I think of the trajectory of popular music over a three-year span, I mean, D'Angelo was popular music. Lauryn Hill was popular music. Erykah Badu was popular music. Kate Bush was popular music. The list goes on and on. I think it's really about creating something that reaches people - and not only reaches people, it connects with them. And I don't think that this album is alienating in that way sonically.
But I guess what I'm trying to get at is - you created this album out of a personal need for self-healing, family healing, ancestral healing. And now it has hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts, which suggests to me that a lot of other people needed the same kind of healing that you and your family and your ancestors needed.
Absolutely, absolutely. Timing is a huge part of this album's success. I think that right now, this generation - we've been through a lot. We've been through a lot and we are still going through it. And we are still fighting against these internalized messages. We are still fighting for our voices to be heard. And then we're fighting for action to happen after our voices are heard, after we're documenting these incidents, after we're speaking out about them, we're fighting for action. And I think that it was important for me, throughout the duration of this album, to also feel active in working this stuff out and not just having a platform to vent and cry and mourn.

I think Master P did that so beautifully, with the "Chosen Ones" outro, saying, you know, we are chosen, we have been chosen to go through this journey. If you believe in a higher power or some kind of force that's with us, there has had to have been, for us to go through what we have been through for these centuries. And I feel really good. I feel like the best part about it is just feeling like through my healing that I might have reached someone else that really needed to hear this. And that's just been the most powerful part of it all.
So the album is called A Seat At The Table. At this point, do you feel like you have one?
Absolutely. By the way, I've always had a seat at the table.
Okay, good. Then explain the title.
We've always had a seat at the table. I think that title has a lot of different subtexts. I think one of the seats at the table is also saying that, you know, I'm inviting you to have a seat at my table. And it's an honor to be able to have a seat at our table and for us to open up in this way and for us to feel safe enough to have these conversations and share them with you. I think that, you know, so many times, black people - or any people who are oppressed - have to constantly explain to people what's right and wrong and what hurts and how to approach this. And I think that even me, I'm still learning so much about other cultures and I think that when you have the opportunity to learn from that, you are gracious and you are appreciative and you listen. And so that was also my way of saying I am opening myself up to everyone to have a seat at this table. We've been doing these listening sessions where we set up this literal table and it almost looks like the Last Supper. But the conversations that happen around the table and the sense of pride that happens --
Is it all black women at these listening sessions?
No. There's people of all races, there's men and women. We had one in New Orleans, we had one in New York and one in L.A., and there's been all kinds of people. And it's been interesting to watch the album listening process - L.A. was before the album came out and the other two were after the album came out. And it's been really funny, a lot of feedback that I had is that most people actually like to hear this album alone. So a lot of these people had not heard the album in a group setting. And some of them really enjoyed that and some of them were like, "Actually, I really think this album is for me, you know. For me to digest and be insular and work through these things." So it's interesting how the music is manifesting very differently the experience in everyone.
Before we wrap up, I want to loop back around. Tell us about one of the tracks that can take us to this sense of history in New Iberia, Louisiana.
I think "Rise" really expresses the need to know where you come from in order to know where you're going. I think that when I say, "Fall in your ways so you can crumble. Fall in your ways so you can sleep at night. Fall in your ways so you can wake up and rise." That was really about honoring my lineage, my past, my bloodline in order for me to evolve into the person that I need to be to create this album. And that's why it's first on the album, because it's almost like a cleanser, a meditation to just prepare yourself to go through this journey. And yeah, I honestly feel like when I hear that song, I can feel my roots. It feels very, very spiritual.

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'We've Always Had A Seat At The Table': Solange On Conversations That Heal

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Solange Knowles' newest album, A Seat At The Table, is her most commercially successful yet - it hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts last month. It's also her most political. On the record, Solange explores what it means to be black in America today.

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-ism: Write any comments or questions regarding the talk below and we will raise them.

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-ism: Write any comments or questions regarding the talk below and we will raise them.

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Modernist architecture in general

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waiting rooms and all those non-places.

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airport security/passport control

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what steps do you think the Mack or other schools could do to start to unravel the systemic racism and 'otherness' that is prevalent when dealing with the East in their education?

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what steps do you think the Mack or other schools could do to start to unravel the systemic racism and 'otherness' that is prevalent when dealing with the East in their education?

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big question I know but obviously hiring more BIPOC staff would be a good start, is there anything else that you think would be key?

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what does the future hold for /other at the moment?

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what does the future hold for /other at the moment?

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do you guys have anything in the pipeline for 2021?

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loved the work and found it really educational and interesting - can't wait to see what you guys do next!

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loved the work and found it really educational and interesting - can't wait to see what you guys do next!

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absolutely loved this discussion, and the poem at the end, excited to keep following your work :)

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absolutely loved this discussion, and the poem at the end, excited to keep following your work :)

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do you think the educational curriculums need to be decolonised in order for future generations to be more inclusive and open with their work?

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In terms of language don’t you think that it is a bit ironic to judge architectural education as being eurocentric since the concept of architecture itself is a European concept/construct? So many great cultures around the world, with breathtaking monumental structures lacked the word and concept of architecture. To approach the build environment through architecture is a European way, perhaps as you said it is time for new words, new concepts, new approaches to the build environment outside architecture? Thank you

Thank you for the very interesting response! Well to give you an example in ancient Egypt there was no word or concept for it, the title was "overseer of the works". In china the term was carpenter and master carpenter if I am not mistaken. In Japan there was also no word or concept for it and the Japanese architect Itō Chūta had to invent a term in Japanese to express the western concept for architecture during the late 1800s. The concept of architecture is a Greek concept, which the romans and then later Europeans  appropriated, hence I called it Eurocentric.

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Really amazing talk. What do you think Architects can do to acknowledge the struggles of minority groups within our working environments?

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Really amazing talk. What do you think Architects can do to acknowledge the struggles of minority groups within our working environments?

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I’m inspired by how you place your experience as individuals at the heart of your approach to architectural education. I think that is really important for empowerment and helping to challenge received wisdom.

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Neil: thanks /other ! my question is that institutions (maybe I mean education institutions :-) have got reasonably good at being performative and signalling about equality, but maybe the reality is always lagging behind this... what do you think we should do (or what would you like to do) to effect real change?

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Failing shopping centres / town centres

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Euan Anderson: beautiful work and really educational and interesting - you mentioned the separation between the otherness you feel in day to day life and what you learn about in educational settings, do you feel as though letting your uncomfortable experiences influence your work is encouraged at the Mack or do they try and avoid those conversations?

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"Decolonization" is a word we're increasingly hearing at design events, often being used interchangeably with "diversity." It's important to emphasize that while the terms are linked, they shouldn't be confused. Diversity is about bringing more people to the table. Decolonization is about changing the way we think. So what does that mean for design and designers?

To understand the place of decolonization within design, it's vital to first get our terms straight. "Colonization" is rooted in indigenous peoples' experiences of oppression-specifically, the seizure of native resources , as well as colonization of other nations the embedding of Western ideology into society. The word "decolonization" was originally used to describe the withdrawal of a state from a former colony. Now, decolonization has come to represent a whole host of ideas: It's an acknowledgement that in the West, society has been built upon the , that we exist within a system of privilege and oppression , and that a lot of the culture we've come to see as ours has actually been appropriated or stolen .

Save for the editorial platform and research group Decolonising Design and a number of scholarly articles, there's little readily accessible information online about what decolonizing means for design. So with this article we wanted to give an introductory overview of the concept, addressing the questions: How have colonial histories affected the way in which we design? And what can we do to adjust our mindset and practices?
Decolonizing Design History
The work designers make is inspired by taste, and taste is often derived from what we're exposed to during our upbringing. But design values and history is taught through a canon; that accepted pantheon of work by predominantly European and American male designers that sets the basis for what is deemed "good" or "bad." The authority of the canon has undermined the work produced by non-Western cultures and those from poorer backgrounds so that Ghanaian textiles, for example, get cast as craft rather than design. Classifying traditional craft as different from modern design deems the histories and practices of design from many cultures inferior. We should aim to eliminate the false distinctions between craft and design, in order to recognize all culturally important forms of making. Design thinking rhetoric is similarly exclusive: To frame design thinking as a progressive narrative of global salvation ignores alternative ways of knowing.

Distinctions and divisions can "other" both designers and designs. Simba Ncube, a graphic design student and researcher at London's Central Saint Martins, describes his experience of being labelled as a "Black designer:" "While identity and solace can be found in the words, they still 'other' the practitioner and therefore their work," he says. "When Western conventions are centred in design, this means that anything else is seen as 'different.'" When a homogenous group of people decide what's "good," it's detrimental to the profession, and results in the majority of people striving towards a similar style.

Ncube's research explores one example of colonialism's effect on design standards; specifically, he explores its influence on ideas of perception. In the West, linear perspective is taught to be the best way to approximate space, but it's not the only effective way that people have drawn in 3D historically. " Japanese perspective is only based on one plane, not x, y and z as with linear perspective, yet it's hugely valuable way of creating an image," he says. "Our reliance on western culture inhibits our ability to incorporate other standards."

Ncube also cites an example of a culture that doesn't design using perspective at all. Zulus live in what has been described as a "circular culture." Their huts are round, they don't plough land in straight furrows but in curves instead, and their villages are designed in circular formations. In finding such successful solutions for the organization of private and communal space, Zulu architecture should be understood as design innovation. Realizing that the standards we've been taught are not universal is key to decoloniality. And it's not easy: Ncube likens the process of unseeing Western culture as getting a "fish to understand that it's in water."
Decolonizing Design Values
For educator and designer Danah Abdulla , one member of the research group Decolonising Design, "decoloniality is about shattering the familiar." She says that design today "does not disrupt the status quo, it does not disorder the established order." Recognizing that capitalism "is an instrument of colonization," and therefore that it's almost impossible to truly decolonize in Western society at present, she says that decoloniality is about reimagining something beyond the current system we exist in. Abdulla and her group's co-founders have written extensively on the colonial systems within which contemporary design operates.

In everyday design work, to "shatter the familiar" might start by rethinking the needs of the audience you're designing for. For example, have you considered how people of different ethnicities may identify with what you're creating? An aspect of decoloniality is questioning how solutions might be experienced in someone else's shoes.

The process can extend to something small like selecting typefaces. Many designers will spring for a certain font because it's "timeless." But will a diverse audience see it the same way? Clara Balaguer of the Filipino publishing imprint Hardworking Goodlooking proposes the following exercise for "the Comic Sans, design-educated haters" in an interview with Walker Art's The Gradient: "Use Comic Sans, Curlz, Brush Script, Papyrus. Understand why people respond to it. Accept that social constituencies (not clients but constituencies) have made a choice that should be respected instead of ridiculed [...] Challenge yourself to dismantle what the (Ivy League?) man has told you is ugly, uncouth, primitive, savage."

While reconsidering the formal elements with which you design, it's also important to recognize when to use certain imagery and how to engage with images respectfully. The tea packaging design for the UK's East India Company , which uses patterns found on traditional Indian fabric, is one example of careless design appropriation. The East India Trading Company has historically played a huge role in exploiting India's resources , so for a company to continue to appropriate the culture of a nation that it historically stole from is irresponsible.
Decolonizing Design Work
Designers are trained to be chameleons: We shape ourselves to whatever brief comes our way. But there are certain situations where we cannot begin to identify with the lived experiences of the audience we need to communicate with. It's in these moments that we need to take ourselves out of the equation as the creative. For example, if an organization exists in the United States that is for and run by Black immigrants, surely the designer communicating its messaging should reflect the organization's identity?

To avoid taking charge of another's narrative, or appropriating what isn't yours, recognize when a project is not yours to take. When it's not, promote someone more appropriate to take your place. If the project is for a nonprofit venture, after taking yourself out of the creative arena, help fund the effort. In an industry like design, there's a great disparity between those who learn design and those that get paid for work. Therefore taking yourself out of the equation can be an opportunity to ensure people from marginalized backgrounds get a place in the creative community.

And it's not just about knowing when a brief is yours to take: There are ways to integrate a process of decoloniality into your everyday practice. Working with minority owned printers, for example, is one way of decolonizing design labor: a social post from educator Silas Munro has recently highlighted a number of US printers run by minorities . A from Amelie Lamont and Timothy Goodman also makes it easier to find practitioners of color to hire/collaborate with. And it's not just you work with, but also you collaborate. For studios, agencies, and any others hiring for a project, make sure to not only pay your freelancers' worth but also that the culture of your company is welcoming to them. If you hire a person of color, make sure that they won't be faced with daily microaggressions. This aspect of decolonization overlaps with diversity and inclusion; it's important not just to bring people to the table, but also to ask yourself, what sort of seat are you offering?

Ultimately, there is no finite end that we're trying to reach: Decolonization is a process. The fact that it's a journey means that in order to keep evolving, we must be continually curious, and educate ourselves about what we haven't experienced directly.

"For far too long, designers have remained married to the concept that what we do is neutral, universal, that politics has no place in design," says Abdulla. Yet the choices we make as designers are intrinsically political: With every design choice we make, there's the potential to not just exclude but to oppress; every design subtly persuades its audience one way or another and every design vocabulary has history and context. Learning about the history of colonialism will open our eyes to how power structures have formed society today, and how they dominate our understanding of design.
Further Reading: Decolonization within Design Colonialism and Race

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"Decolonization" is a word we're increasingly hearing at design events, often being used interchangeably with "diversity." It's important to emphasize that while the terms are linked, they shouldn't be confused. Diversity is about bringing more people to the table. Decolonization is about changing t

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Pedagogy of the Oppressed - Paulo Freire

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Pedagogy of the Oppressed - Paulo Freire

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Patrick Bouchain is a French architect who designs situations as much as he designs buildings, taking on a number of other roles including that of developer, political advisor, site manager, fundraiser and performer. Most of his projects begin with establishing a network of interested people, collaborators, residents, local government officials, neighbourhood groups etc. Once this network is in place, the site is activated socially, usually through opening a small space that functions as a restaurant, site office and consultation area where passers-by and interested people can find out about the project, give their views, or simply watch a film. This initial phase creates relationships between the architects, builders and local people and creates uses for the site before anything permanent is built. Through such an approach Bouchain's projects are sustainable in the real sense of the word, ensuring that what is finally constructed is appropriate and useful for the site and makes good use of resources. Many of the projects are on an urban scale and include the reuse and refurbishments of old industrial buildings through minimum intervention.

With a background in theatre, circuses and urban festivals Bouchain approaches architecture as event, creating maximum impact through a mixture of illusion, clever use of materials and innovative programming. Collaborations play a large role in this type of alternative urban planning, Bouchain has worked with the artists Daniel Buren and Claes Oldenburg. On another occasion he invited Malian builders to construct an acoustic barrier from oil barrels; wherever possible, his projects employ a mixture of specialists rather than a single contractor.

Bouchain curated the 2006 French pavilion at the Venice Architecture Biennale; rather than following the standard exhibition format of words and images, the social nature of architecture was emphasised. The group Exyzt were invited to inhabit the pavilion, constructing a scaffold-like structure inside and living in it for the duration of the biennale. The space included DJ and design studio, kitchen and sauna, underlining the fact of architecture as occupation rather than built object. This alternative approach foregrounds the role of informal networks, social space, and processes in architecture and has much in common with other European practices such asAtelier d'Architecture Autogérée, City Mine(d), Raumlabor and of course the group that Bouchain brought to international attention,Exyzt.

Patrick Bouchain and Isabelle Chaise, 'Interview: Patrick Bouchain', Blueprint (London), 2009, 38-39, 41-42.

References About

Karine Dana, 'The Raw and the Cooked', World Architecture, 2001, 54-59.

Robin Wilson, 'Le Channel, Calais [France]', Blueprint (London), 2007, 64-65, 67-70.

'École foraine, Saint-Jacques-de-la-Lande, Ille-et-Vilaine = School, Saint-Jacques-de-la-Lande, Ille-et-Vilaine: Patrick Bouchain architecte', Architecture d'Aujourd'hui, 2006, 56-57.

'Patrick Bouchain: For a cultural, scientific and joint approach towards architecture', CSTB, 2008, http://www.cstb.fr/actualites/english-webzine [accessed 16 March 2010].

'Patrick Bouchain and Loïc Julienne', Global Award for Sustainable Architecture, http://www.global-award.org/images/monographs/2009/Patrick_Bouchain/content.htm [accessed 16 March 2010].

Connections

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Patrick Bouchain is a French architect who designs situations as much as he designs buildings, taking on a number of other roles including that of developer, political advisor, site manager, fundraiser and performer. Most of his projects begin with establishing a network of interested people, collaborators, residents, local government officials, neighbourhood groups etc.

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Photo from Construire Autrement. Actes Sud, 2006.

This is not the first time that I write an article about the remarkable creative process that Patrick Bouchain and his office Construire have been undertaking for many years now. I even fear not to write anything different from the last post about an interview he gave to Micropolitiques (see previous article). However, I think that it is useful to re-insist on the importance that the construction process he has developed and systematized through the numerous architectural projects he designed. This process is simple and easily applicable if there is a sincere will from the architects and the traditional actors of the construction to work out a democratic way to build.

His book, (see this old article in 2008 about it!) which can be translate by 'Building Differently', constitutes a manifesto as much by its contents as by its form. The latter, indeed, illustrates a literary style empty of complex terminology or initiated knowledge, and is divided into two parts: his writings and those of some his well-known friends, Michel Onfray (philosopher), Gilles Clement (landscape designer), Lucien Kroll (architect), Daniel Buren (artist), Antoine Nochy (philosopher), Romain Paris (urban designer) and Otar Iosseliani (film maker).

As far as the content is concerned, P. Bouchain explains through it his will to involve the ensemble of the actors concerned by the building he is designing in its creative and constructive process. In order to do so, he triggers the encounter of those actors by organizing debates on site between neighbors, local politicians and crafts(wo)men, he sets up a canteen during the construction so that local people can have meals with workers, he invites elementary schools to visit the site and educates kids (and grown-up) about the implications a building and its construction can have on the city etc. He also proposes a political strategy to implement, through each public building's creative and constructive process, an innovative and democratic approach. Since 1936 (and systematically since 1981), French public buildings have to dedicate 1% of their construction budget to a work of art. As the latter, thanks to its status, can be created in a relative freedom, P. Bouchain envisions (and applies to his own buildings) policies that would add to this one, a "solidarity 1%" which promotes the social aspect of the construction (like for the canteen), as well as a "scientific 1%" which develops a useful research for the building, an "education 1%" to trigger programs like the one mentioned above and an "elderly 1%" which insists on the importance of the transmission of knowledge between generations.

Such attitude is a radical rebuttal to cynics and cowards who think that quality, whichever it is, is indivisible from the elaboration of big budgets. It also gives hope to young architects who regret in the professional world the absence of ideas that used to motivate them during their time at school; through P.Bouchain's example they might realize that the revolutionary aspect of an architecture is not necessary in its form but rather in its process. The one developed by Construire transgress the codes of both capitalism's need for profitability and the elitist authorship of the intellectual avant garde.

As an appendix to this article, I would like to present the preface of the book and its clumsy translation that I did of it. In this text, P.Bouchain evokes the French pavilion at Venice Biennale in 2006, I therefore attach to this appendix some photos of this architectural manifesto he achieved with his protégés, EXYZT collective (see previous articles 1 and 2) now gathered under the name 1024architecture.

PREFACE (original version in French follows):

I believe in temporariness and mobility of things, in exchange. And I work in order to create, in architecture, a situation in which construction could be achieved in another way and could produce unexpectedness, and thus enchantment. Construire autrement is using ideas that I experienced/experimented [same word in French] with a lot of delight and then kept from a construction site to another in order to reach this goal: building within the context, knowing the rule, not acting but transforming, doing the least as possible in order to give as much as possible, involving everyone, interpreting, giving some time, transmitting, never doing the same thing... In this book, just like on all my construction sites, I am inviting other people in order to enrich the collective work with their points of view and their skills, because writing alone - just like building alone - seems to me impossible, and that architecture is not something only for experts or technicians. Here, they are artists, architects, landscape designers, researchers, philosophers, filmmakers... with whom I have worked or who influenced me, who questions our habits and proposes a different look on architecture.

In the same way that architecture is something for everybody, since we are all using it, I believe that it is everywhere, in a sidewalk curb, the quality of a good acoustics, the relationship between a building and a landscape...in those "unthought" places as well, industrial wildlands or landscapes that have been abandoned by development but which are still occupied by people, and whose existence allows us to reconsiderate our way to inhabit, to share or live together. "The unthough" is a series of narratives that is proposed in this book. They base themselves on these spaces of freedom that we need in order to produce an architecture which is charged with meaning and not with norms, and that tells how we can experience/experiment other ways to build a garden, a shelter, a meeting place... Because, by considering the "small", the "micro", the individual, that we can understand and act on the ensemble, the "macro", the collectivity.

I have been invited to be the architect of the French pavilion for the 2006 Venice Biennale. Through this building, I want to show all that by occupying the field, like on all my construction sites; I want to inhabit the pavilion with my friends to welcome like at home, in joy and conviviality, all those who want to visit us. "Metacity/Metavilla - our Venetian installation - attempts to undertake this collective movement. Architectural exhibition needs to implement an idea by action. This is the opportunity to experiment an architectural conception, but mostly to measure a life ideal, not as an utopist hypothesis, but rather like a gesture to undertake. The untypical occupation as well as the opening to the public of this national pavilion is an architectural action. It is probably the only one that we can undertake in these times of securitarian tension and of subjacent war. To welcome the alien, the indomitable otherness, is more than ever something we should do. Fortunately the joyful village which unfolds itself in this pavilion exists, here and elsewhere. By introducing another time, the one of welcoming and hospitality, respect, encounters and transmission, by giving ourselves an important part of freedom, our presence translates itself in successions of experiences/experiments which illustrate the diversity of what is possible.

Bouchain Patrick. Construire Autrement. Comment Faire? Arles : Actes Sud, 2006. (translation: L.Lambert)

PREFACE (original version)

Je crois au provisoire, à la mobilité des choses, à l'échange. Et je travaille à créer, en architecture, une situation dans laquelle la construction pourra se réaliser d'une autre façon et produire de l'inattendu, donc de l'enchantement. Construire autrement reprend les idées que j'ai expérimentées avec bonheur puis retenues, d'un chantier a l'autre, pour atteindre ce but : s'inscrire dans le contexte, connaitre la règle, ne pas agir mais transformer, faire le moins possible pour donner le plus possible, entrainer tout le monde, interpréter, donner du temps, transmettre, ne jamais faire pareil... Dans ce livre, comme sur tous mes chantiers, je fais appel à d'autres pour enrichir l'œuvre commune de leurs points de vue et de leurs savoir-faire, parce que écrire seul - comme construire seul - me parait impossible, et que l'architecture n'est pas qu'affaire de spécialistes ou de techniciens. Ici, ce sont des artistes, des architectes, des paysagistes, des chercheurs, des philosophes, des cinéastes... avec lesquels j'ai travaillé ou qui m'ont influencé, qui viennent interroger nos habitudes et porter un regard différent sur l'architecture.

De même que l'architecture est l'affaire de tous, puisque nous en sommes tous les usagers, je crois qu'elle est partout, dans une bordure de trottoir, la qualité d'une acoustique, le rapport entre une construction et la paysage...dans ces lieux " impensés " aussi que sont les friches industrielles ou les territoires délaissés par l'aménagement mais occupés par les hommes, et dont l'existence nous permet de reconsidérer notre façon d'habiter, de partager ou de vivre ensemble. " L'impensé ", série de récits qui s'ouvre avec cet ouvrage, s'appuie sur ces espaces de liberté dont nous avons besoin pour produire une architecture chargée de sens et non de normes, et raconte comment on peut expérimenter d'autres façons de construire un jardin, un abri, un lieu de rencontre... Car, c'est en s'attachant au " petit ", au " micro ", a l'individu, que l'on peut comprendre et agir sur l'ensemble, le " macro ", la collectivité.

Architecte invité du pavillon de la France a la Biennale de Venise en 2006, je souhaite montrer tout cela en occupant le terrain, comme sur tous mes chantiers, c'est-a-dire en habitant le pavillon avec mes amis pour y accueillir comme chez nous, dans la joie et la convivialité, tous ceux qui nous rendraient visite. " Métacité/Métavilla -notre dispositif vénitien- s'efforce de mettre ne œuvre ce mouvement collectif. Il est à l'exposition d'architecture ce que le passage à l'acte est à l'idée, l'occasion d'éprouver une conception architecturale, mais surtout de mesurer un idéal de vie, non pas en tant qu'hypothèse utopique, mais bien comme un geste à accomplir. L'occupation atypique et l'ouverture au public de ce pavillon national est un acte d'architecture. Probablement le seul qu'il soit possible d'entreprendre en ces temps de crispation sécuritaire et de guerre sous-jacente. Recevoir l'étranger, l'irréductiblement autre, est plus que jamais à l'ordre du jour. Fort heureusement, la cité joyeuse qui se déploie dans le pavillon existe, ici et ailleurs. En introduisant un autre temps, celui de l'accueil, de l'hospitalité, du respect, de la rencontre et de la transmission, en nous donnant une grande part de liberté, notre présence se traduit en une succession d'expériences qui montrent la diversité des possibles.

Metavilla: French Pavilion Venice Biennale 2006 by P.Bouchain and EXYZT

Metavilla: French Pavilion Venice Biennale 2006 by P.Bouchain and EXYZT

Metavilla: French Pavilion Venice Biennale 2006 by P.Bouchain and EXYZT

Metavilla: French Pavilion Venice Biennale 2006 by P.Bouchain and EXYZT

Metavilla: French Pavilion Venice Biennale 2006 by P.Bouchain and EXYZT

Metavilla: French Pavilion Venice Biennale 2006 by P.Bouchain and EXYZT

Metavilla: French Pavilion Venice Biennale 2006 by P.Bouchain and EXYZT

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# ARCHITECTURAL THEORIES /// Democratic Construction Processes by Patrick Bouchain - THE FUNAMBULIST MAGAZINE

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Photo from Construire Autrement. Actes Sud, 2006. This is not the first time that I write an article about the remarkable creative process that Patrick Bouchain and his office Construire have been undertaking for many years now. I even fear not to write anything different from the last post about an interview he gave to ...

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Thank you so much it was very informative!

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Thank you so much it was very informative!

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Carl mentioned the India Gate canopy being a former site of a Charles V statue - it was of course a George V statue.