Director, Project Coordinationand Development
Claudia Tomateo
Studio Publication and Project Development
Delaney Connor, Shivani Dave, Arooj Fatima, ZolaHaber,Molly Meng, Antonia Simon, Ruth Wondemu
Tableof Contents
Studio 2
LandasLiberation
\ About theStudio \ Course
Description\Land Acknowledgement \
Writings that Informed Our Work \
Community Partners\ Our Methods
Preservation Storybooks \ Organization
Empowerment
\Urban Indigenous
DiasporicMaps\Thank You Letter \
Credits \ Lexicon \ Poem\ Land Memory \ Language
Studio 2 Designand UrbanEcologies
LandasLiberation
About theStudio
In aneraof interconnectedecological,social, andpolitical crises, “Land AsLiberation: VisualizingResurgence” invitesstudents to envision and design transformativefuturesrootedinIndigenous resurgence, land-basedepistemologies, andco-liberatory practices. This course positionslandas central toliberation, examining how refusal andresurgencecandismantleoppressive systemswhile cultivatingpathwaystowardradicalfutures.
Taking the framework ofdesire-basedresearch (Tuck&Yang), the course challenges damage-centerednarratives, centering on the generative possibilitiesandvisionsofIndigenous,Black, and other marginalized communities.Through this lens,students exploredhow thereclamation oflandand knowledgesystems— intertwined withhistoriesof refusaland resistance—can serveas a foundation forimaginingandactualizingjust andliberated
futures.
Grounded in Indigenous methodologies, students explored how design can move beyond reformist paradigms, centering relationships to land, water, and community that refuse colonial domination and prioritize healing, justice, and ecological balance. Projects and discussions engaged with critical questions: How can design amplify Indigenous resurgence? What role does refusal play in challenging oppressive systems? How can landcentered epistemologies inform new spatial imaginaries and practices of care?
“Land As Liberation: Visualizing Resurgence” is not just a course— it is an invitation to reclaim design as a radical act of resistance, resurgence, and liberation. Together, we co-create visions of a world where land is not only a site of struggle but also of resurgence, healing, and collective transformation.
LEXICON Land as Liberation
Inspired by our readings and writing on land in the early weeks of the semester, we created The Land as Liberation Lexicon, a collection of visual and written responses to the question: What is land as liberation? In this early phase of our semester, we ask: What does it mean to see land not as property, but as relation? Not as a commodity, but as kin? Through the lens of both human and more-than-human connections, each entry begins with the statement "Land as liberation is…", followed by a personal interpretation grounded in the readings and conversations from Weeks 1 and 2. Accompanied by images and citations, these entries began to form a collective of meanings that grew throughout the semester as we deepened our inquiry into land, power, and liberation.
Image by Delaney Connor, using imagery from Google Earth and The New York TImes
Delaney Connor
Land as liberation is…
reimagining earthly relations —
transforming extraction into stewardship, exploitation into reciprocity, and commodification into community.
Planetary degradation and human suffering are fundamentally underpinned by extractive, exploitative, and commodification relationships with the earth and people. Realizing and reimagining these relationships to be rooted in giving rather than taking might undo and repair harm.
Delaney Connor
Land as liberation is…
recognizing that our own liberation is tied up in its.
Human labor exploitation for capital accumulation directly mirrors the extractive practices that motivate the degradation of our landscapes. In the face of multimodal oppression, liberation struggles ought to be interconnected. Solidarity not only strengthens resistance efforts but also prefigurates values and relationships that could replace dominant systems.
Illustration by Shivani Dave,
Gujarati text by Poorna (Shivani’s grandmom)
Land as liberation is…
having a story to tell.
Shivani Dave
As I sit with my grandmom and listen to her talk about her life in Africa, I wonder why I can still recite the Swahili poem she taught me when I was young. Her descriptions are vivid, like she is reliving her life at home - a home that now lives in the past. A home that was full of life, human and otherwise.
Even though she has now lived in Mumbai for over 5 decades - and I have lived here all my life - what do my ‘vivid’ stories of home sound like?
Shivani Dave
Land as liberation is…
embodying its history and feeling its weight.
Growing up in a city (and country) that still has visible colonial footprints despite being decolonised for 78 years, I have come to realise how deep the scars left behind are; albeit very slowly.
My relationship with land is strictly narrated through stories of it being looted, occupied, lost, owned, sold and more - the freedom and agency to refer to my land as “mine” has not occurred to me yet.
What if
it
never does?
Dave
Land as liberation is…
denotes autonomy in the political, economic, social, and ecological spheres.
Politically, secure control over land enables communities to establish and govern themselves according to their own values, free from external authorities. Economically, it entails organizing access to land for agriculture, housing, and other productive activities, thereby creating a foundational network for local production and reducing reliance on exploitative markets and municipal management. Socially, land as liberation protects a space for communal and cultural gathering, ensuring freedom of expression and the practice of culture without external interference. Finally, from an ecological standpoint, it recognizes a reciprocal relationship between people and the environment, where the wellbeing of one directly impacts the other. It means living in harmony with local ecosystems—protecting biodiversity, water sources, soil health, and more.
Picture by Molly Meng
Land as liberation is…
Molly Meng
“Presence–Connect–Play” is a simple three-part framework often used in Authentic Relating communities to describe a progression of how people can deepen their connection and creativity with each other.
“Presence” begins by landing in the here-and-now, not merely planting our feet but also receiving feedback from the ground—like dancers who feel the earth’s support and allow their own inner pulse to generate movement and connection. In "Connect", we recognize there is someone else in the relational field, with an experience every bit as layered and vibrant as our own. As we acknowledge and invite their perspectives, we weave our unique realities together, co-creating a dynamic exchange that unifies physical realities together, co-creating a dynamic
Art by Giulia Ravarotto
realities together, co-creating a dynamic exchange that unifies physical sensations, emotions, and thoughts into a cohesive flow. Finally, "Play" emerges when these foundations of presence and connection open a gateway to spontaneous, creative exploration—an embodied, yet cognitive invitation to discover new relational possibilities.
As we connect this framework to “Land as Liberation,” we move toward a wholeness connection to the ground and the other beings on this ground, defragmenting the many parts of ourselves into a single, integrated expression of consciousness—and in doing so, we expand not only our personal awareness, but also the shared space in which authentic connection thrives.
Land as liberation is…
Antonia Simon
historically rooted and adaptive to its living systems.
To undo the long history of land dispossession and domination, land liberation requires no one singular approach. Rather, the act of looking back and forward to discriminate how liberation should be defined and for what/whom. It must be historically grounded in the struggles and joys of past generations while remaining responsive to the evolving needs of the land and its more-than-human and human communities today. At its core, this requires a fundamental shift: recognizing land not as a resource to be claimed but as a living entity whose liberation must restore its ecological integrity while sustaining the entire web of life it supports.
Oliver Kellhammer
Antonia Simon
Land as liberation is…
relational.
Land’s liberation is inseparable from the liberation of all that it sustains and depends on. Its orientation, its ecosystem, is fundamental to what true liberation looks like. But when we lose that sense of relationship, how can liberation occur? In an urban context, where most people are disconnected from the land, how do we cultivate relationships that support liberation?
Land as liberation is…
Arooj Fatima
reclamation of histories silenced, geographies fragmented and communities displaced. In Pakistan, the land carries layers of memory—partition scars, agrarian struggles, rivers redirected and fields fenced in the name of progress. My relationship with land is woven with narratives of migration, landlessness and resilience. To liberate land is to heal these histories, to see it not as property but as a shared inheritance, a breathing entity that nourishes and remembers. It means reconnecting to the soil with reciprocity rather than extraction, ensuring that its future is as regenerative as its past is resilient.
Land as liberation is…
Arooj Fatima
the inheritance of hands, history, and heritage stitched together with memory, care and the quiet labor of love.
Liberation is not just found in reclaiming land itself but in reviving the traditions that keep it alive. It is in the slow, patient craft of hands that pass down knowledge through generations, in the stitches that carry the weight of time and in the textures of fabric that hold not just thread but identity. It is in the way history is preserved, not in monuments, but in the everyday acts of creation, in the rituals of making and in the continuities that refuse to be broken.
Across Pakistan, women have long gathered on the ground, their hands moving in rhythm with the stories
they share, embroidering not just cloth but history.
Every pattern is a memory, every motif a reflection of place, echoing the warmth of desert sands in Sindhi ajrak, the geometric whispers of mountains in Swati phulkari and the delicate shimmer of gota that once adorned the women of Jhang. These are not just embellishments; they are maps of belonging, symbols of identity, and testaments to time and care.
To liberate land is to protect these inheritances, not as relics but as living practices that continue to weave past and future together. It is to wear history with pride, to carry forward the labor of those who came before and to recognize that true freedom is not in forgetting but in holding on, thread by thread, stitch by stitch, to the land, the culture and the hands that shaped them.
Ruth Wondemu
Land as liberation is…
= unlearning western ideology.
Land liberation is the process of decolonizing the self and letting go of the ideology of Western principles, reclaiming our reciprocal relationship with the earth, where beings coexist in healing, autonomy, and resistance against colonial and capitalist extraction.
Ruth Wondemu
Land as liberation is…
connection to home.
The relationship between land and identity is central to one’s sense of freedom. When communities are uprooted for Western interests, it raises the question of whether those in power ever had our well-being in mind. Mobilizing and sharing the stories of what once was—and what will be—fuels a collective purpose to revitalize what was meant to be erased.
Zola Haber
Land as liberation is…
letting go of the idea of ownership and commodification
One of the biggest issues we have in this city is housing. People cannot afford rent, or it takes up a large portion of their income, leaving less room for food, medical care and child care. Land as Liberation means seeing land as a communal asset to be used for the well being of all who live here. Land as Liberation means no one sleeps out in the streets.
Zola Haber
Land as liberation is…
connection with your community.
When thinking about liberation I cannot help but think of the connections and unity needed in order to create it. One person cannot bring about liberation on their own. We often think about ourselves as separate from land separate from nature, but we are a part of it. To be connected with the land one must be connected to their community. The images are of a quilt I made to celebrate the community I found in my dining co-op at undergrad.
Studio 2 Design and Urban Ecologies Land as Liberation
Course Description
This Studio 2 course is offered to first year Ms Design and Urban Ecologies (DUE) students at The New School. It is structured as a transdisciplinary studio in which students work in teams in order to develop design frameworks aimed at speculating on alternative spatial formations, participatory frameworks, and environmental strategies, as well as new models of ownership, property, community organizations, and innovative social and ecological relations. DUE Studio 2 engages with an assigned urban territory in New York City in which students discover urgencies as well as opportunities, and create partnerships with local organizations in order to discover specific possibilities for urban transformation.
Subsequently, student teams develop design scenarios, strategies, proposals and projects in collaboration and in coordination with local partners, while also considering issues
such as the impact of global flows on regional economies and resources. In that sense, DUE Studio 2 serves to prepare students for thesis work. In parallel with Urban Colloquium 2, this studio explored how design can act as a critical medium through which ‘preferred’ urban futures can be imagined and enacted. Relationships between design and socio-spatial/environmental justice is central to this studio. Topics include environmental degradation and remediation, public space, public health, urban agriculture, urban food systems, public transportation, urban mobilities, and others.
Studio 2 Design and Urban Ecologies Land as Liberation
Land Acknowledgement
As we engage in learning and teaching together, it is important to acknowledge that The New School sits on the traditional and unceded lands of the Lenape (Delaware), Munsee, Mohican, Mohawk (Kanien’kehá:ka), Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, Seneca, Tuscarora, Shinnecock, and Unkechaug peoples, among others.
We recognize the enduring connections these nations have to this land, including their historical stewardship and their vibrant cultures and communities that persist today. This acknowledgment reminds us of the histories of dispossession, resilience, and survival that have shaped these lands and their peoples.
We also acknowledge the Indigenous peoples from other lands
that have migrated to Turtle Island, particularly the Indigenous peoples from the Abya Yala with whom we will be in collaboration and solidarity throughout the duration of this course and beyond.
Let this acknowledgment serve as a starting point for reflection, dialogue, and meaningful engagement.
Studio 2 Design and Urban Ecologies Land as Liberation
Writings that Informed Our Work
D’Ignazio, C., & Klein, L. F. (2016, October). Feminist data visualization. In Workshop on visualization for the digital humanities (VIS4DH), Baltimore. IEEE (Vol. 2, No. 10).
hooks, b. (2009). Telling the story. In Teaching critical thinking: Practical wisdom (pp. 49-53). Routledge.
hooks, b. (2009). Sharing the Story. In Teaching critical thinking: Practical wisdom (pp. 55-58). Routledge.
hooks, b. (2009). Imagination. In Teaching critical thinking: Practical wisdom (pp. 59-62). Routledge.
O’Connor, J., Parman, M., Bowman, N., & Evergreen, S. (2023). Decolonizing data visualization: A history and future of Indigenous data visualization. Journal of MultiDisciplinary Evaluation, 19(44), 62-79.
Simpson, L. B. (2017). Embodied resurgent practice and coded disruption. In As we have always done: Indigenous freedom
through radical resistance (pp. 191–210). University of Minnesota Press.
Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (2014). R-words: Refusing research. Humanizing research: Decolonizing qualitative inquiry with youth and communities, 223, 248.
Wilson, Shawn. "The Elements of an Indigenous Research Paradigm." Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods, Fernwood Publishing, 2008, pp. 62–79.
Wilson, Shawn. "Relationality." Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods, Fernwood Publishing, 2008, pp. 80–96.
Zaragocin, S., & Caretta, M. A. (2020). Cuerpo-Territorio: A Decolonial Feminist Geographical Method for the Study of Embodiment. Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 111(5), 1503–1518. https://doi.org/10.1080/24694452.2020.1812370
Community
Partners Land as Liberation
Studio 2
\ Endangered Language Alliance
\ Mujeres en Movimiento
Endangered Language Alliance
The Endangered Language Alliance (ELA) is a nonprofit organization founded in 2010 to document and support endangered languages across the New York metropolitan area— one of the most linguistically diverse urban regions in the world, with over 640 languages reported (Kaufman). ELA builds longterm relationships between linguists and language communities, aiming not only to document languages but to support community-led strategies for their visibility and intergenerational transmission. The organization’s name carries poetic resonance with the Yahgan word aiala, meaning “to witness, to see what is meant to be seen.” This principle shapes ELA’s mission to recognize and support the living presence of marginalized languages and the people who speak them.
Mujeres en Movimiento
Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM) is a grassroots collective founded in 2012 in Corona, Queens, to create space for movement, healing, and organizing among Spanish-speaking immigrant women.
Grounded in mutual support, dance, and creative expression, MeM works at the intersection of bodily liberation and community power—offering a refuge from trauma and a platform for resistance.
Our Methods
Studio 2
Land as Liberation
\ Storytelling
\ Dance
\ Imagination
\ Refusal
\ Relationality
Studio 2 Design and Urban Ecologies Land as Liberation
Methods Overview
Our methods unfolded through a set of shared themes that emerged in practice and dialogue. We drew on feminist and Indigenous scholarship, held space for critical conversations in class, and co-planned workshops that honored the wisdom of our community partners. Below, we outline the key themes— storytelling, imagination, refusal, and relationality—that shaped our design practice. These weren’t isolated techniques, but living methods, shaped by the relationships we nurtured and the conditions we co-created together.
Throughout the semester, our timeline followed a rhythm that supported this approach. We used Thursdays to reflect, decompress, and align our intentions as a group—preparing for the engagements ahead. These sessions were often filled with open discussion, collaborative planning, and shared analysis of
how to move forward. As the week turned, Saturdays created space for what emerged—moments of spontaneity, deep listening, and embodied work alongside community partners. Over time, this rhythm became a kind of method: one that prioritized responsiveness, embodiment, and care.
Storytelling
Storytelling was foundational to our methodology process. Early in the semester, we began by reflecting on our own stories— sharing personal land memories that helped ground our studio space in care, listening, and vulnerability. These classroom exercises—layered with readings, peer dialogue, and visual mapping—laid the groundwork for how we would later co-facilitate storytelling with our community partners. Across our studio, storytelling shaped how we listened, how we facilitated, and how we documented.
With Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM), storytelling took shape through intentional dialogue. In one Thursday session, for instance, we co-brainstormed ways for the group to express their identity visually. The women responded not with one story but many, each rooted in personal experiences of migration,
motherhood, and collective strength. Early on, we began conversations that would inform MeM's visual identity, including the development of a logo—a process that unfolded through collaborative reflection and is further detailed later in this document. Rather than extracting narratives, we asked how design might hold them.
Their reflections helped us co-create a toolkit rooted in shared values. The stories weren’t presented as objects to showcase or display—they were ways of mapping pride, voice, and belonging.
We also began early conversations that would shape MeM's visual identity and logo, a process that is discussed in detail later in this document.
At ELA, storytelling helped us understand the role of language in shaping identity. Our attention here was on the methods—how we positioned ourselves to receive stories with care and without rushing toward translation or closure. These moments reminded us that storytelling, when treated with patience, could amplify voices that are often unheard—making room for recognition, solidarity, and agency on the storytellers' terms.
The parents were often the storytellers, which created meaningful bridges between generations. These storytelling moments not only deepened bonds between the children and their families but also opened space for dialogue that honored their bicultural and intergenerational identities, bridging home and heritage in meaningful ways.
Storytelling became a connective thread, allowing children and parents to engage in conversations that honored both their lives in the U.S. and their cultural roots.
Our use of Miro was essential to this storytelling process—it allowed us to visually map sessions, co-develop prompts, and trace how ideas evolved over time. Inspired by readings like D’Ignazio and Klein’s “Feminist Data Visualization” and O’Connor et al.’s “Decolonizing Data Visualization,” we thought critically about how to document our process in ways that honored complexity, plurality, and context. Miro and Figma allowed us to collaboratively plan and visually organize our ideas, expanding
our capacity to facilitate and reflect on our findings. Miro became a shared space where we could effectively plan and facilitate the progression of storytelling and community engagement layered, nonlinear ways—rejecting extractive representation in favor of relational understanding.
At ELA, storytelling helped us understand the role of language in shaping identity. Our attention here was on the methods—how we positioned ourselves to receive stories with care and without rushing toward translation or closure. These moments reminded us that storytelling, when treated with patience, could amplify voices that are often unheard—making room for recognition, solidarity, and agency on the storytellers' terms.
The parents were often the storytellers, which created meaningful bridges between generations. These storytelling moments not only deepened bonds between the children and their families but also opened space for dialogue that honored their bicultural and intergenerational identities, bridging home and heritage in meaningful ways.
Storytelling became a connective thread, allowing children and parents to engage in conversations that honored both their lives in the U.S. and their cultural roots.
Our use of Miro was essential to this storytelling process—it allowed us to visually map sessions, co-develop prompts, and
trace how ideas evolved over time. Inspired by readings like D’Ignazio and Klein’s “Feminist Data Visualization” and O’Connor et al.’s “Decolonizing Data Visualization,” we thought critically about how to document our process in ways that honored complexity, plurality, and context. Miro and Figma allowed us to collaboratively plan and visually organize our ideas, expanding our capacity to facilitate and reflect on our findings. Miro became a shared space where we could effectively plan and facilitate the progression of storytelling and community engagement layered, nonlinear ways—rejecting extractive representation in favor of relational understanding.
Dance Movement helped us feel our way through the semester—not just in choreography, but in how we organized time, made decisions, and built relationships. Thursdays grounded us. These sessions gave space to reflect, decompress, and align our intentions. Saturdays opened that up—welcoming spontaneity, play, and presence in community spaces. Over time, this rhythm became a kind of method: one that prioritized responsiveness, embodiment, and care. The Cuerpo-Territorio framework emphasized the body as a site of knowledge, memory, and resistance. It offered language for what we were learning through experience: that design is not only cognitive, but embodied. Dance became one of the most visible expressions of this—holding space for feeling, trust, and transformation across our collaborations.
With the Endangered Language Alliance (ELA), movement-based icebreakers became a key part of how we opened and held space, especially during our early Saturday sessions. These sessions brought together youth from different backgrounds, many of whom were meeting each other—and us—for the first time. We knew that starting with physical activity could ease barriers, create a sense of play, and set a welcoming tone. Games like a collaborative dance circle—where each person added a new move —or a version of Red Light, Green Light using sound instead of visuals helped set a rhythm for the room. For participants navigating different languages and cultural contexts, these embodied invitations were powerful. They created a space where everyone could participate—without needing the right words. Instead, connection happened through gesture, rhythm, and presence. These exercises helped shape a collective language
that was intuitive, joyful, and grounded, making way for deeper storytelling and collaboration as the sessions continued.
Through our work with Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM), dance was integrated into the group’s existing practices. Sessions began with music—salsa, bachata, cumbia—and more. These moments weren’t separate from the “work”; they were how the work happened. The music carried themes of joy, resistance, and collective women empowerment. As we supported MeM’s development of a visual identity system, this embodied energy remained central. Dance was how community was made—how stories moved and settled before they were spoken or drawn.
Molly Meng on Groove and Method
One Thursday, our classmate Molly Meng led a movement workshop in Washington Square Park, drawing from swing dance techniques. We partnered up and followed each other’s timing, weight, and cues. The exercise reminded us that design is often about responsiveness: being attuned to someone else’s rhythm, moving together in small, meaningful ways. Movement, in this context, became a way of preparing to collaborate—with awareness, care, and openness.
To reflect more deeply on how movement shaped our studio practice, As a continuation of this experience, we had the chance to interview Molly to reflect more deeply on how movement shaped our studio practice. That conversation helped us explore how embodied practice connects to broader themes of land, care, and collaboration.
Q1: What inspired you to bring swing dance into our “Land as Liberation” studio, especially in a space like Washington Square Park?
Swing dance lives at the intersection of improvisation, groove, and deep listening—qualities that, to me, are essential for liberatory design. I wanted to bring that into the studio not as performance, but as practice. Dancing together in Washington Square Park allowed us to feel land differently—not just as ground beneath our feet, but as something we’re in constant dialogue with. The park, full of layered histories and spontaneous rhythms, became a co-teacher. It invited us to move with attentiveness, to hold space for each other, and to explore what it means to be responsive in public space. In the context of “Land as Liberation,” movement felt like a way to remember: that liberation isn’t abstract—it’s relational, rhythmic, and embodied.
Q2: How do you understand groundedness in relation to land, care, and refusal?
Groundedness, for me, isn’t stillness—it’s a kind of rooted presence. It’s the condition that allows for movement with intention, clarity, and care. The more grounded we are—in our bodies, in our relationships, in the land we stand on—the more we can move freely and responsibly. In this course, where we explore land as something alive and contested, I see groundedness as a form of solidarity. It’s a way of saying: I’m here, I’m listening, and I won’t rush. Groove emerges from this groundedness— it’s how we stay connected through time, rhythm, and resistance. It’s also a quiet refusal of extractive pace. Groove insists that presence and repetition can be revolutionary.
Q3: What moments stood out to you during the session in the park? How did you see people engaging with the practice?
What stayed with me were the small moments of mutual adjustment—when partners stopped trying to “get it right” and began to listen through weight, timing, breath. I saw people hesitate, then soften. There was a moment when two students didn’t move at all—they just stood there, connected, feeling each other’s stance—and that, to me, was the most powerful dance. It reminded me that design doesn’t always start with doing. Sometimes it begins with sensing. These subtle exchanges felt like a kind of co-grounding: an embodied way of saying, “I’m with you,” not just socially, but spatially and politically. That’s the kind of practice I want to carry back into our studio—one where care and rhythm are just as important as concept and critique.
Imagination
Imagination was not something added on—it was a method in itself. It allowed us to open up space for possibility, speculation, and creative expression that wasn’t bound by predetermined goals. Saturdays, especially, became a space where this ethos could unfold in real time, shaped by feedback and what participants brought into the room.
At ELA, we saw imagination as a generative act of co-creation. Youth listened as their parents and elders shared stories from their communities—often in endangered or Indigenous languages —and were invited to interpret and illustrate those stories in their own way. The children used drawing, symbols, and color to bring generational stories to life. It offered a chance for them to see themselves in those narratives and imagine new relationships to language, memory, and identity. It emphasized their intention and
connection to community space—grounded, personal, and shared.
With MeM, imagination worked differently but just as powerfully. One session invited participants to reflect on words that represented how the group made them feel. Words like “liberation,” “strength,” “family,” and “voice” came up often— offering insight into how participants viewed their roles within the group and what MeM meant to them. We expand on how these reflections informed our design approach and relationshipbuilding further down. The goal was not a logo or branding package, but tools that could evolve as MeM evolved.
Imagination, in this context, was a way of honoring complexity. It helped us stay flexible, responsive, and attuned to what was needed—not what was expected.
Refusal
Refusal was a practice that unfolded throughout the semester— both in how we worked internally and in our partnerships. Early in the course, we discussed what it meant to approach community engagement not as experts, but as collaborators. This shaped how we made decisions about our roles, when to step forward, and when to step back. We prioritized responsiveness, adaptability, and care—choosing to meet the moment and respond to our community partners’ evolving needs, rather than chasing predetermined outcomes. That wasn’t a compromise—it was a deliberate act of solidarity.
In our conversations with Daniel Kaufman co-founder from ELA, we learned about the sensitivities around sharing maps that visualize community data. These insights led to the development of a data sovereignty protocol for the studio—ensuring that knowledge shared with us remained protected, contextualized,
and community-led. Refusal here meant resisting extractive research practices and leaning into ethical, consent-based approaches.
With MeM, refusal showed up in how we engaged design. We would brainstorm activities together, but the direction always came from the group.
We worked from these moments rather than imposing structure, we refused to take feedback from “experts” and rather focused on the voices and visions of MeM. When planning our studio timeline, we also collectively agreed to honor rest, capacity, and rhythm. This was refusal too: of urgency, of perfectionism, of extraction.
Our understanding of refusal was further shaped by readings and dialogue throughout the semester. Frameworks like “R-Words:
Refusing Research” (Tuck & Yang) prompted us to consider how our methods could protect space, rather than fill it. Refusal became an act of accountability—one that asked us to slow down, listen deeply, and stay aligned with the people and places we were in relationship with.
Finally, we made a deliberate decision to refuse a conventional studio review. In alignment with our commitment to community accountability, we prioritized the feedback of the communities we collaborated with. Inviting external jurors to evaluate what is best for MeM and ELA would contradict the values of this studio. These communities are the true experts and know best what serves their visions and desires.
Relationality
Relationality shaped the core of our process. It guided how we collaborated, made decisions, and moved through the work together—as contributors in a shared and evolving practice. Whether through storytelling, illustration, or co-design, each interaction was considered in context to the memories, care and time we shared, as a web of connections.
At ELA, relationality came alive through storytelling and creative expression. Many stories were shared—some humorous, some mysterious, and many focused on ghosts, nature, and transformation. These narratives often explored nature's agency— how rivers, rainbows, snakes, and other natural forces actively shaped human experience. Nature was not a static backdrop, but an animated force that could provoke laughter, fear, guidance, or consequence. Children listened, then illustrated their
interpretations using vibrant color and symbolic forms. These visuals evolved across sessions, deepening through layered interpretations and continued dialogue. Their work became central to the intergenerational storytelling process, offering a visual record of how stories were understood, reimagined, and shared across generations. Like the armadillo story—passed down from a grandfather to a mother and then shared with her son, who illustrated it during the workshop. It demonstrated how storytelling spanned generations, threading together memory, imagination, and cultural continuity through collaborative expression. Take, for example, a story in which a snake represented not just fear, but a powerful presence tied to the spirit of the mountain—its meaning left open to interpretation; or a rainbow that brought joy and healing but could also remove one’s finger if it was pointed at. These dualities reflect a relational
worldview—one in which nature and the supernatural are not opposites, but interconnected forces with agency. At MeM, relationality also shaped how we co-created a visual identity. The logo toolkit was not built from a singular vision, but from collective input—each shape and symbol carried memory, meaning, and purpose. The hummingbird, corn, and pyramid didn’t just represent aesthetics—they connected histories, cultural knowledge, and community dreams. This way of working mirrored our studio’s values: collaborative authorship, iterative feedback, and trust as a design material.
Across both partnerships, relationality asked us to slow down and stay attuned. It reminded us that methods aren’t separate from relationships—they are relationships, shaped by listening, trust, and mutual learning. Taken together, these themes shaped how we showed up—guiding not only what we co-created, but how we moved through the work, in step with the communities and spaces we were in.
POEM
Land as Liberation
Arooj Fatima
Dark as the night and deep as the sea, my kajal carries the roots of me.
A whisper of home in every line, a mark of the past that will always shine.
My mother wore it, and so did hers, a trail of women, their dreams interspersed.
With hands that shaped and hearts that knew, they passed it down like morning dew.
Made from flame and soot and stone, from earth that sings in a silent tone.
Burnt almonds ground, then cooled with care, clay bowls cradling what we wear.
It shields like shade from an old banyan tree, like a prayer murmured in quiet plea. It stays through sorrow, through storm, through dust, an ink of memory, a sacred trust.
Tears may fall, but it does not fade, winds may howl, but it holds its shade.
A bridge to the past, a thread through time, a land remembered in strokes so fine.
I wear it in love, I wear it in pain, in moments of loss, in moments of gain.
No matter how far, no matter the place, Pakistan lives in my eyes, in its trace.
Like the scent of henna in wedding nights, like the rustle of dupattas in golden lights.
Like the glint of chooriyan in midday sun, like the songs of daadi, softly spun.
It carries the mitti of home so tight, a piece of surmai, dark yet bright.
A nazar ka teeka, a mother's care, a silent dua that lingers there.
And when I close my eyes, even for a while, the land I left still stays inside.
For no border, no sea, no time, no tide, can take Pakistan from my sight.
Daadi = Grandmother Mitti = soil Dua = prayer
Surmai = color of kajal Dupatta = traditional long scarf
Nazar ka teeka = protection from evil eye Chooriyan = bangles
LAND MEMORY
Land as Liberation
In u pening weeks t gethe , we tu ned inwa d t expl e the pe s nal, ften mplex elati nships we ea h h ld with land. This assignment asked us t e all a mem y that ente s land—inviting w itten efle ti n n u physi al, em ti nal, an est al, and p liti al nne ti ns ( dis nne ti ns) t pla e. In p epa ati n f this a tivity, we ead th ee hapte s f m bell h ks’ In tea hing C iti al Thinking: P a ti al Wisd m. In these, h ks emphasizes h w sha ing st ies builds mmunity in the lass m.
T We we e p mpted by the questi ns:
Have y u eve g tten l st in the f est
H w a e the lands in the pla e y u g ew up
A e the e lands y u ann t ea h
Has the e been a time whe e the land taught y u s mething
H w d es y u b dy m ve/ ea t when y u nne t with land
D es the land emind y u f a pe s n/s in y u life?
Th ugh the afting f u st ies, we began t unde stand land n t as a distant abst a ti n, but as s mething that m ves th ugh u b dies, families, and hist ies. Whethe w itten f m mem y fi ti n, these na atives dem nst ate the diasp i elati nship between us and u land.
Claudia Tomateo
Land Memory
It was the last day in the Quechua community of Simbakiwi Yaku at the Encuentro Intercomunitario De Sabios Abuelos y Abuelas gathering, where grandfathers and grandmothers from across the province met to share ancestral knowledge. After drinking café de palo and eating levadura, I set out with a group of participants to visit a puquial (spring) in the forest, 30 minutes rom the community center. After walking for 20 minutes, a turi (brother) handed me some guaba he’d picked from a tree. We stopped as he showed me how to twist them open. While we were talking and eating, the group moved on ahead. When we set out again down the path we discovered that it split in two and were uncertain which way to go. I asked, “Do you know the way?” “Mmm no,” he replied, laughing, “I'm not from here either!” He was from Ishichiui, a community two hours away by truck. Just when I thought we might have to turn back, he made a whooping sound, “Uuuu-oouu!”It was soon followed by a distant reply: “Uuuu-oouu!” “This way,” he said, “This path.” He bent plant stems as he went, explaining: “We do this in the monte to mark the path, so people don’t get lost. And we don’t yell here, as yelling scares the animals.”
A year has passed since that moment of uncertainty in the Amazonian forest, yet the experience lingers with me. I had many questions: Why must we not scare the animals? How did the turi learn that sound? Despite living two hours away, he moved through this forest with instinctive ease. His eyes saw the fruits in the trees, his ears detected particular sounds of the forests, his feet knew exactly where to step to not slip. I decided to not ask too many questions. Instead I watched and followed, learning by doing.
At that time, I knew of the communal calendars these communities were producing, having seen them in person. But it was only there in the forest that I began to understand the true meaning of the calendars. They are windows that provide a specific way of seeing the world: windows through which one can see the fruits of the trees, hear the sounds of the forests, and know where to step to not slip.
Delaney Connor
Land Memory
The story of my relationship to land has a certain beginning. Some 400 years ago, my great^12 grandparents Francis Cooke and Elizabeth Pratt stepped foot off of the Mayflower, onto what was then land stewarded by the Wampanoag. In pursuit of religious freedom, they took Puritan values to a land not their own. Their hands and will began a legacy of shaping, exploiting, and manipulating the landscape and all contained within it. From these forebears I have inherited very little of which I am proud. I attribute many ills of our modern realities to their colonial visions.
Inherited privileges from exploitative practices of my forebears has positioned me in this world to have the time and resources to engage with wild parts of our landscapes. My life time hiking, running, swimming, skiing, backpacking, camping, within the splendors of pristine natural settings. But the tradition of galavanting outdoorsiness, like those of my colonial ancestors, reeks of experiences rooted in discovery and conquering.
Worse yet, I find my lust for natural scapes is in search of escape from the horrors of urban life they helped create.
Finding ways to remedy the legacy of my ancestors and repair meaningful connection with the earth is a lifelong
quest.
It is enshrined in longing. I lack rituals that connect me with the cycles of the planet. Many in my position find solace in indigeneity. Are compelled and find connection to what it is that we are all striving for in the steadfast land stewardship practices that were suppressed by but not lost to, colonialism. I am similarly inspired and eager to find meaningful opportunities to learn from and support the reproduction of practices rooted in these practices.
If I were to answer this prompt again, or if I had more time, I would craft a heartwarming vignette about a time I was humbled in or by nature. But to do that without first addressing how my identity and privilege is tied to the degradation and domination of the natural world seemed digressive.
Shivani Dave
Land Memory
“So here is the recycling unit – plastic pellets of various colours are the end produ-HATO HATO SIDE DO CHALO AAGE (MOVE MOVE GIVE WAY GO AHEAD)-
As our Dharavi resident and guide explained the innerworkings of Asia’s second largest informal settlement - visuals of which were made popular by Slumdog Millionaire - I realised we were walking on a sliver of a path cleared by thousands of footsteps treading on it to-and-fro every day. Dharavi’s contribution to Mumbai’s economy is $1 billion US dollars every year. In its substandard corrugated sheet homes lie -SIDE PLEASE SIDE- recycling, tanning, leather processing, catering, recycling and many other industries. However, the land that Dharavi stands on is “illegal”, and needs “intervention”, because it was not “allocated” for industrial and manufacturing purposes – all technical terms used to negate its value to the people living there.
The fascination of “slum living”, especially after the movie release, brought in a lot of visitors – mostly foreigners – to see how crammed, unsanitary and dysfunctional living conditions were.
Exploitation was rampant, because anyone and everyone could “come and see how the poors lived”. To address this, a small group of Dharavi residents started -HATO SIDE PLEASE- a company conducting tours of the settlement, only taking groups through pre-decided routes, with permission from residents along the routes, with no photography/videography allowed. A certain amount from these tickets was also donated towards education efforts within the settlement. None of its residents imagined that by simply existing – “illegally existing” as some put it – they would become a tourist spot.
If you only know of Dharavi from the grapevine, you wouldn’t know that the land it stands on used to be a marshy swamp. I – and several others in my group – were standing on top of decades of garbage dumps that have solidified to form land on that swamp. I have been a resident of Mumbai all my life. The land my current home is on, was also a marshy swamp.
However, by virtue of its geographic location, demographic and several other factors – it now houses Bollywood’s biggest celebrities and some of Mumbai’s one-percenters. I remain aware of my privilege.
Antonia Simon
Land Memory
Sitting in a circle, we stared at Aurelie with wide-eyed anticipation. She grimaced, “Fine, a dare’s a dare. Get me a spoon.”
Theo rummaged through his lunch bag, lifted a spoon and placed it gingerly in Aurelie’s outstretched palm. She began by clearing the grass and created a pocket sized clearing in the warm earth that lay beneath our kneekissed circle. Working the spoon from left to right, she started digging until she gather enough earth to fill the spoon. She brought the spoon to her lips in one swift motion, reminiscent of the many times I had followed my mother’s instructions to tend to a chesty cough.
With wonder we watched as the humid air held us in suspension.
Crunch, parch-tongued-chew, crunch. Crunch, parchtongued-chew, crunch.
Finally, with an open-mouthed beam, she presented her brown stained tongue, teeth ridged in earth.
In that moment, jealousy pricked my stomach. As the earth moved through her body, this communion became a physical manifestation of her connection to our land. I longed for that intimacy. Lost in whiteness, my physical identity so often obscures my connection to the land. Perhaps this ritual could be my pathway to reclaiming it.
Land Memory Ruth Wondemu
When I think about my connection to the land, I realize how imaginative I’ve always been. I remember my grandparents telling me stories about Axum, Tigray, Ethiopia, and in my mind, I was always outside, hanging out with the monkeys and horses they’d mention. They spoke about how we had everything in Ethiopia, almost like it was a utopia. I was always curious, wanting to see it all for myself.
It wasn’t until I was 21 that I finally made it to Ethiopia, the land my family is from. The moment I arrived, it felt strangely familiar, like I had been there before, even though it was my first time. My cousins were amazed at how easily I adjusted to what they called a “third-world country,” but to me, it just felt like home. At 28, after the devastating three-year genocide in Axum, Tigray, I visited the origins of my family outside the city—places they had to flee to during a dictatorship two decades before. It was the land where my grandfather was born and where his mother was raised. I couldn’t help but think about places like Georgetown and Old Town Alexandria back in the States, the thought that nothing compared to the deep, centuries-old history of Axum.
It’s that same sense of perspective—the feeling that
there’s always more to discover, more to understand— that I want to share with my people. I know that the same fortitude it took to recognize that potential, to see beyond what’s right in front of me, is something I want to pass on. The bond to the land, the connection to my roots—it’s something I’ll alway feel called to return to, in this lifetime.
The land remembers even when we try to forget. It holds footprints like whispers of those who came before, those who crossed, those who never returned. In 2018, I walked toward the Wagah Border, the thin, heavy line that carves history between two nations that once shared the same sky, the same soil, the same rivers. I was going to India by foot—a country I had never been to, yet knew intimately through films, poetry, and stories passed down like heirlooms. My heart pounded, not in fear, but in wonder. What would the land feel like when I crossed?
The gates stood before me, grand yet indifferent, metal bars framing a past and future that were never meant to be apart. Then, they opened. The moment was surreal— one step and the idea of borders became absurd. The land beneath my feet did not change. The sky did not hesitate. The wind did not ask for my passport. Yet, on paper, I had left one country and entered another. Between these gates, in the stretch of land called No Man’s Land, I paused. This was land that belonged to no one, yet carried the weight of everyone who had ever stood here. A liminal space, a passage between two identities, between the past and the present.
I was reminded of Manto’s Toba Tek Singh, of the madman who refused to choose a side, who collapsed in the very soil that belonged to neither India nor Pakistan. His insanity was not in his confusion, but in his clarity—he understood what others had forgotten: land is not a possession, but a witness. I stood there, feeling the ground beneath me, and wondered: is this the only place where I can truly belong? In this unclaimed strip of earth, am I freer than anywhere else?
Has the land ever taught me something? Yes. It taught me that ownership is an illusion, that history is written in shifting sands, that longing does not obey borders. When I stepped fully into India, the weight of nationalism, of histories carved in conflict, pressed onto my shoulders again. But for a moment, in that fragile space between two countries, I was just a traveler, a human being walking the land that did not ask me to choose.
Does the land remind me of a person? It reminds me of the nameless millions who crossed in 1947, who left behind homes and histories. It reminds me of those who never made it. It reminds me of myself, standing in the in-between, a witness to the contradictions of belonging. And even now, years later, I wonder: if we could all meet in No Man’s Land, away from flags and fences, would we recognize that the earth beneath us has always been whole?
Zola Haber
Land Memory
When I was fifteen I went on a ten day backpacking trip with a hiking organization in New Hampshire. I was ill prepared for the physical part of the hike, on my period, and for most of the time it rained. It was the furthest I had been from any human settlements, and for the longest period of time. I still fondly remember drying out my things on the top of a mountain in a brief moment of sun, the way the greenery shrank as we rose up the mountain, the cold stream water I bathed in, the dance of a rocky path, getting over my dislike of oranges and reading trashy lesbian romance novels before falling asleep. One night, I branched off from the counselors with a couple folks to head back to camp, but we had taken a wrong turn. Only then did it strike me how truly dark it was. Without the flashlight, everything around me was an inky black, the sky a deep navy blue. Being from a place of constant light pollution, an inability to see was terrifying. At one point we looked over a cliff and could see the far off lights of a road, gas station and a couple shops. We eventually found our way back.
Being outdoors reminds me of my dad, and the hikes we would take after Thanksgiving day. I think of the cool crisp air, the crunch of leaves or snow, the endless clearing underneath the power lines. After high school I
sought out more rural areas, living in Ohio for college and taking a job in Maine after that. I learned how to live a slower, quieter life where everything is not at my fingertips. I think being further away made life more precious. I loved getting mail from far away friends, making friends with owners of craft stores, going to as many events in town as possible, and saying hello to people in line. Small moments made larger for the sake of needing something to be excited about.
Language Preservation Storybooks
Endangered Language Alliance
Project Overview
Language Preservation Storybooks
Our project was grounded in an existing partnership between the Endangered Language Alliance (ELA) and a community of Mixtec (Ñuu Savi), Mixtec, Tlapaneco, Mam, and Guaraní mothers and children. It was also intended to expand ELA’s ongoing work in producing bilingual storybooks in Tu’un Savi (Mixteco) to support language visibility and preservation.
Building on this foundation, our goal was to co-create illustrated storybooks containing 12 stories to promote intergenerational cultural transmission of oral narratives. To achieve this, we cofacilitated three oral storytelling and illustration workshops, during which mothers shared family stories in Tu’un Savi. Their children listened, translated, and created accompanying illustrations.
We approached this work with deep respect for non-extractive research practices, recognising the importance of not just
documenting but actively supporting the cultural and linguistic priorities of our community participants. By designing the workshops as spaces for co-creation, where storytelling, translation and illustration were guided by the participants themselves, our role focused on facilitation and support rather than direction.
Our involvement ranged from creating an atmosphere that allowed open exchange of thoughts and evoking a sense of connection across language barriers, to assisting a team of already-enthusiastic illustrators. We worked together to ensure this process remained collaborative, consensual, and responsive to the stories the families chose to share. Through these sessions, three key themes emerged: personal narratives, animal tales, and ghost fables. In the post-production phase, we digitized the illustrations, audio recordings, and transcripts, and collaboratively edited and designed them into a series of 12 codice-style storybooks.
Partnership
ELA (Endangered Language Alliance) has long worked with Mixtec-speaking New Yorkers, developing initiatives such as bilingual storybooks in Tu’un Savi (Mixtec name for their language, meaning “language of the rain/clouds”) that promote language visibility and cultural affirmation. Our team built on this work by co-facilitating a series of oral storytelling and illustration workshops, in which mothers told family stories in Tu’un Savi, while their children listened, translated, and illustrated them. Together, we produced a new illustrated storybook containing 12 illustrated stories to support Mixtec, Tlapaneco, Mam, and Guaraní language preservation and exchange.
Our studio collaborated with ELA under the guidance of linguist, co-founder, and co-director Daniel (Dan) Kaufman. With Dan’s support, our studio joined an existing partnership between ELA and a group of Mixteco (Ñuu Savi), Tlapaneco, Mam, and Guaraní mothers and children. These families, primarily from Oaxaca and
Guerrero Mexico, are part of a wave of Indigenous migration to New York that began in the 1990s following the devastation of rural agriculture by NAFTA. While the Mexican-born population in NYC is often portrayed as monolingual Spanish-speaking, Kaufman’s research reveals a very different reality. As he writes, “New York’s Mexican-born community has traditionally been thought of as a monolithic Spanish-speaking bloc when it is in fact one of the most multi-ethnic and multilingual populations in the city” (Kaufman).
Kaufman details how many Mixtec New Yorkers report “daily discrimination when speaking their language in public or at work,” contributing to pressures to suppress their linguistic identity. Yet many also express pride in their language and a desire to pass it on to their children, though this is complicated by a lack of formal institutional support. Our collaboration with ELA and Mixtec families makes clear that linguistic preservation is deeply intertwined with community planning and design. We were honored to support the cultivation of their language and create space for its continued intergenerational use and transmission.
Kaufman, Daniel. Forthcoming. “The Mixtec language in New York: Vitality, discrimination and identity.” In Hajek, John & Norrby, Catrin & Kretzenbacher, Heinz L. & Schuepbach, Doris (eds.), Multilingualism and pluricentricity: A tale of many cities. Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton.
Works &
Process
Language Preservation Storybooks
Workshop 1
This was the first workshop to collaboratively illustrate family stories in Mixteco, Tlapaneco, Mam, and Guaraní community members. The co-creation of stories began here, with the opportunity to expand on them in the upcoming workshops. The day’s agenda included an ice-breaker, a potluck style meal prepared by the Parsons participating team, sharing, recording and illustrating stories.
Works &
Process Language Preservation Storybooks
Workshop 2
The second workshop was conducted to expand on the stories narrated previously, as well as collect new ones. Participating members had the choice of working on previous illustrations and starting new ones, while taking turns to record audios of their narration.
Works &
Process
Language Preservation Storybooks
Workshop 3
Our final workshop gave the participating mothers and children the opportunity to make final edits on the digitised stories created by the Parsons team. We displayed each story on a screen and noted down detailed feedback of edits pointed out by the mothers. This ranged from hand-drawing characters to adding specific background elements; this cemented the final draft of our narratives.
Works &
Process
Language Preservation Storybooks
Digitization and Editing Illustrations
This stage of production included taking high resolution scans of all the illustrations that were produced in the workshops, bringing them on to a digital software, editing them for making layouts and sequencing them according to the recorded transcripts. Postdigitising, we presented the stories to the community members in Workshop 3 for additional edits.
Works &
Process
Language Preservation Storybooks
Printing and Folding
Following the visual intrigue we came across while researching codices and sequential storytelling, we prototyped some ways of creating these storybooks to intentionally have them be interactive. This resulted in a folding technique that followed a horizontal accordion sequence for the visuals and a vertical accordion for the transcriptions.
Final presentation
A celebration of co-creating multilingual stories to take home and share!
Works &
Process
Language Preservation Storybooks
Transcription and Translations
In collaboration with Dan, Claudia and the Parsons team, we transcribed audio recordings into English and Spanish, as well as typing them out in the original language (if we had these recorded). This was intentional; we want to actively preserve stories in the languages they have been passed on in, in addition to having them translated in widely spoken languages.
Take-aways
Collaborating with ELA offered many insights into the role of language in shaping collective identities and memories. By centering the voices of the community members not just as participants but also as co-authors of the storytelling process, their lived experience grounded the intergenerational narratives with authenticity and emotional depth. Co-creation is a transformative tool for preservation. Through these workshops, younger and older generations found a space to pass on stories that were passed on to them - a powerful oral narration reaffirming linguistic heritage.
Through meaningful engagement, it became clear to us that this type of documentation is most impactful when it is rooted in relationships, mutual trust and shared purpose; not extractive research models. Our project was not simply intended to capture words, but to chronicle identities embedded within intergenerational stories. This approach required us to slow down, listen deeply and remain accountable to the goals of our community participants and their timelines, instead of imposing our own. We learned that the value lied in this process itself; in the laughter, the quiet moments, the shared joy of seeing their oral narratives take visual form. Preservation is not a static act, but an evolving exchange that requires intention.
Organizational Empowerment
Mujeres en Movimiento
Project Overview
Organization Empowerment
Our collaboration with Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM) centered on themes of embodiment, spatial justice, and collective care. We supported their ongoing work through the co-design of a new graphic identity and the development of community programming rooted in the garden—making space, both physical and symbolic, for the continued flourishing of this amazing community’s voices and visions.
From Mae Francke’s report: Rojo, Mae Francke. OnlyTogether: Sisterhood and Solidarity in Corona, Queens. Senior thesis, The New School, 2024.
Partnership
Our studio partnered with Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM) through Verónica Liu, whose steady leadership anchored the collaboration. The relationship was first built by DUE student Mae Francke (’24), whose thesis focused on MeM’s work and values. With Verónica’s guidance, we joined MeM’s Bailoterapia (Dance Therapy) sessions—held at the Langston Hughes Library and their community garden on Van Cleef Street. Through shared movement, stories, and meals, we witnessed the depth of MeM’s organizing—from their campaign to redesign 111th Street for safer park access, to their ongoing effort to turn an abandoned lot into Huerto Comunitario Salud en Movimiento, a space for health, cultivation, and community care.
Works &
Process Organization Empowerment
Logo Design
Our work with Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM) began with a request made on their part: to grow their internal design capacity. One of their members had preliminary design experience with Canva and their hopes were to develop their existing capacity through a formalized visual identity, including a logo, color palette, and branded templates, to support their organizing work.
To build on their existing identity, our pre-workshop preparation
involved collecting and reviewing design materials the collective had previously created. From event posters to embroidered quilts, they had developed a rich visual language centered around motifs such as the hummingbird and a vibrant color palette. Through this initial research and ongoing conversations with Verónica, we identified six key visual elements to incorporate into the logo: a hummingbird, corn, a pyramid, and the colors purple, green, and yellow. Tracing the cultural significance of each motif revealed that the collective’s aesthetic choices stem from a deep connection to the land and their lived experiences as immigrant women in the United States.
The hummingbird, symbolizing strength, resilience, and rebirth, is associated with the Aztec warrior god Huitzilopochtli. In addition to being recognized as a messenger from the afterlife and a sign of good fortune or positive intention, the hummingbird also represents the souls of warriors and sacrificial victims. The collective’s selection of purple reinforces this theme of remembrance. In ancient Mesoamerican codices, purple was used to denote nobility, spirituality, and mourning.
Notions of remembrance are further carried through the motif of corn, which symbolizes ancestral wisdom. As a sacred symbol of nourishment and fertility, corn is also closely tied to maternal identity and continuity. The color green emphasizes a connection to the earth, while yellow represents life and vitality, both echoing
corn’s significance. Finally, the inclusion of pyramids evokes the power and cultural heritage of ancient civilizations such as the Maya, Aztec, and Teotihuacan, underscoring a strong link to ancestral roots and historical memory. Together, the visual language of these elements not only encodes the collective’s cultural ties to their ancestral lands, but also articulates a distinct and assertive expression of identity, shaped by their experiences as women living in diaspora.
Given this strong foundation and clarity in vision, we wanted to create a co-design process that would allow MeM to easily guide our hand in the logo design development. We also knew that the workshop had to be accessible and flexible, not overly dependent on complex design software like the Adobe Creative
On Saturday April 19th, we met at the Queens Public Library and began our day with us joining their dancing session, an embodied yarning process that set a playful and collaborative tone to the day. After an hour of dancing in the sunlit courtyard, we transitioned into the basement for our workshop, which began with an exercise called Palabras. On three large A2 posters, we posed the questions:
¿Qué palabras asocias con Mujeres en Movimiento? (What words do you associate with Mujeres en Movimiento?)
¿Qué canciones y letras te inspiran? (What songs and lyrics inspire you?)
¿Cómo te hace sentir este grupo? (How does this group make you feel?)
From there, we introduced a color wheel, and they collaboratively selected six colors for the logo. We followed this with design “sticker” options for the hummingbird, corn, and pyramid, allowing participants to choose the visual language that best represented them. Once the elements were selected, we composed a rough logo, a collage of digital stickers, color swatches, and screenshots, charting the participatory nature of the process.
With a mock logo by the end of the workshop, we recreated this collage using Adobe Illustrator. It was important to us that the logo retain the likeness of what had been collaboratively designed, so we traced it closely, making only minor adjustments during an internal review. We then shared the draft with Verónica, who provided feedback that led to a few updates, tweaking the palette, adding text, and incorporating a new element at the base of the logo.
The final version was sent to Verónica, whose response was: “precious and powerful.”
Through this collaborative logo design process, we prioritized simplicity and modularity, enabling the group to lead creatively with the vision they already held. The result is a visual identity deeply rooted in MeM’s existing practices, symbols, and spirit.
Works &
Process Organization Empowerment
Heat-transfer Stickers
At the request of Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM), we focused on creating a logo that could live beyond our workshops—something members could wear, share, and carry with pride in their daily lives. Drawing from the collective language generated in the Palabras exercise, we formatted selected quotes and logo variations for heat transfer printing. During our third gathering in the garden, we shared these pre-cut prints with the community.
Works &
Process Organization Empowerment
Canva Workshop
Through various conversations we had with the women, we recognised that there was a growing urge to learn design skills, specifically in Canva as some of the women had prior experience using it. In response to this interest, we designed and facilitated a hands-on Canva workshop tailored to understand key concepts in graphic design. The session covered learning about hex codes for consistent colour use, identifying and avoiding copyright
infringement, principles of graphic design layout, creating reusable templates for flyers and social media.
By designing the workshop slides on Canva itself and having Spanish as the primary language of communication, it was also structured to be accessible and grounded in their organising work, using examples of events they have conducted prior. Beyond technical skills, it aimed to build confidence and autonomy by equipping the women to not just use existing templates on Canva, but to make intentional design choices that reflect their voice. We hoped to embed design literacy among this enthusiastic group to encourage creative independence within the collective.
Works &
Process Organization Empowerment
Group Dance
Dancing is the unifying activity for MeM. It is the means through which they connect and support each other. Invigorated by dance music from across the Spanish-speaking diaspora, MeM gathers a group of 10-20 women each Saturday to dance and move. Loose choreography, shared by a song-leader positioned at the front of the dancing space, unifies the group. The Langston Hughes Library in the heart of Corona, Queens, is the typical meeting
place—where children drift in and out and newcomers are welcomed with open arms. The dance is less about performance and more about presence, embodiment, and about taking up space together. It is through these shared rhythms that MeM builds solidarity and sustains a sense of belonging.
Works &
Process Organization Empowerment
Garden Workshop & Programming
Seeds & Planting
At Mujeres en Movimiento (MeM), the community garden was imagined as more than a place to grow food. It was designed as a space where neighbors could come together, care for the land, and support one another. Together, we co-designed the planting phase for the spring season, guided by the New York planting calendar and collective input. The goal was to nourish the
community while also supporting the local ecosystem through thoughtful planting. What emerged was a space rooted in shared effort and everyday stewardship.
The process was hands-on and built from what was available. Members brought recycled plastic bottles to use as starter planters, which were hung along the garden fence. This DIY setup made the process accessible and visible, with each bottle marking someone’s contribution. As seedlings grew, they were transplanted into raised beds built in collaboration with GreenThumb. We selected an assortment of seeds to start— sunflowers, zinnias, lettuce, cilantro and more. Choices were shaped by what community members liked to eat and what could grow well given the mix of sun, shade, and limited water access.
Water access remained a challenge. Without an on-site source, the group relied on rainfall while continuing to seek long-term solutions. This shaped how planting and care schedules were built—matching ambition to available resources. As Veronica, MeM’s founder and lead organizer, shared, “We are changing the garden, and the garden is changing us.” This work was never about perfection. It was about trying things out, staying flexible, and building together. The garden will continue to grow, shaped by the dedication, creativity, and presence of the community. It stands as a reminder that shared effort can cultivate resilience, even in uncertain conditions.
Works &
Process Organization Empowerment
Origami
In preparation for MeM’s Mother Earth Day celebration in the garden, we designed a hands-on activity inspired by the traditional Japanese paper art of origami. Flowers are a seasonal reminder of land’s capability to produce delicate beauty. We created a bilingual zine with step-by-step visual instructions for folding six different types of origami paper flowers, inviting participants of all ages to experiment in this form of creation. Although our Día de la Madre Tierra/Mother Earth’s Day celebration was canceled due to rain, the flowers found new life in our final workshop, where they were folded, shared, and arranged collectively—transforming the activity into a quiet ritual of connection.
Thank You Letter
To our community collaborators –
From our hearts and minds to yours—thank you. We extend our deepest gratitude to each and every one of you who generously shared your time, knowledge, and spirit with us throughout this semester.
Your trust and partnership have been vital to the work and growth of this studio. Working with Mujeres en Movimiento and the Endangered Language Alliance has not only grounded our learning in lived experience and relational practice—it has reminded us what it means to move at the speed of trust, to design with humility, and to imagine futures rooted in community care and cultural memory.
To the mothers and youth in the storytelling workshops: thank you for allowing us to witness the beauty of your language, stories, and illustrations. The joy you share during our meetings is contagious. To Daniel Kaufman and the ELA team, thank you for
your vision and commitment to important work around language justice.
To Mujeres en Movimiento: your movement work has shown us what embodied resistance and community-building look like in practice. Thank you for welcoming us into your spaces of joy, struggle, and transformation—for teaching us that healing is political.
This studio was shaped not by outputs or deliverables, but by the relationships we cultivated. We leave this semester more grounded, more accountable, and more committed to co-creating futures where all communities can thrive.
Spatial Manifestation of Interconnected Indigenous Work within New York City
Project Overview
This mapping project sought to understand and represent the spatial manifestation of interconnected Indigenous work occurring within New York City. Our research began with an intention to document “Liberatory and Resurgence Networks” within NYC. We grounded our research process in a set of questions investigating how Indigenous communities and allied movements continue cultural practices, assert land-based relationships, and collaborate across sectors to foster justice and healing in the city.
Primary Research Questions
What does it mean to be Indigenous in an urbanized context?
How do not-explicity-Indigenous NYC resurgence networks borrow from Indigenous practices and principles?
Which principles and practices are borrowed?
How do Indigenous resurgence networks in NYC continue traditional cultural practices (where: park, rec centre, home?), and what types of partnerships and collaborations do they form with other communities to foster environmental justice / community well-being?
Methods Overview
Our first step to addressing these questions, through mapping, was to compile a spreadsheet of Indigenous-led and Indigenousserving organizations, initiatives and grassroots movements. We then began to group each entry according to tags based on the type of work in which they engage—Indigenous Rights & Advocacy, Education, and Community Organising. Our first map was created by transferring the spreadsheet, as a CSV, into R Studio. We then used the Leaflet function to produce our first map iteration, where we plotted the spatial presence of these organizations by geocoding their locations.
Mapas Urbanos de la Diáspora Indígena
Spatial Manifestation of Interconnected Indigenous Work within New York City
Musicians / Músicos Indígenas
Languages / Idiomas
Historical Sites / Sitios Históricos
Trees / Árboles
Restaurants / Restaurantes
Cultural Institutions / Instituciones
Cultural
Músicos Indígenas de Nueva York
Laura Ortman
Martha Redbone
Brent Michael Davids
Jessica Martinez Maxey
Inkarayku
Julia Keefe
Ty Defoe
Tchin
Felipe Rose
Pura Fé
Lance White Magpie
Raven Chacon
Barrios de Quechua, Maya, Mixtec, Zapotec, Nahuatl, Maya, Guaraní Hablantes
Sitios Históricos Indígenas
Inwood Hill Park/Shorakkopoch Rock
Jeffrey’s Hook
Astor Place
Bowling Green/National Museum of the American Indian
Harlem Plains
Foley Square
Munsees Massacre
Árboles Comestibles
de Nueva York
Black Walnut
Turkish Hazelnut
Chestnut Trees
Oak Trees
Restaurantes Indígenas
La Contenta Oeste Mexican Indigenous
Areperia Guacuco Venezuelan Arepas
La Morada (Queens) Oaxacan Cuisine
Tacos El Bronco Mexican Street Food
El Poblano Farm Shop (Latin Ingredients)
Sisters Native Agricultural
Pio Pio Peruvian Cuisine
Machu Picchu Peruvian Cuisine
El Parnaso Salvadoran Cuisine
Bolivian Llama Party Bolivian Cuisine
Casa Enrique Mexican Indigenous
La Tia Juana Oaxacan Mexican
Palenque Colombian Indigenous
Museos con Arte Indígena y Otras Instituciones Indígenas
National Museum of the American Indian
Brooklyn Museum
Tenement Museum
Queens Museum
Metropolitan Museum of Art
American Museum of Natural History
Garvies Point Museum
To Mujeres en Movimiento: your movement work has shown us what embodied resistance and community-building look like in practice. Thank you for welcoming us into your spaces of joy, struggle, and transformation—for teaching us that healing is political.
This studio was shaped not by outputs or deliverables, but by the relationships we cultivated. We leave this semester more grounded, more accountable, and more committed to co-creating futures where all communities can thrive.
Antonia (She/Her) is a systems designer passionate about creating a greater balance between nature and technology within our urban ecosystems. Before starting her MSc in Design and Urban Ecologies, she worked as a Senior Strategist at Epam Continuum, where she supported business leaders in navigating the future of their organizations through a human-centered approach to innovation.
Antonia’s background in anthropology and computer science from Georgetown University grounds her interest in adopting a humanist approach to both qualitative and quantitative storytelling, making critical information easier to understand and access. Currently, Antonia is developing Second, a library of refurbished technology designed to bridge the digital divide by offering communities access to technology rental, refurbishing, and recycling services. The initiative aims to foster a more collective, circular approach to technology consumption within our urban communities. Outside of her work, Antonia enjoys cooking, dancing and hiking!
Arooj Fatima
Arooj Fatima is an architect from Lahore, Pakistan, deeply invested in addressing issues of waste management and climate justice through innovative urban design. A graduate of the National College of Arts (NCA), Lahore, she has worked on diverse projects that reimagine urban spaces to prioritize environmental sustainability and social equity. Her projects focus on transforming waste treatment areas into public spaces that engage the community while promoting awareness of sustainable practices. Pursuing a Master’s in Design and Urban Ecologies at The New School, Parsons, she is dedicated to learning global best practices in designing socially and environmentally just urban spaces. She aims to integrate interdisciplinary approaches into her work, exploring how urban mobility, public transportation and equitable city planning can transform marginalized communities. Her commitment to urban interests includes creating accessible and inclusive environments and developing sustainable solutions for Pakistan’s cities. In her spare time, she enjoys portrait sketching, knitting and making pearl bags.
Delaney Connor
Delaney is thrilled to finally live East of the Mississippi. She is originally from Seattle and completed her undergraduate schooling in New Orleans. During her studies, she developed a deep interest in creative resistance and community resilience unique to New Orleans. Delaney spent the years since graduating in Bozeman, Montana where she worked in positions addressing homelessness and legal reform. She is eager to embrace the DUE program and the New York City-scape to explore her ever-evolving research interests which presently include social infrastructure, collective ownership, heterotopias, and defiance. Outside of her studies, Delaney enjoys cooking large pots of soup and spending time outside.
Molly Meng
Molly (Hanzi) Meng is a designer, researcher, and dancer whose work explores the intersection of embodied movement, collective resilience, and urban fabric. She graduated from the University of Washington with a degree in Industrial Design and worked in creative agencies from 2019 to 2022, focusing on design research, creative strategy, and product development. Her experiences across Beijing, Seattle, Shanghai, and New York have deepened her commitment to placemaking and public space as vehicles for everyday utopias.
Now pursuing her Master's in Design and Urban Ecologies at Parsons, Hanzi is developing a theory of groove—a relational, rhythmic framework connecting bodily movement, urban space, and social cocreation. Drawing from jazz, feminist theory, and urban politics, her research sees groove as a soft infrastructure that holds space for mistakes, negotiation, and mutual becoming.
Whether leading swing dance classes or mapping social resilience in cities, Hanzi moves with curiosity, care, and a deep belief in the politics of rhythm.
Shivani Dave
Shivani Dave is an architect, writer and illustrator interested in exploring the intersection of architecture and social sciences. Through her academic experience at the School of Environment and Architecture, Mumbai, where she received her Bachelor’s in Architecture, she discovered that her interests lie in applying the fundamentals of architectural research and writing within urban contexts to develop phenomenological ideas about life in cities. After a postgraduate diploma from the London School of Journalism, she went on to create engaging, significant pieces of media at Question of Cities, an online journal at the intersection of urbanisation, ecology and equity. She enjoys dancing, crocheting and exploring the overlap of academia and Bollywood in her free time.
Ruth Wondemu
Ruthy (she/her) is a first-gen Ethio-American community-driven creative focused on supporting BIPOC communities through art, design, and sustainability. With a background in Public Health from Kent State University, she’s worked across the U.S. in disaster response, mentorship, and violence prevention. Currently studying design and urban ecology, Ruthy is committed to creating spaces that blend environmental education with creative expression. Their work fosters intersections where people can connect, share ideas, and explore sustainability through reuse and circular economy practices.
Zola Haber
Zola Haber (they/she) is a native New Yorker who has worked with the New York Horticultural Society and the Appalachian Mountain Club promoting conservation and a love of nature. They graduated from Oberlin College with a double major in Studio Art and Environmental Studies. They love most crafts and their bike.
Claudia Tomateo
Claudia Tomateo is an Indigenous descendant of the QuechuaChanka people from the mountains of Apurimac, in so-called Peru. As an architect, designer, planner, and activist she studies Indigenous data visualization as a tool for the design of Indigenous futures. She is currently a PhD student in the Department of Urban Studies and Planning at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Part-Time Faculty for the MS in Design and Urban Ecologies at The New School.
She has worked with community members in the Abya Yala and Turtle Island. Since 2023, in partnership with the Andean Project for Peasant Technologies, Claudia has facilitated the study and creation of communal calendars with Quechua people in the Amazon. She holds the degree of Professional Architect from the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú and a Master’s of Architecture in Urban Design from the Harvard Graduate School of Design.
You can find Claudia riding her small wheels bike around Cambridge, occasionally with her cat Lima in the basket.
Sources & References
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Zaragocin, S., & Caretta, M. A. (2021). Cuerpo-Territorio: A Decolonial Feminist Geographical Method for the Study of Embodiment. Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 111(5), 1503–1518. https://doi.org/10.1080/24694452.2020.1812370
D’Ignazio, C., & Klein, L. F. (2016). Feminist Data Visualization. In VIS4DH: Visualization for the Digital Humanities Workshop (Vol. 2, No. 10). http://vis4dh.dbvis.de/papers/2016/ feminist_data_vis.pdf
O’Connor, J., Parman, M., Bowman, N., & Evergreen, S. D. H. (2023). Decolonizing Data Visualization: A History and Future of Indigenous Data Visualization. Journal of MultiDisciplinary Evaluation, 19(44), 62–79.
Wilson, S. (2008). Research is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods. Fernwood Publishing.
