AArchitecture 48

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AArchitecture 48 Term 2, 2024–25 www.aaschool.ac.uk Student Editorial Team: SHAFIKA TALIB MAGDALENE MONZIE TAN AUDE TOLLO Cover Image: Iris Hansen Editorial Board: Alex Lorente, Membership Ryan Dillon, AA Communications Studio Design: Andrew Reid, AA Communications Studio Editorial Support: Emily Priest, AA Communications Studio Printed by Blackmore, England Published by Architectural Association 36 Bedford Square London WC1B 3ES Architectural Association (Inc) Registered Charity No 311083 Company Limited by Guarantee Registered in England No 171402 Registered office as above © 2025 All rights reserved

AArchitecture is a magazine edited by students of the Architectural Association, published twice a year.

EDITORIAL NOTE

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HELEN CHEUNG AND MONZIE TAN

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KAITO INOUE

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NIKOLA DA SILVA AZEVEDO

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JAMEILLE LABIS

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RIM CHERKAOUI AND ALVARO VELASCO PEREZ

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YELIZ ABDURAHMAN

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JULIAN WASILEWSKI

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LUCIANA VARKULJA

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SERGE EL DOUAIHY

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IRIS HANSEN

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JANG HEE LEE

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36 BEDFORD CIRCLE

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LAWUN

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AA PUBLICATIONS

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OPEN CALL

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BIOGRAPHIES

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‘Lost steps? But there is no such thing!’

Nadja, in Nadja by Andre Breton, 1928

‘Looking inward and outward at once before and after seeking a now that can breed futures’ A Litany for Survival by Audre Lorde, 1978

Currently, the architecture industry is under immense pressure from target-setting: the UK government has promised of 1.5 million new homes, the RIBA has set a 2030 Climate Challenge and there is an ever-growing demand for ‘cost-effectiveness’. However, this issue of AArchitecture 48 sees an opportunity to question both the means and the ends. It proposes that any route between two points is itself a unique design.

Much like architecture school, it offers breathing space – a chance to dismantle the implicit hierarchy that prioritises outcomes above all else. It invites us to rethink the modes of architectural production, giving equal weight to every part of the process as to its final form. It encourages us to wander between beginnings and endings, uncovering the links and interconnectedness that often go unnoticed.

As this issue demonstrates, architecture is inherently communal, drawing meaning from diverse scales and perspectives. The journey may twist and turn, accelerate and decelerate, but it celebrates the uncertainty, negotiation and freedom that exists between two points.

André Breton’s redemptive vision reminds us that the journey itself carries its own meaning and rhythm. AArchitecture 48 investigates the anatomy of routes – tracing different times and scales, from the circulation of materials within the Architectural Association (AA) to a road trip across the American continent and even drifting through the Sahara Desert.

As we become pressured more and more by targets, every step, every turn of the wheel, holds value for the architect today.

We invite you to embark on a voyage that may lead to the unexpected – or even to nowhere at all. At least we will be journeying together in a now that can breed futures!

Models by William (Bill) Michael Hudson.

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MATERIAL CONSTELLATIONS

Helen Cheung and Monzie Tan

Earlier this year, the Material Arcade at the AA deconstructed the bright yellow timber panels from the AA exhibition Portraits of Practice: The Life and Work of MJ Long.

Some of the yellow painted plywood found its way into models created by the Wood and Metal Workshop staff, and were displayed as part of Projects Review 2024.

Without the Material Arcade, excess materials, model fragments and spare parts at the AA risk going to waste. Last year, the Material Arcade saved a total of 1,600kgCO2e by reusing 710kg of material.

This is equivalent to the production of 1,700kg of concrete.

Located at the top of the staircase in 38 Bedford Square, the Material Arcade becomes the starting point for much of the material reuse that happens at the AA. When a student collects materials from us, they continue a pre-existing journey and for them, a new route begins.

The materials are transformed as they find their way into a model or experiment.

Perhaps the model is used for a jury and is then deconstructed for its components to be returned to the Material Arcade.

Here, the next student may pick up these fragments and craft them into something entirely different. Imagine the same parts are reused by even more students, a route becomes a network and, eventually, a network becomes a constellation. We find this journey of material reuse much more exciting than discarding materials as waste.

Today, the built environment consumes an enormous quantity of new MATERIAL CONSTELLATIONS

materials (to the point of indecency).

The urgent question is: is there an alternative route? The well-worn, conventional path of procuring brand-new materials for construction is concerning.

Rethinking the paradigm of our material consumption is not easy, but the Material Arcade is a starting point.

The Material Arcade is a platform that is practical, instructive and collaborative. It is here to demonstrate a kinder way of translating materials into form. It is the alternative route, but taking the road less travelled could make a significant difference! It has not been easy – over the past three years, students and staff have dedicated their time and effort to keep the Material Arcade an open resource for the AA. Our ambition is to see materials, like the yellow timber panels, embark on a journey of reuse and we invite you to join us in making this happen.

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SIX WEEKS WITH BENSON SHRINE Kaito Inoue

The taziya is a temporary shrine that plays a central role in an annual ritual commemorating the martyrdom of Imam Hussain, an important figure in certain parts of India. The shrine lasts for ten days and is constructed using lightweight everyday materials such as bamboo and cardboard. Communal mourning rituals are performed around the shrine before it is buried in the ground. The taziya is an ephemeral device to situate mourning.

When I moved to London from Tokyo, I decided to create an object inspired by the taziya to experience a similar sequence. I made use of banal items found on a journey around London. These items were: two empty Benson & Hedges cigarette packets, four wooden stirrers, newspapers and compostable grocery bags. The name ‘Benson Shrine’ was bestowed by the brand on the cigarette boxes. For the next six weeks, I carried the Benson Shrine with me everywhere I went.

The Benson Shrine caught the attention of many people. They would ask me about the shrine and touch it with their hands. Curiously, after these interactions, I noticed there was a temperature difference hovering over the shrine. I then attempted to record the fleeting experience through multiple exposure photography.

At the end of the six weeks, I took the Benson Shrine to Soho Square for its burial in the ground. Its grave is marked with a single wildflower and a small candle. Objectively, I had just buried a simple structure crafted out of readily

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found items. However, a massive sense of significance flooded my mind, filled with countless fragments from my six weeks in London – excitement, bewilderment, dizziness and extraordinary joy. The Benson Shrine was a simple object, yet so generous that it enveloped itself in an abundance of memories.

The multiple exposure photograph may be a single exposure captured in my mind during the burial.

Though the Benson Shrine no longer exists, its essence was palpable. A similar phenomenon was found in another attempt, the reconstruction of my own flat as a bamboo structure. I believe that it’s the same with many journeys and processes – the lightness can add weight and the fleeting can endure.

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Multiple exposure photograph of the Benson Shrine (top) and its burial at Soho Square (bottom).

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SIX WEEKS WITH BENSON SHRINE

SAND ON THE HEATH: EXPOSING THE LANDSCAPE Nikola Da Silva Azevedo

Entrenched amid the lush landscape of Surrey lies the Ash Ranges, a Ministry of Defence-controlled heathland.

‘Exposure’ serves as an entry point to challenge the restrictive management of these terrains. Through subtle architectural interventions, accessibility is gracefully fostered.

The experiment began with a pinhole camera fitted on a ladder, placed at the boundaries of restricted areas. This device captured abstract impressions of light, crafting novel viewpoints, all while challenging access restrictions.

This architectural experiment embodies geological formation – a rhythmic guide revealing various terrain layers while inviting visitors to engage with its boundaries. In doing so, it nurtures a shared right to roam.

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SAND ON THE HEATH

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NIKOLA DA SILVA AZEVEDO

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THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM Jameille Labis

Nature has been oversimplified. In attempting to grasp its full complexity, we have reduced it to something that is separate to our own existence: a resource, a backdrop, a mirage. From an Indigenous perspective no distinct word for nature exists. Describing it so simply acknowledges the separation of human bodies from the larger whole.

Many Indigenous communities see nature as a mother body of forests, land and rivers, of which we are but a small part in its inextricably linked composition.

While our architectural concerns remain comfortably confined within building walls, Indigenous communities such as the Kattunayakan (king of the jungle) tribe in India are establishing new and intimate relationships with land, architecture and other beings. Bomman is a senior member of the Kattunayakan tribe. His daily activities reveal how the architecture of both the familial and sacred can be authored through an ethics of care. His rituals as a mahout (elephant carer) and head priest are dedicated to nursing the baby elephant Raghu and worshipping Ganesha. These relationships constitute a depth of ecological understanding that we are yet to grasp.

THE HOUSE, THE FOREST In Theppakadu it is unclear where the forest ends and the south Indian village begins.

The village is divided by the Moyar River, with dwellings generously spaced either side to accommodate the movement of elephants alongside other residents including peacocks, langurs, boars and AARCHITECTURE 48

sacred banyan trees. Elephant footprints lead us to a house, where we meet Bomman, returning from harvesting honey. We enter a kitchen, where there is a clear absence of decoration. The structure of the house is made of bamboo, wood and mud, the last of which is left unmasked. Bomman invites us for tea and shares: ‘Our people come from the heart of the forest. The well-being of the forest is all that matters. We live off the forest, but we also protect it. We don’t take anything more than necessary’.1 As we gather around the fire, the warmth of the drink and embers mingle with the warmth of shared company.

THE MAN, THE ELEPHANT Every morning begins with pūjā, a Hindu ritual of worship. Beneath a banyan tree, a small and beautifully adorned Ganesha temple takes shade. Bomman opens its doors as first light pours into the sanctum.

The bell rings and he prays. Bomman lights a small fire and incense while we offer symbols of the harvest: bananas, coconuts and sweet modakams. He says, ‘I am proud of being both a priest and a mahout. God and elephants are one for me. The way I serve Ganesha is the same way I serve the elephants’.2 A second bell rings nearby and a scene unfolds: tusker elephants carry mahouts and amble towards a kitchen, where food is being prepared. We meet Raghu, a rescued orphaned baby elephant in Bomman’s care, while the mahout explains, ‘it is the actions of us humans that cause elephants to enter villages these days.

Our mistakes are very harmful, both for us and for the elephants. We were able to save 12

An architecture for elephant care.

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Raghu, but we cannot save them all’.3 When private interests encroach upon elephant habitats, the pressure is compounded by forms of Ganesha worship that perpetuate their exploitation. As symptoms of the anthropocene manifest, the community’s daily habits begin to dissolve into the land and river.

THE GOD, THE KIN At the Moyar River, residents go about their daily tasks, washing clothes nonchalantly by the banks, unfazed by tusker elephants rolling in the shallows to shed mud.

Bomman explains, ‘our people do not fear elephants. That’s why we have been working with them for generations. My grandfather and my father looked after elephants, and I became an elephant carer the day my father died’.4 Raghu sprays water from his trunk, playful as a child, while Bomman gently tends to his skin with oil and says, ‘we care for Raghu every day. This is God’s presence in my life. Without him, we’d have nothing’.5 For Bomman, and the Kattunayakan mahouts, caring for elephants transcends human limitations, fulfilling a greater purpose. When elephants are revered, the landscape is activated: sanctity permeates beyond temple walls, bridging the earthly to the metaphysical, deep into the forest, transforming Theppakadu into a living, breathing shrine.

THE NURSERY, THE TEMPLE Nature reclaims its territory at the washing area, where old concrete column foundations have been infiltrated by bushes and flowers sprouting through hollows. Bomman cleans Raghu’s feet while speaking: ‘we are their parents. Looking after elephants involves more than just giving them milk, cleaning their rooms and bathing them. Elephants need a lot of love and affection, too. It’s just like raising human babies’.6 Entering the nursery, we recall the warmth of a mahout’s home. There is a strong commitment to protecting Raghu from the outside world – columns reinforced AARCHITECTURE 48

with metal bracings are punctuated by steel pillars. Bamboo walls are secured with rope ties and lined with tarp to act as makeshift curtains. Just as the village temple closes its doors at night, the nursery is also cloaked in darkness, as a mantle of security and reverence for the sacred dwelling within.

However, beneath the calm domesticity lies the complexity of colonial exploitation.

The kraal,7 once a tool of colonial control designed to break an elephant’s spirit with bull hooks, now stands repurposed. Though it recalls past violence, the structure now affirms a narrative of familial and reciprocal interactions. While Bomman and his wife Bellie prepare for the night, Bellie shares: ‘some believe elephants are dangerous.

But those who live close to them know their true nature. When you give them love, they return it in kind’.8 As the couple nurse Raghu through the structure’s openings, a portrait of parents tending to their kin emerges, watched over by the image of Ganesha.

THE LANDSCAPE AS A SHRINE Bomman’s movements reveal a home where walls dissolve. Through rituals of care, rooms begin to merge as the familial syncretises with the sacred: the forest becomes a house, the nursery a temple, and the land and river, become a shrine.

We uncover a story of sympoiesis; of the Kattunayakan’s resilience born of necessity and care, to mitigate the consequences of a world out of balance.

This text has been written in response to the documentary The Elephant Whisperers (2022).

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The Elephant Whisperers, directed by Kartiki Gonsalves, 2022.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

A kraal is an enclosure for cattle and other livestock including elephants.

The Elephant Whisperers, 2022.

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[WITHOUT TRACES] – ‫دون أثر‬

Rim Cherkaoui and Alvaro Velasco Perez

‘It takes a long time to get to Djemila. It is not a city where one halts, and then goes on.

It leads nowhere and opens on nothing. It is a place from which one comes back.’

Albert Camus, The Wind at Djemila, 1953 Last summer, a trip to Tan-Tan – a port and desert crossroads in the southwest of Morocco – allowed us to experience the complex interactions between nomadism, architecture and territory. This region, where the desert meets the ocean, offers an interesting perspective on how nomadic practices fit into the harsh Saharan environment. The Moussem (in Arabic: ‫)موسم‬, an annual gathering of tribes, started in 1963 in Tan-Tan and is now listed as a UNESCO intangible heritage site. It brings together hundreds of tents from Saharan tribes, notably those of the Tekna (‫)تكنة‬ confederation,1 who have inhabited these territories for centuries. While Tan-Tan might be a yearly stop for many of these people, it is not easy to pinpoint where their routes began. ‘When is a tent built?’ is a superficial question that lacks a precise meaning in Tekna culture. This text mainly explores the notion of itinerary, revealing the richness of an ephemeral and durable architecture which connects the spiritual to the material and the desert to the journey.

ROUTES While at the Moussem, we sought shelter in a tent during a sandstorm. Behind its apparent simplicity, the tent’s resilience was striking.

Its anchoring rested on a discreet but essential element: the stakes. These modest pieces, typically made of iron or wood, were [WITHOUT TRACES] – ‫دون أثر‬

the only points of contact between the tent and the desert ground. They ensure the stability of the structure in the face of violent winds and, once removed, they leave behind ephemeral traces in the sand which tell of the passage of people.

The stakes tell a larger story, too; that of the trans-Saharan roads, which introduced iron to these regions.

The elements evoke centuries of exchange between Saharan and Sahelian communities. The iron, coming from historic regions such as the village of Nok in contemporary Nigerian territory, testifies to the depth of these networks, connecting oases and distant cities through routes now replaced. Indeed, contrary to popular belief, Saharan nomads have never been isolated. The trans-Saharan routes were not only trade routes, but cultural arteries through which ideas, technologies and stories circulated.

This interconnection is embodied in the tents found at the Moussem, which transcend the notion of fixed architecture.

Each stake, each piece of fabric and each gesture participates in a dialogue between mobility and roots. When the camp is dismantled, the tent is folded and attached to a camel's hump; certain elements, such as the carved shelf, become a howdah (‫)هودج‬, a bed carried by a camel for women.

Today, the Moussem ends by dismantling the camp and driving your 4x4 from the nearby car park. Traditionally, though, the camp was dismantled and the family set into motion following their goat livestock.

As we continue explorations of Saharan nomadic practices as part of 15

Various tent layouts at the Moussem of Tan-Tan, 2024.

a larger scale project, we have studied the itineraries which bear witness to an architecture where the installation of camps and the crossing of deserts are part of one single continuous experience. Tent, home and journey are set into a yearly circular motion where it is not clear whether time is beginning or ending.

Upon leaving the Moussem, the winds were already erasing the traces of the tents. Yet their memory persisted, not as a physical structure but as a narrative rooted in the ground. Just as the Tekna tribes see the Sahara as a space of interconnection, we argue that the yearly gathering of the Moussem could be understood as a desert in miniature, a space for interchange and coming together. Far from being a void, the desert should be understood as a relational system, made of traces and passages, of connections and cohabitations.

The tent, humble but eloquent, invites us to AARCHITECTURE 48

rethink architecture as a journey in which each element, however small, carries the power of a common story. It is a type of architecture whose meaning is in its route, not its destination.

The research and writing of this essay were supported by the Michael Ventris Award 2024.

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Tekna is a semi-nomadic Sahrawi tribal confederation of mixed Arab and Lamta Sanhaja Berber origins.

Its population is estimated to be around 709,000.

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PROJECT'S ACTIVITY LOG OR

A 10-STEP MANUAL ON HOW TO DISAPPEAR B/W THE FRONT AND BACK Yeliz Abdurahman I. LOCATE THE URBAN STAGES OF A TYPICAL OLD EUROPEAN CITY (PARIS) II. STUDY THE CONCEALMENT OF THE BACKSTAGE AND PROVE THE PARADOX OF ITS EXPOSURE (THE ENDLESS LOOP OF PARALLEL EXISTENCE DUE TO BEING BOTH CONFLICTING AND COMPLEMENTARY) III. ARGUE THE FACT THAT THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN SUCH BINARY OPPOSITIONS IS PROBLEMATIC BUT THEIR RECONCILIATION IS ALSO NOT POSSIBLE (ELABORATED AT NO.II) IV. INSERT A BLANK SPACE AS A THIRD ELEMENT IN BETWEEN THEM (TO DESTROY THE BINARY OPPOSITION) IMPORTANCE OF BLANK SPACES WITHIN THE URBAN FABRIC (PHILIPPE VASSET) TURN THE TWO-DIMENSIONAL BOUNDARY INTO A THREE-DIMENSIONAL ZONE V. THIS IS AN AMBIGUOUS/OTHER/THIRD/HETEROTOPIC SPACE VI. IT IS ALSO A TRANSIT ELEMENT (WE MOVE FROM A CONCEPTUAL TO SPATIAL HERE) REFRAME AND CHALLENGE THE CONVENTIONAL ACT OF TRANSITIONALITY BY REINTERPRETING THE CORRIDOR VII. USE THIS ARCHITECTURAL ELEMENT TO INVERT THE HIERARCHY B/W PARTS AND WHOLES (MORTON’S SUBSCENDENCE) COULD ‘THE CORRIDORS’ ACT AS SYSTEMIC MEDIATORS THAT CONSTANTLY RESHUFFLE THE CITY’S PARTS TO FORM NEW WHOLES? DOES THAT MEAN PARTS ARE GREATER/MORE REAL THAN THE WHOLE? VIII. DESTROY THE FAMILIAR FRONT AND BACK TEMPORARILY THIS ALLOWS US TO GET LOST IS THIS A CONTEMPORARY FLANEURING? (SI) IX. NOW WE HAVE MOMENTS/POINTS OF INTERSECTION THAT SITUATE US IN RELATION TO NO FRONT AND NO BACK (WE CALL THEM BLACK BOXES AS THEY FOCUS ON THE INPUT/OUTPUT RATHER THAN THE MECHANICS OF THE TRANSFORMATION) ‘THE BLACK BOXES’ ARE LATOUR’S OLIGOPTICONS X. A NEW MECHANISM FOR THE CITY HAS BEEN FORMED, MADE OF SPLINTERED VECTORS AND DELEUZEAN LINES OF FLIGHT. ONE THAT NOT ONLY CONCEALS AND EXPOSES BUT ALSO FRAMES, CRITIQUES, SITUATES, MEDIATES, NEGATES AND REDEFINES. WE HAVE ESCAPED THE SYSTEM.

PROJECT'S ACTIVITY LOG

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YELIZ ABDURAHMAN

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PARIS-TEXAS Julian Wasilewski

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Two notebooks were taken on a trip through the Chihuahuan Desert.

They became a sort of exquisite town, drawn page by page and stitched together digitally afterwards.

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PARIS-TEXAS

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‘In a landscape where nothing officially exists (otherwise it would not be “desert”), absolutely anything becomes thinkable, and may consequently happen.’

Reyner Banham

JULIAN WASILEWSKI

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En route to Terlingua

PARIS-TEXAS

Aerial view from Vale do Ribeira

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ROUTES OF EXCLUSION: CONSERVATION UNITS AND TRADITIONAL TERRITORIES IN BRAZIL Luciana Varkulja

In Brazil, there are conservation units which were formally established to protect biodiversity. Paradoxically, they often operate as ‘green enclosures’, enforcing preservationist ideologies that spatially exclude humans from nature. This model, rooted in colonial logics, reflects a broader global trend: routes of exclusion shaped by policies that separate traditional communities from their ancestral territories.

Take the Bombas community in Vale do Ribeira, where families have lived for more than 300 years. Edimilson Andrade, also known as Denis, recalls, ‘there’s no road, so we walk on foot, enduring all the difficulties and struggles. This is the place where we were born and raised – there’s no way to leave it’. Despite their sustainable practices, communities such as this face displacement and restrictions under policies like the 2000 National System of Conservation Units (SNUC) law, which limits human presence in protected areas.

Denis explains ‘the largest preserved area of the Atlantic Forest is here because the communities are here’. Yet, forced evictions and legal barriers have diminished their rights, leaving many impoverished.

The traditional Coivara system of slash-and-burn agriculture illustrates the community’s ecological knowledge: ‘when we burn, the ashes rejuvenate the soil, and dormant seeds sprout. Instead of one species, ten emerge’. Such practices regenerate biodiversity and maintain ROUTES OF EXCLUSION

cultural heritage. In contrast, industrial interests exploiting these territories drive deforestation and displace those who sustainably manage them.

For Suzana Pedroso do Carmo, from Bombas de Cima territory, the lack of infrastructure underscores environmental inequities: ‘if Bombas had a road, preservation would improve’. Carrying produce to the city is arduous, with journeys taking hours on foot. ‘People think we’re unfortunate, but they don’t know.

When I go to the market, all I see is poison.

I lose my appetite immediately. Our wealth is in the land. With or without money, we eat’, she reflects. Her community’s fight for basic rights, much like access to schools and roads, embodies resilience against systemic neglect.

As conservation units map protected areas, they also expose the contradictions of spatial justice. Policies designed to commodify nature often disregard the vital role of traditional communities in environmental stewardship.

Incorporating their knowledge systems into conservation efforts offers a more equitable path forward – one that values coexistence over exclusion.

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Denis and his donkey on the road.

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Denis and his donkey on the road.

LUCIANA VARKULJA

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Denis with the forest and cultivated gardens in the background.

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Suzana Pedroso do Carmo with the forest and her cultivated garden.

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Aerial view showing the road that connects Bombas de Baixo with the Bombas de Cima communities.

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HEALING GROUND Serge El Douaihy

This narrative observes the deep-rooted trauma of the Lebanese Civil War, a period of political, religious and social strife that manifested in lasting widespread generational post-traumatic stress disorder and decades of socioeconomic instability. The history of the war, fraught with ethnic and sectarian violence, has been officially unwritten, leaving its psychological impact unaddressed.

Fifteen years of battles have etched a landscape of fragmented identities and unspoken national agony, leaving behind a legacy demanding both acknowledgment and healing. Recognising the profound need for widespread national therapy, a pilgrimage is conceived as a collective journey.

This symbolic procession through the landscape of Lebanon stitches together a shattered territory of confessional enclaves, providing a collective march that transcends religious and political divides. Collective spatial rituals anchor the metaphorical journey in the landscape of Lebanon.

The following pilgrimage unfolds over seven chapters. Every chapter is a stepping stone towards the genesis of a post-war nation.

The following is an extract from a metaphorical proposal ...

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CHAPTER I Acknowledgment between the oak forests of Akkar, the forgotten territory.

In the heart of Akkar’s oak forests, a Lebanese assembly takes place.

With saws, nails and hammers in their hands, they gather wood from every corner of the land.

Disputes, arguments and quarrels arise, but in the chaos, a sense of purpose emerges.

A woman in white builds a first chair.

She sits on the edge of the terrace for many to see.

From thousands of hands, an assembly takes shape; a parliament of acknowledgment built out of scraps.

With every strike of a hammer and every hit of a nail, the pilgrims confront, confess and confide.

Here, on this platform of courageous reflection, the people of Lebanon commit.

CHAPTER II Accountability in the brave fairgrounds of Tripoli, the city of scholars.

In Tripoli, a witness to history stands tall, a testament to a nation scarred by war.

It surrounds the abandoned grey fairgrounds, Niemeyer’s vision, collapsed with time.

Wooden boxes are assembled through national labour, each crafted with shared tools and effort, filled with photographs, letters, recordings and journals, a single boundary as a collective archive emerges.

Every soul contributes with a personal trauma, creating a record of events long overlooked.

Now transformed with new and genuine purpose, into a sanctuary of undeniable accountability.

Generations walk these paths with awareness, unwritten history told, where justice was denied.

CHAPTER III Remembrance within the bloodied grounds of Beirut, the phoenix.

On Beirut’s green line, where once a divide split Muslim west from Christian east apart.

Mounds of earth and foliage stretch across the scar, and an urban forest as a memorial arises.

Each pilgrim plants a tree, a crop, a flower, in memory of lives and moments past.

A reverence to those who walked before, every act of sowing marks a moment and a soul.

As freedom creates a scattered scene, disorder reigns amongst the streets.

In disarray, an unusual woodland takes form, but time, the healer, brings a graceful change.

Where one tree is a tree, but many form a forest, a testament to collective memory and progress.

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CHAPTER IV Reconciliation in the whispering plane of the Bekaa, the oasis of the valley.

In the meadows of the Bekaa, hands carve and shape, a circle turned into a garden’s intimate heart.

Tons of sand and rocks, excavated with purpose, bearing witness to the collective’s strength.

People work, digging deep into the earth, a crater formed by shared effort and resolve, a meditative space submerged among the fields, of overlooked cultivations, farms and towns.

Ongoing care fosters this communal garden, committing to an enduring appeasement, rows of pilgrims passing tools with ambition, encouraging each other every step of the way.

Within the sweat and the soil, reconciliation breathes, an aspired sentiment of reunion finally emerges.

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER V Restoration among the proud mountains of the Chouf, guardians of tradition On the hills of Chouf, restoration begins, a public agora beneath an anti-dome roof, enveloping Beiteddine Palace with silk fabric, honouring a cherished ancestral craft.

Salvation on the glorious shore of Damour, the jewel of the Delta.

Once a seat of power for invaders and corrupt rulers, this place now witnesses a pilgrimage of the people.

Women and men weave the fabric with skill; their hands flowing across a shared tradition.

Towards the southern horizon of Damour, salvation takes shape as a pier, stretching from shore to sunset. constructed through the layering of millions of rocks, stones and gravel gathered from every corner of the land.

Altogether, they raise the wooden beams, stretch cables tight, and build a canopy over ancient stone.

Through this collective work, heritage is reclaimed, a nation’s self-determination finally prevails.

Men, women and children carry fragments from distant places, each person contributes their piece to the whole.

Hands work tirelessly, lifting and placing each rock, turning individual efforts into a collective monument.

In this recovered space, ideas and voices clash, yet democracy overcomes, guiding their way.

A single rock thrown into the water disappears, But when millions are placed together, a pier emerges.

This collective act becomes a shrine to a common prayer, Of gratitude and hope, transcending historical divisions.

In this sacred space, immune to possession and claim, the Lebanese people define their redemption.

CHAPTER VII Celebration in the purple sea of Tyr, the royal city of the murex.

In Tyre, the final celebration begins, a march towards a shared moment of healing.

Procession flows from land to sacred seas, on a submerged platform of fishing nets.

Hands join to plant poles deep in the tide, stretching layers of nets as a collective altar, woven with pride in historical coastal towns, a stage for joyous cheering and festivity.

They move together through the waves, shoulder to shoulder and hearts open.

On this platform, they stand as equals, the water a common ground, uniting all.

Amid celebrations, future fears still linger, but now that healing is possible, a change becomes visible.

Serge El Douaihy

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LEARNING FROM THE ROAD Iris Hansen

In August 2021, my childhood friend Eleonore and I embarked on a nine-month journey, beginning in Seattle in Washington, US and ending in Ushuaia, Argentina.

As foreigners, we had just less than three months to travel from Seattle to San Diego, crossing through Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Oregon, Nevada, Utah and Arizona. The solution? Living out of the back of a 1998 Dodge Caravan we bought in Seattle. Houseless but not homeless, the van became our shelter and companion. More than just a vehicle, it was our home, our window to the world and our tool for learning from the road.

The van revealed unexpected lessons from the first night. We grappled with exposure to sound and cold, the lack of privacy, the discomfort that the subtle inclines of the ground caused and the tightness of the space we shared.

The following passages explore how living on the road, or en route, reshaped our understanding of space and place.

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THE EYES OF THE CAR

THE CAR AS MEDIUM

As Eleonore and I travelled 22,500km in just 83 days, we never allowed ourselves to close our eyes. The spectacle unfolding beyond the windows of our Dodge Caravan, even at night, was too precious to miss. Mark Wigley once remarked, ‘No journey goes from A to B because travelling to B changes A’. We found this resonated with life on the road. It is the journey – more than the destination – that transforms both the traveller and the places they pass. In a car, the landscape unfolds not as isolated elements, but as a continuous interconnected flow. As the traveller moves forward elements in the distance advance, take centre stage and fade into the periphery.

This progression allowed us to organise and make sense of the visual world.

Travelling by car enabled us to perceive the landscape in its entirety, reshaping our experience of time and space.

It compressed time through speed and expanded space by making distant vistas feel reachable. A fleeting sense of omniscience was created; an ephemeral understanding of the relationships between landscapes.

Learning from the road is not solely visual.

The car, as a sealed environment in motion, engages the traveller’s senses in unexpected ways. Smithson observed that even the air inside a car carries traces of the landscape, subtly altered as smells pass through the ventilation system. The weather outside – fog, rain or sunlight – becomes tangible on the windows.

The road itself, whether polished, granular, rocky or muddy, is felt through the friction of the wheels, making the car shake, slide or hum. The car transforms topography into a tactile experience resonating through its vibrations and the traveller’s body.

Smithson notes: ‘The road in some landscapes moves the car around ... , as if the car attaches by a cord to some pivotal point’.

The pace of travel amplifies this sensory interaction, enabling the traveller to read and internalise the topography.

A MULTITUDE OF ANGLES When planning our route between San Francisco and San Diego, we debated whether to drive down Route 1, along the west coast, or take the inland Routes 5 and 15.

We chose the coast where the ocean would remain visible from the passenger seat.

This echoed Alison Smithson’s reflections in AS in DS: An Eye on the Road, her 1972 diary of car journeys between London and Wiltshire. She described how a simple tilt of the head could alter perception, creating an oblique, dreamlike ‘side-slip’ of the passing scenery.

The car, with its framing through front, rear and side windows, offers an ever-shifting perspective. Mirrors layer this vision, enabling the driver to see forward and backward simultaneously, transforming the car into a dynamic mediator that creates a multi-perspectival experience of space.

LEARNING FROM THE ROAD

A WAY OF BEING IN THE WORLD Over time, the once-intimidating outdoors lost its foreign quality. We learned to tame it using whatever was at hand. McDonald’s parking lots became living rooms, petrol stations provided bathrooms and kitchens.

Public land became our main habitat. The car existed in a liminal space – both private and public. Its surfaces and contents were ours, yet it moved through a shared world. In Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies, Reyner Banham observed that freeways feel like extensions of the outdoors, while slower roads are intimate, like interiors. I argue the opposite: faster roads create a sense of privacy through speed, while slower roads render the car porous; windows invite glances, blurring boundaries between public and private.

Through these shifting dynamics, the moving car becomes more than transport – it is a tool for navigating, interpreting and inhabiting the spaces between destinations – a way of being in the world.

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IRIS HANSEN

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ARCHETYPE AS POLITICAL FORM: FOUR EXAMPLES OF VAULT HOUSES Jang Hee Lee

US Government photo of Quonset huts in front of Laguna Peak, Point Mugu in 1946.

Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Architetura Nova was the name later given to a Brazilian collective of radical architects including Flávio Império, Rodrigo Lefèvre and Sérgio Ferro. The collective worked together between 1961–71 with a vision to centre workers' knowledge in architectural production, challenging traditional notions of authorship. Through this innovative approach, they developed the archetype of the vault house.

Vault houses can be defined as long and narrow communal dwellings covered by a single arch which serves as both roof and wall. By examining four examples of this typology, this study investigates the materials and construction methods used, and the forms of life it sustains across past, present and future, to argue that this architectural form embodies resistance, economy and a sociopolitical critique.

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SARĪFA The vault house as communal resistance

CASA ABÓBADA The vault house as economical poetry

Sarīfa is a building technique that has been practised by the Ahwari people of southern Iraq’s marshlands for more than 5,000 years. The Ahwari weave reeds into parabolic arches, crafting structures that accommodate multiple activities from the profane to the sacred: the bayt, a single room dwelling; the raba, a kinship space; and the mudhif, a ceremonial place and a guest house. These structures typically last 10–15 years and require periodic repairs due to the reed material used and the humid climate. One could argue this constant communal building practice creates a form of resistance to stand against the modern Iraqi government’s violent oppression of the community’s semi-nomadic way of life, lack of fixed boundaries and collective rejection of private ownership.

From 1961, Arquitetura Nova built 12 vault houses including Casa Abóbada, which served as a counter project to the ‘horror of construction sites’. Shocked by worker injuries and deaths callously tolerated to realise Niemeyer’s structurally nonsensical National Congress, Arquitetura Nova problematised the division of intellectual practice and manual labour. The group rejected exploitative methods and experimented with a series of building techniques that could easily be carried out by craftsmen without the requirement of heavy machinery. Catenary vaults were appropriated for their structural efficiency, simple construction and unusual form.

Elements such as structure, drainage and electrical services were not masked but expressed, simplifying their maintenance.

Interiors were neither compartmentalised nor flexible, and the vault ribs imposed linearity and made spaces legible.

QUONSET HUT The industrialised vault house for war and beyond

MONSTERS IN SILICON VALLEY The Quonset hut, developed during the Second World War in the US, shows how a robust shelter, even for extreme conditions like Alaska, can be remarkably simple to manufacture and assemble. Featuring a semi-circular corrugated steel roof to minimise materials and structural complexity, the Quonset hut could be erected by six untrained personnel in just four hours using basic tools. All components, including plywood floors, insulation, doors, windows and chimneys, were prefabricated. Available in two standard sizes (20ft and 40ft wide), it served 86 functions during wartime including barracks, offices, mess halls and chapels.

Following the war, the huts were repurposed as temporary homes and college dormitories but never became desirable dwellings largely due to their mobility, industrial appearance and non-hierarchical interior layout.

ARCHETYPE AS POLITICAL FORM

Last but not least, the monsters of the vault house can be examined by carving out white forms from Gabriele Basilica’s Silicon Valley, 07. These cut-outs delineate inside and outside, making boundaries and forms visible. The spaces are left blank, acknowledging the formation of collective action as a precondition of the project: vault house.

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FROM THE COURT JESTER TO THE COMMENTS SECTION: A SHORT GENEALOGY OF ANTAGONISM 36 Bedford Circle

In the time of Shakespeare, the jester was a licensed provocateur in the monarch’s court. It was an antagonistic position that found expression through humour. In the play King Lear, the Fool remains by the king’s side. Unable to see reason through the thickets of madness, King Lear banishes his loyal subjects when they oppose him.

Meanwhile, the Fool relentlessly reprimands the king yet manages to keep his place in the court. The contradiction in this situation is a disruption of the symbolic order of dissent.

The form and authority of rational debate is negated by incisive jokes. The jester gets away with bold disagreement in front of the king. Hence, the court becomes a haven for a humorous style of subversion. Antagonism is seen as constructive. The Fool is a critical foil for King Lear to reflect on his own absurdity. When the Fool disappears, King Lear spirals into despair … so it goes.

Several centuries later, at the end of a lecture given by Richard Meier at Columbia University, Rem Koolhaas stands up and makes a striking critical comment.

Immediately, Peter Eisenman jumps in to defend his friend, exclaiming that the remark was unacceptable. Here we see a different kind of provocateur: we see l’enfant terrible (the terrible child). With a note of megalomania, l’enfant terrible delivers a shock that lands between fascination and horror. The symbolic order of dissent is disrupted by a sort of tyranny. Traditionally, challenging the establishment relied on polite disagreement or debate, not bold AARCHITECTURE 48

remarks delivered at the end of a lecture.

The first-rate enfant terrible operates at proximity and risks having their head on a platter by the end of a sentence. The sensation of the act is its own kind of thrill, and the defiance displayed opens a liminal space for interrogating norms. Meier’s lecture occurred in the fall of 1973; two years later Rem Koolhaas founded OMA. The rest is history.

With the dawn of the Internet, it became easy to be a withering critic of anyone who did not align with you. The veil of anonymity is afforded by the fact that physical presence is removed in the virtual realm. When anonymity means that you can be direct with your disagreement without fear of physical reaction, new expressions of antagonism emerge. Online language, for instance, often carries ambiguity, relying on allusions and context. For example, the Urban Dictionary defines the online political slang ‘based’ as ‘meta-ironic’, meaning that it can be sincere or ironic, or both. The form of dissent becomes fluid as traditional discourse is bypassed in the digital realm.

The comments section is a breeding ground for the satirical, absurd and critical, but also the collective. As a result, focus shifts onto the comments and the original content is overshadowed. Previously a supporting act, antagonism becomes the main spectacle.

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FROM THE COURT JESTER TO THE COMMENTS SECTION

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TWO AA LAWUN PRESENTATIONS DEALING WITH THE

S P A C E

BETWEEN

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A slight homage to Ed Ruscha’s Every Building on the Sunset Strip, 1966.

The elevation of everything from 1 Montague Street to 36 Bedford Square via the back of the British Museum.

Returning from 36 Bedford Square via the front of the British Museum to 1 Montague Street.

32 students and staff from across the AA school.

32 A4 sketches. Five sessions en plein air.

For Claude Debussy ‘Music is the space between the notes.’ Mozart said something similar… ‘music is not in the notes but in the silence between the notes’.

If the piano is travelling in Debussy’s space between, is it in the architecture?

‘There is no such thing as an empty space or an empty time. There is always something to see, something to hear. In fact, try as we may to make a silence, we cannot…’ John Cage.

However, Ma is the pure, and indeed, essential void between all things. Ma is all about space that holds potential.

Goethe said architecture is frozen music whatever that means – the frozen gap?

Architecture always concentrates on the solid stuff, but we live in the gaps between the solid. In this case we play a Debussy piano composition en plein air.

The piano performance travels for 100m over five minutes in a gap in the space between the AA’s two solid presences in Bloomsbury.

A gap is the space between things. Inquisitive as usual ‘How big is a gap?’ asks Alice. ‘Sometimes the size of Bedford Square’, replies the rabbit.

AA LAWUN

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AA PUBLICATIONS New Releases

A Set of Actual Tracks Edited by Ludovico Centis Design: Caspar Bailey AA Publications editors: Ryan Dillon, Max Zarzycki Proofreaders: Charlotte Jones, Anna Lisa Reynolds 232pp, 140 × 190mm, Paperback, 2024

AA Files 80 Edited by Maria Shéhérazade Giudici and Rory James Sherlock Design: Andrew Reid Proofreaders: Charlotte Jones, Max Zarzycki 96pp, 245 × 297mm Paperback, 2024

Concerning ... Land Edited by Ingrid Schroder Design: Andrew Reid AA Publications editor: Emily Priest Proofreaders: Charlotte Jones, Max Zarzycki 48pp, 110 × 140mm Paperback, 2024 AARCHITECTURE 48

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AARCHITECTURE 49 OPEN CALL Reroute

This open call for AArchitecture 49 invites us to Reroute; to challenge the paths that have been etched into the ground; to embrace the desire lines that the canons have taught us to resist and to reconsider the systems that have shaped our trajectories.

Reroute asks us to interrogate the established frameworks and conventions of architecture. It is a call to critically examine the systems and ideologies we have inherited, to reflect on the routes we have taken thus far, and to imagine futures that allow life to flourish differently. We seek to make room for alternative spatial practices to emerge from the margins, embracing the uncertainty and potential of charting new directions, dispositions and systems. If AArchitecture 48 considers existing routes between A and B, this coming issue will critique existing systems and propose alternative new ones.

We invite submissions in the form of writing, images or spatial experiments that explore the theme of Reroute, as well as responses to the pieces in AArchitecture 48. Written submissions should not exceed 500 words. Please email submissions to aarchitecture@aaschool.ac.uk by Monday 10 March.

OPEN CALL

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36 BEDFORD CIRCLE is the fourth or maybe fifth meme page at the Architectural Association (AA).

YELIZ ABDURAHMAN is an AA Diploma student with an undergraduate degree from the University of Cambridge. She has gained experience working at leading practices around the world. Operating at the intersection of research, theory and design, her work reflects a commitment to pushing the boundaries of architecture and critical thought.

RIM CHERKAOUI is a Diploma student at the AA. She is a junior collaborator at Memory Of Modern Architects, where she contributes to the preservation of Morocco’s modern architectural heritage. She is interested in urban and social dynamics in the Middle East and North Africa region.

HELEN CHEUNG is a fifth-year student in Diploma 1, and a member of the Material Arcade since 2023.

She is interested in working with existing building structures and exploring the potential of reuse.

NIKOLA DA SILVA AZEVEDO is an artist and designer based between London and Corfu, currently completing her MArch at the AA. Her work focuses on preserving and restoring heritage – architectural, sculptural or environmental – by drawing on geography, archaeology and anthropology to foster transdisciplinary collaboration. In 2024, she cofounded studio ma:ta:, a multidisciplinary practice merging architecture, art curation, object archiving and experimental culinary events to explore cultural narratives and reimagine connections between design, storytelling and shared experience.

SERGE EL DOUAIHY is AA Diploma alum and architect. His work focuses on designing spaces and objects that inspire contemplation, drawing on the layered histories of his upbringing in Lebanon. He has contributed to exhibitions such as the Festival des Cabanes at Villa Medici in Rome and the Lisbon Triennale. Fluent in English, French and Arabic, Serge brings a culturally nuanced approach to multidisciplinary architectural practice.

IRIS HANSEN is a maker and designer based in London, with a practice that spans art and architecture.

She is AA alum and has a BSc in Architecture from the University of Cardiff. Hansen’s work centres on ruralism, convivial place-making and sustainable material cultures; exploring the intricate relationship between landscapes, people and craftsmanship. She is the founder of Studio HIDE.

JAMEILLE LABIS is a recent AA Diploma graduate.

Her research on living territories and human systems is connected to her upbringing in the tropical jungle.

She positions architecture as an ecological agent.

JANG HEE LEE earned a diploma from the AA and currently practices architecture in London.

ALVARO VELASCO PEREZ is a licensed architect, researcher and educator who has practiced in the UK, Nigeria, Spain and the US. He is a lecturer of architecture at the AA and at the University of Navarra in Spain. His PhD focused on the relationships between Paris and the Sahara from 1848–1953.

SHAFIKA TALIB is an AA Intermediate student, artist and editor of AArchitecture, and works as an assistant at the art gallery Hauser & Wirth.

MAGDALENE MONZIE TAN is a Diploma Student and editor of AArchitecture.

AUDE TOLLO is an architectural designer, researcher and writer. She is currently completing her Diploma in architecture at the AA. She is part of MatriArchitecture and PATCH, a collective founded by the 2020–21 cohort of the New Architecture Writers (N.A.W.) in London. Her personal practice considers non-canonical ways of knowing and archiving through earth architecture, representation and speculation.

LUCIANA VARKULJA is a Brazilian architect, urban designer, educator and researcher. She holds an MS in Advanced Architectural Design from Columbia University (GSAPP) and a Bachelor’s in Architecture and Urban Design from the University of São Paulo.

Founder of uma architecture & design, Varkulja focuses on ecological approaches and ethical labour informed by supply chains across Latin America, Africa and the US. Luciana is a Senior Lecturer at Otis College of Art and Design, and an Adjunct Professor at Boston Architectural College.

JULIAN WASILEWSKI was born in Cologne, Germany in 2000. After living and studying in London for a couple of years, he is currently based in Mexico City.

LAWuN (Locally Available World unseen Networks), first iteration in 1969; AALAWuN first iteration in 2016; AALAWuN is only ever as useful as the students in the school make it; LAWuN is a site of the Invisible University.

KAITO INOUE is an Intermediate student at the AA. He graduated from Yokohama National University with a thesis on Japanese architecture and later worked as an AI consultant in Tokyo. He is interested in craft and its impact on society.

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The Material Arcade imagines Material Constellations at the AA (PAGE 4). Kaito Inoue spends Six Weeks with Benson Shrine and eventually buries it in Soho Square (PAGE 6). Nikola Da Silva Azevedo challenges land management restrictions at Ash Ranges, Surrey, through a photographic experiment (PAGE 8).

Jameille Labis follows The Elephant in the Room and around the South Indian village of Theppakadu (PAGE 12). Rim Cherkaoui and Alvaro Velasco Perez pin down architecture that is Without Traces in the Saharan Desert (PAGE 15). Yeliz Abdurahman stages a disappearance in the city (PAGE 17). Julian Wasilewski journeys through the Chihuahuan Desert with two notebooks (PAGE 20). Luciana Varkulja uncovers the Routes of Exclusion on contested territories in Brazil (PAGE 26). Serge El Douaihy envisions the Healing Ground as a pilgrimage in Lebanon after the civil war (PAGE 33). Iris Hansen is Learning from the Road as she drives for 83 days across the American continent (PAGE 36).

Jang Hee Lee uncovers the roots of vault houses in four corners of the world (PAGE 40). 36 Bedford Circle maps a genealogy of antagonism From the Court Jester to the Comments Section (PAGE 42). LAWuN investigates the gap that lies in-between, from A to A (PAGE 44).

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