AA Foundation Exhibition Book Global 2020 – 2021
AA Foundation 20 - 21… spatially atomized but connected through the computer camera frame with audio hiss and periodic frozen glitch, we shared intimate observations and constructive critique. We have deconstructed where we are now to better understand where we might go. We compiled information to extract the right questions (and the wrong ones). These fragments form the vignettes and the territories belonging to this book and offer the on-going conversations that have been created between all students … Sincere thanks to everyone that put this book together.
Where do we think we are? Where do we want to be?
A Manifesto by AA Foundation Students
Art changes the idea… that it’s for a single group of people. There are no artists, for we are each art. that beauty perishes in life. that life cannot be colourful, exciting, and meaningful. that the inner self cannot be visualised. that moments observed in transience are bound to remain that way. that life has its own undivided course, and the powerlessness of humans shall never shift it. that our existence is meaningless. that everything is imprisoned within a frame of black or white, whereas nothing and everything can make sense in the spectrum of infinite colours that it freely fits in. that there’s only one version of you. that I am not making art, but living in art. that the spatial relations we have with our surroundings are merely functional. that there is an occupation called artist. that there is a single way to challenge a problem. that you have to be obedient.
in follow g a s f trai o ght line.
Timeless...
I am growing up I think about this phrase from the moment I open my eyes, until I close them shut I wonder why? Back when I was young, I used to walk up the Sidi Bou Said hill I admired life, movement, laughter, love, the living soul that fills up every crack, every space, and that used to fill me up as well Inevitably, I get lost in my thoughts... When we were young, we used to dream about freedom, but every minute that passes by makes me feel like I am trapped in time, ineluctable, inescapable Memories are my source of motivation, they are what make me seek to fill the void inside of me I always remember that if life was once sublime and beautiful, I can always start over We only realize the worth of the miracle of life when the sun sets. Then, we reminisce about our past, regretting all the times we let time slip through our fingers All I can tell you right now is that you must take advantage of every opportunity that life throws your way All that you delay is another opportunity wasted
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Boundaries of the Natural
A year ago, I would have described myself as someone who lived in a comfortable concrete box, in which every now and then I would begin to feel trapped and slowly compressed. The solution to these feelings was the infinite forest, enveloping my concrete box, into which I could go to feel freedom and reinvigoration. That’s how the cycle used to be. Ever since last March, these roles have completely changed. I have been bound to this environment for a year now and the surrounding forest I wake up to every morning, previously a provider of a sense of space and freedom is now replaced by a sense of confinement, pressure and suspended time. It is springtime now, and all the vegetation around me is in the stages of blooming, as I should have been throughout this period of my life, which for the past year has been laying in a crushing limbo between four walls of forest and concrete. My communication of this feeling is through the very materials that are responsible for it.
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Observing Movement Within My Territories
Date: 29th Nov (Sun) Time: 17:03 Dark grey sky. No wind or precipitation. 0 degrees Celsius. Getting dark quickly. Location: In front of outdoor BBQ, outside the restaurant, on a standing alone chair. Children rocking on the rope pyramid playground. Parents drinking Glühwein, slowly moving around and conversing for warmth. Staff talking and eating leftovers of BBQ. Cars driving by in the distance. Smoke from BBQ rising. Teas and coffees giving off steam. Lights start illuminating. Swarms of dayflies hover over the parents.
Date: 27th Nov (Fri) Time: 12:42 Thick plane of clouds covering the sky. No wind. No precipitation. -2 degrees Celsius. Location: Bench in front of my homes entrance. Two crows flying from tree to tree. Train passing, house slightly shaking. Hedgehog hiding in the bush, slowly moving away. Door opening. Door closing. Mother with dog darting for the Jeep. Engine turns on, car vibrates. Car accelerates away from home.
Date: 29th Nov (Sun) Time: 15:17 Cloudy. Small scraps of dark blue sky. Slightly windy. Sun hidden behind clouds. No precipitation. Freezing, 1 degree Celsius. Location: Bench in front of museum. Grey Audi quickly drives by. Chimney smoke constantly merging with the clouds. Elderly couple slowly walking by in silence. Black Opel drives by. Grey VW parks next to museum. A child on roller-skates comes out of the marstall. Driver of VW gets out and lights a cigarette. Middle aged man in a suit walks by in a hurry glancing at the museum’s front door and information.
You Can Go There
I sleep
Qu
on
the ground.
i e t l y, g e n t l y,
os s cl eye
ing.
y my bod takes on th d n a , Here e sh d ape of the earth. I lie on the groun body is a s My tre i w am. bones are ts, worms, e insec ggs , l a t s I am and y r c , reeds, branches beetles. around the m urve c oun race. s b h t m e To th a p ds lik rms in an e east and west, ea winter s to the ston e low ross un h c e t a s in ste . e t i h s To c t ps to e r o t g my le s where people ft, the grass
y , m ngs
ere d forth, gently, g e a diff nt ang n r e a h t k le, ivin lies , bac Hills g each body which rise up and down a livin g geometry.
re. go the n a c If you ou need to sleep, y
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6:45. Silence
6:45. Silence. Incredible blankness. The road is foggy and almost invisible, The atmosphere is strange. It seems like we are driving in circles, Everything looks the same. A lonely car passes by. Silence again. Only Frank Ocean singing in the background While our thoughts wonder through our minds. It feels weird to go home. Somehow it seems like the past few days We were living in a place Far from reality, Hiding from our responsibilities. Now we realise how we will be thrown Back into our daily life. We drive past Villach. I hate this place. Still four hours to go.
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Landmark to Hangout
Anxious, tunnel, confusion, road construction, roadblocks, warm, conflict, cultural, archway, symmetry, contrasting colours,飞檐，assembly, young, pink, plastic surgery, community, blue collar, broadcast, noise, temple, CBD, Japanese restaurant ,Spanish coffee, black, curries, snacks, new, authentic, Thai , strange, complicated, junctions, decorative, cat coffee, fluffy, softy, tenders familiar, acceptable. High school, fashion, trade, hotels, business, workers, South Asia, trade-centre, domestic product, efficiency, social, starving, Starbucks, warm, satisfied, 格格不入。
Hangout to Home
Straight, empty, highway, windy, 空阔， 广，boring，long-waiting, bare concrete, simplicity, 统一性，完整性, grey, brown, organized, regular, church, far, 扬尘，dusty, structures, process, wellshaped, inspiring, abandoned, halffinished , 空响, echo, curves, 镂空, 重叠，有层次的, hierarchy, layers, lights, kites, shadows, overlapping, intensive, steel, framed structure, wires, suppurated, isolation, 落差，物哀，诧寂，r ural，aesthetic,单 一，silence, void, rat-tat, fake trees, pipes familiar, kids, sharing, sense of security, sunshine, grass, 平 静，bell-ring, red, white, concentrate, old man.
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Interview with Mother
00:00:00,000 --> 00:00:04,000 Like at the school that you went to and stuff 00:00:04,000 --> 00:00:07,000 No, I’ve never been threatened directly 00:00:07,000 --> 00:00:13,000 We had other political problems, ones which inhibited us from doing a lot It wasn’t just... 00:00:14,000 --> 00:00:18,000 ...uh, in the aspect of classical music There were many processes that didn’t work as they should have 00:00:20,000 --> 00:00:28,000 But, I can tell you an example, a specific occasion of when I was to hold a solo concert, a recital 00:00:29,000 --> 00:00:36,000 The pianos we had, the ones we could play at our schools, they were all falling apart 00:00:36,000 --> 00:00:44,000 Because, whatever we found we practiced on pianos that were destroyed, unfunctional
00:00:44,000 --> 00:00:51,000 We had to imagine what certain melodies sounded like because there was a very big possibility that the notes would not play as they were supposed to sound when we played them on the piano 00:00:52,000 --> 00:01:02,000 Now, to get the best result we tried to find ones that actually work. So, we went to schools... 00:01:02,000 --> 00:01:11,000 ...we would pretend we were Serbian, and go to the schools where they held classes 00:01:12,000 --> 00:01:23,000 We went... illegally How do I say this? In a way, well actually it was legal because I was also a student I was also a student in Kosovo, but... 00:01:24,000 --> 00:01:30,000 ...for the regime at the time, we didn’t dare to go We couldn’t be present there
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En México
In Mexico, thirty years of femicide cases continue to escalate year after year. In Mexico, a killer is convicted in only 5% of the femicide cases that are reported. As a young woman living in Mexico, I have watched the number of domestic violence and assault cases grow by almost 74% compared to 2019. In Mexico, in 2020, 3,723 femicide cases were recorded; reportedly 51.4% of these cases were dismissed with impunity. In Mexico, if not the whole of Latin America, women demand justice and safety on the streets and in their homes. In Mexico, these efforts seem to be ignored and belittled by the likes of antifeminist machistas and even the Mexican Government itself. As a young woman who spent most of her life growing up in Mexico, I have often found that the abuse the female body suffers in this country is such that as a woman, your body feels as if it were not yours. In Mexico, you are called a “feminazi” for fighting for the lives of the women in your country when you know is that there is still a tireless road left ahead to fight for change. In Mexico, women’s bodies are harassed, abducted, trafficked, raped and killed as if their lives were worthless in the first place. In Mexico, your body is not yours to decide what happens. Eventually, in Mexico, this affects your persona, it has affected mine. This year, I have taken on an exploration of self-identity and what it means to be a Mexican woman. I found that exposing abuses towards the female body and understanding how the feminist movement confronts these abuses is a personal exploration into what it means to be a feminist in Mexico.
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Watermarks
A squeaking door locked me in a dark room. I turned on the light, and I felt empowered from within: I was one step closer to my home, my dearest family, and friends. I had got the power in me because I knew Tempus fugit, I knew I had to make my stay worthwhile, but I didn’t know how to act. “Set up a workout routine” was the little voice I heard, a whisper “maybe” when it seemed the entire world was shouting “go for it”. 50 squats, 20 push ups, 60 bicycle crunches, 30 sumo squats, and a 1-minute plank in the morning and the afternoon during the first week made me focus on what was most enjoyable for my body. Unfortunately, endorphins released through exercising did not last long enough to better mood. Soon things started to crack. I stared at every nook and cranny: the stains on the walls, watermarks from the window, and damaged pile carpets that were never fixed. Pacing back and forth, I began to mutter: when can the pandemic end? I was desperate to walk outside because the sunshine would wash my blues away. The wind would blow through my hair and take my sorrow away.
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I am a Man I am a man
A man living my most honest self Shades of pink and blue My eyes wide shut Watching the sky turn purple Tackling expectations Distanced from foreign dictations Dancing without worrying about other opinions Opinions carried within for too long I am a man Allowing gentle touch on my skin Letting people in and feelings out Tender emotions flushing down my face Resisting my heart turning cold Bomb-bright marble cracking My freed eyes painted over Coated with feminine shadows Not living an idea from another man’s mind
But living my most honest self I am a man
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Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark ...
As the year went on, my experiments became more personal: they were more to do with the juxtaposition of subconscious mind over the conscious body. It started with objectifying visual experiences of a dream into a film and trying to create an emotional resonance. There was a process of creation through the use of my body. I restricted the motions of my hands and legs using a chain and tried to escape while capturing the imprints on paper. Charcoal powder formed the final art piece. I balanced chains on various kitchen utensils trying to form a stable being, symbolizing humans trying to balance themselves during these tough times.
* Rabindranath Tagore
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My Skin Surrounds That Which I Resent, Yet Cherish
There are scars and stories written on the surface of my skin. There are the tales of picking at a particularly bad pimple, and the scratching at my side when a mosquito rested for a quick meal. There is a scar on top of my knee from when I tried to impress a boy at the park, but instead fell face first and had a rock dig into the flesh. There is a small crater on my forehead from when I had chickenpox, and a dark spot right next to it, ironed in there since birth. There is a birthmark on the side of my stomach, matching the one my mother carries on her back. There are rifts and valleys that I trace every day, resting peacefully on my cheeks, as though they have nowhere better to be. There are calluses on my toes from running after my sister when she tickles me in a fight. There are finger marks on the side of my stomach, where I spent nights and days moaning and groaning over the extra skin, wishing I could simply cut it off. There are ugly and beautiful and heart wrenching and tear jerking stories sealed into my flesh, unfolded on the surface, plain for all to see, and written for some to read.
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莲池赋
月夜微风莲池柔波, 滚滚热切欲交融, 却因云雾生朦胧, 终未促膝知心尽所欲言,
落叶如毯暖煦之秋, 一阵寒风痛吾心, 亲朋好友忆往昔, 君之淑妍暖于心,
至汝曾所在而不及子, 至君之墓亦不睹君, 见池中之莲花, 其乃汝乎?
Lotus Pond
On the moonlit night, A gentle wave in the lotus pond. Eager to blend. But clouds turned it to twilight. In the end, I still couldn’t be her bosom friend. The fall of leaves, Like blankets. A sudden cold wind hurts my heart. Relatives and friends share the memories, And your kind appearance, Warmed our hearts. Arrive at the place where you have been, but you are not there. Arrive at your cemetery, but still not able to see you. Found a lotus flower in the pond, Is that you?
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Last Summer
Climbing up, following you, in mid-summer we stroll through streets in Central.
Looking up, it is the Salisterra towards the end of the escalator.
Sunsets by the harbor, fantasizing a life without corona.
Scarf top, balmy air, greasy hair, yet miss you.
Through screens we meet for now, in a month we will meet again.
Looking back, summer days we spent on bumpy roads.
Bitter-sweet coffee steam and the smell of the sea combine.
Crashing waves, chirping birds, the sip of a sweet latte
Will always remind me of the days we had at the café next to the sea.
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ef ee to nt he hu mi dg
, gs ba rking, a distant
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. I al ch so fee l Maria and I leaning on ea
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Ever Since 2014
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We Came Here Before
Date : 29 November 2019 Location : British Museum Weather : Cold, gloomy, calm, no wind Words I can Hear : A Conversation between a Mother & Child
Child : Oh I know this place! Mother : Really? Child : Yeah we came here before Mother : It’s the British Museum Child : I know!
(I couldn’t pick up words from other people as they were near the road or not speaking)
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Illusion or Reality
I was focusing on the screen. The sound of the keyboard knocked apart time and space. Repeated copying and pasting; I rubbed my eyes but they were all blurred as if I was falling into an endless dream loop. In the depths of my subconsciousness, someone was whispering: “Are you deprived or willing to give up?” I kept silent, stepping into the white unknown. I looked up in a daze. The shelf was lined up with colorful books that had their edges rolled up due to repeated flipping. Gently blowing off the ashes on the keyboard, I played a familiar folk song, countless beautiful pasts echoed in the air. I saw moments of confusion, loss, and chaos in the flickering and gleaming, refracting what I defined myself. The scattered crystals of memories extended in all directions. Maybe I have always yearned to move forward. I have persisted and struggled, growing wild like a tropical plant. The possibilities bring light to every surface of that unique crystal. The young woman had a beautiful dream about a mysterious door.
No one knew the secret of the door, and the door was nowhere to be found.
It is a grand ideal and a distant goal, a burning enthusiasm. It may be vain.
The young woman wanted to make a breakthrough in the world behind the door.
It was so close to her hand that she almost touched it.
In the next second, she woke up. She understood that there were still many obstacles ahead. Without them, that ideal would still be a dream. The door stood in her heart, quiet, solemn, and indestructible. She didn’t care if the door could be opened. Nor did she have the intention of asking its secrets.
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Out of Kilter
I just got off the tube It’s the road I took to school every day It’s already 4pm Several students wearing my school’s uniform passed me by They have no idea that I graduated from their school I wish I could encounter my physics teacher He goes home by tube every day My math teacher also does But I hate him I want a milkshake Increasing numbers of students are coming out of the gate And I find my math teacher in the crowd
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Moment of Silence, My Home
Scrolled tissue paper, Sound of fallen leaves, Water flowing, metal crushing on one another, gradually fades to the sound of the washing machine. Milk, eggs. The fridge opens repetitively. That’s my mom cooking in the kitchen; dut
dut dut that’s some meat being cut.
I’ve gone to the toilet; ennn, its sound turns on. A ding comes from the corridor outside my home, someone arriving at the top floor. Water dripping onto the sink in the balcony, now I’ve gone back to my couch. Scissors
cutting.
Now my phone
rings, who texted me? Or is that just some random notification?
My left thigh feels a bit sore, maybe I’ll change my position. Water still
drips
Unfolding of a plastic bag, along with the sound of dish washing; I guess my mom is done with cooking. “This potato has sprouted” Window opening. My phone
blinks again, a purple and pink notification, that’s Instagram.
Okay, I guess the food is ready.
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Quest
To all life forms, the nature of questingis instinctive, the desire to explore and discover gives the aspiration to create miracles. Skyscrapers and powerful objects such as statues, columns, and dramas are representations of desire, ambition, power, and status. Meanwhile, what is the meaning of being minimalist in contemporary society? Letting people think abstrusely into the questions? What are we questing for? How to find the balance of Yin & Yang in life? An explanation of the existence of the subject or the object we are looking for? And finally,what is the limit? Just like the ending of a filmic journey, there is no clear destination and no answer to what it is we are looking for.
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Things That Move Before My Eyes K i d s
M y s
i
s t e r
P e o p l e
P e o p l
c h w a a t l t k i i n n g g
g o i n g
t h t h e
w i t h
i
d o g
a y i n g
r d s m o v
r
K i d s f r i e n d s
B i
e w i
t h e i r
p l
P e o p l e
w i i
n g a
i n t o
s
L a u g h i n g
p e o p l
t h
r o u n d
a
o n
o n b i k e s
t
f o o d a n d s c o o t e r
h e g
s h o p s s
b a
r o u n d
l
l
e
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What Awaits You Around the Corner
I look outside the window and see birds soaring through the clouds, floating up a few inches drifting through the air and zooming across the sky until they disappear slowly fluttering around. I sit down on the couch and see a butterfly with brightly colored wings unique patterns made up of tiny scales six legs, compound eyes and two antennas. The butterfly swims into the air and I watch her pass, fast, despite her erratic path choosing her direction by a silent serenate of the blooms. There is the sound of a flying bird chanting in the sky. The smell of coffee early in the morning. The sweet and sour taste of lemon tart. The sharp feeling of grass.
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Places Date: 29 November 2020 Time: 3:04 PM Location: Home, Al Garhoud, Dubai Weather: Slight Breeze, Sunny, Slight Clouds, Moist
I am sitting on a chair at our table in my front yard. First thing I look at is the fig tree right in front of me, grown much bigger than the last time I looked at it. Right next to it I notice the 2 ceramic ducks placed on the foot path that leads to the back. Both sitting there quite life like, yet still. A big empty space adjacent to the ducks, a space that just yesterday was filled with sprawling bougainvillea. An empty palm tree, dateless, been dead for 2 years now. Eyes are then drawn to the opening to the garage. My dad drives in, his car reflecting sunlight right into my eyes. He walks past me, nods, then enters the house. A cat, one of the many strays in the neighborhood, is seen sneaking among the little potted plants. It sees me starring, stares back, and sprints the other way. Eyes still focused on the potted plants, I realize the number of colors present, shades of purple, pink, red and most prominently white. The pots themselves, white too, with a few brown ones among the rest. Something grazes my foot, I look down, nothing. I then turn see a broom lying on the ground. Handle rusted or rotten, plastic cover on it holding on for its life. Still looking at the ground, within the cracks of the paved floor, I see weeds. Networks of them, each seemingly holding on to each other. A cracked piece of pavement catches my eye, within itdirt, grass and what seems to be glitter, probably remnants from last year’s Christmas party. To the right of me, a Subwaybag, filled with seeds to be planted.
Date: 29 November 2020 Time: 3:47 PM Location: Emirates Headquarters Weather: Slight Breeze, Sunny, Slight Clouds, Moist
I am sat beside an elevator, the only entrance from this side of the road, into the metro station above me. The sign above the doors read “To Train”, I see two Filipino ladies walk in the lift, both dressed in Emirates uniform. Most likely workers, as the headquarters is connected to the station, I look to my left I see the emergency exit, surprisingly blocked off. Quite a simple design, metal minimal, cheap looking. Never in use. Above me, the metro station appears as a massive behemoth of a beetle, attempting to crush me with its relatively tiny legs. The station, having almost never been cleaned, looks like a hot mess. An architectural marvel, unmaintained. Sand in between exterior panels. Water marks left from years of rain endured by the structure. Suddenly a gust of air pushes past me. A bus drives by, filled with labor workers. One looks at me. The zebra crossing the bus passes over catches my eye. Seemingly never repaired, the white paint is barely visible. At either end are stubby “poles” almost wide enough to be seats, short enough to be a step. Concrete colored brownish beige. Across the street, through the “poles”, a parking lot. A bright orange sign reads “Paid Parking”. An Indian man walks through my view. Gets in his car, a white corolla. He leaves the lot, drives away. Another car, this time a brown Audi leaves. I hear a noise, look to my right, another bus, and a flock of people exiting. Another bunch of Emirates workers going to their jobs.
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Subject to Change Looking back, I wouldn’t recognize the person I am today. I was always told that success is determined by validation, rather than self-satisfaction. This validation was brought from pleasing others, but where does it leave any space to explore what I in turn had to offer? These people that we were meant to please had the opportunity to discover a new dimension of creativity in themselves, and visualised it for the world to see. There’s always a starting point, when and where do I reach that point for myself ? Coming in with no expectations allowed space for a vast breach of imagination. At times this uncertainty was off putting, but this allowed me to reach a horizon of creativity that I found in myself that I never imagined before. Begin a person that doesn’t like to be the centre of attention, the way these courses were formulated, having to adapt to being away from the usual working environment curated a sense of independence in me that was very much needed. The unconventional way that the AA courses are formed was definitely a push out of my comfort zone, however, that fear was slowly turned into confidence. I felt like every Brief brought out a different version of me. Whether it was discovering a new skill, feeling like the ideas in my head are about to burst but simultaneously not being able to express them into something that others could comprehend, finding new interests, ambitions, or dreams. When reflecting on these short bursts of revelation, I can say that pieces of the puzzle in myself were found every time. Unintentionally, I realised that my work was usually a collision between science and architecture. I somehow always found a way to bring in my passion for science and used it to express my findings. This collision is the infinite curiosity I have for the correlation in science in nature and its effects on the way we create. Moving forward, I’d like to look deeper into the influence science has on architecture.
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Water is Flowing, People are Walking and Chit-chatting & I am Sitting on the Pavement Observing
s held, two bird ples are a l hand s are kiss e area could be s id to b full of ove, cou wa l k ing and Th e ing with dog is k ick a ing it s master man just d l c o am doings y e& An m enquired about w e nt by irl g an e a ser A d gave m ious look
Ac hild n clicki
Pe o &
ple
sta s i
ndin
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en par s i h
gw ith
qu ts & h into a arrel is m ice while with the pol oth got er
es
fadi y l ow
n g aw ay ing quiet, & th e pl a c e is b e c om
it’s getting cold er m I a
signin
the
mist is increasing,
g off e o n t h a t not
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Garland Perfume Nest
The painted white door is open, weighed down by coats and bags. Yellow light from the hall comes in the scent of patchouli perfume lingers The cat sleeps in her bed next to my bedside table Shhh, she is dreaming. She makes little snuffles and squeaks as she twitches The metal bookcase is full of colourful photobooks and stories. A paper garland saying ‘Los Angeles’ hangs from it I remember the taste of mangos on Santa Monica beach I see my reflection in the mirrored wardrobe which stretches along the wall My feet are cushioned in thick sports socks The high ceiling has 6 spotlights, which I never use I don’t like their brightness or their hum The carpet is soft and old. Books spill from the bookcase onto the floor Plastic book sleeves feel smooth and slippery, cloth feels warmer and like skin We live in a messy limbo between the forest and the city. Ancient woods of oak and hornbeam grew where we now sit in our living rooms How many animals was this the home for? Warm, soft, eyes close. Clock ticks. Gentle piano has a soft voice, my father’s voice. Piano keys are hard, hands are soft. Bones are hard, skin is soft. Notes change Change material, change direction The warped wooden floor holds me up, 3 metres above the ground. I live in my nest up here but I would like to be even higher. I could have a staircase just for me only for me, and sit up here in my nest above the clouds just looking at the city.
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Note to Self
Silence is deafening, did you hear the crumbling facades? The paint chip off ? The leaves fall down? The threads fall off ? Beneath it all, in all its glory lay the vulnerability and weakness I have been trying to conceal. Initially, I sat there, staring into the void and the only thing that changed was the light And as that one single ray of light filtered in, I frantically got up to draw the blinds. Today, I took those blinds down. I could see the trees. These trees stood tall, majestic and deeply rooted in soil. Nonetheless, they swayed from side to side in the gusty breeze, the sound overwhelmed me with tranquillity and the silence was gone I glanced at the overbearing clouds above, the rain that would pour down and the garden that would become lush and green again. I could see the porous rock that made up this stunning figurine. I could see the people that were just like me trying to figure it out, trying to get it right, trying to heal I sat there bare and exposed acknowledging sensitivities and welcoming emotions with open arms. I feel grateful for my time in the dark. However, I hear a different silence. A silence that quells the storm inside me. I can hear my breath; I am here I am present I am alive, and I am going to be okay.
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A Manifesto by AA Foundation Students
Architecture is Not! Architecture does not have a definite answer Architecture is not confined to physical space, it is not just constructing buildings, but constructing a space for comfort Architecture is not a sentence written in stone, instead it is one smeared with paint and left to be swayed by the wind and rain, being moulded by the freedom of nature and its children Architecture is not whole without synergy with the space it occupies Architecture is not a fixed concept It is not the study of the creation of the built environment Architecture is not just art Architecture is a place of comfort and a twisting of words into something tangible It is not a design that sprouts out of nowhere, but a plant that grows out of the site Architecture is not limited to one thought or idea Architecture is not just about space, the use of that which is undeniably strengthened with the rising and falling of the sun, as though the earth itself was exhaling upon it Architecture is not alive, but it takes deep breaths and sighs, and dreams ...
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List of Texts
1 Manifesto I _ Art All students
11 I am a Man Leo
2 Timeless … Nouha
12 Faith is a bird Sanyam
3 Boundaries of the Natural Jacob
13 My Skins Surrounds That Which I Resent but Cherish Lea
4 Observing Movement of My Territories Tchiki
14 Lotus Pond Siyue
5 You Can Go There Emma
15 Last Summer Shani
6 Silence Leo
16 Ever Since 2014 Paola
7 Landmark to Hangout / Hangout to Home Keyu
17 We Came Here Before Çagla
8 Interview with Mother Lea
18 Illusions or Reality Yujie
9 En México Paola
19 Out of Kilter Yige
10 Watermarks Jane
20 Moment of Silence: My Home Ethan
21 Quest Tommy 22 Things That Move Before My Eyes Çagla 23 What Awaits you Around the Corner Lynn 24 Places Mohammed 24 Subject to Change Nouha 26 Water is Flowing, People are Walking and Chitchatting & I am Sitting on the Pavement Sitting and Observing Sanyam 27 Garland Perfume Nest Emma 28 Note to Self Rhea 29 Manifesto II _ Architecture All students
181
List of Images
p. 9 Burn the Midnight Oil - Jane
p. 49 Absence of Violence - Lynn
p. 10, 11 Light Source in the Dark Corner - Keyu
p. 51 What If We Are Far More Connected Than We Realize? - Çagla / Lower img. México Feminicida - Paola
p. 12 Dawn - Jane p. 13 Intangible Material - Paola p. 15 Attention, Awareness & Expression - Sanyam p. 16 Pa - Shani p. 17 Fate Captured in Coffee Resin - Shani p. 18 Past Elements - Tommy/ Lower img. Abandoned Factory Tour - Keyu p. 19 Deconstructive Remembrance Outline Drawing of the Demolished Amusement Park - Yujie p. 21 The Unfinished - Sanyam pp. 22, 23 Catch the Wind - Yige p. 25 The Stable Being - Sanyam pp. 26, 27 Nature’s Way - Rhea p. 29 Space Without Infliction, The Cradle of The Crib - Lea
pp. 52, 53 Ellas No Murieron - Paola p. 55 Intangible - Jane pp. 56, 57 The Ghost Stone - Emma pp. 58, 59 Cookhouse Forsaken - Ethan p. 60 Manchamanteles - Emma p. 61 Touch - Paola p. 63 Face Installation - Nouha p. 64, 65 He is a Man(film) - Leo p. 67 The Stable Being - Sanyam p. 68 Unpeeled - Ethan p. 69 Restrictions - Rhea p. 71 Root - Shani p. 72 Traces of My Stories - Lea
pp. 30, 31 Audience - Siyue
p. 73 Traces of My Stories 2 - Lea
p. 32 Sunset palette - Nouha
pp. 74, 75 Strength in Repetition - Leo
p. 33 Lost in Spacetime - Paola
pp. 78, 79 Microscopic Imperfections - Mohammed
pp. 34, 35 Wind Interaction - Mohammed
pp. 80, 81Texture Study - Paola
pp. 36, 37, 20 hours’ Light Pattern Record - Keyu
p. 83 60 Reps - Ethan
p. 40 Built Form of Memory - Ethan
p. 84 Air in the Negative Space - Yujie
p. 41 Couch Interaction Model - Mohammed
p. 85 Hidden - Jane / Lower img. Sitting in My Space - Siyue
pp. 42, 43 Constructed Garment - Leo p. 46 Perceiving a New Atmosphere - Lynn p. 47 Dignity or Disgrace - Çagla p. 48 The Amulet - Çagla
p. 87 House Under Blue Lights - Emma p. 88 Air in the Negative Space - Yujie p. 89 The Lightest Cambric - Çagla p. 91 Layered Expression - Nouha
p. 92 Aesthesia - Jane
pp. 130, 131 In Between the Light - Keyu
p. 93 Complexity Behind - Siyue / Lower img. Layered Personality - Tchiki
pp. 132, 133 The Flag - Lea
p. 95 Air in the Negative Space - Yujie p. 96 Illusion in a Dream - Yujie p. 97 Mass Production - Tommy p. 99 The Wrapped Spine - Rhea p. 100 Superstition - Tchiki p. 101 Connection - Keyu
pp. 136, 137 Detours - Rhea pp. 138, 139 Patchwork of Partial Identity - Leo p. 140 Yellow Wrap - Tchiki p. 141 Blooming Concrete - Jacob pp. 142, 143 Kaleidoscope Lens - Rhea pp. 144, 145 12 Residentials - Tommy
pp. 146, 147 New Spaces - Mohammed pp. 102, 103 I’ll be There to Love and Comfort You (film p. 149 Peripheral View - Mohammed stills) - Emma pp. 150, 151 Leave Me Alone! - Siyue p. 105 Body in Space - Lynn p. 106 Sound Through Time and Space - Paola
p. 153 Slags - Shani
p. 107 Laura Patricia, yo no te olvido - Paola
pp. 154, 155 Cultural Influence of the Construction Workers - Yujie
pp. 108, 109 Movement - Ethan pp. 110, 111 Constructed Fragments - Mohammed p. 113 Distortion - Nouha pp. 114, 115 Hybrid Identity - Leo p. 116 Reverse Sky Gazer - Nouha p. 117 Guard - Siyue
pp. 156, 157 Coalesce - Jane p. 159 First Light in the Morning - Keyu pp. 160, 161 Crack in the Couch - Mohammed p. 162 Poisoned Habitat - Jacob p. 163 Sequences - Tommy
p. 119 The Beauty is the Beast - Nouha
pp. 164, 165 Superstition vs Subconscious (film stills) - Tchiki
pp. 120, 121 Orderly Chaos - Rhea
p. 167 Elephant Skin - Rhea
pp. 122, 123 The Map of Construction Sites in Xuhui - Yujie
p. 168 Fragment of Tracking - Siyue
pp. 125 Twilights - Emma pp. 126, 127 The apple doesn’t fall very far (film still) - Emma
p. 169 Root 2 - Shani pp. 170, 171 Anneanne (film stills)- Çagla p. 172 Deconstruction of a Memory - Çagla
p. 128 Failed to Identify - Yige
p. 173 Touch - Paola
p. 129 The Derelicts - Ethan
pp. 174, 175 Deconstructive Consumerism - Leo
Students
Consultants Critics Collaborators
Lynn Bachoura Yujie Cai Emma Coates Sanyam Gupta Rhea Hinduja Mohammed Jivanjee Çagla Kazanlı Lea Lahaj Keyu Liu Nouha Mannai Shani Wai Ka Mui Paola Murguia Garcia Jacob Strioga Tchiki Leon Von Bismarck Leo Waldstein Wartenberg Siyue Wang Yige Wang Jane Ho Ying Wong Ethan Yichen Yang Tommy Tsz Chim Yen
Miraj Ahmed Sophie Alami Nena Aru Sue Barr Yoni Bentovim Ed Bottoms Ibiye Camp Mark Campbell Lisa Chan Avery Chen Fenella Collingridge Will Cobbing Ilsa Colsell David Connor Fiona Cuypers-Stanienda Kate Darby Caroline Esclapez Trevor Flynn Thea Giovannazi Sean Griffiths Antonin Hautefort Jane Horcajo Rubí Catherine Ince Mark Innes Antoni Malinowski Emma Matthews Mark Morris Francesco Neri Luca Nostri Athena Papadopoulos Jessica Pappalardo Luca Pitasi Claire Potter Matthew Rice Sylvie Taher Adrian Taylor Trys Smith Helene Solvay Rebecca Van Beeck Tom Woolner
Director of Foundation Saskia Lewis Studio Master Juliet Haysom Tutors Chiyan Ho Michael Ho Sabrina Morreale Alvaro Velasco Perez
Book Team
Editorial Team Lea Lahaj Emma Coates Lynn Bachoura Jacob Strioga Nouha Mannai Chiyan Ho Michael Ho Saskia Lewis Sabrina Morreale Claire Potter Alvaro Velasco Perez Film Team Shani Wai Ka Mui Sanyam Gupta Yige Wang Jane Ho Ying Wong Tommy Tsz Chim Yen Keyu Liu Çagla Kazanlı Leo Waldstein Wartenberg Paola Murguia Garcia Tchiki Leon Von Bismarck Design Team Mohammed Jivanjee Siyue Wang Ethan Yichen Yang Rhea Hinduja Yujie Cai
185
AA Foundation 2020-21