GARAGE Magazine: An Inquiry into Black Space

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an inquiry into BLACK SPACE

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VIRGIL ABLOH

Introduction 27/08/20 19:21 Chicago, IL Garage magazine has asked me to convene a collective of Black architects, artists, and institutions to explore how Greenwood has continued to resonate in our historical imaginings of what it means to make Black space. Via a short questionnaire: 1) What does “Black space” mean to you?; 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory?; 3) Image Contribution; we imagine the sum of textual and visual responses from the group as a map of a potential black future, a global, diasporic city that lives within our pages. My earliest spatial memory that matters was in architecture school. It was the first week of architectural history, and I remember turning the page of a book that I still have in my library. The book articulated that one of the first instances of architecture was a row of trees that had been planted in a straight line. This informed my understanding of how humanity relates to Earth and nature in one poetic, but also potentially damaging, gesture; we have the power to take nature and put it in a rational order so that it seemingly fits our needs. That, to me, is the Adam and Eve moment of the design world. I imagine a chief, king, or emperor in the past saying, “Put these trees in!,” organizing the natural environment in a way that they deem pleasing, studying proportions, etc. I learned this in Crown Hall, a Mies van der Rohe–designed building and curriculum that is a hundred percent rational. Everything is orthogonal. The city is orthogonal. So imagine when I discovered the Adam and Eve moment of the design world and related that to my city, which was built as a grid—that’s what makes Chicago unique. I recall learning about the influence of the hypergridded-out Burnham Plan of Chicago. You know exactly where you are anywhere in the whole city in reference to “State and Lake,” which is the center of the city. The city is super segregated; I have a diagram that illustrates the north side, south side, and west side. North is more affluent. It has the amenities of a modern city and a lower crime rate. It’s considered the “nice” side of Chicago. South and west is predominantly Black and POC. It has a higher rate of crime and a different socioeconomic component. Through this grid we see extreme disparities. The city also has a history of public housing, which was sort of an experiment that was devised to be a solution. We now know that “solution” was very poor. You additionally have social issues such as gentrification and additional systemic injustice that stem from those early philosophies and ideas around organizing a city. The grid is reinforced and maintained by an invisible wall of oppression. I envision cross-pollinating and redistributing the resources held by these invisible walls, to thereby make the city a more progressive Black space, to make the whole city a Black space. As an analogy, what would happen if the fresh grocery stores or resources were distributed all over the city? In this year, 2020, we’re in the midst of an uprising yet again that seems cyclical. As “Black Imagineers,” if we reimagine the city by literally recontextualizing a terraformation approach, we can receive instant feedback. Every system operates exactly as it was designed to, and we have an understanding that our current system is wrong. It’s not inefficient at all; it was just designed improperly. The system needs to go under a terraformation and redesign to perform exactly how we need it to, and as I see it, resource redistribution is where it starts.

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- KOFI AKAKPO 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Black space is space carved out by Black people that serves their purposes, be that safety, security, privacy, celebration, etc. In an ideal world, space will simply be the almost infinite potential between objects shared by all, but in our flawed reality, Black space becomes a fraction of the almost infinite that Black people have claimed for themselves once they realized the rest of space was not conducive to their needs. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? My earliest architectural memory was of my grandparents’ house near a beach. I was born in a little coastal town called Ada Foah in Ghana, and my grandparents’ house near the beach was where I formed my earliest memories. It was fairly humble, but it was everything for five-year-old me, running around the garden, yard, and hallway with my cousins. 3) Image Contribution #5, #20, #32, #41 ....................................................

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- BAFIC 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Noun 1. A continuous area or expanse which is free, available, or unoccupied. 2. The dimensions of height, depth, and width within which all things exist and move. Frequency Noun When I really sit and think about it, It’s a frequency, and when I say frequency I don’t mean it can be summarized in numbers to say what it is or what it means. The fact that it can be understood and more importantly be felt by us is why we’re able to download it and implement it in our day to day lives. It’s deeper than music, it’s deeper than language, it's deeper than art, it’s a frequency, we find it in flow or maybe it even finds us. That’s the power of the frequency, it's all the individual experiences filled with all its nuance. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? Me and my family were queuing to see Mickey Mouse in Disneyland in 1996 I was 3 years old. We finally made it and I was so scared I ran away, my dad chased after me and kneeled down to me and told me ‘No Fear, never be scared’ words of encouragement, that's stuck with me I’m always thinking about it. You queue for something you want to do, get there and become scared, I’m always thinking how I can combat that and work through it. See things through to the end, just doing it and focusing and enjoying the process that’s what we love so much (the process is the queuing) sometimes we spend so much time queuing but focusing on the final thing we forget to enjoy the queuing element, that's where all the fun is, it’s just being present. 3) Image Contribution #23, #40, #60, #72 ........................................................

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- JEREMY BENSON 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Black space is that which provides respite, albeit temporary, from the gnawing fear that, as Black people in America, our bodies may be taken from us at a moment’s notice, and without justification. We grow up with the understanding that this country was built on the bodies of Black and Brown people. As Ta-Nehisi Coates articulates so eloquently in Between the World and Me, the destruction of those same Black bodies is part and parcel of the Dream many Americans believe in and actively work to uphold. When one walks through non-Black space, a sense of alertness, of suspicion—of doubt—about one’s safety or well-being may always exist at the back of one’s mind. Even if we don’t consciously acknowledge it, our bodies can feel it. Looks, or comments, or subtle microaggressions affirm this. When one walks into a Black space, there’s an unburdening. A lightening of the load. One is allowed, invited, even urged, to become their fullest, Blackest, most glorious self. My interest in institutions, and museums, is that they are actively anti-Black spaces, and I wish to offer up new suggestions. They do not allow Black people to be Black people. We are distanced from much of the very culture that we have had stolen from us—both the physical artifacts and the aesthetic practices and ideas that have been appropriated ad nauseam throughout the centuries. Why not allow for space for gathering around objects? Why not create space where Black and Brown visitors feel less like felons under surveillance in a panopticon, and more like wide-eyed, excited humans with their own set of curiosities, interests, and dreams? Why not create a space where the real history of the objects and the story of their procurement is made transparent? This would invariably expose the museum for what it is: an institution meant to create knowledge around a specific story of the world, that works to extend the reaches of white supremacy. Museums, unfortunately, are not yet Black space. A Black space is one where the identities, the activities, and the cultures of historically excluded people would be centered. Their identities would not be the exception, but rather, one of the rules. Their activities would not be merely permitted but actively facilitated. Their culture not stolen or misappropriated but fully celebrated and credited. However, non-Blacks entering into a Black space will be free from feeling the same unspoken discomfort we, as Black and Brown people, felt that first time we were somewhere we’d never been. Somewhere foreign, uncomfortable, and likely overwhelmingly non-Black. Somewhere that wasn’t made for us, and gave us that feeling of “I’m not supposed to be here, I don’t feel welcome here.” Black space is not one of exclusion. Though we may not be addressing you, you are allowed to listen. The challenge of Black space, as one might imagine, involves a complete rethinking, restructuring, and reimagining of the centrality of white space, of “normal” space, and of the myth of neutral space. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? My first memory also happens to be my first spatial memory. I was about one year old. I was lying on the floor of a studio apartment in my birthplace of Knoxville, Tennessee. Members of my family were buzzing about, cleaning toilets, moving boxes, general coming and going. Nothing particularly interesting was happening, but for some reason, I still remember it. For many years I was unsure if this was a real memory or if I’d made it up; however, my mom confirmed that we did indeed live in a studio apartment when I was about one. It might have been the texture of the space itself: the way the floor felt, the way the energy in the room resonated, the relative height of the ceilings to my prone, one-year-old body, the quality of light, or the particular sense of excitement and curiosity and loss that is associated with moving. Felt, but not yet understood. 3) Image Contribution #3, #42, #51, #71 ....................................................

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- CALVIN BOYD 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? For me, the “meaning” of Black space is tightly tethered to my many aspirations for it, mainly for it to be less fleeting and ephemeral. Presently, it’s difficult to discuss Black space without referencing its primary antagonist, or what Black sociologist Elijah Anderson calls “white space.” Unlike the homogeneous and self-similar nature of white space, Black space is racially, culturally, economically, and linguistically diverse. It is authentic and free of the social dance Blacks and other minorities have to perform in order to gain temporary admission into white spaces. In this way, Black space humanizes. Yet, despite this fact, Black space is perpetually snuffed out by gentrification, redlining, capitalism, and fear-/hate-based violence carried out by individuals conditioned to be unable to see the worth of our communities, our culture, and even our laughter. Black space—like Black peace and Black joy—is here one moment and gone the next. It’s a disappearing act with far too many triggers: a law, a gunshot, a phone call. It’s a transitory and liminal space, but one that has the audacity to keep appearing where it is needed, though not necessarily wanted. Black space arrives on the scene to imbue other places and spaces with art,culture, style, and above all, justice. And hopefully, one day it will never need to depart. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? I don’t recall my age, but I was young and quite short at the time, with my head barely reaching above a standard height countertop. I remember being in the restroom of the Baptist church my family attended back then. Unbeknownst to me, someone had added water to the soap bottle by the sink to extend its life, and upon pressing down on the pump, I got a geyser of soapy water straight into my eye. After a lengthy trip to urgent care, I had to wear an eye patch for about a week. Though not totally blind, I remember having to constantly feel my way around and even reacquaint myself with my own home. Navigating down the staircase was especially tricky. Placing my rear on the top step and slowly sliding my way down proved to be the safest option. It’s not my first memory, but perhaps it’s my first architectural one, given that my spatial surroundings could no longer be ignored. In fact, it was necessary to depend on them. 3) Image Contribution #2, #12, #14, #70 ....................................................

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- CRYSTAL Z. CAMPBELL 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Black space tastes time less. Black space erodes borders. Black space draws shadows. Black space promises sun. Black space forecasts over casts. Black space pledges bounty. Black space reads bound less. Black space smells bounty full. Black space gifts technology. Black space messages yesterday’s future. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? in a dream / i am too young to drive / i am driving / i am speeding / across the bridge / the bridge is in / complete / and i / too fast / release gas/ press brake / and wake 3) Image Contribution #7, #37, #54, #57 .......................................................

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- DARIEN CARR 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? It doesn’t really snow in Tulsa, Oklahoma, but profits were steep, and racism was deep and loose. People built avalanche shelters just in case. Refuge from the inevitable. I’ve always understood Black spaces to hold something more frightening than skeletons. They proliferate a beauty that expands beyond the suffering we’ve been subject to. They’re continually putting themselves together. Sometimes I try to describe Black spaces to my white friends, and it’s a difficult task. There’s often a temporal component that escapes their perception. Black spaces have the ability to willfully expand and contract, to fold and unfold: because moments can’t be taken for granted and you never know when a cop might show up. Homes become blurred from the motion that ensues. Between moments, as time unravels, shelter expands over the ground and takes hold. Boundaries, borders, and frames break. Peripheries become centers that become peripheries. The constant motion of it all is enough to protect our dreams from becoming still—half-frozen like snow—motionless nightmares that don’t expand or contract, that neither fold nor unfold, only come crashing down. Black space is enveloping yet hand-held, blue yet green, shelter with heat, protection in case of avalanches! 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? I remember sledding down the hill at the school up the street. My mom would take me and my sisters every time it snowed. I always looked forward to it. My favorite part was when somebody built a jump halfway down the hill. It was so amazing because—after picking up speed on the hill—your sled would travel up this ramp and then, all of a sudden, you would be airborne. Afterward, you would come crashing down to the ground, slightly rattled, gathering yourself as the sled came to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Then you did it all again. It was great. Yo, but this one time, we went to the hill, and there was this kid who wasn’t trying to let anybody else use the jump. He really just put sleds and cardboard all around it and said the ramp was “his.” It’s something I couldn’t really understand because, like, obviously someone made the ramp, and they made it with the knowledge that they were making it on the most popular sledding hill in the neighborhood. So I’m like, “How are you just gonna own this jump?" Long story short, I end up deciding to use the jump anyway. I position my sled at the top of the hill with my trajectory directly toward it. I ride down, bust through homeboy’s “sled barrier,” and go off the ramp. It was great. So I go back up to do it again, and he comes over to try and stop me, saying it’s “his” ramp and I can’t use it—stuff like that. We end up fighting and, mind you, I never get in fights. I’m not a fighter. This is one of the two fights I’ve ever had in my life. But I get in a fight with this guy, all over this ramp... Thinking back on it now, it’s the first time I realized how political the concept of space can be. I was just a kid who wanted to feel the freedom of going off that jump, but here this guy was depriving me of that experience because he decided that the jump was “his” and he didn’t want me to use it. It’s a feeling I became more familiar with as I got older, and it’s helped me understand that Black space is so often constructed as a response to false claims of ownership. 3) Image Contribution #1, #16, #33, #62 ....................................................

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- TAWANDA CHIWESHE 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Embedded within this question is another, that is, what is Black space? What I know for certain is that it is causal. It pertains to Black being, my being. Starting from within, Black space broadcasts. It is a thing in itself that gets amplified amongst a congregation and altered when observed or measured. It’s a phenomenon to those who can’t create it; and innate to those who are it: Black people. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? Kumusha. Ambuya vange vaine musha kure ne kumba kwavo mu dhorobha re Harare. Ndayeuchidzwa ndichivunzwa amai vangu makore aya apfura ndichivati “Ambuya vakavaka dzimba dziri kumusha sei?” Ivo vakati ambuya vaichinjana chikafu kana midziyo ne vanhu vaigara munharaunda vanhu ivavo vivaitira basa. Ndinotoshamisika , ndonzwa kufara nekugutsikana ne zvaitika kuti zvinhu zvibudirire. Vaida kuzviita. Handina hangu kuvaita se munhu ano designer zvekuvaka vaka asi zvavakaita kumusha zvinofadza. Zvinoita kunge vakange vari shasha pakudesigner misha. 3) Image Contribution #6, #10, #44, #49 ....................................................

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- ARIA GRIFFIN 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Regarding the architecture of justice, James Baldwin famously argued that the destiny of this country is to be determined by how it treats the marginalized Blackness that now constitutes the center of everything American. Here Baldwin acknowledges Blackness as a table-turning, space-making design force particularly discernible at the margins. Greenwood is an instance of this moral force resisting, recovered, and now hoping to reshape the aesthetics of transition. The architecture of the wealthy economic center of every major city in the U.S. is being forced into new shapes by its most disenfranchised and impoverished people. In Los Angeles, for example, the marginalized Black and Brown people have surreptitiously undone the meaning of public streets by transforming them into the scene of the most private matters. Every weekday around noon, they reconstruct a gauntlet of the real, and present an eyeful of moral questions for the suits and heels trying to pass by on their way to dine in spaces built for exclusion. The design force of Black space has required that the city surrender the possibility of a leisurely gaze upward to the Bonaventure Hotel or across to the sweeping metal peaks of Disney Concert Hall, as the marginalized residents transform city-center design into ad hoc, multicolor tent cities—occupiers at war with the forces of the moneyed. Instead of looking upward, one has to keep an eye out for the army of order’s defenders: sweepers and hosers, to say nothing of the guards, patrollers, and the militarized police. Now we live in ongoing disruption of the city’s corridors and built space, where it has staged again the scenes of outrage against Black bodies; Black space has opened to dissenters of all colors. Minneapolis, D.C., Portland, Richmond, Manhattan are moved by waves of a collective “no.” Aerial views of familiar streets are transformed by new graphics of solidarity on black asphalt. The design force of Black space in my birthplace of Los Angeles has required that it surrender the possibility of beauty built on ugly terms. As it did on Black Wall Street, Black space becomes recognizable as an agentic design force. At once, it unmakes and remakes political spatial formations that discredit and marginalize Blackness, even as it sets new terms for the beautiful. Black space requires that every city do it justice or suffer the loss of order, moral fortitude, and the possibility of beauty. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? Black space became evident to me as a child, visiting my father’s home island of St. Croix in the Virgin Islands. Space first designed according to a white colonial vision of the economic function of Black bodies for sugarcane harvesting had now been reappropriated by Black islanders as home. The aesthetic of European exploiters was now pushed to the margins by vernacular sensibilities that define Black communal life. At the island’s center, public space grew organically and functionally, designed to meet the valued communal needs more than individual accomplishment, functioning more to serve social needs than to promote one designer’s artistic vision. From the sugar mill to the plantation house, from the government or customs house to the next-door fresh fish and local fruit market, Black space had clearly emerged with new meaning, lived in and utilized by the majority Black community. Greenwood. St. Croix. Black space imagined from within the Black community, even if reimagined from former Black-enslaving spaces, becomes an essential part of the process of the emancipation of identity. Even at age four, inhabiting this sort of island Black space filled me with confidence, self-knowing, and a sense of belonging not available to me in public spaces back home in California. With each annual visit, my understanding of the meaning and urgency of Black space grew. Traveling to St. Croix felt more and more like a pilgrimage for renewal and refuge. It never failed to reinvigorate and recenter me. 3) Image Contribution #15, #31, #34, #61 ...................................................

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- AURORA JAMES 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? The phrase “Black space” to me speaks to a rare and special sweet spot we almost never get to inhibit. There is “Black space” as an idea and “Black space” as a reality. Black ideas created by Black hands, imagined by Black histories and shared through Black phone calls and purchased with Black wealth. Holistically Black and authentic to our spirits. Existing in a space that is inspired not by our reactions to what we have been through but by our innate human tendencies that are unique to each of us. What do you build when you’ve only seen Black structures? How do you laugh when you have never felt Black pain? How can you be Black when you’ve never had to be not white? 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? My mother and grandfather were both architects. Space and how we occupied it was omnipresent in my childhood. While they both studied and practiced, my mother’s relationship to space was more physical. She occupied it in an unapologetic way. Loud laughs billowing down empty corridors. Afternoon naps sprawled out in the middle of a field. She felt empowered to take up space. This was her reaction to a world that told her to shrink: She expanded. But white women tend to be better at taking up space. I feel happy for her. Sometimes it’s nice to take up all of the oxygen in the room. And it taught me to make do with very little. I really only ever asked for 15%. 3) Image Contribution #46, #50, #59 ...................................................

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- TRINICE MCNALLY 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Black space to me feels like the place that Black organizers, artists, and educators have in our heads and minds as our collective forecast. Most of the work in organizing, education, artistry, and, I would argue, architecture is the belief that we need to build or create something better. That we can create something that is necessary and will make an intervention somehow. Imagining a world without prisons, police, and injustice is a skill and luxury most Black folks haven’t had the opportunity to participate in freely. Our mere existence is suppressed, attacked, and violated every day through systemic violence. Yet still we find ways to innovatively dream, create, and express ourselves. Black space is the place that exists in our minds even when freedom feels impossible. Black space is the place our enslaved ancestors dreamt of and conjured through our existence. Black space is the commitment and celebration of celestial minds that keep the spirit of imagination, expansion, and creativity alive in every realm of our craft and artistry. Even when we are tormented, murdered, and robbed of our freedom. Geography and imagination to me are as intertwined as the elements are with human life. Science and innovation are a birthright for Black people and have helped us transcend, evolve, and self-determine what interventions are needed for us to live, thrive, and survive. Black space sits at the intersection of possibility, history, and evolution, where Black people have full autonomy over our bodies, minds, and creations. It’s not just in the sky extending to the intergalactic, but it’s below in the deepest of waters, where our people rest, conjure, and develop to keep this world available so we continue to find joy during terror. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? My earliest spatial memories are the downtown area of Miami. From the Phillip and Patricia Frost Museum of Science to Vizcaya Gardens and the Port of Miami skyline—I was constantly in awe of the Renaissance-meets-hi-tech industrial design structures spread across the city in neighborhoods. Growing up in Carol City (now Miami Gardens) created this illusion in my mind that, as one of the Blackest neighborhoods in the mid-’90s, only downtown on the otherside of Liberty City is worthy of praise and excitement. Luckily, I eventually learned about the creation of I-95 in the 1960s, leading to the displacement of over 10,000 Black families and the deprivation of resources of “Colored Town,” a place that previously served as the epicenter for commerce for the Black community in South Florida. This decision discarded so many people and left us destitute, living in projects with little to no resources to survive. A story way too common in places like Tulsa and Harlem. Still and yet, we remained resilient, we upheld the Culmer Library, built schools, sustained cultural practices in Little Haiti, and spread all across Miami-Dade County to reinvent, reclaim, and design new spaces for generations to come. My earliest spatial memories were glamorized by refined and contemporary architecture, and are always in the back of my mind. But it is the walls of Overtown, Wynwood, and Opa-Locka of my city that ring in my heart. These are the parts of Miami that represent the resilience and commitment Black people have summoned to reimagine our possibilities and create liberatory environments for generations to come. The places where geography and artistry meet imagination, even after the destruction and violence from the local and state government continues to plague our communities. Black space is the place where Black folks on the margins are located, the place where they are forced to survive. 3) Image Contribution #9, #52, #56, #69 ...................................................

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- JENNIFER NEWSOM 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? My grandmother, Hazel Todd James, kept a big woven basket full of photographs. Every Thanksgiving we would visit her home in Montgomery, Alabama, and I would pore over these images of Black life and the Black spaces that held them. Girls and boys in formal clothes, drinking punch at a birthday party in my grandparents’ basement. My grandfather holding up his catch triumphantly after fishing with my uncle at a lake. My grandmother slicing pears for me at the kitchen counter. My cousins singing, “I believe the children are our future” in their high voices, mouths stretched. The photographs brought all these instances, some of which I directly experienced but many that were before my time, back to life. Black space means any landscape, city, home, or intimate moment that is created by or occupied by Black people. The people come first and remake any container. Black space is Christmas morning in my childhood home in Florida. Black space is the back terrace of our house in Connecticut. Black space is folks around a dining room table, playing a game of Uno that’s as serious as a heart attack, a towel under the card holder to protect the table’s finish. Black space is the pine trees we planted and the garden full of strawberries that I tended with my father. Black space is the bedroom where he held me as a baby. (He’s gone home now, so these photographs help me solidify my memories of him.) Black space is being created all the time. Black space is just being in time. Black space is, too, my own basket of photos I now share with my children. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? My earliest architectural memory is of me lying underneath the dining roomtable at eight years old, drawing my own design for a house on one of my father’s legal pads. The house was circular in plan and had a courtyard at the center with trees and tropical plants. Wedge-shaped rooms surrounded the courtyard and made adding furniture difficult. But it was a space of my own imagining, and drawing it was a projective act that held great freedom. I think often about this single piece of paper, wish to enclose my creative space like a fortress; the fresh legal pad extracted from Dad’s brown leather briefcase; the sounds and smells of my mother cooking dinner in the kitchen; the dim incandescent lighting; my knees digging into the rough carpet. Dreaming up the spaces that cradle a life like mine. I’ve wanted to be an architect ever since. 3) Image Contribution #13, #22, #30, #58 ......................................................

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- ACYDE ODUNLAMI 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? “BLACK SPACE” is a metaphysical home for our zeitgeist. It’s also a “philosophy” that’s not always literal or declarative. It is and should always be communal: a hub for creation that simultaneously connects Black history and Black futurism. I think of night clubs and environments that were specifically built or adapted for social music and “Black myth”–building experiences... PLASTIC PEOPLE, PARADISE GARAGE, THE TUNNEL BIRDLAND... spaces where we can animate our spirit and ideas. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? So many... sound is my favorite form of architecture. The way music fills up a room always strikes me acutely... from going to church as a kid and hearing those weird, tinny organs pipping and the congregation singing way out of tune alongside the choir, to hearing a neighbor’s radio and trying to figure out what their home looked like based on the music I was hearing, to turning my family’s living room into a mini disco at eight years old, moving all the furniture around til the room sounded right... 3) Image Contribution #36, #43, #66, #68 ...................................................

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- OLUWADEMILADE OYEYINKA 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Growing up, I never really encountered many people who looked like me in the specific fields of interests I had—namely design and architecture. However, I was privileged to have role models who elucidated the navigability of spaces for me, spaces that might not be traditionally regarded as “Black space.” Even now, I have several contemporaries that I look up to in that same regard; they are constantly illuminating the route forward and finding places to pitch their tents within the metaphorical wilderness of new, undiscovered territory. Whenever I think of the term “Black space,” I almost always think of people, memories, and objects. Oftentimes, memories of certain people are linked to particular objects. The associations I formed with things and places always went back to people and were always in the form of a specific memory rooted in a time and context. Sometimes the memories felt so much better than real life, to the point that I would wonder whether they were made up, or elevated on a pedestal that shrouded their not-so-good parts in reality. Even so, it was a nice, warm feeling to experience time and again one that served as a reminder of those people and the love I felt at the time. History has illustrated that Black space often manifests in spite of—and also as a result of adversity. Black is beautiful because of its resilience, but should it still have to be resilient, in a constant posture of self-defense? The recent spate of current events has proven that it has to be, just as it has always been and, barring drastic changes, will persist in being. Black space has provided respite from the challenges we’ve all faced, and my hope is that this medium of respite can become more accessible to people and more permanent. Now, when I think of the term “Black space,” I think about the memories, people, and objects, but more importantly, the future that we are all building toward. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? My earliest spatial memory was probably when I was very young; I must have still been a toddler at the time. I remember spending most of my time confined within a cot in my parents’ room. The light in the room was rendered in this constant soft, reddish hue due to the orange linen curtains that veiled my parents’ windows and filtered the sunlight; as a result, the room appeared to be in a perpetual golden hour of sunset/sunrise. In my cot, I had a teddy bear as my constant companion. I had a night terror about that teddy bear one night; I’m not going to go into too much detail, but long story short, that teddy bear took me to hell. As I’m explaining this now, the whole thing sounds bizarre and ridiculous, but I can still remember that feeling of three-year-old me hating that teddy bear and wanting out of that cot so badly. This is my first memory, of realizing how powerless I was—in that as much as I wanted to escape that cot, its 800mm walls proved insurmountable to my diminutive,infant stature. I can still remember that dream, as it resurfaces every now and again (I’ll have you know, I got rid of that teddy the moment I was big enough). Sometimes I doubt the reliability of my memories, and I wonder if I really did have that dream as a toddler or if it was something I dreamt up when I was older to fill avoid in my hazy recollections of that age. One thing is for certain, though: It’s been quite a number of years since I’ve been trapped in that cot, but I still get the feeling sometimes like I’m back in there again, trying to get out of it. 3) Image Contribution #17, #25, #35, #55 ...................................................

O.O. O.O. O.O.

- HASSAN RAHIM 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Black space is rejecting the concept of physical and mental confines. Scaling walls built to keep you in, and tearing down walls built to keep you out. Black space is refusing to be merely a shadow. A two-step dance between learning and unlearning. Developing a sense of purpose stronger than you’re ever taught to believe of yourself. Black space is the freedom to simply exist. To exhale pain wearily, and to breathe love and joy deeply. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? My earliest spacial memory is inside a cardboard box. I was three years old. The box must have been around 2ft x 3ft (the size of my dad’s new shop vac), but it felt like my own world. On the stained carpet floor of our living room, I lifted the box and crawled under, pulling it over my whole self slowly as the outside sound got more and more muffled. Inside the box, I was free to imagine any reality I could dream of. Today, many non-Black industry gatekeepers can’t seem to put me in a box, and the irony is never lost on me. 3) Image Contribution #18, #21, #45, #63, #67 ...................................................

H.R. H.R. H.R.

- SAMUEL ROSS 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Black space means existence and memory, pertaining to the 21st century in this regard—though plural in sense of the term. Less a quantification of what Black is perceived to project—the term offers itself to our generation to articulate and pass through. The experience is inclusive and highly textured, rendering several landscapes that consider both the 20th- and 21st-century diaspora, relevant historical happenings under the same moniker, offering a perplexing reality—by nature Black space is an abstraction that yields to no master, thus forming its perceived otherness. Black space has come to inadvertently project no location. I assume this is why, within digital space, the interweb of Blackness casts such strong mesh-framework and tensility. Historical decentralization in a physical, political, and spiritual sense has, by circumstance, accelerated the foundations of a digital society that offers a less violent gradient to excel in, when compared to the wider physical world experiences that are arguably shared at different levels of modulation. Within its intangible veins, political systems, cultural underpinnings, literary and spiritual movements form, cohesively expanding and imploding. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? Rural Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, age seven. The cadence and specificity that defined the open-source style of architecture colliding with volcanic terrain shifted my perception and understanding regarding the response man has to nature and land. Architecture, in that sense, serves as performance, defined by the geography it serves. 3) Image Contribution #27, #29, #38, #48 ...................................................

S.R. S.R. S.R.

- RICARDO SCOFIDIO 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? I became aware of space—an unusual type of space—at an early age, and it deeply affected me, although I would not fully understand its relevance until much later in life. I was five years old, and I remember being extremely upset at my parents because they would never leave on time for an appointment and were always late arrivals. It was difficult for me to patiently sit still and wait for them, as waiting became a time between activities that brought my energy to a halt. One Sunday morning, knowing that once again we would be late, this time for church, I found my impatience at a tipping point and I decided I could be on time if I walked to church myself. After all, it was only about a 10-minute car ride. I knew where to go, and my grandmother, who was the church organist, had already left, so why couldn’t I? Walking on my own without supervision and entering the church by myself made me aware that I was an individual equal to the people around me. I sat in the church, proud of my accomplishment, while my panicking parents were calling the police about a missing child. That first sense of independence made me hyperaware. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? It seemed, more than ever, that the church was filled with people’s shared experiences. The space of the church, the congregation and words spoken, were so palpable. I was overwhelmed by the music and singing that filled the space. Singing together, we became a union of one, a single being, and I was in a space filled with strength, joy, and creativity. Unlike individuals who can be picked off, interrogated, and beaten because of their race, that church congregation was inseparable. This was my first experience of Black space. The people surrounding me, like my grandmother, were “negro.” Eighty years ago, Black was not a common word in my vocabulary, but the experience of that Sunday was deeply embedded in my consciousness and would shape the rest of my life. 3) Image Contribution #11 ...................................................

R.S. R.S. R.S.

- ISABEL STRAUSS 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? Black space is the space to dream, without feeling threatened and without having to perform. Black space is refuge. Black space sometimes hugs the borders of inaccessible space, for example, the lawn of Gropius House, where I defile and exalt the image of the building with my body, since I have had to frame my entire existence through a system that devalues my body for the sake of buildings like Gropius House and for lawns that I am not welcome to stand on. Black space is the headspace that enables you to keep pushing in a program where you are the only Black student in your class. Black space is reparations in the form of housing, which your mom sends you ideas for in the mail. Black space is the future. 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? I grew up in a large brick house on the South Side of Chicago, that was built in the early 1900s. At one point it had been converted into cohousing for University of Chicago students,and the interior had been altered in a way that sometimes felt ad hoc. The original house design had one main staircase and also a backstair, a secret stair, a stair that may have been meant for “the help.” This stair led from the kitchen up to the second floor and kissed the main stair’s landing via a small door. When the house was altered to accommodate more people, part of this secret stair was converted into a closet—my closet. As a kid, I would enter my closet, clothes on the left, and if I turned to my right, I would face five steps that led to a 4x4 platform, small enough to feel like nowhere to an adult, and large enough to feel like a haven for a girl who likes to read. 3) Image Contribution #24, #47, #64, #65 ...................................................

I.S. I.S. I.S.

- MAHFUZ SULTAN 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? 3) Image Contribution #4, #19, #26, #39 ...................................................

M.S. M.S. M.S.

III.

In response to the breath of rich contributions collected and published within this dossier, we have proceeded to depict several scenes that reference the sum of both textual and visual responses regarding Black space. The complexities and nuances of Black space is evident through out each response; to the same degree in which the parallels are too. It is this junction, in which sentiments from individual contributions converge, overlap and echo one another that gave us permission to make solid assertions regarding something as liquid as Black space. "For me, the 'meaning' of Black space is tightly tethered to my many aspirations for it, mainly for it to be less fleeting and ephemeral." – Calvin Boyd Where is Black space? As Samuel Ross states, "Black space has come to inadvertently project no location"; a consequence of the reactive nature in which Black space has to operate. The fleeting and ephemeral nature of Black space enables it to function and perform in all urban conditions, geographies and terrains; best exemplified through the story of B.C. Franklin, an African American lawyer whose law office was burned during the Tulsa Race Massacre in 1921. From a makeshift disaster relief tent, provided by the Red Cross, B.C. Franklin alongside his associates began to practice law, filing cases the went onto challenging the unconstitutional zoning ordinance Laws. It is the image of B.C. Franklin (right) and I. H. Spears (left), with secretary Effie Thompson (center), that encapsulates the sum of the textual and visual responses on Black space, and became our design precedent; for the visual analogy we have deployed within our renderings to communicate Black space. "The people come first and remake any container." – Jennifer Newsom

7:23 am

8:37 am

9:08 am

10:49 pm

11:51 pm

- A ALASKA ALASKASKA AKSKA Black-owned and lead research, design and creative service rooted in contemporary landscapes, essentially questioning design while designing “design.” ....................................................... - Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design #87 #87 #87 #87 ....................................................... - Artist, Filmmaker. #23 #40 #60 #72 ....................................................... - Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design #3 Social gathering of Black fraternities and sororities in Perelman Quadrangle at the University of Pennsylvania. In 2001, this part of campus was renovated by the architecture firm Venturi Scott Brown & Associates. Philadelphia, PA. 2014. #42 The Old Daisy was a nickelodeon and venue for the Chitlin’ Circuit, built in the early 20th century. It sits on Beale Street in Memphis, which was not only a haven for African Americans migrating at the turn of the century, but also a major business and entertainment district for the Black community across the mid-South. Memphis, TN, 2019. #51 Intimate conversations inside of NCNG, a Black-owned barbershop, with its founder, Drew Henderson. Chicago, Illinois. 2019. #71 NYPD shutting down a rooftop party on July 4th. Fuck the cops. Brooklyn, NY. 2018. ....................................................... - Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #2 Contributor at MLK Memorial in Washington, D.C., 2011. #12 Childhood home, exterior, West Bloomfield, Michigan, 1997. #14 Audrey Lloyd (Grandmother to Contributor), Houston, TX. #70 Childhood home, interior, West Bloomfield, Michigan, circa 2000. ....................................................... - Artist, Filmmaker & Writer. #7 #37 #54 #57 ....................................................... - Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #1 #16 #33 #62 ....................................................... - Studio Director, Alaska Alaska. #6 #10 #44 #49 ....................................................... - Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #15 #31 #34 #61 ....................................................... - Creative Director at #46 #50 #59 ....................................................... - Kahlil Joseph. Artist, Filmmaker & Co-founder of The Underground Museum. - Karon Davis. Artist & Co-founder of The Underground Museum. #8 #28 #53 ....................................................... - Black Queer Feminist Organizer, Educator, and Archivist. #9 Black Youth Project 100 members chanting at the 2017 nationalconvention in New Orleans. #52 Many Faces, Trinice 3D visual compilation, snowstorm in December of 2018 in Hyattsville, Maryland. #56 Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park,taken with the University of the District of Columbia’s Center for Diversity, Inclusion & Multicultural Affairs Short-term Study Abroad Education Travel Program in Accra, Ghana, in May of 2019. #69 Overtown mural painted by Purvis Young. (Picture taken from PurvisYoung.com). ....................................................... - JENNIFER NEWSOM Principal, Dream The Combine. #13 #22 #30 #58 ....................................................... - Co-Founder of No Vacancy Inn. #36 #43 #66 #68 ....................................................... - Architectural Designer/Artist. #17 #25 #35 #55 ....................................................... - Artist and Creative Director. #18 #21 #45 #63 #67 ....................................................... - Chief Executive Officer & Creative Director at A Cold Wall. #27 #29 #38 #48 ....................................................... - Partner, Diller Scofidio + Renfro. #11 ....................................................... - ISABEL STRAUSS Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #24 #47 #64 #65 ....................................................... - Architect, Writer. #4 #19 #26 #39 ....................................................... an inquiry into BLACK SPACE was facilitated by Garage Magazine, Daniel Bellizio, Tawanda Chiweshe, Catherine Eschert, Francisco Gaspar, Brian Igel, Kevin McIntosh Jr, Erica Morelli, Athiththan Selvendran, Oana Stanescu and Klara Zepp. With special thanks to Chloe Wayne, Mahfuz Sultan and Oluwademilade Oyeyinka for assisting Alaska Alaska in conceiving the inquiry and artworks for the case study.

[A.A.] K.A. B. J.B. C.B. C.Z.C. D.C. T.C. A.G. A.J.

IV.

INDEX

TERRAFORMING

case study ALASKA ALASKA

introduction

inquiry

KOFI AKAKPO,

BAFIC,

JEREMY BENSON,

CALVIN BOYD,

CRYSTAL Z. CAMPBELL,

DARIEN CARR,

TAWANDA CHIWESHE,

ARIA GRIFFIN,

AURORA JAMES,

KAHLIL JOSEPH &

TRINICE MCNALLY,

JENNIFER NEWSOM,

ACYDE ODUNLAMI,

OLUWADEMILADE OYEYINKA,

HASSAN RAHIM,

RICARDO SCOFIDIO,

SAMUEL ROSS,

ISABEL STRAUSS,

and MAHFUZ SULTAN.

case study

ALASKA ALASKA

index

D.C. #1

C.B. #2

J.B. #3

M.S. #4

K.A. #5

T.C. #6

C.Z.C. #7

K.J.K.D. #8

T.M. #9

T.C. #10

R.S. #11

C.B. #12

J.N. #13

C.B. #14

A.G. #15

D.C. #16

O.O. #17

H.R. #18

M.S. #19

K.A. #20

H.R. #21

J.N. #22

B. #23

I.S. #24

O.O. #25

M.S. #26

S.R. #27

K.J.K.D. #28

S.R. #29

J.N. #30

A.G. #31

K.A. #32

D.C. #33

A.G. #34

O.O. #35

A.O. #36

C.Z.C. #37

S.R. #38

M.S. #39

B. #40

K.A. #41

J.B. #42

A.O. #43

T.C. #44

H.R. #45

A.J. #46

I.S. #47

S.R. #48

T.C. #49

A.J. #50

J.B. #51

T.M. #52

K.J.K.D. #53

C.Z.C. #54

O.O. #55

T.M. #56

C.Z.C. #57

J.N. #58

A.J. #59

B. #60

A.G. #61

D.C. #62

H.R. #63

I.S. #64

I.S. #65

A.O. #66

H.R. #67

A.O. #68

T.M. #69

C.B. #70

C.B. #71

B. #72

[x]

#73

#74

Virgil Abloh

ALASKA ALASKA

KOFI AKAKPO

BAFIC

CALVIN BOYD

CRYSTAL Z. CAMPBELL

DARIEN CARR

TAWANDA CHIWESHE

ARIA GRIFFIN

AURORA JAMES

TRINICE MCNALLY

ACYDE ODUNLAMI

OWADEMILADE OYEYINKA

HASSAN RAHIM

SAMUEL ROSS

RICARDO SCOFIDIO

MAHFUZ SULTAN

- KAHLIL JOSEPH AND KARON DAVIS 1) What does “Black space” mean to you? BREONNA TAYLOR 2) What is your earliest spatial or architectural memory? BREONNA TAYLOR 3) Image Contribution #8, #28, #53 ....................................................

K.J. K.D. K.J. K.D. K.J. K.D.

K.J. K.D. T.M. J.N. A.O. O.O. H.R. S.R. R.S. I.S. M.S.

#74

#73

[x]

#73

#74

[x]

KARON DAVIS,

K.J.K.D. #28

S.R. #29

J.N. #30

K.J.K.D. #53

T.C. #6

[x]

#73

#74

[x]

K.A. #32

J.B. #42

S.R. #38

D.C. #62

A.O. #68

A.O. #36

A.G. #34

H.R. #45

T.M. #56

A.J. #59

D.C. #62

H.R. #63

I.S. #64

I.S. #65

B. #72

- ALASKA ALASKA Black-owned and lead research, design and creative service rooted in contemporary landscapes, essentially questioning design while designing “design." ....................................................... - KOFI AKAKPO Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design #87 #87 #87 #87 ....................................................... BAFIC Artist, Filmmaker. #23 #40 #60 #72 ....................................................... - JEREMY BENSON Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design #3 Social gathering of Black fraternities and sororities in Perelman Quadrangle at the University of Pennsylvania. In 2001, this part of campus was renovated by the architecture firm Venturi Scott Brown & Associates. Philadelphia, PA. 2014. #42 The Old Daisy was a nickelodeon and venue for the Chitlin’ Circuit, built in the early 20th century. It sits on Beale Street in Memphis, which was not only a haven for African Americans migrating at the turn of the century, but also a major business and entertainment district for the Black community across the mid-South. Memphis, TN, 2019. #51 Intimate conversations inside of NCNG, a Black-owned barbershop, with its founder, Drew Henderson. Chicago, Illinois. 2019. #71 NYPD shutting down a rooftop party on July 4th. Fuck the cops. Brooklyn, NY. 2018. ....................................................... - CALVIN BOYD Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #2 Contributor at MLK Memorial in Washington, D.C., 2011. #12 Childhood home, exterior, West Bloomfield, Michigan, 1997. #14 Audrey Lloyd (Grandmother to Contributor), Houston, TX. #70 Childhood home, interior, West Bloomfield, Michigan, circa 2000. ....................................................... - CRYSTAL Z. CAMPBELL Artist, Filmmaker & Writer. #7 #37 #54 #57 ....................................................... - DARIEN CARR Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #1 #16 #33 #62 ....................................................... - TAWANDA CHIWESHE Studio Director, Alaska Alaska. #6 #10 #44 #49 ....................................................... - ARIA GRIFFIN Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #15 #31 #34 #61 ....................................................... - AURORA JAMES Creative Director at Brother Vellies. #46 #50 #59 ....................................................... - KAHLIL JOSEPH and KARON DAVIS - Kahlil Joseph. Artist, Filmmaker & Co-founder of The Underground Museum. - Karon Davis. Artist & Co-founder of The Underground Museum. #8 #28 #53 ....................................................... - TRINICE MCNALLY Black Queer Feminist Organizer, Educator, and Archivist. #9 Black Youth Project 100 members chanting at the 2017 nationalconvention in New Orleans. #52 Many Faces, Trinice 3D visual compilation, snowstorm in December of 2018 in Hyattsville, Maryland. #56 Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park,taken with the University of the District of Columbia’s Center for Diversity, Inclusion & Multicultural Affairs Short-term Study Abroad Education Travel Program in Accra, Ghana, in May of 2019. #69 Overtown mural painted by Purvis Young. (Picture taken from PurvisYoung.com). ....................................................... - JENNIFER NEWSOM Principal, Dream The Combine. #13 #22 #30 #58 ....................................................... - ACYDE ODUNLAMI Co-Founder of No Vacancy Inn. #36 #43 #66 #68 ....................................................... - OLUWADEMILADE OYEYINKA Architectural Designer/Artist. #17 #25 #35 #55 ....................................................... - HASSAN RAHIM Artist and Creative Director. #18 #21 #45 #63 #67 ....................................................... - SAMUEL ROSS Chief Executive Officer & Creative Director at A Cold Wall. #27 #29 #38 #48 ....................................................... - RICARDO SCOFIDIO Partner, Diller Scofidio + Renfro. #11 ....................................................... - ISABEL STRAUSS Master of Architecture Candidate, Harvard Graduate School of Design. #24 #47 #64 #65 ....................................................... - MAHFUZ SULTAN Architect, Writer. #4 #19 #26 #39 ....................................................... an inquiry into BLACK SPACE was facilitated by Garage Magazine, Daniel Bellizio, Tawanda Chiweshe, Catherine Eschert, Francisco Gaspar, Brian Igel, Kevin McIntosh Jr, Erica Morelli, Athiththan Selvendran, Oana Stanescu and Klara Zepp. With special thanks to Chloe Wayne, Mahfuz Sultan and Oluwademilade Oyeyinka for assisting Alaska Alaska in conceiving the inquiry and artworks for the case study.

B. #72

JEREMY BENSON

Brother Vellies.

- KAHLIL JOSEPH

and KARON DAVIS

SAMUEL ROSS

KARON DAVIS

9:02 am

[x]