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Feminist design tool box or: “If I can’t dance it’s not my revolution” By Gerd Holgersson Image: Andy Warhol’s Dance Diagram, 5 (Fox Trot: “The Right Turn – Man”), 1962


Architecture + Gender: Feminist Design Power Tools School of Architecture, KTH, Stockholm, 2013 Ass. Professor: Dr Hélène Frichot If you can’t dance it’s not my revolution By Gerd Holgersson 2


Contents

4...............................................................................................................................................................................................Manifesto 5............................................................................................................................................................................................Introduction 6..................................................................................................................................................Do it yourself: Architectural Archeology 7............................................................................................................................................................... Reflections: Altering practices 8....................................................................................................................................................Do it yourself: Find your mixed up self 9..................................................................................................................................................................... Reflections: Body-building 10...........................................................................................................................................................Do it yourself: The cyborg within 11...............................................................................................................................................................Refletions: Archi-techno-girls 12.......................................................................................................................Do it yourself: The transgressive art of bodies in motion 13...............................................................................................................................................................Reflections: Materialist ethics 14................................................................................................................................................Dialog, eller: Som att tala med en v채gg 16...............................................................................................................................................Dialogue, or: Like talking to a brick wall 18...........................................................................................................................................................................................Comments 20.........................................................................................................................................................................................Bibliography 3


Manifesto

Advices for a pleasant journey 1. Walk only on surfaces that makes you want to dance. 2. Design houses that feel like sneakers. 3. If you want someone to play, don't put them in a playground. 4. One-purpose toys are boring. 5. Make place for the unplanned. 6. Don't tell me what to do. 7. Remember, its not fair if one person is to decide everything, even if s/he is an architect. 8. Read a novel.

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Introduction The tools I'm offering are not made of steal, nor do they seek confrontation or encourage fight. But its not the strength but the character that matters. The struggle must itself be of the kind that we wish for a future society. Actually, the tools are already the goal, or at least a part of it.

If these tools have any goal outside of themselves it must be to understand architecture itself as a tool: an instrument that helps us discover the complexity of our surroundings and to work for change through empathy and carefulness. To see with someone else's eyes.

Knives can not stitch sweaters. To touch with someone else's fingertips. Henri Lefebvre speaks of Utopia as the possible impossible. Smilar to his, my Utopia isn't any place outside of the possible. My Utopia starts here, in the daily life, on the ground. Instead of a fixed, all-embracing, idealistic idea, being forced upon a misfit reality, I believe we has to imagine Utopia as a bridge between tiny everydays and far away dreams.

To listen to a house like to a polyphonic story, an orchestra of overlapping voices, revealing a constantly more complex genealogy. To wash the dishes with someone else's hands.

Henri Lefebvre. Writings on Cities. Eleonore Kofman, Elizabeth Lebas (eds.) Oxford : Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 1996 5


Do it yourself

Architectural archeology Define the material, social, technical and political factors contributing to the existence of a space. Follow these factors back in time and space, explore how they in turn were made possible. Be open-minded: no factor is too small or too big to be taken into account.

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Reflections: Altering practices In the introduction to Feminist Practices Lori A. Brown discusses the predecessors/influences for this project, and then mentions the book Women in American Architecture: A Historic and Contemporary Perspective (1977, edited by Susana Torre). This book is chosen since it’s concerned with the ongoing feminist rewriting of architectural history, potentially leading to a changed understanding of architecture. Brown writes: “This new history is not one obsessed with the star architect system but one more accurately and realistically including women, their design work, and the influence their work has had on the larger architectural profession and built environment.” (2011:3)

regulating, generating. She owns the space, moves bodies around the room. Who are the actors here, the creators of space? The instruments and the bodies give them sound; the dancers and the person in front of them; the spectators and the sofas whereon we sit; the floor; the mirror, the café in the corner, the elevated balcony for the audio system… But there is also the club organizing the class, there is the money transfers, and there is a 100 year long line of dancers carrying the movements on to the future, there are the dancing roots wherefrom the figures ones was borrowed, and there are the political movements, the forced migrations, the suppressing structures and the initiatives and spaces of resistance and emancipation that made this dance come to being.

This, let’s say more holistic, understanding of architecture is what I understand as the core of her claim for an interdisciplinary approach. Architecture not solely as a piece of art by an omnipotent creator but rather as a result of all the (f)actors involved in its production – which, should be added, doesn’t stop when the building is erected but continues throughout its lifetime.

Each and all of us are parts of the space, thus actors, cocreators. Exactly how big is the role of the architect here, and of the rest of us? Whether a dance hall will be a new space for forbidden experiments, a personal refuge or a training in normative sexual relations - that’s up to who? One way forward might be to highlight the history of dance as a spatial practice for struggle, an act with an actually intimidated power of subversion and liberation. Explore if and how this practice can inscribe the project of resistance into new spaces, or in itself be left as a sanctuary, a concrete but fluid space open to experimentation and play.

How can this process, this recapturing of architecture, start? I start where I sit: looking at a dance floor in a dance studio accompanied by the sound of unsynchronized rubber shoe soles against wooden floorboards. Students lined up, facing her, the instructor. Movements following her voice, coordinated. The open space: a mirror covering nearly the full wall, a curtain in the corner to turn the self-awareness on and off. Gazes pointed back to its origon. Music substitutes her voice: feet start to beat, a multitude of movements fluctuating between order and disorder, between structure and dissolution, breaking, starting over… Her eyes, her body: guarding, confirming,

Lori A. Brown (ed.) Feminist Practices: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Women in Architecture. Farnham : Ashgate, 2011 7


Do it yourself

Find your mixed up self Draw a map of the places - physical och mental - where you feel belonging: spaces that you return to or that you believe constitute your being. Don’t look for consistency or origin but embrace the conflicts and the multitude. Think about yourself as a all-eater or a castle with an infinite number of rooms. By integrating the other you grow bigger and richer.

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Reflections: Body-building When I started reading “The mutant body of architecure” by George Teyssot, my thoughts went to an old book of mine: Husmoderns läkarbok, from the 1930s. Through advises, prescriptions, and pedagogical images its is unravelling the mysteries of the human body. The main attraction are the exceptional colour images: layer by layer of carefully detailed illustrations revealing the constitution of the stomach, the eye, the ear, the reproductive organs...

I’m interested in how this kind of new connections through space (new ways of communicating, flows of capital and goods, news media, migration and other travels, nomadic lifestyles, professional and personal global relations, etcetera) effect our understanding of ourselves, more specific: How do we understand us as parts of communities – local or global? What new kinds of spaces are created, which disappear? How does our sense of responsibility change when the relation between our actions and their consequences is made more complex, blurred, hidden?

I believe this interest of mine represents a quite common curiosity for the unknown, and especially for the unknown inside ourselves. As Teyssot mentions, the invisibility of the our inner organs have for long been a source of inspiration within art and science, and still we're trying to understand how particular material conditions inside our bodies relates to the outer world, as well as to our inner psyche. This can be seen as a search for greater understanding of our own position in space, our place in the world, a search that is naturally shaped by the predominant ideas of the time.

Instead of searching for an origin or try to classify, as my fascination for the images in Husmoderns läkarbok might be an example of, I think the idea that Teyssot brings up about incarnation/incorporation can be useful (1994: 23). If we see ourselves, and also the built surroundings, as species/objects living by integrating the other into ourselves, instead of trying to separate us from them, here from there, maybe we can better understand the our relations to each other, as well as the new spaces we create.

As Teyssot shows, in the early 20th century the predominant analogy was the human/machine, but since the end of the century, when the “computer science and micro-molecular biology” had taken over, we should expect new visions/imaginations of the body in relation to space (1994: 30). If the machine symbolized a kind of mathematical predictability, rationalism and calculation, the paradigm of today is characterized by a complex set of constantly changing (global) connections and flows, interacting as an incomprehensible whole.

George Teyssot. The mutant body of architecure. In: Elizabet Diller, Ricardo Scofidio. Flesh. Architectural probes. New York : Princeton architectural press. 1994 9


Do it yourself

Be aware of the cyborg within Map out the technologies you use in your daily life or in a specific project. What situations or products to they contribute to? How do they effect the outcome? Think for yourself.

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Refletions: Archi-techno-girls My first reaction when reading the Donna Haraway manifesto of cyborgs was suspicion towards hailing the cyborg simply because of its hybrid composition, independent of its use or actions. How is it possible to tell if a cyborg is to prefer to a so called organic being, if you don't know who its actual or consequences?

physics and digital technology is co-working in the production of architecture, in a very high-tech way, yet still occupying the territory of nature/biology. Is this the cyborg of architecture? The idea of the architect in the old “natural” context is an actor, a moral thinker, a creative individual. The role of the architect in performative design is more of a viewer, a co-ordinator of systems. If the first speaks of “going back to nature” (wholeness, origin, unity) the latter speaks of system complexity and future programming possibilities. For the first one nature is still sacred, for the second it isn't because you can no longer tell what is natural and what is not.

But I guess that what Haraway claims is that there is no such thing as the pure organic or “natural” today – that we all are couplings, cyborgs, hybrids. I read the cyborg in her text is a metaphor for the late capitalist postmodern society and a way to interpret the world which leads us away from dualistic, dichotomous thinking. The cyborg in itself is neither necessarily good or bad.

But I'm still not convinced of the superiority of the high-tech cyborg architecture to the low-tech one in the woods. I think we need an equal scepticism toward the products of technology as toward old inadequate concepts of naturalness. And finally I believe we have to remember that how ever big part different kind of technologies take in our lives, bodies and creative processes, we still has the possibility and duty to think and act as moral individuals. Cyborgs, not robots.

Haraway brings up examples from a variety of fields, but I wanted to focus on what her theory could mean in an architectural context. When speaking of “natural architecture” the thoughts probably go to sustainability, local materials, traditional building techniques, chemical-free materials, or cottages in the woods. A sense of rusticity, conservatism and sentimentality can be scent. At the same time the computerized sector of architecture grows, and within this sector too you can see a clear inspiration from nature: digitally made organic shapes and structures, integration of organic sub-systems into the building façade, the idea of performative architecture where the building itself is viewed as a kind of actor (a performing system as opposed to a passive construction). Biology, chemistry,

Donna Haraway, Cyborg Manifesto in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature, London: Free Association Books, 1991 11


Do it yourself

The transgressive art of bodies in motion You are a sensing organ. Transport yourself to a place from where you experience your surroundings in new, closer, ways - climb and smell a wall, use the things on you desk as music instruments, have a dinner in the dark, imitate the movements of the person infront of you in the subway, ...

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Reflections: Materialist ethics I went to a dance performance yesterday. It was architects, light and sound designers, musicians, dancers. It seemed like an interesting approach and assemblage of disciplines. I was reading Jane Bennett too, and since we often talk about putting the gender glasses on, I now wanted to watch this through a pair of lively materialism glasses. What could that mean?

What bored me in the beginning, now intrigued me: how the show was ripped of obvious meaning, and thereby made us capable of seeing the performers not primarily as persons, human beings, but as parts of a space, intimately connected with sound, light, floor, walls, as well as with us, the audience. All co-creators of this specific space and atmosphere. The question of what is alive here, and what is mere dead materia, or who is active and who is passive, doesn't make sense, since the interdependence of all bodies is all too obvious. Is the instrument dead and the musician alive? Is the music alive and the room a dead resonance box? Are the performers alone the dancers or do the floor and the guitar and my body dance too?

The room was black, seats placed 1,5 meter away from the walls, a bunch of instruments lying on the ground in front of us. The architect later said her work was to draw attention to the way the movements of bodies and sounds changed the room. She was waving her hands, trying to describe something hardly put into words. Once during the performance the lights went off. At that moment we, the listeners, were transported into the places of our memories, fantasies. There were no walls but an eternal openness, perhaps a beach, some kind of flying insects in the air, a circular movement as if from a whirlwind, snapping sounds – frogs? The bodies of the dancers did this, our imagination did this. At an other moment – I think it was while the actors were running around us in apparent desperation – I suddenly felt a warmth from behind, as if someone had put a radiator five centimetres away from my back. Protecting and eerie at the same time: the radiating heat of someone else's exhausted body close to mine.

Jane Bennett, ‘A Vitalist Stopover on the Way to a New Materialism’ in Diana Coole and Samantha Frost, eds. New Materialisms: Ontology, Agency, and Politics, Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2010 13


Dialog, eller: Som att tala med en vägg - Lilla huset, vi pratade innan om dig,vad du skulle kunna vara, om man skulle kunna likna dig vid något, använda metaforer för att förstå sig på mig, jag menar dig. Ja, när du cyklade, så pratade vi, i ditt huvud. Men kanske inte så mycket om mig, mer om dig: om vad du ville, vad du drömmer om. Jag var väl mer som ett slags redskap för att fatta dig själv. Som alltid i dina projekt. Orkar inte med dig! Nähä. Nä, för att nu tänkte jag faktiskt så att skrivandet, orden, skulle vara ett slags väg ut, bort från mig själv, från mitt eget perspektiv, mina egna begränsade rum i hjärnlabyrinten, framåt, bortom mig själv. Distans. Som hon skriver Hélène Cixous, i Coming to Writing, att skrivandet kan ge ett välbehövligt avstånd, men också liv, skapa. Jaha, och vad hade det med mig att göra? Det fattar du väl. Att hitta ord som greppar, som fångar det där som jag kanske vill med dig. För att kunna ge dig en form. Styrka undanglidande idéer, stötta, genom att skriva fram dem, fästa dem, befästa. Och sen, när du har idéer glasklara som... glas? Sen! Sen?! Måste du vara så himla målfokuserad? Kan du inte bara. Det är dåligt för kreativiteten. För att det inte bara ska bli ord. “Bara” ord. Bara ord kan du vara själv. *trumpen* Okej. What ever. … Okej. Vi börjar om: om du inte vore ett hus, vad hade du varit då? En skog, sa du sist. Men jag tycker inte att vi har så mycket gemensamt. Vad tycker du då – vad är du, vad är du lik? 14


… En låda. Kanske en sådan där med rutor som man snurrar... Rubriks kub. Väldigt ytlig liknelse i så fall. Annars då? Tja, en ost. Med hål i, Grevé. Eller manchego. Uppskuren, fast i konsistensen. Du är ju sjuk. Vad hade du önskat att jag var som då? Jag hade önskat att du var som en glänta, som ett djupt klädskåp, som en hög tall, som en ihålig ek. Jag hade velat att du lockade som en hemlighetsfull någon. Jag hade velat att du drog mig till dig som en solstråle drar mig till sig där den träffar marken. Du vill att jag ska vara en skog, alltså. Nä, jag vill ha något att dricka, och glömma dig. Men om du vore som en skog, på det sättet, det vore väl second best, jo. Om du hatar mig så himla mycket, varför ritade du mig? Varför prata med mig? Varför inte bara dra, skita i allt. Sluta! Få inte in mig på varför! Igen! Jag hatar inte dig... hur skulle jag kunna göra det utan att hata mig själv... För att jag inte är du. Fatta det någonsin. Du: människa. Jag: projekt. Du: liv. Jag: … Ja. Jag: människa, du: projekt. Du: min skapelse! Jag: allsmäktig! Yeah, you're on to something girl. Shit, jag måste ha snus. Det är bara för mycket. … Så... var var jag. Jo, jag: allsmäktig! Jag kan göra dig till vad jag vill! Skog! Om jag säger skog skall du vara skog! Jag ger mig. Men vadå. Det är fint ju. Härligt. Okej, men konkret då: du ska få Rubriks kub att bli en skog. Ja. Japp. Joho.

Hur? En björkskog? Tuja? Löv, blandskog? Svamp? Entrén till exempel? Entrén... Har du sett en skog med entré? Men okej, det är varierat: tätt, och glest. Och sen öppnar det sig, det öppnar sig uppåt när man väl har kommit in. Och så är det ljuset. Skuggspel. Kottar? Stenbumlingar? Meh. … Utifrån är det en slags slutenhet, men där något kan anas. Inuti stigar, eller ja, öppna passager. Och ljuset då. Du pratar mycket om ljus. Ja. Och? Jo, jag tänkte på en sak. Om du bara vill ha skog, varför går du inte ut i skogen istället? För att... det är tråkigt. Eller i alla fall om där inte finns något att plocka, äta. Och kallt. I mitt hus (i dig!) ska det vara varmt. Och där ska finnas saker att läsa, att sitta på, att gå till. Hm, ok. Så, har jag klarnat nu då? Har du lyckats omskapa mig nu. Är jag tydligare I konturerna, ger jag ett mer självsäkert intryck? Möjligen. Något klarare kanske.

Hélène Cixous, ‘Coming to Writing’ in Hélène Cixous, Coming to Writing and Other Essays, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991 15


Dialogue, or: Like talking to a brick wall - Little house, we talked about you earlier, what you could be, what you could be likened to, metaphors that could be used to understand me, you I mean. Yes, when you biked we talked. In your head. But not too much about me I think, rather about you: what you wanted, what you dream of. I was more like a kind of tool for you to get yourself. As always in your projects. Ah! I can’t take you anymore. No? No, because actually, in this case, I wanted the words to be a way out, away from myself, from my own perspective, my own limited mind. Distance. As she writes, Hélène Cixous, in Coming to Writing, that the writing can produce a separation, nut also be creative. And what has that got to do with me? You get it don’t you. To find word that gets grip of what I might want with you. To give a shape. To make flesh of elusive ideas, fasten, define. And then... when ideas are clear as glass? Then! Then?! Why do you always have to be so teleological? Can’t you just... it’s destructive for creativity. Because, because otherwise it’s only words. “Only” words. You can be “only words” yourself. *moody* Okay. What ever. … Well, let’s start over: If you weren’t a house, what would you then be? A forest, you said, last time. But I don’t believe we have much in common. So, what’s your opion: what are you like? ….Hm, a box? Maybe one of those with squares you turn... Rubrik’s cube. 16


Most superficially I would say. And more? Well, a cheese? With holes. Greve, or manchego, cut into pieces, with a solid texture. You are mentally ill. What did you wish me to be then? I’d wished you were like a glade, like a deep wardrobe, like a tall pine, like a hollow oak. I’d wished you to be seductive as a secretive someone, I’d wished you to attract me as a ray of light when it hits the grownd. So, you want me to be a forset then. No, I want something to drink, and forget about you. But if you were like a forest, in the way I explained, yeah that would be second best I suppose. If you hate me that much, then why did you draw me? Why talk to me at all? Why not just get the hell out of here? Stop! Don’t make me go there! Again! I don’t hate you... how could I do that without hating myself.... Because: I am not you. Get that ever. You: human. I: project. You: life. I: … Yes. I: human. You: project. You: my creation! I: allmighty! Yeah, you’re on to something girl. Shit, I need snus. This is just too much. … So, where were we. Yes, I: allmighty! I can transform you into anything I wish! Forest! If I say forest you shall be forest! I give up. Hey, what’s the matter. It’s nice, no? Charming. Okay, but in practice: you are transforming Rubrik’s cube into a forest. Yes, Yup. How? A birch forest? Thuja? Coniferous, deciduous? Mushrooms? What about the entrance for example?

The entrance... Have you ever seen a forset with an entrance? But all right. It varied, dense and sparse. And then it opens up towards the sky. And there is the light. Shadows playing. Cones? Stones, boulders? Meh. … From the outside it’s kind of closed, but something shall be scented. From within paths, yes, passages of light. You talk a lot about light. I do. So? Hm, there was an other thing I was thinking of. If you want forest, why don’t you just go to the woods instead? Because it’s boring. At least if there is nothing to pick, to eat. And it’s cold. In my house (in you!) it’s going to be warm. And there will be things to read, to rest on. I see. So, am I more clear now? Was the transformation process successful? Are my contours more defined, do I give a look more confident? Perhaps. A bit.

Hélène Cixous, ‘Coming to Writing’ in Hélène Cixous, Coming to Writing and Other Essays, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991 17


Comments

Comment on: Back to basics, by Klara Östlund “I think what you write about is very relevant to a discussion about the meanings of architecture. The private/public analysis can often simply too much, but if we – as you do – go back too ourselves and our own basic experiences and needs, then i think its possible to make this public/private discussion less dicotomic and more productive. Because, as you say, we do need spaces for both contemplation, communication, to be alone and with others, and all of these spaces has private as well as public aspects, and especially today its becoming harder and harder to distinct between the two. I think that going “back to basic” in the sence of rethinking ur needs and how architecture can support them, without getting stuck in an idea about either private or public, is a good start!”

Comment on: Architecture by all senses, by Malin Ahlgren Bergman “I agree with your thoughts about the hierarchy between sences and the superiority of the eye in our culture. This I would guess is related to the imagined idea about a certain connection between eye-brain-knowledge-rationality, as opposite to “other sences”-emotions-irrationality. I just want to add to the discussion the importance of the tools we have in hand, the tools that have functioned as means to gain scientific knowledge as well as to entertain ourselves and understand the world around us. The last century, I believe, has been a century of the eye: the rise of the camera, the moving images, the X-ray, the visual culture offered by computers and similar devices. To move the focus from the eye towards the body as a complex whole new techniques to communicate and value the knowledge gained from smell, touch, sound, emotions needs to be developed. This is a process that has already started but it will be fun to see what comes out of it.”

Comment on: The Precious Doubt, by Christoph Kuhr “I agree in your analysis and I think this idea of reevaluating dougbt is in fact very inspiring. Maybe the key point here is to distinguish when doubt turns out to be a generic force instead of a passivating blocker. When this criticism and uncertainty toward the field or practice of architecture doesn’t end in distrust but succeed in producing new ways of doing, become creative. As mentioned, doubt often springs from a careful close look at the situation being, and in fact indicates that the subject at stake is seen as truely mattering. What you doubt is what you don’t yet know, therefore an opportunity to change – your own beliefs as well as what’s finally produced. To be able to dare doubting we has to strive towards an atmosphere that encourages testing, thinking and best of all, failing. 18


Comment on: Overall structures vs. The patterns details, by Matilda Schuman

Comment on: Feminist Manifestos, by Samina Sultana “The right to privacy is as you say related to gender as well as to class. It’s often described as a basic human right, a care for each and every one’s integrity. But as your example shows this right has seldom belonged to individuals of the lower parts of the society – the poor, women, LGBTQ persons, indigenous groups, children – but has merely been a question for the privileged. Overcrowded slums well exemplifies a violation of the right to privacy. Other examples are sexual abuse, burglary, surveillance of digital communication through internet, interference of authorities into families, media publications regarding one’s sexual preferences, etcetera.

I struggle often too with these questions, without great success, but I believe something important is not to let the insight of structural injustices and patterns paralyze, which can be the case especially when working withing a “creative field” such us design or architecture. When the good and the bad is already known to start with the lust to create may disappear. The will to do good can only be a starting point and has to be interpreted and adapted to one’s personal interest. The second reflection that came to my mind is concerned with your discussion on whether there are any such things as female or male architecture or working methods, and if there is a point in working “as a man” if you are a woman (or the other way around), just in order to blurr the line a bit, or if its a better idea to simply reject this “male architecture”. I think your conclusion – about not focusing on the immediate results or but instead trying to create alliances with common interests – is valid.

In some cases though, the right to privacy has been confused with the more vague right to “mind one’s own business”, and has been used not as a protection for the weak but as a weapon in the hands of the strong. When the nuclear family is declared sacred, when secret fellowships closes the doors to their meetings, or when powerful decision-makers doesn’t want to get their doings scrutinized, then the rhetoric of the right to privacy is used to extend the power of the privileged, instead of the opposite. With this said, I believe it’s an important discussion to raise.”

Even if its hard to think outside of the old dichotomies, l believe we have to be careful and open-minded not to routine cathegorize. Maybe there can be a point in being a genius sometimes, who knows? Perhaps the future lies in a separatist group of women scy scraping architects, laughting at there own jokes in hidden high quarter.

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Bibliography

Lori A. Brown (ed.) Feminist Practices: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Women in Architecture. Farnham : Ashgate, 2011. Hélène Cixous, ‘Coming to Writing’ in Hélène Cixous, Coming to Writing and Other Essays, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991 Donna Haraway, Cyborg Manifesto in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature, London: Free Association Books, 1991 Henri Lefebvre. Writings on Cities. Eleonore Kofman, Elizabeth Lebas (eds.) Oxford : Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 1996. Introduction by Eleonore Kofman and Elizabeth Lebas. Katherine Shonfield. ”Premature Gratification and Other Pleasures” in This is What we do: a muf manual, London: Elipsis London, 2001. George Teyssot. The mutant body of architecure. In: Elizabet Diller, Ricardo Scofidio. Flesh. Architectural probes. New York : Princeton architectural press. 1994 Leslie Kanes Weisman. ‘Women’s Environmental Rights: A Manifesto’ in Jane Rendell, Barbara Penner, Iain Borden (eds.), Gender Space Architecture: An Interdisciplinary Introduction, London: Routledge, 2000 Jane Bennett, ‘A Vitalist Stopover on the Way to a New Materialism’ in Diana Coole and Samantha Frost, eds. New Materialisms: Ontology, Agency, and Politics, Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2010 “If I can’t dance it’s not my revolution”, quote ascribed the anarchist and feminst activist Emma Goldman, Living my Life, 1931.

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