MIGRATION. WOMEN. ARCHITECTURE. + Architecture from Sibling Architecture, Nervegna Reed, Foomann Architects
Edition 2 / 2023
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We acknowledge First Nations peoples as the Traditional Custodians of the lands, waters, and skies of the continent now called Australia. We express our gratitude to their Elders and Knowledge Holders whose wisdom, actions and knowledge have kept culture alive. We recognise First Nations peoples as the first architects and builders. We appreciate their continuing work on Country from pre-invasion times to contemporary First Nations architects, and respect their rights to continue to care for Country.
33 Matsuyama + architect Hiroshi Sambuichi Saran Kim
38 Versailles + architect Anatomies d'Architecture Marie Le Touze
41 Levići + architect Ljiljana Bakić Milana Lević
44 Palawan + architects Khadka and Eriksson Furunes Audrey Leonore Lopez
47 Sampang + architect YB Mangunwijaya Niea Nadya
50 Saigon + architect A21 Studio Khue Nguyen
53 Penang + architect Eleena Jamil Jaslyn Ng
56 Chennai + architect Chitra Vishwanath Sri Akila Ravi
59 Beirut + architect Josiane Adib Torbey Nadine Younès Samaha
62 Bangkok + architect Rachaporn Choochuey Shanica Saenrak Hall
65 São Paulo + architect João Filgueiras Lima Daniela Schnaidman
68 Tehran + architect Kamran Diba Golbarg Shokrpur
71 Penang and Jakarta + architect Eka Permanasari
Bella Singal
74 Hargeisa + architect Rashid Ali
Mulki Suleyman
77 Siedmiorogow Drugi + architect Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak
Paula Sumińska
80 Colombo + architect Minnette De Silva
Thisuni Binali Welihinda
83 Hong Kong + architect Raymond Fung Wing Kee
Phoebe Wong
86 Contributors Architecture
88 Darebin Intercultural Centre by Sibling Architecture
Nikita Bhopti
96 Central Goldfields Art Gallery by Nervegna Reed
Phillip Pender
102 Haines Street by Foomann Architects
Phillip Pender
108 At home with photographer Dan Hocking
113 Office of the Victorian Government Architect Growing cultural competence
In a legislative process coordinated across most of Australia, the Victorian Government in February this year passed legislation entitled the Building and Planning Legislation Amendment Bill 2022, which amended the Architects Act 1991 to provide for automatic mutual recognition (AMR). Subject to notification and public protection requirements, AMR allows architects from participating states and territories to use their state registration to work in other Australian jurisdictions without the need to apply for registration or pay annual registration fees. The Federal Government has similarly been looking at better recognising architectural qualifications internationally, but at this stage recognition pathways exist only with the United Kingdom, United States, Canada, New Zealand, Singapore and Japan. Even then, it’s not possible for an Australian architect to simply practice in those countries with an Australian registration or vice versa. It’s necessary to follow the particular recognition requirements applicable to that country.
While caution is understandably applied before an architect trained in a foreign context can refer to themselves as an architect here or elsewhere, there needs to be increased willingness and equity in recognising the experience, skillsets and character that internationally trained architects bring to our state, particularly in our current industrious circumstances. In addition, simpler visa arrangements would also benefit our profession in times of peak demand. The last few years have seen a cavalcade of parliamentary inquiries and regulatory reviews into building industry practices from 2018’s Building Confidence report, the Parliamentary Inquiry into Apartment Standards and the expert panel’s framework for reform that is still ongoing, and in particular is examining professional registration models. Maintaining high practice standards is of critical importance.
As can be seen in the following pages in this issue, the fascinating accounts of architects from places as diverse as Afghanistan to France, Somalia to China, the breadth of experience is significant and incredibly enriching to our profession, as well as our community. Our own Chapter Council benefits from the knowledge and perspectives of a Councillor from Korea in Gumji Kang, and a Councillor from Lebanon in Nadine Younès Samaha. Nadine has contributed her own story and that of Lebanese architecture to this issue of Architect Victoria. Equally, our Institute has an International Chapter that is larger than several state chapters and provides opportunities for internationally located, Australian-trained architects to gather in places as diverse as Singapore, Hong Kong, Dubai, London or Vancouver while retaining a connection to Australian architecture.
We are truly diversely internationally connected. It is a culturally exciting time to be a Victorian – and indeed a Victorian architect – and we look forward to continuing to work with architects from many different places while maintaining the high standards of architectural practice and output that our community expects.
We live in a world more connected than ever – through travel, the internet, and communication systems that enable the breadth and diversity of our international community to more richly engage with and inform our lives. This issue of Architect Victoria explores the innumerable permutations and combinations available to our community through engagement and specifically through the knowledge and lived experience of architects who have migrated to Victoria from a myriad of locations. Those from a context outside Australia can contribute cultural and educational learnings that inform and diversify our design thinking and problem solving to the benefit of our architectural discourse and built environment.
29 – 31 October 2023
Canberra, ACT
Reflect on what has come before, focus on how we face the future and shape what is yet to come.
Register today at architecture.com.au/conference
Shine Dome | Roy Grounds of Grounds, Romberg and Boyd, Architects | Photographer: Darren Bradley
Guest editors
Editorial director
Emma Adams
Editorial committee
James Staughton FRAIA (Chair)
Nikita Bhopti RAIA
Elizabeth Campbell RAIA
Yvonne Meng RAIA
John Mercuri RAIA
Justin Noxon RAIA
Phillip Pender RAIA Grad.
Guest editors
Marika Neustupny FRAIA
Mirjana Lozanovska
Maryam Gusheh
Associate guest editors
Helen Duong
Sonia Sarangi RAIA
Publisher
Australian Institute of Architects
Victorian Chapter, 41 Exhibition Street Melbourne, Victoria 3000
State Manager
Daniel Moore RAIA
Creative direction
Annie Luo
On the cover
Reena Saini Kallat, Woven Chronicle 2018 , Art Gallery of New South Wales, purchased with funds provided by the Roger Pietri Fund and the Asian Art Collection Benefactors
We acknowledge the Traditional Owners of Country throughout Australia and pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging. We support First Nations peoples in their fight for equity, fairness and justice.
We support an Indigenous Voice to Parliament. Yes.
In the early weeks of February when we invited expressions of interest for contribution to this edition of Architect Victoria (AV), we weren’t sure what to expect. Our publication schedule was fast-paced and we had a very short time to receive EOIs –but when the applications reached over a hundred in just over a week, we knew we were on to something: that there is certainly a critical mass of women architecture graduates from culturally diverse backgrounds who want to speak. That they are willing to share their knowledge and that architecture provides a powerful medium for their stories. We sincerely thank all who expressed interest in contributing. We were moved by the response and generosity.
In keeping with the scope of this double-issue, we bring twenty-four accounts of migration, culture and place through the lens of architecture. We are grateful to our extended team of Helen Duong and Sonia Sarangi. We each worked with a group of four or five contributors over several weeks of intensive engagement. We thank our contributors for their investment in this project. We hope that through these reflections, we can learn and expand our understanding of cultural diversity and its interplay with architecture in Australia.
The cover of this issue is Woven Chronicle, the 2018 installation by artist Reena Saini Kallat, at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. We found great resonance with this work and are grateful for the generous permission to present it here.
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No part of it may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the permission of the Australian Institiute of Architects Victorian Chapter.
Disclaimer
Readers are advised that opinions expressed in articles and in editorial content are those of their authors, not of the Australian Institute of Architects represented by its Victorian Chapter. Similarly, the Australian Institute of Architects makes no representation about the accuracy of statements or about the suitability or quality of goods and services advertised.
Warranty
2018 © Reena Saini
Kallat, image © Art Gallery of New South WalesPrinting Printgraphics
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“Multiple inhabitance as I am conceiving it here involves the capacity to experience occupying two places at the same time and being situated in them simultaneously without having to move between them.”
– Ghassan Hage
“It is the shift in our own vantage point that changes the way we see the world.”
— Reena Saini Kallat
A place and space to speak
This edition invites migrant women architects and professionals from non-English speaking backgrounds to reflect on and introduce a place and the work of a significant architect from their country of origin. Our intention is for a double reveal: to give voice to, and celebrate, cultural diversity within the Victorian architecture community, and at the same time introduce the AV readership to significant international architects who may be less well known to an Australian audience.
The three pillars set out in the title of this issue –migration, women and architecture – are integral to us as people and to our work as practitioners, researchers and educators in architecture. Our own formative experiences of migration, coupled with engagement with recent women migrant architects and architecture students, motivated us to consider diversity in architecture through the lens of culture and place, alongside gender. We feel this intersection can add insight into the opportunities as well as barriers and inequities that can be experienced by women in architecture and add nuance to the role that cultural difference brings to this dynamic. We want to advocate for and share migrants’ knowledge and capacities, and≈to highlight the creative potential of cultural exchange. Most importantly, we want to use architecture as a medium to build awareness and curiosity, to demystify cultural difference and foster acceptance and exchange.
Our early conversations about the shape and direction of this issue were warm and lively! We are connected by a shared drive to recalibrate the value of cultural diversity to the Australian architecture profession. Our own work, our reflections on migration and our positions of arrival, all informed these initial dialogues. We spoke of experiences spanning many decades, cultures and places.
In November 2019, I attended the Parlour symposium, Transformations: Action on Equity. Over two days, excellent panels and presentations captured important research on gender and equity in the Australian architecture profession. Breakout groups invited participants to reflect on emerging themes and challenges. Drawn to the cultural diversity session, due to my half-Japanese, half-Czech heritage, I was excited to engage with a room full of women architects of migrant background and their allies. But while familiar with many of the challenges facing ethnic minorities, I was shocked to realise that the standout issue of interest was the difficulty in finding work after study. I reflected on my own experience sponsoring a work visa and the emotional and financial impact on both employer and employee. I imagined the hundreds and thousands that endured that process. I thought about the many firstgeneration migrant students I had taught over the years, and how challenging their pathways must have been after study. I thought about the steady increase in the number of fee-paying international students, who invest in our architectural education system but experience little support for their integration within the profession. I realised that the financial risks of running an architectural practice can be amplified for newcomers. In my conversations with the women in that room, the clear need for further work on culture and social class, as it intersects gender, was intensely felt.
I have also spent many years reflecting on Asianness in architecture through research and practice. Using collaborative teaching methods, I have studied the direct vernacular impact of Asian immigration on Melbourne’s urban fabric. Through documenting the physical characteristics of suburbs of Melbourne with large Asian migrant populations. this work has searched for clues on how migrant knowledge and cultural expression have been carried to the Melbourne context.1
2019In doing so, the wonderful inventiveness that resides at the intersection of the built and lived cultures is revealed. For me, such methods are powerful means of advocacy for cultural diversity within the architecture profession. Thinking through ways in which to integrate the values and processes about the work and practice of architecture, together with discussions on culture, gender and social class, crystalised the early ideas for this special issue.
About two decades earlier in 2002, I guest edited the first issue of AV dedicated to architecture and culture. Interviews with architects Marika Neustupny and Eli Giannini, among others, were linked to the exhibition 1st, 2nd, 3rd Generation Australian Architects, alongside the academic conference, Building Dwelling Drifting: Migrancy and the Limits to Architecture. My curiosity in architecture and culture had been first stirred by the migrant houses of my childhood built in the 1960s in the inner northern suburbs – later to become a ‘cosmopolitan multicultural’ destination – in Melbourne. While similar to brick-veneer houses or workers cottages, these houses were also noticeably distinct, and everyone knew it!
My early impressions formed the foundation of postgraduate and ongoing research, working with the premise that migrant houses staged new lives in an unfamiliar context. My work pioneered and forms a significant part of a thriving field of research on migration and architecture in Australia. 2 This includes work on WWII émigré architects, mostly from central Europe, many of whom could not register as architects due to legislation, but found alternative outlets for their architectural visions – Ernest Fooks (Ernest Fuchs) wrote the book, X-Ray the City, and George Molnar (György Molnár) contributed over 3000 cartoons to the Daily Telegraph/Sydney Morning Herald and was later appointed to teach at university. At the level of everyday multiculturalism, this work has highlighted the architectural legacies of ordinary people, most from low socio-economic backgrounds – they reinvigorated local streets with cafes and restaurants; they transformed our suburbs with new architectures, places to worship and ‘open’ housing with terraces right on the street; they planted edible landscapes in backyards and along railway lines; they had cinemas, dance halls and collective picnics in parks. This body of research has further helped demystify migrant success stories by revealing the back-breaking labour of immigrants in nation-building industries, often in regional or remote settings. It has shed light on longer migration spatial histories of Afghan and Indian cameleers who worked with Indigenous peoples in the mid-1800s to navigate the interior of the continent; and Chinese migrants who had moved beyond the search for gold in the late 1800s cultivating market gardens and new enterprises. There is a 20-year gap between 2002 and this edition. Australian scholars informed by research on postcolonial, race, migration and cultural theories, are now changing education with new history programs and design studios – providing an immense resource for the profession.
About two decades earlier in 1983, the Sydney Opera House turned ten. 1983 was also the year when I arrived in Sydney with my family, and set up home at Endeavour Migrant Hostel, Coogee. In what I now think of as a quintessential 1980s Bob Hawke moment, the anniversary of the Opera House was marked by an expansive and inclusive community mural – a temporary installation, 66-metres long and 6-metres tall, resting against the gentle arc of the Tarpeian Rock, the bold sandstone rockface along the north-bound approach to the Opera House. Directed by the Public Art Squad, the project was designed to include contributions by over 150 members of the community, especially young people from High Schools across the city. 3 The mural depicted the Opera House as the background for everyday life and jubilation, fun, humour and colour. There was the portrait of J Ø rn Utzon, projected over his extraordinary work, smiling; the forecourt and cascading steps were filled with figures of all creeds, silliness, weddings, joggers, Matisse’s dancers, tall palms, and significant to our story here, hundreds of balloons floating high above the Sydney blue sky. It was these floating bubbles of white space that were given over to High Schoolers, each asked to paint their own story and expression of identity. The Public Art Squad had held a workshop at my intensive language school only weeks after my arrival in Sydney, later inviting me to contribute to the mural with a motif from my home country of Iran. I vividly recall my nervous excitement as I was hoisted up high on the mural scaffold to illustrate two figures in vernacular dress – folkish, distinctive!
The intersection of migration and architecture has stayed with me and preoccupies my work in many respects. If I was to briefly characterise my research in this area, I would use three words: how ideas travel! And in those animated conversations with Marika and Mirjana, my early experience of migration felt particularly resonant. In 1983, in what now seems like the golden age of multiculturalism in Australia, a community art group designed a light-hearted but ambitious mural as a tribute to the Danish architect J Ø rn Utzon and his magical, fraught, iconic and ultimately beloved work of architecture. Alongside that, they offered a place and space for a diversity of voices, a place and space to speak.
We dedicate this issue to our mothers: Reiko Neustupny, Trajanka Lozanovska, Parivash Parsanejad, Le Kieu Tran, Manjula Sarangi. In particular we have shared memories of Reiko Neustupny, who left us in the early weeks of working on this issue. Her spirit has been with us in the making of this project.
– Guest editors: Marika Neustupny, Mirjana Lozanovska, Maryam Gusheh with Helen Duong and Sonia Sarangi.
Marika Neustupny FRAIA is a director at NMBW Architecture Studio and co-chair of the National Committee for Gender Equity, Australian Institute of Architects.
Mirjana Lozanovska is a professor in architecture at Deakin University.
Maryam Gusheh is an associate professor in architecture at Monash University. She is practice critic at Neeson Murcutt + Neille Architects.
Above Morava Revival, Milana Lević, Masters Thesis, Deakin University, 2022. In this project Milana Lević examines a site between Ballarat and Geelong, long held onto by the Serbian community but in need of reinvigoration. Beginning with an analysis of Morava style of religious buildings in Serbia, the project employs experimental design methods to develop a trans-cultural aesthetic for a contemporary Australian setting.
Notes
1 See: Parlour, https://parlour.org.au/parlour-live/careers-research/; Neustupny, M, “Water + House: The Architectural Design of Water Infrastructure in Urban Dwellings,” PhD Dissertation (University of Queensland, 2019); Neustupny, M and L Harper, “Asian Melbourne: Report on the Beginnings of a Design Research Project,” Fabrications 30:2, 2020, 276–280
2 See: Lozanovska, M, Migrant Housing: Migration, Dwelling, Architecture (London: Routledge, 2019); Levin, I, Migration, Settlement, and the Concepts of House and Home (London: Routledge, 2016); Pieris, P, M Lozanovska, D Beynon, A Saniga and A Dellios, Architecture and Industry: Immigrants’ Contribution to Nation-Building 1945-1979 (ARC DP190101531); https://msd.unimelb. edu.au/research/projects/current/architecture-and-industry-the-migrant-contribution-to-nationbuilding
3 See: Public Art Squad, https://www.publicartsquad.com.au/
HD + SS: In 2002 you spoke with Mirjana Lozanovska in relation to the 1st 2nd 3rd Generation Australian Architects Exhibition (interview published in Architect Victoria, April, 2002). At that time you spoke evocatively about the relationship of migration, culture and architecture. We are grateful you could join us today to reflect on these themes once more, now after two decades of spirited advocacy and practice.
HD: Let’s start with your migration story? When did you arrive? What was it like?
I migrated from Rome to Melbourne with my family when I was 15. I had no desire to move and to be honest it was something of a shock. But as a young person, I didn't have a choice and tried to make the best of it. We arrived in 1971. I finished Year 10, failed my first attempt at the High School Certificate (HSC) because I didn't have enough English – and there was no English language support in those days. You had to write like a native English speaker and compose essays with sophisticated ideas! Besides, I found the curriculum limiting. Back in Italy, I had been engaged in subjects I was interested in, and by contrast found the Australian system generic. I felt constrained – less able to pursue what I wanted to do. So at first, it was a struggle. Then, I changed tack, completed the HSC at a different school and successfully applied to study architecture. It's what I always wanted to do and things started to right themselves after that.
HD: To what extent do you connect these early challenges to the particularities of the Australian environment? Do you feel Australia has since changed?
Australia is a very different place now, but It wasn't so much that 1970s Australia was a difficult place to live. It was more that the Rome I knew was so amazing. Rome has evolved through
centuries, with incredible layers of history and art. I felt like I had been ripped away from my native environment. The mental picture you have of your birthplace is composed of beautiful parts. I still miss the walls of Rome, those walls are so ancient, they make you feel part of the place. It wasn't until I found the incredible beauty of the Australian outback that I felt a similar connection. Of course sometimes it takes time to find and make your own little niche. Our office is in the Melbourne CBD, a fantastic place which I learnt to love gradually. Sometimes you need patience to learn about a place, to understand where the good parts are. Sometimes you work within this grain to craft your own place – the city that you shape and where you belong.
SS: It is moving to hear you talk about the grief of being torn away from your homeland, even now after five decades. The process of adapting to a new culture and environment can sometimes mask the ongoing connection we feel to our country of origin. What are the prompts that take you back and forth between cultures?
I didn't realise at the time, but the experience of migration was actually a gift. I was forced to adapt from one culture to another, and this was difficult, but beneficial. While I felt torn from Italy, I now can’t separate the Italian me from the Australian me. I can now go forwards and backwards between two discrete cultures and see each with fresh eyes.
I'm interested in Italian architects, their work, the materials – there's always something there that somehow finds its way into the work. Like the external stair, which is a building element that doesn't commonly exist in Australia – although my mother lives in a little apartment with an external staircase! I'm sure one of the reasons she bought this house was because it reminds her of traditional Italian houses and spaces. The spatial arrangements that I think about, and can relate to, are also those
An example of an external staircase in an Italian house typology.
Architect: Casa Baldi, Paolo Portoghesi, 1961.
that are dear to me, those that I know from Italy. On the other hand my approach to architecture was very much shaped in and by Mebourne. I was very lucky to study architecture at RMIT and be taught by people like Peter Corrigan, Peter Elliott and Ian McDougall, and later work for Peter Williams and Garry Boag. These influences, those from Rome and Melbourne have somehow blended into my approach. For example, I draw on typologies in my work, partly because that was what I learnt at RMIT, but also because typology is a traditional method of working in Italy. We would understand building types through their traditional lineage.
HD: It’s interesting that even while studying in Australia, you still felt architecturally linked to Italy. Would you say teachers like Peter Corrigan helped foster confidence in exploring your Italian connection and developing a new language for architecture in Melbourne?
Yes! This was what was great about Peter Corrigan, he always championed the underdog. He purposely brought out people's diverse backgrounds. He encouraged us to learn from that difference. That was his gift.
HD: I think Peter Corrigan's studios were quite rare in that personal history and opinions were always encouraged; diverse backgrounds openly discussed. Do you feel that this kind of approach informs the architecture profession more broadly today? Is there a willingness to embrace ideas from other places?
Peter Corrigan felt that Australia's diversity could inform an inherently Australian architecture, it was his way of framing the local. I don't think this question is present in people's minds anymore. Today with the internet and access to international media, there seems less of a desire to look at our own cultural identity. I think, sadly our views are now blending in with views from elsewhere.
SS: It's sometimes difficult to stand up for the value of cultural connections, experiences and knowledge. What helped you do so?
I go back to the business of having mentors and role models. I had lived in Australia for over 20 years when I first met Anna Castelli Ferrieri, at an intensive winter school by the Milan-based Domus Academy. A significant architect and industrial designer, she was especially well known for her experiments with new materials and furniture design for Kartel. I still remember the sensation that came over me when I met her. Like a shock! She was 75 and I was in my 30s – and I thought: I can be like her. It was a lightbulb moment! It was the first time I identified with someone that I wanted to be like. I'd never met an architect that was Italian, was a woman and was successful at what she did. Maybe we need to invite more international architects to speak or teach here, those who we may not necessarily know about. Maybe we need to help the emerging generation to connect with
those that reflect their culture and sensibility, their ambitions and aspirations.
SS: You really can't be who you can't see. The visibility of diversity has motivated us in this issue. To offer examples of people and models of practice that others may identify with.
Find your tribe, I say. I know that this can be very stultifying because you don't want to put yourself in a tunnel vision. But it can give you that confidence, knowing that someone like you exists out there. And they're a role model to you or a mentor. It just validates you.
SS: You've been working as an architect for over three decades now and speak very positively about your lucky moments in Australia and in architecture, but I'm curious about the professional challenges – along your path to the architectural veteran you are now.
In architecture, like in a lot of creative professions, the rejections are challenging. Rejected applications, running second in competitions, or being completely overlooked. Rejection in a creative field can of course be informative. You see what other people do and learn from it, recognise that your entry didn't hit the important points, and so on. But rejections can also be damaging – when you know that there's no level playing field, when you know that you will go to an interview, and they look at you and ask upfront "Where's your male fellow director? We wanted to speak to them, not you." And then you just feel bamboozled by that rejection because you go, "Hang on. I know things are not equal, but are they this bad?" That's the thing that I've found hardest in my career. Having that moment of confrontation where you think they're not even going to listen.
HD: I think these experiences are shared. When you enter a meeting and your colleague or boss has to say "Oh, actually, Helen's the project architect." How do you respond?
Just keep going. I mean, that was my modus operandi. I just kept going. And at the same time, I also have to say that sometimes being the person that's different in the room – whether it's being a migrant, or because I'm a woman, or because I'm short, I don't know – maybe has some advantages. People do want to be generous, and people do want to do the right thing. Sometimes that has its positive side. Getting my first job as an architect was quite advantageous to be a woman because people were looking for diversity of viewpoints. Architects are generally quite progressive as a profession, so they can be welcoming of diversity, of difference.
SS: I'd like to return to your experience of adapting to English, including expectations around use of architectural vocabulary at university as something that many migrants struggle with. It takes a long time to be admitted to language subsets.
During my first ten years in architecture, we were encouraged to speak in obscure, jargony ways. But after my undergraduate years, during my Master of Urban Design Research I found it difficult to develop a direct vocabulary for architecture and was using excessive florid language which of course made me feel so incredibly clever! I remember putting my work in front of my sister-in-law, who is an editor, thinking "Oh, she'll just do some punctuation and tell me to modify my expression. Instead, she said, "You're going to have to rewrite this from scratch" and knocked it right out of me. I had to work out what I wanted to say in a manner that was accessible and clear. It was a big lesson to learn for myself.
HD: Let’s go back to Rome, was your interest in urban design research connected to your experience and memories of Rome? I don't think there's quite enough conversations about the embodied knowledge that can inform our approach to design, for example the knowledge that comes from lived experiences developed through living in and understanding a city
Definitely. At the time of my master’s, we were talking about the growth of Australian cities. The growth of a city like Rome has been highly problematic because the development of the city periphery has been poor and performed badly. Here in Australia, it's not just the periphery that is growing, everything is growing! So both the similarities and differences between the two cities were very interesting to me. The city is the context of architecture and I wanted to do some work on the context first, so I could better understand how the architecture would fit. My thesis was called Metroscape, it was a way for me to make sense of Melbourne via examples from elsewhere. Sometimes comparisons bring clarity.
SS + HD: We would like to orient our final question towards the contributors to this Architect Victoria issue, to the migrant women architects who have shared their stories and knowledge with the journal audience. What is the one piece of advice you would share with our contributors?
Believe in yourself. Really. The only way you're going to do it is by believing in yourself. And it's terribly hard to do that when you feel like you're just starting and you don't have a lot of knowledge. But one step at a time. Believe that you will get that knowledge and then you will do something good with it. And that you'll succeed in whatever way success looks like for you. Don't take other people's models of success as your model of success. And you have to have that, because as an architect there is the possibility of many negative experiences. So, you just have to quietly keep going.
And I have to say something else. Be kind. Try to be kind in every circumstance. Because there are people like yourself, who have doubts and you don't know the circumstances of people's lives, where they've come from, what they have experienced. Through kindness, I think we can do a lot.
Eli Giannini AM LFRAIA is a principal of MGS Architects.
Helen Duong is director at Pyke + Duong Architecture and associate lecturer at RMIT. Helen is a second generation migrant from Vietnam and China. Having grown up in ethnic markets and restaurants, the intersection between class, cultural exchange and spatial inventiveness continue to preoccupy her teaching and research.
Sonia Sarangi RAIA is a director at Andever, board member (Architeam and AusdanceVIC) and a sessional teacher of architecture at the University of Melbourne. Sonia often thinks of herself as a double-migrant. She is the child of South Asian immigrants to the Middle East, born shortly after they arrived in Dubai. She then undertook her own migration journey to Singapore and finally Melbourne. The duality of being an insider/ outsider as a result of these multiple journeys is one that has deeply shaped her and her practice.
Badru Ahmed
I was born and raised in Dhaka, Bangladesh. After brief periods in Portugal and Sri Lanka, I came to Australia as an international student in 2017. My decision to pursue a career in Australia, and by extension, call it my home, was pragmatic. In comparison with many of my life experiences, Australia felt like a utopia: a place with abundant opportunities and endless rewards for those that work hard.
Introducing my Dhaka
My hometown Dhaka, Bangladesh was put on the modern architectural map by American architect Louis Kahn’s magnum opus: the National Assembly Building of Bangladesh (19611982). It stands like an alien yet majestic monument among the mundane urban fabric of the densely populated Dhaka. My earliest childhood memories of this building include visiting the red-brick paved forecourts with my parents on warm summer evenings, and chasing my sister to the edge, where the iconic concrete forms rise like monolithic giants from the water.
Yet, as awed and enamoured as I was, and in some ways remain by this architectural masterpiece, personal and professional experiences at home and abroad have made me realise that Bangladeshi architecture is practical, resilient, and humble – much like the lives of ordinary Bangladeshis. A generation of Bangladeshi architects, embedded within the chaotic cities and the hot and humid regions, have quietly yet brilliantly addressed local context and the comfort of users and communities at the forefront of their projects.
Below left
Louis Khan’s major work, the National Assembly Building, Dhaka, Bangladesh, 1982. Photographer: Cyrus S Khan, 2010.
Below right
My chaotic yet beautiful hometown, Dhaka, Bangladesh. Photographer: Badru Ahmed, 2016.
Interior of Bashirul Haq home and studio, Dhaka, Bangladesh.
Architect: Bashirul Haq, 1981.
Introducing architect Bashirul Haq
Architect Bashirul Haq (1942-2020) trained in Lahore, Pakistan (1964) before the political birth of Bangladesh in 1971, and in the US between 1971-1975. After a brief professional stint in the US, Haq made a definitive decision to return home in 1977 to build his practice in Dhaka. Peer and compatriot FR Khan, of Skidmore Owings & Merrill (SOM) in the US, the Bangladeshitrained structural engineer, had advised Haq against it. With a flourishing career at SOM, Khan would later be celebrated as the "father of tubular designs" for high-rise buildings and encouraged Haq to follow suit and build an international career. For Haq, however, the return home was necessary, and a resistance against the drain of local expertise. He was committed to reshaping the newly independent Bangladesh.
Throughout his decades-spanning career, Haq has consistently approached architectural works with a quiet humility, regardless of the scale or program. I was a young impressionable student when I visited his residence and office project. The natural red bricks contrasted the overgrown vegetation and the continuous flow of the terracotta as it bled from the forecourt along the facade and into the interiors –as if the whole form was generated from the same material, the same story of the land. The modest entry arches triggered
a subconscious reference to Louis Kahn’s grand arches. Haq’s were scaled to suit human proportions.
The residence and office are framed around a courtyard, perpendicular to each other, separating functions through form and composition. Carefully placed lightwells, recessed windows and thick walls provide passive environmental control and thermal comfort, representing a sensitive adaptation of Bengali vernacular. Haq’s formal expressions and efficient spatial layouts achieved the precarious balance between local identity and a contemporary approach. Perhaps this experimentation and synthesis cemented his decision to return home.
Architects’ works often reflect their personalities. I first met Haq as a visiting architect for one of my undergraduate courses in 2013, a soft-spoken and patient person, never dismissive and always receptive to the ideas presented by young minds. Haq passed away in 2020 and left a legacy of works that have inspired the next generation of Bangladeshi architects, many of whom have received considerable international exposure in recent years, including the recipients of the Aga Khan Award for Architecture, Marina Tabassum and Kashef Chowdhury.
I am Wenjie and I migrated to Melbourne in 2015 to pursue a Master of Architecture at the University of Melbourne. My childhood was spent moving around due to my family's work arrangements, which took us to various cities and provinces in China, such as Hubei, Fujian, Guangdong and Beijing. Each of these places had its own distinct dialects and cultures – such as Min Nan, Cantonese, and Mandarin – which I found fascinating.
Introducing my Guangzhou Guangzhou, my hometown and where my grandparents live, is the capital and largest city of Guangdong province in southern China. It is a bustling city with commercial developments yet filled with hidden gems that retain a traditional heartland. As a child and adolescent, I spent most weekends visiting my grandparents. They lived in an apartment building in the city's inner areas, surrounded by older buildings. From their apartment window, I would gaze at the contrast between the changing city skyline and the quieter inner-city suburb. The Pearl River quietly snakes its way through the heart of the neighbourhood. Despite the fact we are very used to living in high-rise apartments in such a densely populated city, our traditional cultural values still persist and influence the design of residential buildings. For instance, apartment facades are dominated by rows upon rows of balconies and awnings. Inadvertently the balcony becomes the most obvious and important element in the elevation design. All apartments come with spacious balconies because drying clothes under the sun is a highly-valued ritual. On the other hand, due to the humid and wet climate, we strongly rely on expansive awnings outside each window to protect the indoor spaces from heavy rainfall and frequent thunderstorms. As a teenager, I often listened to the raindrops falling on the awning – a sound I found both soothing and comforting. It often reminded me of the ancient Chinese poem "listening to the raindrops tapping against the banana trees, I have sorrows, yet no sorrows".
Wenjie Cao
Golden Ridge upper-cloister, Mountain Golden Ridge, Chengde, China.
Architect: Atelier Deshaus, 2022.
This deep connection to culture is evident in the work of one of my favourite architectural practices, Atelier Deshaus, who seeks to explore Chinese cultural identity and values with modern technology. Their impressive work on Golden Ridge Upper Cloister reflects a profound understanding of the spiritual connection between nature and humanity.
The most remarkable aspect is the upper cloister’s unique roof design. Made from a series of steel trusses, then a thin concrete shell and covered with a layer of local stone, it appears to float effortlessly above the ground plane. The weightless appearance is not only visually striking, but also structurally sound and earthquake resistant.
The upper cloister is seamlessly integrated into the surrounding mountain landscape. Gently nestled into the mountain, the temple carefully crafts courtyards and walkways that invite contemplation and reflection. This relationship between the building and the mountain is reminiscent of the Chinese Shanshui painting tradition, where the mountain is not just a static object, but a living and ever-changing part of nature. Similarly, the upper cloister breathes with the rain and the wind, hiding in the mountain's shadow.
As I reflect on my experience of migration, in our era of evolving technologies and ever-changing urban development, my cultural roots continue to provide a sense of belonging and comfort as a strong foundation.
Wenjie Cao is an architect currently working on residential and childcare projects.
Zahra Dhanji
At approximately six years of age, I discovered that the apartment below my family home was occupied by an architectural practice. Its director was the female architect Shama, who became a close friend of my mother’s. From my first visit I was mesmerised – an open-to-sky verandah at the basement led us to a warm and welcoming space, lit gently and delicately with lamps. So began my dream to study architecture. In January 2022, at age 35 and after travelling back and forth to Melbourne, I completed my degree at the Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture, Karachi, and migrated to Melbourne.
Introducing my Gharibabad-Karachi
Gharibabad is a kutchi abaadi – an urban settlement that grows informally in empty large blocks within a planned city, lacking infrastructure or basic facilities. Migrants who come to the city looking for work from the rural areas but cannot afford proper housing settle in these urban gaps; they provide blue collar services to the white collar population living in the
formal settlements. I studied the walls of Gharibabad and saw a multifunctional architectural element on/beside/within it: clothes are hung, livestock is sheltered, vehicles are parked, a portal is carved as an entryway – and also delivers ventilation and light. In essence the wall wears the scars and marks of the present history of its dwellers. It grows with them and supports their life.
Gizri is another kutchi abaadi, this time in the western part of Karachi, just across the main street from where I was living. The intimate streets are almost always for pedestrian use and seem to generate interaction and a strong network of community. They feel like meso-spaces between inside and outside, with temperatures and noise levels much lower than the surrounding formal city due to their compactness and density. During COVID-19, I was isolated for five months in one
SINA-CLF Clinic Momin Adamjee
Centre, Karachi, Pakistan.
Architect: Kamil Khan Mumtaz, 2014.
Architecture
of nine formal parts of Karachi managed by the army known as the Defence Housing Authority; I looked towards Gizri and thought about women like me: a mother, a wife, a daughter and a girl with dreams.
In 1957 Kamil Khan Mumtaz started studies at the Architectural Association in London. After returning to Pakistan Mumtaz questioned the validity of his training and its application in a local context. His architecture has evolved from modernist principles towards an interest in the traditional and vernacular and speaks of local building methodologies, heritage and materials as well as spiritual aspects inspired by Mughal and Islamic traditional geometry. Yet including modern technologies makes his work unique and regional. Kamil Khan Mumtaz works with his son at their practice in Lahore, having major works in Lahore and its surroundings. There is phenomenal knowledge contained in his book Architecture in Pakistan 1
I have visited his SINA-CLF Clinic Momin Adamjee Centre, Karachi (2014). As well as contributing through design, Mumtaz’s office aided the establishment of this facility, which provides the only medical amenities in the area. The work is a renovation of an existing courtyard building in Shirin Jinnah Colony, a kutchi abaadi near the coast of Karachi. Catering to the surrounding lower income population of 400,000 residents, it is around 200 sqm with four rooms. The clinic preserves the existing typology of high walls, low relief arched panels with geometric patterns in colour matt-plaster work on the exterior walls and a significant portal for the door to the entrance. On entry the courtyard area feels cool and the shadows of the tree create a peaceful space disconnected from the noise of the lively abaadi outside. A reinforced concrete modular lattice, locally produced, provides ventilation. The materials and human scale are welcoming and the structure feels embedded into the environment of the kutchi abaadi
Zahra Dhanji is a graduate of architecture and founder of Mappedpk. Zahra is currently working in finance and looking for work in her field of architecture.
Alexandra Anda Florea
I left Cluj-Napoca, Romania in 2013, more than two decades after the fall of communism. For me the rigid thinking and inequities of the communist order lingered and remained limiting. I chose Melbourne for my doctoral studies, a place of radically different cultures, systems and society. A place that could offer new experiences.
Introducing my Cluj-Napoca
For over two decades prior to migration, I lived in Cluj-Napoca’s Zorilor neighbourhood, on the outer rim of the historic centre, built during the 1980s. My home was a two-room apartment (49 sqm including a small balcony), one room for me and one for my parents, the latter also doubling as a living space, separated from the kitchen and bathroom with a connecting hallway. All my friends lived in similar apartments and the streets and green areas between the blocks were ours to run around and play in – an austere but spirited urban playground across the whole precinct. Zorilor is representative of a communist development pattern where individual houses with large gardens had been demolished to make room for modern dwellings. Today, the evaluation of this approach has been mixed. Critics point to the profound trauma faced by the villagers who were forcefully removed and the oppressive approach of top-down housing. Such criticisms seem a little reductive, as they limit our potential to learn from the history of the recent past.
Looking back at Zorilor, through the lens of lived experience, I don't see this modern neighbourhood as erasure of tradition. The success and qualities of our domestic world relied upon a proximity to the old city – the contrast and complementary adjacency between the two was enriching. In my daily life, the fine grain of the city offered a break from the brutalist works. In many ways, memories of life in Zorilor continue to dictate my expectations of the livable city: a modest but lively domestic realm alongside historic structures for education, health, leisure and commerce.
Public space with commercial precinct in the background, Zorilor neighbourhood, Cluj-Napoca, Romania.
Architect: Emanoil Tudose. Photographer: Unknown, 1980s. Courtesy of Asociatia Minerva Cluj.
Introducing architect Emanoil Tudose Emanoil Tudose, an architect with an interest in urbanism and systematisation, designed the Zorilor masterplan. He had worked on similar neighbourhoods such as Manastur (1973) and Marasti (1971) in Cluj-Napoca, receiving prizes for components of the Manastur developments in the 1970s. While the majority of these works suffered from incoherent realisation and densification, Zorilor was built as planned and has further evaded contemporary and significant additions and deterioration. With little change to the built inventory of the 1980s, this neighbourhood stands as a clear account of the modernist principles that were inscribed and materialised.
In his design for Zorilor, Tudose contrasted modest and repetitive housing blocks with a generous network of open circulations and in-between courts. In this schema, unprogrammed external void spaces provided a lively support for collective activities, such as playgrounds, meeting spaces, pedestrian pathways and greenery. Such varied programs created a sense of community within this otherwise rational precinct.
The importance of the project lies precisely in the integration of architecture and infrastructure, designed hand in hand and as complementary elements. The design of the car park spaces, for example, illustrate this thinking. Located at the basement of the apartments, the car park absorbed the topographic level change, allowing pedestrian street entry at the front and access to the car park at the lower concourse at the rear. While the formal decisions seem logical and direct, such a solution could not be approved without the support of the Road Department, the agency in charge of vehicular infrastructure in the newly developed precinct. The synthesised approach to the design of architecture, urban design and urban infrastructure delivered by such communist housing models, balanced the regulated measure of the home with generosity and freedom of the urban environment. For me this juxtaposition led to an extraordinary blend of intimacy and vastness.
Right Mix-use blocks with ground level public programs and housing above, Zorilor neighbourhood, Cluj-Napoca, Romania. Architect: Emanoil Tudose. Photographer: Unknown, 1980s. Courtesy of Asociatia Minerva Cluj. Credit Thanks to Asociatia Culturala Minerva Cluj for assistance with the photographs held in their archive. I also appreciate Monica and Patricia Balea’s assistance with the scanned photographs from my parents’ collection. Alexandra Anda Florea is a research fellow at Deakin University.Rehila Hydari
I’m Rehila (pronounced: Ra-he-la); I was born in Afghanistan, in a small town in the district of Jaghori in the province of Ghanzi. Due to conflict and unrest brought on by the Taliban, my family migrated to Melbourne, Australia in 2005. In some ways, it was the experience of a radically different place that drew me to the study of architecture; a sense of curiosity about why we construct environments the way we do and how the built environment can support diverse ways of living.
Introducing my Jaghori
My family home in Jaghori, Ghazni, is now home to my great aunt. A two-storey dwelling, it rests on the side of a hill, a topography which defines two villages. Like many nearby dwellings, it is assembled of local materials, clay, and straw. Immediately in front of the house, a narrow stream flows from a natural spring, the water source for the whole village and their crops. Water distribution is visible on the ground surface, a network of narrow streams, together with a watering schedule that
ensures equitable sharing. The house is in immediate proximity to the village mosque, used for prayer, and in addition, as a classroom, collective ceremonies and guest accommodation. I left my home at the age of four, and before returning in 2015 my memory of the place had faded – but a few visceral recollections remain. Clear memories of a small room at ground level held the details of its earthen floor heated by channels of warm air from a dug-out kiln. My four siblings and I were born on this floor. The only frame for natural light within this intimate room was a singular small window. The wooden balustrades, not polished or neatly cut, but made from branches of nearby trees are retained in my memory through their grooves and texture, the shape and touch.
Temporary installation for No Show exhibition, Sydney Carriageworks, Sydney, Australia.
Architect: Youssofzay + Hart, 2021.
This house, this room, and the spot under the small window capture dwellings as primordial support for human life –a recollection of the magical and intelligent network of local streams, the ability to build from materials of the land, and the proximity of a generous public room. These architectural lessons inform my work and invigorate my approach to contemporary architecture. When visiting this home, I think of the sheer resilience of my mother and father to pack what little they could and leave their home.
When the Taliban took over Afghanistan in 2021, many of the Afghan diaspora were concerned about the safety of loved ones that still lived there, and the broader cultural erasure that could follow – as it had occurred two decades earlier. It was at this time that I came across architect Belqis Youssofzay of the Sydney-based practice Youssofzay and Hart. She was working alongside a group of Afghan-Australian artists, poets and lawyers to advocate for the preservation and awareness of Afghan culture. Youssofzay was born in Afghanistan and moved to Australia at a young age. I felt a strong sense of affinity and admiration for her as an Afghan Australian, but also for her social and environmental advocacy through the practice of architecture.
By introducing Youssofzay here, I want to draw attention to the significance of Afghan role models here in Australia. My sense of cultural and ethical alignment with Youssofzay's work enables me to imagine a positive and powerful engagement in the professional world. Such role models are critical to the making of a rich and diverse architecture profession.
The diversity of Youssofzay and Hart’s work and their commissions is impressive – there are small exhibition designs and large-scale collaborative public commissions. Their recent temporary installation, No Show at Sydney’s Carriageworks (2021) speaks to a number of priorities within and across their work. No Show comprises a temporary scaffold for artworks, and has a gentle formal integrity as well as an ability to recede and host work by others. The project evokes a delicate response to the setting, elegant material detailing with respect for sustainable material choices and lifecycle principles. It carefully mediates the human scale and larger shared environment – at once, contemporary, sustainable and sensitive.
Constanza Jara Herrera
After a professional degree in architecture at Pontificia Universidad Catolica de Valparaiso (PUCV), Chile, I started working in landscape architecture, collaborating on public realm design projects while teaching at PUCV. I decided to study a master’s degree in landscape architecture at the University of Melbourne. I have twice represented the University of Melbourne as a student at World Congresses of Landscape Architecture.
I am currently undertaking doctoral studies in the co-design of cultural landscapes with/for First Nations while working as an urban designer in Melbourne.
Introducing my Valparaiso
Composed of forty-four hills and a flat area oriented to the bay, the busy and sometimes worn-down working port of Valparaiso, Chile, is a natural amphitheatre with an urban fabric that clings to steep cliffs and dramatic hills. Its vernacular landscape is tailored to its topography and challenges gravity, creating a spatiality where the old and the new, the poor and the rich crossover a handmade urban design.
Every time I walked Valparaiso’s streets, something new revealed itself. Social relationships emerged and responded to the city’s geometries. Every element of this city was customised by an often-precarious materiality, engineered to adjust to its particular terrain.
I learned the poetics of space in Valparaiso. I moved to the city when I was 18 years old. My curiosity about the artisticphilosophical approach led to PUCV where the curriculum was based on learning to see the world anew and the interrogation of design generators through observation. We often explored unconventional spatial exercises in order to delve into phenomenological understandings, such as drawing the same space multiple times over a period of 24 hours. The concept of ‘letting appear’ is one of the design principles promoted by PUCV – that a design project must be conceived in relation to its context.
Introducing my Valparaiso + architect Cazu ZegersArchitect Victoria
Hotel Tierra Patagonia, Torres del Paine, Chile.
Architect: Cazu Zegers, 2011.
Cazu Zegers, a Chilean architect trained at PUCV, has explored this principle by applying vernacular approaches to built-form projects which merge with the landscape. Since 1991, Zegers’s Santiago-based practice has focused on residential, large-scale built form and large-scale landscape projects, national and international, in an architecture industry traditionally led by men.
Hotel Tierra Patagonia, Torres del Paine, Chile (2011), Zegers’ first hotel, is conceived from the shapes of the wind and the vast landscape of Patagonia. Stone and timber build a structure that embeds itself into a slight slope in the National Park Torres del Paine. The hotel’s building extends into and maintains a dialogue reflecting the magnitude of its territory. At the same time the building is anchored to the earth, giving shelter and embracing the human scale.
Zegers also leads a set of projects called etnoarquitectura (ethno-architecture) that seek to integrate
vernacular techniques by working with Indigenous communities to allow traditional knowledge to reveal itself during the design process. Elements of orientation and symbols present in the designs for a birthing centre, community centres, and hiking routes are expressive without trying to convey a style or represent historical periods. Zegers intends for the design and materials to speak directly to their users.
For me, the attributes of good design include dialogue with the landscape, honest design intent, simple use of materials, localism, spaces that sing, respectful partnerships with collaborators and places that reflect identity and belonging. Vernacular approaches, such as those practised in Valparaiso, encourage such attributes – and perhaps this is why Valparaiso is the principle setting for the enquiry at PUCV. Zegers and her team are an example of how Chilean architecture embraces a spatial-poetic approach to design.
Dragana Jovanovska
The first time I migrated to Australia I was two years old and had no memories of my country of birth, the Republic of Macedonia. Thirty years later, I migrated to Australia again, with a load of memories that did not fit in a suitcase. I was born in Bitola, a city with rich cultural and building history that inspired me to study architecture. Seeing the endless flat terrain, I found my new place to be the complete opposite of Bitola's narrow streets and ancient buildings.
Introducing my Bitola
Bitola was founded in the middle of the 7th century, near the former city of Heraclea Lyncestis (the ancient city dating from
the 4th century BC). I was born and lived in this city surrounded by neo-baroque and neo-classical buildings.
I was intrigued by the detailed facades as well as the design of distinctive traditional houses with upper levels wider than the ground, overhanging the footpaths. Широк Сокак (Wide Alley) is the main street and the centre of Bitola and is a place where I hardly missed a day to walk along. Широк Сокак is where we caught up with friends after school or went for a stroll on our way back home.
The street is graced with neo-classical buildings –retail, cafes and restaurants on the ground floors and residential on the upper levels. To have an espresso in a cafe on Широк Сокак at around midday is a well-known tradition in Bitola;
Stara Carsija (Old Bazaar), late 19th to early 20th century.
Architect: unknown.
on the weekends, the street is buzzing with people, and the cafes are full. Walking along the street, I enjoyed observing the distinct aesthetic and ornamental detail of each building’s facade. The much-loved Стариот Театар (old National Theatre) in Bitola, where theatrical production began, was located here. Unfortunately, some parts of this street were changed forever in the 1950s and 1960s. The old National Theatre building was demolished (overnight) and replaced with a modern cultural centre.
Introducing architect Dimitar Dimitrovski
Dimitar Dimitrovski, has had a significant role in protecting historical buildings in Bitola, and submitting their registration to cultural heritage lists. This role was especially important during the post-war period when many old buildings were demolished and wide-open squares were created for social events or gatherings and political and promotional speeches. It was the socialist era in my country.
At the time when instructions were received to demolish the Star Naroden Teatar (Former National Theatre) in Bitola, Dimitrovski was the director of the Museum for Protection of Cultural Monuments. Dimitar fought against this directive and argued his case with the heritage authorities that were sent from the capital, Skopje. He was told this was a directive from the party in power and had to be implemented.
Dimitar criticised the political intervention in what he regarded as his field of protection and expertise, and argued against state-level authorities that this process of decision making did not value or respect his profession or expertise. He resigned from his position over this significant issue. The Naroden Teatar building was demolished (at night), and his activism has gone down in history, influencing professional standards. Dimitrovski succeeded in protecting many significant buildings that are now heritage-listed, including the Old Bazaar in Bitola. The Old Bazaar is now one of the largest and bestpreserved bazaars in the region.
Saran Kim
Words by Saran Kim
Although born and raised in Japan, being a zainichi Korean Japanese with a Korean surname has always made me question the relationship between my racial identity, nationality and cultural heritage. In a country where anyone with a nonJapanese name is assumed to be a foreigner, I have embraced Japanese culture and philosophy and feel Japanese, regardless of people’s perceptions. In Australia, where everyone has a unique background, I feel accepted as a person with Japanese heritage. Furthermore, deep connections with Australian architects with Japanese philosophy at their heart has made me better appreciate my cultural heritage.
Introducing my Matsuyama
I arrived in Australia with one suitcase in 2011, straight after finishing primary school in rural Japan. My Japanese language within the English-only environment was helped by haiku poetry. My hometown, Matsuyama, on Shikoku Island, is known as the City of Haiku, with heritage architecture associated with notable haiku poets. Since I was ten years old, haiku became a way of seeing the world – infusing my own sensory experience into the observation of everyday life in 17 syllables. The practice of weaving seasonal words into haiku – learning myriads of names for rain, clouds, air and light – led me to be mindful of changes in the landscape, ultimately informing how I approach architecture.
Whenever I return home to Matsuyama, I visit Dogo, an old part of the city, known for one of Japan's three oldest hot springs, Dogo Onsen. The district encompasses Buddhist temples, Shinto shrines, several bathhouses, a castle ruin and rampart gardens, as well as the Shiki Museum, where haiku poets gather together on special occasions. It is not necessarily the individual buildings, but sensory memories of historical architecture – the smoothness of timber grains, the softness of bath water and the resonance of stone steps – that engender a continuum of time of Dogo within me. Praying at Isaniwa Shrine
in the New Year, appreciating cherry blossom season in Dogo Park (Yuzuki Castle ruin), and cleaning my family gravestones at Hogonji Temple deepened my relationship with the district over time, even since moving to Australia.
Rokko Shidare Observatory, Kobe, Hyogo, Japan.
Architect: Sambuichi Architects, 2010.
Across the Seto Inland Sea from my hometown on Shikoku Island is the mainland city of Hiroshima, where Hiroshi Sambuichi practices. His projects focus on inviting people to understand the forces of nature. Architecture of the Inland Sea1 is his exhibition catalogue, a reflection of his deep understanding of the Seto Inland Sea, the landscape that, although close to my hometown, I knew only on a superficial level. The book has become a portal into rediscovering the landscape in place of visiting in person. The catalogue introduces the Rokko Shidare Observatory (Kobe, Hyogo, 2010) – two hand-sketched sections (summer and winter) showing Mt Rokko, Kobe, the Seto Inland Sea and Shikoku Island illustrate the movement of water to Mt Rokko is enabled by the sun and winds. Focusing on the unique appearance of frost (soft rime) in winter, the catalogue
investigates the condition for the ice to grow – when the air with almost 100% humidity, at below five-degrees temperature, collides with an object at approximately five metres per second. A veil of short wooden sticks are effective in retaining moisture for frost to grow on the observatory while letting air through. The catalogue portrays Sambuichi’s architecture as a series of gentle gestures taking care of place and its microclimate referring to how the Seto Inland Sea and surrounding landscape, including winds, water and the sun, have always been moving and continue to move. His architecture is rational yet poetic, contemporary yet deeply rooted in the memories of the landscape. Sambuichi’s observation of landscape resonates with haiku – situating human experience in nature and admiring a moment in time, and helps me better read, understand and appreciate the sea that is so close to my home.
Saran Kim RAIA Grad. is a graduate of architecture at Architectus and a research assistant at the University of Melbourne.
Below left
Sectional sketches illustrating the movement of water in summer and winter from Mt Rokko across the Seto Inland Sea, Japan. Illustration: ©Sambuichi Architects 2011.
Below right
Soft rime emerges only when the specific conditions of temperature, relative humidity and wind speed are met. Slabs of ice are cut out of the stepped ice terrace in winter and stored in the underground ice room until summer, when they are utilised for conditioning the air. Rokko Shidare Observatory, Kobe, Hyogo, Japan. Architect: Sambuichi Architects, 2010. Photographer: ©Sambuichi Architects 2011.
Notes
1 Hiroshi Sanbuichi, Architecture of the Inland Sea (Tokyo: TOTO, 2016).
Marie Le Touze
Words by Marie Le Touze
I was born in Versailles, France and studied architecture there, for four years, and in Montreal and Buenos Aires before settling in Bordeaux, France. In 2009 I started a nonprofit organisation in architecture, focusing on temporary installations while working for a local office and passing the French architectural registration. My Australian chapter started in 2011, and now represents a third of my life.
During my architecture studies I looked out a window which faced the castle of Versailles. The National School of Architecture of Versailles is in the old royal stables, built between 1679 and 1682. Generations of architects, including my parents, have studied here since it was turned into a school in 1969. My desk was in one of the student workshops located on the first floor. The workshops were not classrooms but double-storey rooms, filled with mezzanines, and the centre of activity with tables, dusty couches, fridges, and old bits of models everywhere. They were open 24/7 to students
and managed by them. Teachers almost never entered this intimidating zone.
Lots of long and late nights have been spent between the thick walls. Generations of students have been working together or celebrating and dancing to the rhythm of the brass bands traditionally created by students of architecture in France. The whole time, the castle of Versailles was always in the background. This huge edifice (which looks so small from my window) still influences, and impacts everything around it, including the local architects whose dilemma it is to build next to such a thing. The profession feels sclerosed by the weight of historical heritage in this town.
This opulent precedent of architecture has been sitting at the back of my mind since I left the benches of my school. Sometimes as a reminder of the weight that history can bear on architecture. Other times as a testament to how well-built things can last! Perhaps coming to Australia was a way to escape an oppressive feeling or maybe developing a passion for light and temporary structures was my way to cope with it.
Le Costil House Renovation, Sap-en-Auge, France.
Architect: Anatomies d’Architecture, 2022.
On 20 June 2022, I went back to this school to visit my friend who is now teaching there. She had organised a lecture for her students to think about alternative ways to build houses in France. I discovered Anatomies d’Architecture (Ad’A), a young architectural practice including a director with a training in anthropology. Their focus was on ecological houses, and selfbuild in France, with a book on this topic, including careful documentation and engaging illustrations.1 Their first and so far only project was the refurbishment of a dilapidated farmhouse located in the domain of the castle of Costil in Normandy. Ad’A approached the renovation of the 83m sq traditional brick house with unprecedented ambitions: 0% concrete, 0% plastic, and 100% natural materials sourced within a radius of less than 100km.
To meet this challenge Ad’A worked with local farmers, lumberjacks, sawmills, quarrymen, masons, historians, researchers, apprentices, and volunteers. They looked deeply into the regional resources, and turned back towards traditional,
sometimes ancestral techniques of construction: hemp insulation, raw-earth coatings, timber frames made of local chestnut and oak, reuse of traditional bricks, recycled corks, foundations made of locust tree trunks, floors made of reused wood windows. For two years, Ad’A carried out the construction themselves while constantly trying to find alternative and local solutions to conventional building. The result is contemporary and sets a precedent for an architecture that takes control of today’s energy building requirements without applying the norm. Given the level of care, time, and involvement they provide at every step of the design and construction process, how will Ad’A proceed – will their business model, in the long term, allow them to maintain this standard for every project? These questions were raised by Ad’A, and resonate with the questions at Bush Studio, where directors Naomi Brennan and myself pay attention to sustainable and locally sourced architecture that often challenge construction industry conventions in remote or regional parts of Australia where we work.
Milana Lević
Words by Milana Lević
I was born and raised in South Australia to two Serbian immigrant parents. Serbian culture was vibrant within our home – my father didn’t speak much English and my grandparents lived next door. The sight of a Serbian Church became associated with my ancestral culture and identity, I felt at home with the people, and I fell in love with the striking ecclesiastical murals that decorated the interior of Byzantine domes and the adorned frescoes at the Woodville Serbian Orthodox Church. My curiosity for architecture flourished and I completed a Master of Architecture in 2022. For my final design thesis project, I explored architecture through a lens of aesthetic and cultural traditions, overlaying architecture and traditional folk costume that highlight Serbian migration and the cultural footprint in Victoria’s architectural landscape.
Introducing my Levići
My father took us back to his birthplace of Levići in the Šumadija region of Serbia in June 2000. The Lević family home, where my father and uncle grew up, was a double-storey stone house painted yellow and had been damaged due to a series of earthquakes. I remember playing in the plum orchards and cucumber fields, and the sweet smell of my grandmother's krofne in the outdoor kitchen. The region is a mosaic of farmlands that sit within a valley abundant with pine, oak, acacia, beech, hornbeam, and linden trees. Monasteries in the unique Morava architectural style are scattered throughout this region. The St Sava Monastery in Elaine, Victoria, founded in 1973, designed by architect Bogosav A Radovanovic, with the addition of the St Alypius Church built in 1981, is a variation of the Morava style. For some time, this Monastery became a social hub for the Serbian Community in Victoria. Its rural setting, fresh air, and surrounding pine and fruit trees aim to replicate the traditional Serbian landscape, and when the community gathers here, it transports me back to Serbia.
Introducing architect Ljiljana Bakić Serbia's architectural history is a melting pot of different styles which, with the modernisation of Yugoslavia, resulted in the cultural and architectural footprint of the late architect Ljiljana Bakić and her husband Dragoljub. The Bakićs who worked at the state-owned firm Energoprojekt, were invited to work in Zimbabwe for the country's newly formed government. As part of Yugoslavia's leading role in the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), they were called upon to contribute to the decolonisation of newly formed nations.
Zimbabwe’s pathway to independence, like many other newly formed states, found architecture a significant way to articulate and narrate its symbolic status. Ljiljana and Dragoljub were known for their innovative approach, and this cultural
exchange resulted in the golden icon of the Rainbow Towers Hotel in Harare, redefining then typical Yugoslavian style. Expanding on the variations of brutalism, the hotel’s architecture was transformed with round, soft edges and exterior material presenting layered gold tones. These export architectures often developed a modernist extravagance which is also carried through to the internal spaces where more gold creates a celebratory opulence, an economy of glamour, stylishness, and prosperity. Winning several awards in Serbia and Africa, the Bakićs were guided by ideas about the psychological and sociological impact of architecture. Their membership and participation in several African and European architectural communities and educational settings testify to their influence in Yugoslavia and beyond.
Milana Lević is a graduate of architecture.
Words by Audrey Leonore Lopez
Audrey Leonore Lopez
My architecture journey has always been intertwined with migration. At the age of 16, I moved from the island province of Palawan to Manila to study architecture. After completing my bachelor's degree in architecture, and working as a registered architect, I migrated to Melbourne to pursue postgraduate studies in urban design, a field not offered back home. Recently, migration has brought me back to architecture as the necessary pathway to extend my residency in Australia. This time, I needed my architectural qualifications for migration purposes.
Introducing my Palawan
In late 2019, I worked on a research project at the University of Melbourne that mapped informal practices on streets of the Global South, in cities such as Manila. My aim was to understand the interplay between informal settlements, trading, and transport. For me, this was an opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of my country’s built environment, whether
metropolitan cities such as Manila, or local provinces such as Palawan – where I grew up.
The street, in many ways, serves as an extension of one's home. It is a living room for someone who likes to watch the hustle and bustle of passers-by. To others, it is an annex to their sari-sari (home-based convenience) store where items can be sold, and people can drink and banter on the plastic tables and chairs outside. For aunties and grandmas, it is a place to catch up on the latest gossip while tending the potted plants that green the otherwise concrete landscape.
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In
Streetlight Tagpuro, Tacloban City, Philippines.
Architects: Khadka and Eriksson Furunes, 2016.
For the young ones, it is a playground or a basketball court where they can hone their skills before their next school sports festival. As children, with my cousins and siblings, we played a traditional Filipino game called Patintero on the dirt road just outside our home. Despite the occasional interruptions by passing vehicles, the street worked perfectly for our game. Amid the bustling streets, slow-moving cars, jeepneys (minibus), and tricycles stuck in a traffic jam, street vendors weave their way through the gaps, offering an array of drinks and food, all while earning a living. Beyond their economic and transportation roles, these residential streets are hotspots for public activity. They are the backbone of communities and important in enabling everyday practices that engender a unique character to our cities.
Introducing architects Khadka and Eriksson Furunes I first came across the project Streetlight Tagpuro (Philippines, 2016) by Sudarshan Khadka and Alexander Eriksson Furunes, together with engineer Jago Boase, during an architecture festival in Manila. The architects’ presentation was distinctive and memorable particularly for highlighting use of the longstanding Filipino custom of bayanihan, a system of mutual support often present in communities coming together to achieve a common goal. Streetlight Tagpuro deployed a participative and community-based design process to rebuild
a study centre and orphanage for the community of Tagpuro in Tacloban City, Philippines.
After the devastating Typhoon Haiyan in 2013, Streetlight, a locally based NGO that provided social services to street children and neighbouring communities, proposed to rebuild the study centre and orphanage on a new site, 16 km inland of Tacloban. For two years, the architects, together with the resettled community in Tagpuro, worked through collaborative workshops to conceptualise the design. Residents were actively involved in the programming, design process and construction of the project, with some members of the community engaged in upskilling programs to become masons and carpenters and were employed in its construction. The project has become a formative platform for the community to identify their shared values and create a sense of ownership. It continues to provide a space for capacity building, livelihood training and refuge for the Tagpuro’s community.
Streetlight Tagpuro reminds us that architects and architecture can effectively serve as facilitators, particularly in post-disaster reconstruction efforts where the community’s agency is paramount. Given the increasing frequency of natural disasters in Australia and my home country, applying such collaborative principles can help create a more resilient and community-driven future.
Niea Nadya
I was born in Sampang, a small town located on the northeastern coast of the island of Madura in Indonesia. Later I studied for a bachelor’s degree in architecture in the city of Malang and worked for a local architectural practice. Following a visit to Melbourne, I was inspired by its blend of high-rise buildings and preserved heritage structures and moved here, combining architecture with interior design and multimedia.
Introducing my Sampang
In Sampang, East Java, we lived in a Tanean Lanjhang compound, which encapsulated the close-knit relationships among my family and the Madurese community. A central spacious yard was located in front of the kobung prayer pavilion and surrounded by the tongghu main house, kandang storage building and thonggu kitchen. The tall timber-and-thatched roof provided ventilation in the hot, humid climate, and the elevated plinths protected living spaces from mild flooding during the rainy season. My cousins and I played in the protected elevated
terrace garden during the flood season. Our Islamic heritage was reflected in the intricate ornamentation carved into the bamboo ceiling and wooden structure. This compound is an excellent example of Arsitektur Nusantara, (traditional Indonesian architecture) and it reflects the cultural and historical diversity of Indonesia through various uses of local materials, construction techniques, and way of life.
I moved to the large city of Malang and was impressed by the large city houses I passed on my walk to university. These were built in the colonial period; their ornate facades, large windows, and decorative structure reflected a blend of traditional Javanese, colonial Dutch, and other European styles,
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The Tanean Lanjheng (compound) I grew up in showing houses on the north side, a prayer house on the west, barns and large kitchen on the south, Sampang, Indonesia, 1800s. Sketch: Niea Nadya, 2023
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which evolved into the distinctive New Indies Style. In Malang, Arsitektur Nusantara evolved through stronger materials and construction techniques in response to heavier rainfall and flooding compared to Sampang. This adaptability demonstrates the way people have embedded climatic conditions and the environment into their architecture.
Introducing architect Yusuf Bilyarta Mangunwijaya
YB Mangunwijaya was a multifaceted figure who made significant contributions to architecture, literature, and social activism. His combination of modernist design principles and Javanese forms and ornament exemplify a belief in the power of architecture to promote cultural and social harmony. The Gereja St Maria Assumpta in Klaten, Indonesia, designed in 1972 is a significant architectural precedent in Indonesia. It illustrates a striking blend of Gothic and Javanese elements, with a steep-pitched roof reminiscent of traditional Javanese architecture and pointed arches and stained-glass windows typical of Gothic architecture.
The facade is adorned with intricate relief carvings that depict scenes from the life of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. The high vaulted ceilings and tall stained-glass windows provide ample natural light and an illuminated and expansive congregation space. The main altar is adorned with a large carved wooden crucifix, and the walls feature intricate murals of religious scenes and symbols. One of the most notable features of the church is its central dome, rising high above the nave, and decorated with intricate elements that combine traditional Javanese and European architectural styles. The dome's shape and decoration reflect the cultural diversity of Indonesia's architectural heritage. YB Mangunwijaya has captured the country's cultural, political, and social history through the architectural references and synthesis at the Gereja St Maria Assumpta. It demonstrates the harmonious combination of different styles and materials, and this is reiterated in Islamic teachings, which encourage environmental stewardship and emphasise moderation and balance.
Khue Nguyen
Born in Saigon, I felt the education system in Vietnam would limit my interests and ambitions, so at the age of 16 I moved to the US, completed a Bachelor of Architecture, and worked there for several years. Once conservative policies, tension and turmoil began to affect my work life, and limit access to healthcare, I moved to Australia to pursue my Master of Architecture in 2019 and to be closer to family for visits back home.
Introducing my Saigon
The well-loved Melbourne laneways unexpectedly reminded me of home and the many hems (Vietnamese alleys) I frequented. Most vivid were those that connected my house to my grandma’s house via a fresh-food market. Travelling through these spaces as a child challenged my visual memory, every turn felt like a changing scene in a movie. Inevitably I would get lost. As a product of left-over spaces between buildings, the alleys are often without names and weave through every corner of the city. Without regulation, any mode of transportation
that fits uses the hem: from pedestrians, cyclists, scooter riders to cars and trucks. They become popular shortcuts for commuters to escape peak-traffic hours and provide safer alternatives for kids to travel through.
Not too long before sunrise, the elderly would exercise and walk through the hems as local shops and street stalls opened. As morning settled in, the alleys would fill with students and workers making quick stops at food stalls for takeaway breakfasts. At mid-morning the laneways would be bustling with sale chants (where shop owners proclaim daily specials), chattering and bargaining; the best time for grocery shopping while produce is fresh.
By mid-afternoon, produce stalls would leave, shop fronts would close, and the hems took their first break of the day, perfectly coordinated with Vietnamese people’s post-lunch
Courtyard with a porous facade that allows the climate into the house, The Nest, Thu ậ n An, Vietnam.
Architect: A21 Studio, 2013.
nap during Saigon’s hottest part of the day. The hem at dusk was the most enjoyable, where families would reunite after a long day. Cool breezes and fading daylight replaced the intense heat creating perfect conditions for gathering outdoors. Larger hems would fill with people playing badminton, street soccer or setting up chess tables. Smaller hems would have people sitting at their doorsteps watching passers-by or conversing with neighbours. After dinner, hems would be lit by dim streetlamps, and the quiet sounds of television could be heard from different households.
These nameless alleys have contributed greatly to my perception of placemaking through architecture and the spaces within, around and between them.
Introducing architect A21studio
A21studio is a small architectural practice in Saigon. Their work challenges the typical urban residence which is often detached from the Vietnamese lifestyle and climate. The interstitial spaces of The Nest by A21studio act as extensions to the living space; rooms expand or compress as needed by interacting with adjacent outdoor spaces. In the Saigon house, voids carved within the building form, metal screens on the facade and roof, link a series of porous living spaces. This fluidity replicates the
qualities of the hem, where space is formed between physical masses (in this case walls and floors) and is flexible to users’ needs and weather conditions.
In contrast to typical Vietnamese homes which are fully sheltered from the outdoors, these designs embrace the climate by inviting light, rain, and wind to permeate the living spaces. Whether peak summer heat or tropical rainstorm, the weather is always present in the hem and people are protected just enough to carry on daily activities. I remember sitting on plastic stools next to classmates under umbrellas slurping fresh warm hu tieu (rice-noodle soup) as streams of water trickled below our feet during a heavy downpour. Similar to hems, A21 studio’s Saigon house also facilitates activities and memories that are entwined with the weather.
Spaces in these two houses are connected across multiple axes facilitating incidental interaction. This allows activities to be viewed on the floor below and occupants to participate in a conversation across the house or retreat into a quiet nook when needed. Similar to the home’s plan, hems may appear random, disorganised, and chaotic with traffic. In fact, they sustain and reflect Vietnamese lifestyles, which rely heavily on daily social interaction to maintain and strengthen relationships and communities.
Born in Malaysia, I followed in my dad’s footsteps who studied abroad in Taiwan after the 13 May 1969 incident as a young man. Growing up, I watched Hong Kong dramas where characters migrated to Canada, UK, or the US in anticipation of the return of mainland China governance in 1997, which instilled in me a romanticised view of studying in developed countries. Though it was common in my family to complete part of their degree abroad, I fast tracked my studies and headed to Australia alone in 2001 to complete my entire Bachelor of Architecture in Australia.
During the COVID-19 lockdown, I created illustrated articles as a way to connect with my heritage and share my experiences growing up in Penang, Malaysia, through the ISOscape & the Penang Stories series.
An important childhood memory of mine was eating hawker food in the hot humid weather next to moving vehicles
at my late aunt’s hawker stall in Georgetown. It was permanently parked in front of a Kopitiam (coffee shop), I would stand up in the middle of meals to allow parked cars to pass through the narrow heritage streets. She sourced fresh produce daily and prepared all the meals at home and displayed garnishes on the top shelf. A portable gas tank kept the boiling congee (rice porridge) hot. She was infamous for her grumpiness particularly when tourists asked her what yau zhar guai 油炸鬼 (chinese doughnut) was. Family-run and lacking in kitchen equipment, my aunt was head chef, and her sister cleaned dishes using the street hose tap, squatting on a small stool with a bucket next to the longkang (drain). My cousins served dishes, took orders from pedestrians, and drive-by customers. It felt chaotic
Exterior of the Bamboo Pavilion, Kuala Lumpar, Malaysia.
Architect: Eleena Jamil
Architect, 2018.
and unhygienic at the time, but the locals didn’t seem to mind. Miles away from home now, I miss the aroma of the chicken porridge intertwined with street noise and car pollution.
My hometown of Bukit Mertajam was a newer housing estate with quiet suburban streets. Every night, a cluster of hawker stalls assembled on an empty piece of bitumen land along the main road. Initially small in numbers, the hawker stall quickly expanded as it became popular, forming a huge circle with central seating so patrons could get a comprehensive view of every stall. To avoid competition, two stalls rarely sold the same dish. This setup persisted for a decade until it was upgraded with a permanent metal roof and simple amenities. The locals preferred to go out at night due to the hot weather.
Hawker stalls have greatly diversified across Penang since my childhood, with large formal hawker centres, small kopitiams, heritage building fitouts, and weekly pasar malams (night markets). People travel far for great food, and the rich mix of cultures and geographic origins means that hawker stalls remain common. Unfortunately, though they form a significant part of the city's streetlife, stall owners are increasingly vulnerable.
Introducing architect Eleena Jamil Architect
Eleena Jamil Architect challenges the typical materials and forms of Malaysia with the Bamboo Pavilion, a structure designed and built for the World Urban Forum (WUF) 2018 hosted in Kuala Lumpur. In line with the WUF’s goal to address the challenges of sustainable urbanisation, Eleena Jamil Architect designed a pavilion made entirely of bamboo including its exterior pillars, roof and four-wall inlaid with colourful disks where the public are invited to write their goals for the environment.
Like many developing cities, Kuala Lumpur strives to produce tall skyscrapers to demonstrate world leadership and dominance. This humble pavilion is a refreshing counterpoint to the glass and concrete buildings that surround it much like the portable hawker stalls of my childhood. The uneven texture of the bamboo and traditional string joints might once have been part of the environment in Malaysia but is now only represented in popular culture through kung fu movies. Jamil translates these materials and cultural memories into architecture that reminds me that using sustainable alternative construction materials is possible.
Sri Akila Ravi
I am Akila Ravi from Chennai, India. My first visit to Australia for a summer school in 2015 motivated me to pursue a master’s degree in architecture and migrate to Melbourne. University studies, and later seeking employment, were challenging and in contrast to the tight-knit cohort of peers back home. New Architects Melbourne and my current workplace have helped me overcome any fears and be part of a design community.
Introducing my Chennai
Since moving to Melbourne, Madras ah suthi paaka Poren is a song that resonates with me; it is an expression of a migrant woman voicing her desire to live like a Queen in Madras, now known as Chennai. When I reflect on Chennai, Marina Beach springs to mind. It is a visual marker on flight before landing in Chennai. I breathe a sigh of relief that I am home and immerse myself in its beauty.
Marina is a promenade that runs for a 13 km stretch of the beach. It was designed to serve British colonisers with zoned administrative, educational, and legislative buildings, but has transformed into a place for political movement, providing a platform for mass protests and a museum marked by statues of social reformers.
Chennai lacks public open spaces and Marina Beach offers a medley of history, culture, food and the open sea without social or economic bias. At sunrise or after sunset, and due to the tropical climate, the promenade is activated. At sunrise, it takes on a recreational nature – with joggers, yoga, laughter therapy, fishermen returning from the sea and hawkers selling cold buttermilk or tender coconuts. The space undergoes a transformation at night, lit up with street-food vendors, carousels, ferris wheels and families gathering to have picnics. The smell and sound of fritters, raw mangoes, corn, and roasted peanuts amplify the sensorial experience. It is one of the very few places of respite for locals within a rapidly growing metropolis.
Introducing my Chennai + architect Chitra Vishwanath
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A typical intimate classroom setting. Pictures are ‘jali’ and earthy floors providing comfort in a hot climate, Yellow Train school, Chennai, India, 2013. Architect: Biome Environmental Solutions. Photographer: Vivek Muthuramalingam, 2013.
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An evening at Marina Beach, 2013. Photographer: Ashwin Kumar, 2013.
Above Exterior view showing the versatile ways brick and shading devices have been deployed to control heat, Yellow Train school, Chennai, India, 2013. Architect: Biome Environmental Solutions. Photographer: Vivek Muthuramalingam, 2013.
Introducing architect Chitra Vishwanath
I admire architect Chitra Vishwanath and her practice Biome Environmental Solutions based in Bangalore, India. With a portfolio ranging from installations to masterplans, Biome Environmental Solutions focus on designing spaces that are simple yet functional and conscious of the site’s ecology via abundant daylight, natural ventilation, local materials and water conservation.
The brief for the Yellow Train School (2013) requested design and architecture that reflected Waldorf principles of education while conforming to rigid local guidelines and codes. The child-centric design of Biome Environmental Solutions provided spaces for mental, spiritual and physical growth by emphasising aspects of play and a sense of comfort by mimicking a home-like environment. Interventions include an earthy
colour palette, spaces accessible only to children, as well as the manipulation of scale through arches which encourage exploration through jalis. A jali is an architectural element that lets in filtered light through perforations in a wall plane. This is a motif Chitra Vishwanath draws upon. This project is a great example of architectural interventions that promote education through self-reflection and wonder and extend beyond traditional learning. Due to the hot climate, play spaces are primarily indoors within circulation and common areas.1
The work of Chitra Vishwanath and her practice
Biome Environmental Solutions is exemplary in its effort to combat cities (in India) becoming concrete jungles and explore a multitude of interventions that are required at a micro level to enable the development of the macro city.
Sri Akila Ravi is a graduate of architecture at ITN Architects and a former events curator for New Architects Melbourne.
Notes
Kulkarni, Mrudula. “The Yellow Train School by Chitra Vishwanath” RTF | Rethinking The Future, accessed 22 September 2022. www.re-thinkingthefuture.com/case-studies/a7733-the-yellowtrain-school-by-chitra-vishwanath/
I was always drawn to nature and wanted to study landscape architecture in France. After two years at the Lebanese Academy of Fine Arts (ALBA), as it was one of the pathways, I sat for the entrance exam in Versailles. Unfortunately, being young and naïve, I did not meet the requirement as I needed more knowledge in botany. Back at ALBA, I enrolled in the Master of Architecture program. Its rigorous curriculum, and work on Maria Montessori schools at the Atelier des Architectes Associés equipped me for working life in Melbourne when we arrived here in 1988. I was employed at Grant Heath Wood, an architectural and landscaping practice and then took up a position at the Department of Education. One day a Lebanese taxi driver asked me to design his house in Brunswick. This work led to friends and clients seeking my services as an architect.
At ALBA I studied the urban typology of the St Nicholas and Sursock neighbourhood overlooking Port Beirut with my co-
students May Anid and Josiane Adib Torbey. We conducted surveys during the war in 1985 by visiting almost every place in the neighbourhood. This neighbourhood is named after the Sursock family, grain merchants who had left Turkey and settled in Beirut in the 1860s, also known as the Orient Princes. They influenced the architecture of the neighbourhood with grand and impressive palaces comprising expansive gardens influenced by Venetian and Ottoman styles.
This architecture defined the neighbourhood and we considered its style as posh! It contrasted the popular traditional and vernacular Lebanese houses also built in the 1860s.
Introducing my Beirut + architect Josiane Adib Torbey
Rachel Eddé School, Sebeel Lebanon. Architect: Josiane Adib Torbey.
Additional to these layers, modernist-style architecture was built in the subdivided lots from 1920-1960. Then in the 1960s, commercial architecture was built around the “Ring” Highway that divided established neighbourhoods.
Learning the layered history and analysing the different elements of the urban typology of the facades had a huge influence on my approach to architecture. Our survey provided a better understanding of the contrasting cultures between old and new, poor and rich, and formal and vernacular. We had unexpected encounters with some militias, but it was the stories that connected me to the spirit of place.
Introducing architect Josiane Adib Torbey
Professor Josiane Adib Torbey’s architecture trajectory took her from refurbishing and designing new houses for the elite in Beirut to an architect community activist working in Sebeel, a village in rural North Lebanon, where her husband was from. Adib Torbey co-founded the Salt of the Earth Association to promote and fund development through education and culture.
An early project was the Rachel Eddé Public School, created and built by the local community following passive design principles. The envelope consisted of local materials, double glazing, and rooftop gardens planted with endemic vegetation, allowing cross-and-stack ventilation, and boasting natural sunlight. Her commitment extended to using the latest technology to support education, including interactive screens connecting teachers to a global education platform. Arabic, French, and English languages, and civil and sustainable education were incorporated into the curriculum.
Alongside the school project, Adib Torbey founded the public library of Sebeel, currently serving over 700 members with 10,000 books in four languages. The library runs intercultural annual summer schools between France and Lebanon, with the exchange program soon to include the University of Montana in the US. I am inspired by Adib Torbey’s work as it demonstrates how the architectural design and shaping of the built environment can serve as a vehicle for environmental and social action.
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After an initial visit in 2005, I returned to Thailand to complete my final semester at Chulalongkorn University and subsequently re-migrated through the skilled immigrant pathway and finally to Australian citizenship. Shortly after I registered, I decided to focus on the community and civic sector alongside obtaining my Green Star certification. Since welcoming my daughters, now three and five, I have committed to making a difference for the next generation. I am a passionate advocate for sustainability and have become an accredited WELL, Living Future and Passive House professional. I was honoured to be a finalist for the 2022 National Association of Women in Construction Award for Contribution to Sustainability.
An architectural setting with special memories is the courtyard at the Faculty of Architecture at Chulalongkorn University, where I studied. In my first year, the yard became an emotionally charged place through our ritual for initiation. The ceremony began with a week's practice of dancing and chanting. Then, on the big day, we had "ศิลป์
" – akin to a baptismal ceremony. The large courtyard was annually transformed to house a totem as a focal point. Spectators envelop the ground-floor steps or stand by the windows on the levels above.
On the day, rhythmic drumbeats intensified the atmosphere and our mood. A scream signalled for us to begin dancing and concluded with the alums painting our arms and faces in various geometric patterns – a symbol
Nestled within nature, five residential apartments form ‘Under the Rain Trees’, Chiang Mai, Thailand, Year 2019.
Rachaporn Choochuey, All (zone), Bangkok, Thailand.
Architect:
of the transfer of wisdom. Another sound signalled us to lift a large rope and carry it through our leafy campus towards the faculty, underlining the importance of teamwork. Once we returned, we had a short break, and at dusk, the mood shifted as we commenced our แห่โคม or lantern parade. The first-year students held handmade paper lanterns powered by candlelight and walked around the campus while singing in unison. Some of the lanterns looked like mini architectural masterpieces. The ritual culminated with loud cheering from the audience, showering us with leaves from our faculty mascot – the rain tree – as an official sign of acceptance. Many cried with joy.
Its simple form is derived from an intent to retain all the mature rain trees, utilising elevated floor space to minimise root disturbances and increase permeability for flood resilience due to its proximity to the Ping riverbank. The large, lush site is a demonstration of biophilic immersion within nature without any visibly adjacent dwellings to maximise restorative opportunity. The glazing is very well setback from the roof line, creating deep shadows and complimenting the dense tree shade nearby, marking a visual datum and a floating appearance. Akin to a five-pointed flower, each of the five branches contains a modest private apartment that converges at a shared common lounge space, an open-air theatre for viewing nature. The roof platform provides a 360-degree view of vegetation and the river and is perfect for stargazing.
Only a few Thai architects are known outside my home country. Recently I met Rachaporn Choochuey from All (zone), Bangkok at her courageous MPavilion.
Under the Rain Tree is an intriguing apartment project in Chiangmai, a modern interpretation of vernacular architecture.
This project connects to our ancestors through its clever reinterpretation of Thai vernacular architecture via the raised floor plate, tree trunk columnar, open-air spaces, and deep eave line. It also expresses care for the next generation through deep respect for site ecology.
Daniela Schnaidman
Words by Daniela Schnaidman
I first came to Melbourne, from Brazil, in 2013. São Paulo, a city known for prioritising cars and fences over public spaces, contrasted the warmth and inclusiveness of Melbourne which offered a breath of fresh air. I returned to São Paulo to finish my degree, but in two years I packed my bags and jumped on the 30-hour flight to Melbourne to complete a Master of Architecture – this time with no return ticket. Seven years later and I am proud to call myself an Australian architect.
Growing up in São Paulo in a neighbourhood of high-rise residential condominiums dominated by cars, most memorable were my childhood visits to the historic city centre, akin to time travel to another era and place. Large highways gave way to narrow streets, pedestrians emerging on foot from subway escalators. I felt strangely safe among the urban mayhem, the multitude of street vendors, and people from all backgrounds mingling across the cobbled lanes.
Later, as a student of architecture, I valued contextual character of the city centre, and how it embodied the heterogeneity of Brazilian architecture which, much like the Brazilian people, is a melting pot of cultures and styles. If you find yourself in São Paulo, wander through Praça da República, a public square fronting Escola Caetano de Campos – a late nineteenth century neo classical building. The scale and generosity of this public space is particularly felt as a lushly planted green void framed by tall, densely packed urbanity. Across the street, significant twentieth century heritage is
Pra%C3%A7a_da_Rep%C3%BAblica.jpg
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dotted – the Edificio Esther (1938) is considered the first truly modernist building of São Paulo, and the Edificio Italia (1965), the second tallest building in the city. Take a short walk down Rua Barão de Itapetininga, and you will arrive at the Municipal Theatre (1911), an eclectic work that combines traits of baroque, art nouveau and renaissance. Diversity in architecture and human culture may be a distinctive feature of many cities, what distinguishes São Paulo is extreme and contrasting juxtapositions. For me the unregulated and unruly character of such adjacencies evokes a sense of freedom.
João Filgueiras Lima (1932-2014), best known as Lelé, is an iconic Brazilian architect who delivered profound works where architecture and nature were interwoven. To consider his significance in Brazil, but also within our current Australian context, I turn to a relatively late work, the Sarah Kubitschek Rehabilitation Centre (2003). Located in Brasilia, the project continues Lelé’s track-record in medical buildings, including the Sarah Kubitschek Hospital (1980), an earlier project for the same clients, where he established an innovative approach to architecture for medicine.
The Sarah Kubitschek Rehabilitation Centre (2003) is an ambitious project across a 20-metre topographic site, with spaces for mental and physical rehabilitation, as well as medical education and research. These are accommodated within several enclosures, linked together through dynamic pathways. Walkways and terraces are designed as generous public rooms while facilitating the movement of patients and staff in open and exhilarating environments. The architectural forms are crisp and plane in geometry, with large openings that admit ample natural light and prospect. Bright colours are employed throughout and, balanced against a limited material palette, they infuse the building with a sense of calm but positive atmosphere. Green spaces with plants and water features add serenity, while supporting a temperate climate within. Sawtooth and domed roofs over several of the key functions, define striking silhouettes and preside over an elevated interior, while serving as an operable skin to bring natural light and ventilation. The relationship with the environment here is not merely of passive environmental control but a welcoming of the local atmosphere as a tool for healing. Living and working in Australia, in the context of a highly regulated health environment, the humanism of this work feels especially poignant. For me it is Lelé’s design for places of healing where his architectural magic was most keenly felt.
Golbarg Shokrpur
Words by Golbarg Shokrpur
My sister Sepideh was born independent and a free spirit. She left Iran for tertiary education, first to Malaysia and then to Australia. After a month, at the age of 18, I followed in her footsteps. I had been fascinated by the world of colour and form. I remained curious about how such universal elements can help us relate and connect, so for my university pathway, I chose architecture.
Introducing my Tehran
I am from the city of Tehran, Iran. Tehran is a busy metropolis with densely packed housing and small galleries, parks, cafes and restaurants in the pockets of every main street. A stroll around Tajrish or Valiasr neighbourhood, and you might come across a cafe run by a few philosophy students, filled with books you have yet to hear of, piled on top of each other from
floor to ceiling. You might start a passionate discussion in the adjacent gallery and walk out as friends with a stranger.
Among these urban pockets, a series of green urban parks are important places of public life; this is where locals escape the pollution and smog, have picnics and meander. Sometimes there is music, people play the guitar within the foliage, and others gather and sing along.
I have fond memories of Shafagh Park and Community Centre, located in central Tehran, Yousefabad Neighbourhood. I remember attending art classes followed by running around the green pathways. Designed by Kamran Diba, a seminal late modernist based in Tehran, this magical project integrates existing historic buildings with planned park environments. Here densely planted landscape, urban networks, plaza and community facilities coalesce.
Introducing architect Kamran Diba
Trained at Howard University, Washington, DC, including studies in sociology, Kamran Diba returned to Iran with the ambition to put local culture and people at the centre of his projects. While Shafagh Park was among Diba’s significant early works, his design of Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art (TMoCA, 1977), presents an important example of late modernism in Iran. For me, another memorable place of childhood outings. Located next to Laleh Park, the project is among the best-known cultural projects realised during the final years of the Pahlavi regime. Sponsored by Farah Pahlavi, Queen of Iran from 1959-1979, it attests to her patronage of art and culture as the necessary pillars of modernisation. In her view, TMoCA was to place Iran and Iranian contemporary art on par with Western counterparts. To achieve this, she commissioned Diba, also her cousin, who shared her belief in the capacity of architecture to create an elevated environment for social and cultural engagement. Their collaboration was backed by unprecedented investment in architecture and art acquisitions.
I first visited TMoCA when I was six years old, accompanied by my family. It was a crisp autumn day in November, and the museum was an oasis of tranquillity within the urban bustle. At the entryway hordes of art students with creative colourful clothes, sat on the ground sketching. I vividly recall the Matter and Mind (Oil Pool) by the Japanese artist Noriyuki Haraguchi dramatically displayed in the museum's atrium. The pool differed from the blue, happy pools I knew; it was black, reflective, and tense – provocative! In this palace dedicated to culture, I recall feeling the transformative power of art, inviting you to see the world afresh. Looking back at the work through an architectural lens I see vernacular references. The traditional architecture of Iranian desert towns, with playful and undulating volumetric roofscapes, below ground section that provides protection from the heat and open courtyards that both separate and connect various exhibition spaces. Filtered light animates this interior, and golden reflections bounce off the copper-clad spiral walls to guide visitors along.
Bella Singal
I mainly lived in Penang, Malaysia as a young child, and spent most of my school holidays in Jakarta, Indonesia, eventually moving to Jakarta for High School, this time with school holidays back in Penang. In 2011, I moved to Naarm (Melbourne) to study a diploma of art and design at Monash College before completing my bachelor’s and master’s in architecture at Monash University.
In Penang, the wet market my family frequented every Sunday was always packed with people and the smell of fish. When I was six, I held my breath as I walked by the seafood and poultry stalls before scaring myself into thinking that I might faint onto the wet floor – littered with chunks of cabbage and fish guts! Then, we would stop at our fishmonger, and I would try to communicate with their children, who predominantly spoke Mandarin. We used a mixture of English, Bahasa, Mandarin, and hand signals to talk absolute nonsense.
As the floors dried overnight, the market area attracted some trouble, with demands of extortion from the surrounding shopkeepers. To wash their hands of this issue, the market was sold to commercial developers. Initial upgrades to security and services appeared community oriented but these soon served as an opportunity to cater to international grocery chains. Eventually, people successfully located their old fishmongers and left this new concrete elephant. This pattern of dislocation was repeated across the city –disrupting informal ways in which people chose to gather, instead simulating global models of sterile and formalised shopping environments.
People also seek refuge from omnipresent modern shopping centres in Jakarta. To escape, they find land which has been cleared for the next shopping centre, yet to be built. They gather with music and a game of soccer, and slowly, food carts follow until local authorities seal off the site.
In the early 2000s the knee-jerk reaction to officially empty land in Jakarta and Penang was to develop shopping centres –in my experience, unsuccessfully.
Eka Permanasari is an architect, urban planner and researcher at Monash University, Indonesia, leading community codesign projects for public housing, remote revitalisation and public spaces. Permanasari’s approach to co-design is through ethnographic methods, learning the intricate connections between people, their material and non-material culture. Her most well-known research interacts with major infrastructure projects like the Jakarta Seawall, for the management of catastrophic floods.
As head of the urban design program at Universitas Pembangunan Jaya, Permanasari was instrumental in developing Ruang Publik terpadu Ramah Anak (RPTRA), child-friendly public spaces. The RPTRA projects were kick-started in 2014 by Veronika Tan, with the political support of her husband, the Mayor of
Jakarta. With the rise in violence against children and an ongoing lack of access to education, healthcare and childcare, the State Government of Jakarta made child-friendly spaces their focus. Eka Permanasari led a consortium of research and design practitioners and found that existing public facilities were unsanitary and unsafe and typically occupied by groups with violent and anti-social behaviour.
In response, pilot projects from six municipalities were developed and tested as models for other RPTRA. The co-design process engaged a diversity of user groups, and the brief evolved into facilities intended to serve as safehouses during flood or fire. Permanasari’s work explores methods that provide users with a comfortable space to speak, and to express their views about their spatial needs. This enables dialogue between people of diverse backgrounds and provides them with a space to meet.
Left Sungai Bambu, Tanjung Priok, Jakarta, Indonesia. Architect: Eka Permanasari and team, with community members from Sungai Bambu, 2015. Photographer: Eka Permanasari.Mulki Suleyman
I consider myself a true nomad. My family fled Somalia in the 1990s as refugees seeking new beginnings for their children and settled in Nairobi for almost eight years while they sought asylum overseas. I grew up around grandparents and aunties who designed their own patterns and embroidered on fabrics. I recently received one from my aunt. Precision and patience, this was art! The lesson was passed on to me. I consider myself lucky to have come from a matriarchal society, I have been around strong independent women who crafted their way in life. I had no point of reference and neither did my family to the study of architecture or art, so it was safe to study medicine as it was common practice. Then I took a leap of faith and transferred to Master of Architecture and Bachelor of Construction Management at Deakin University.
Introducing my Hargeisa
I have little memory of my childhood in Hargeisa, Somalia. One of my key childhood memories is when we lived in Nairobi, Kenya (1990-1998) in a large and enclosed central courtyard style architecture complex. The entire complex was about 60 metres by 25 metres made of masonry and was secure with only two entries to the complex. I came to realise later that this courtyard typology was prevalent at the border of Somalia and Kenya. All doors from the private dwellings faced the courtyard; and the courtyard was only partially covered by a verandah that ran around this private/communal edge.
In this courtyard, we lived with our cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents, and other close family friends. Each family had one or two rooms. All cooking was done outside the private rooms in the courtyard and there was a common/shared toilet and shower facility for all. The children played in one part of the courtyard away from where families cooked or where the washing was hung. Families often cooked together and shared meals – there was such a strong sense of community inside the courtyard walls.
We didn’t always have electricity/light, we relied on candles and paraffin lamps. These are days gone. I miss this type of gathering when sometimes the elders tell stories about things they once used to do. We didn’t grow up with television or toys for entertainment and often made our own toys –windmills out of plastic bottles, cars out of wire and houses out of cardboard. My upbringing allowed me to think outside the box, to engineer and design different elements. This was driven by necessity, and I look back with gratitude.
Miniature garden with perimeter seating evokes the acacia tree symbol of communal gathering, The Pink Pavilion, Hargeisa, Somalia.
Architect: Rashid Ali Architects.
Introducing architect Rashid Ali
I have recently come across the work of Rashid Ali, a Londonbased architect who has ancestral roots in Hargeisa. Knowing the struggles Somalia has had over the last three decades, I am inspired by architects like Rashid Ali who are willing to go back and rebuild Somalia.
His recent work resonates with my own thesis on post-war reconstruction (Deakin, 2008). The simplicity of the Pink Pavilion considers a delicate and overlooked need within the urban hustle and bustle of a city like Hargeisa. The pavilion provides shelter in a hot and dry arid environment. In a busy town like Hargeisa, Ali has created a modest and tranquil space, a setting for old time storytelling – as if under an acacia tree; a place for people to gather and exchange information or stop and pause on their journey to work or home to their
families. It is both a place to rest – a breathing space in the city; and a space to gain information and interact with others.
The design layout is reflective of the courtyard housing complex in Nairobi, and is also partially covered creating a verandah, allowing natural ventilation. It is accessible to everyone creating a communal gathering space for people to share stories, create embroidery, resolve conflict or merely relax and enjoy the surroundings. Ali’s design is rooted in the traditional Somali lifestyle, one of inclusivity, where the spoken word and shared understanding occur in gatherings.
Most modern pavilions are often temporary with a transient purpose; this is a permanent structure and is thus significant as a reminder of Somali historic tradition and stories once told under the Acacia tree rooted in the red earth.
Words by Paula Sumińska
Paula Sumińska
During dark winter evenings, as a child, I passionately traced over house plans from a local interior design magazine. Post-communist Poland was not the wealthiest country and architecture was not a prestigious occupation. While I dreamt of becoming an architect, I failed a drawing admission exam at the Technical University of Wroclaw. I enrolled instead in structural engineering, which later allowed me to take a second shot at architecture.
I moved to Australia in 2019 – just before COVID-19. With a degree and work experience from Poland, it was extremely difficult to find a job in Melbourne without local education, experience or Australian residency. I sent numerous unsuccessful job inquiries, sometimes out of desperation even offering to work for free. I found a job in Bendigo that subsequently led me to current employment at Powell & Glenn in Melbourne.
Introducing my Siedmiorogow Drugi
Growing up in a small village, I was mostly exposed to Polish rural architecture. Old Baroque and Renaissance manors and churches are scattered in the countryside, many containing extraordinary timber sculptures made by local artisans. In Siedmiorogow Drugi, the neighbourhood of my family house, there was a 300-year-old Baroque timber manor that had become abandoned and, over the years slowly deteriorated. For the local kids – me included – the manor became a playground.
We played hide and seek in rooms decorated with devastated sculptures and decorative fireplaces. We often imagined the people that had lived in this place and played with random objects in the rooms. The manor house was surrounded by an enormous park with heritage oak trees, one with an enormous, hollowed trunk used as our fort. The old, gloomy granary at the manor’s complex was the main subject of ghost stories. As kids, we were unaware of the beauty and the value of those places, but for us it was a perfect playground.
Introducing architect Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak
Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak was well known, mostly around Wroclaw where her modernist and brutalist works can be found.
I had noticed Jadwiga’s projects around Wroclaw years before I learned about her at university, as her exceptional architectural designs were compared to other significant works of that time. She always inspired me as a strong, leading female architect that had to face a difficult communist reality.
Jadwiga’s brutalist apartment building complex –often colloquially called Wroclaw’s Manhattan – is one her most recognised. Its original design with a white concrete structure, clinker accents and balconies overflowing with greenery was scrapped due to cost-cutting and material shortages. Despite such changes, the round shape of the exterior elevation set her work apart from the concurrent mass-produced concrete housing
developments, an intensity of design I always appreciated in those buildings.
Jadwiga’s earlier housing project, Maisonette Apartments, built in 1960, was a modernist undertaking and the first in Poland to have apartments spanning across two levels. I noticed this building because of its aesthetic symmetry and modularity. Located on one of the main streets in Wroclaw’s centre, in between a mishmash of different architectural styles, it is difficult not to notice the unusual blocking of apartments visible on the exterior elevation. The ground floor accommodated restaurants and small shops for the local community. The elevations, interiors and functional layouts of the apartments were inspired by Le Corbusier’s Unite. With a spatial organisation that produced a better standard of living compared to typical apartments of this era.
Thisuni Binali Welihinda
I was born in Colombo, Sri Lanka. Due to a violent civil war and lack of opportunity, my parents moved to the UAE in 1996 when I was five. With the move to Australia on my own in 2010 for tertiary education in architecture, I was a somewhat seasoned immigrant. Growing up in Sharjah, I witnessed the rapid rise and modern excess of nearby Dubai. In contrast, during family vacations to Sri Lanka, progress felt slow, yet the old heritage sites left a lasting impression. This dichotomy sparked my interest in the built environment and was heightened in Melbourne.
Introducing my Colombo
Sigiriya is a rock fortress built by an ancient King to safeguard against his enemies. But it is not the power the monument radiates but the gardens and surrounding pools that are impeccably organised with an interconnecting system of pipes used to ensure water supply and temperature regulation to living areas all over the site that are held in my memory.1 On holiday with my family, I felt proud to learn that the ancient people of Sri Lanka could create the harmony of singular structures functioning as one entire area.
Simultaneously I watched the desert transform at a record pace into the shiny city of Dubai. I was there when the Burj Khalifa was unveiled in 2010 and was hailed as a feat of engineering that brought international recognition. 2 The centrepiece of a modern oasis. Both examples above are iconic tourist attractions, and yet they each work in their specific context. This fine balance is one I continue to embrace.
Balustrade handrail detail, Karunaratne House, Kandy, Sri Lanka. Architect: Minnette De Silva, 1950.
Introducing architect Minnette De Silva
Sri Lankan architects, apart from Bawa, are rarely known but many have contributed greatly. Minnette De Silva was a pioneer in the modernist movement in Sri Lanka. In 1948, Minnette De Silva became the first South Asian woman to be elected an associate of the Royal Institute of British Architects. Minette was influenced in particular by the work of Le Corbusier, and worked tirelessly to adapt and translate his technique within a tropical context. De Silva had the unfortunate circumstance to be born a woman and faced many hurdles but was bold and ambitious enough to forge ahead as the only woman-owned architectural practice at the time. 3
The Karunaratne House in Nuwara (Kandy), was De Silva’s first project. The house is nestled into the hillside and uses levels to delineate spaces, each room flows into the next while the lines between external and internal are continuously blurred with the use of terraces and shaded verandahs. To capture tradition within modernity, Minnette worked with local craftsmen and used unorthodox materials such as lacquer work, Dumbara weaving and terracotta tiles; and also engaged artists like George Keyt, who painted the mural above the staircase. Unfortunately, the house is now in ruin and is scheduled for demolition.4 I hope that by highlighting her work, her legacy can be widely acknowledged.
Thisuni Binali Welihinda is an architect with a focus on educational projects.
Notes
1 “About Sigiriya,” Sigiriya Info, Accessed March 21, 2023. https://www.sigiriya.info/about-sigiriya/
2 “Building a Global Icon,” Burj Khalifa Emaar, Accessed March 21, 2023. https://www.burjkhalifa. ae/en/the-tower/design-construction/.
3 Amie Corry, “Minnette De Silva,” Gagosian Quarterly, Fall, 2022, https://gagosian.com quarterly/2022/08/12/essay-minnette-de-silva/
4 “Karunaratne House,” Architectuul, accessed March 21, 2023. https://architectuul.com/ architecture/karunaratne-house
Growing up in Hong Kong, I had relatives move to Australia 30 years ago, and my brother studied architecture in Australia before returning to Hong Kong to practise. I wanted to follow in his footsteps and in 2013 when I was 18 years old moved from what's locally known as a cultural desert (Hong Kong) to Melbourne, a cultural capital. Having lived here now for ten years, I have found that the slower pace and balance between work and life have given me time to explore my inner self.
Introducing my Hong Kong
Hong Kong was once a colony with a blend of Eastern and Western culture and sentiment, which is unfortunately vanishing over time under the government's focus on development, which favours culture for tourist consumption. Density, complexity and co-existing have always been the most distinctive qualities of Hong Kong. This comes through the creative way citizens have maximised the functionality of their limited space where their daily lives are visible and incongruous in public space.
Chun Yeung Street, a one-way street in North Point is the only traditional open-air market in Hong Kong with a tram line. The street is congested with busy stalls of all sizes. Elements extend from the building at different scales, contrasting one another and intruding into each other's space. Neon light signages, clothes hanging rails, mobile hawker stalls and elevated footbridges create visual incoherence but generate multiple sensory layers and informal connections between neighbouring buildings and demonstrate the real-time transformation of space over time.
The Hong Kong West Kowloon Cultural District was designed by international architects like M+, Hong Kong's global museum of visual culture by Herzog & de Meuron, and the Xiqu Centre designed by Revery Architecture in collaboration with a local architect, Ronald Lu & Partner. There is a distinct failure to highlight the cultural expressions of different social classes, particularly street culture and the activities of ordinary Hong Kong people who have developed the city at a grassroots level. Instead, a gentrified version of Hong Kong culture is presented as a worldclass district for international tourists. My final thesis project recognises the opportunity to preserve the vanishing culture of Hong Kong West Kowloon for conservation and education.
Introducing architect Raymond Fung Wing Kee
Raymond Fung Wing Kee was the former senior architect of the Architectural Services Department which provides architectural and landscape services for all public building developments significantly shaping all urban landscape spaces.
Kee's Sai Kung Waterfront Park has incorporated the district's history and cultural qualities, revealing them through a balance of architecture, landscape and open space. Once surrounded by thick fences and hidden unused pedestrian passage, the design has since spatially and functionally
reconnected it to its neighbourhood. A new plaza forms a transition zone between the public transport drop-off area and the waterfront park. The central pond houses the Origami Boat sculpture symbolic of the site's history as a fishing port and recalls the sentiment of village children playing with folded paper boats. Kee used a 1998 newspaper print for the boat pattern commemorating the resistance to Japanese occupation during World War II, making visible the territory's history to passers-by. Further into the garden is a series of fixed seats arranged haphazardly like a disrupted chess game called Finding Plum Blossoms in the Snow, a sculpture that represented hope for recovery from the 2002 SARS outbreak. Up a set of stairs is a u-shaped corridor garden flanked with seats that provides a private resting area overlooking the Sai Kung waterfront view. Kee has considered spaces in multiple dimensions, where the park is both separated and connected from entry to waterfront and from ground to upper level, allowing various leisure activities to co-exist. Minimal built form offers people freedom and flexibility to use the space as they wish; workers take their break on garden seats; dancing groups practise under sheltered canopies; the elderly practise tai-chi on the upper walkways, tourists meander, and wedding parties overlook the waterfront. It is a precious resource in Hong Kong, contrasting the chaotic and dense buildings.
Badru Ahmed
Dhaka, Bangladesh. BArch (BRAC University, Bangladesh & Universidade de Evora, Portugal), MArch (University of Melbourne). Architect (ARBV)
Wenjie Cao Guangzhou, China. BArch (Beijing Jiaotong University, China), MArch (University of Melbourne)
Zahra Dhanji Karachi, Pakistan. BArts, (Karachi University, Pakistan), Dip Grap Des (Genetech Solutions, Pakistan), Dip Montessori education (Montessori International, Karachi, Pakistan), BArch (Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture, Pakistan)
Helen Duong
Melbourne, Australia. BArchDes, MArch (RMIT University) Architect (ARBV)
Alexandra Anda Florea Cluj-Napoca, Romania. BArch, MArch (Technical University, Romania), PhD (Deakin University)
Eli Giannini Rome, Italy. BArch (RMIT University) MArch (Invitation Stream RMIT University) Architect (ARBV)
Maryam Gusheh Tehran, Iran. BArch (hons), PhD (UNSW, Sydney)
Rehila Hydari Ghazni, Afghanistan. BArch (Monash University) Currently studying MArch (Monash University)
Constanza Jara Herrera Valparaiso, Chile. BArch (Pontificia Universidad Catolica de Valparaiso, Chile), MLArch (University of Melbourne). Architect (Chile)
Dragana Jovanovska Bitola, Republic of Macedonia. BArch (University of “Ss Cyril & Methodius” Skopje, Macedonia)
Saran Kim Matsuyama, Japan. BDes (Architecture and Landscape Architecture), MArch (University of Melbourne)
Marie Le Touze Versailles, France. BArch, MArch (National School of Architecture of Versailles, France)
Architect (France)
Architect (ARBV)
Milana Lević Levići, Serbia. Dip Graph Des (The Gordan). BArch, MArch (Deakin University)
Audrey Lopez Puerto Princesa City, Philippines. BSc (Architecture) (University of Santo Tomas, Philippines), MUD (University of Melbourne), Architect (Philippines)
Mirjana Lozanovska Ohrid, Republic of Macedonia. BArch (University of Melbourne), PhD (Deakin University)
Niea Nadya
Malang, Indonesia. BArch University of Brawijaya (Indonesia), MDes (Multimedia)
Swinburne University
Marika Neustupny
Tokyo, Japan and Prague, Czech Republic. BArch (University of Melbourne), MArch (Tokyo Institute of Technology), PhD (University of Queensland)
Architect (ARBV)
Jaslyn Ng
Penang, Malaysia. BArch (hons) (RMIT University) Architect (ARBV)
Khue Nguyen
Ho chi minh City, Vietnam. BArch (University of Washington, Seattle, USA), MArch (University of Melbourne)
Akila Ravi
Chennai, India. BArch (Anna University, India), MArch (University of Melbourne), Dip Const Mgt (Swinburne University)
Shanica Saenrak Hall
Bangkok, Thailand. BArch (Chulalongkorn University, Thailand), MArch (Deakin University)
Architect (ARBV)
Nadine Younès Samaha, Beirut, Lebanon. MArch (Lebanese Academy of Fine Arts, University of Balamand, Beirut)
Architect (ARBV)
Sonia Sarangi Dubai and Singapore. BArch (National University of Singapore, Singapore), MArch (University of Melbourne)
Architect (ARBV)
Daniela Schnaidman
São Paulo, Brazil. BArch (Mackenzie University, Brazil), MArch (University of Melbourne)
Architect (ARBV)
Golbarg (Goli) Shokrpour Tehran, Iran. BSArch Studies (Limkokwing University, Malaysia), MArch (Monash University)
Architect (ARBV)
Bella Singal
Penang, Malaysia and Jakarta, Indonesia. BArch, MArch (Monash University).
Architect (ARBV)
Mulki Suleyman
Mogadishu, Somalia and Nairobi, Kenya. MArch, BDesign (Architecture), BCM Construction Management (Deakin University).
Architect (ARBV)
Paula Sumińska
Siedmiorogow Drugi, Poland. BArch (Opole University of Technology, Poland), BSEng, MSEng (Wroclaw University of Technology, Poland)
Thisuni Binali Welihinda Colombo, Sri Lanka and Sharjah, United Arab Emirates. BArchDes (Monash University), MArch (University of Melbourne).
Architect (ARBV)
Phoebe Wong
Hong Kong, Special Administrative Region of China. BArch, MArch (RMIT University)
by
Words by Nikita BhoptiDelivered by co-director Nicholas Braun and architect John Tanner, the construction of the centre was one that had everyone in the Sibling studio on the edge of our seats. We would wait for Nick and John to return from site and upload progress pictures to our team chat for discussion. There were several emojis: oranges, lightning bolts, drooling face. Like many of Sibling’s projects, we knew this one was an important and exciting addition to an already established cultural scene.
Vibrant and bold, the Darebin Intercultural Centre is truly a reflection of the varying residents within the cultural melting pot that is the City of Darebin. Collaging reflective metals and contemporary finishes with heritage tiles and features uncovered on site, the centre reflects, through its materiality, the pairing of Darebin’s established cultural demographic against its vibrant newer residents. First generation Greek migrants live next door to young first home buyers and newly settled blue-collar workers from overseas. Preston and its surrounding suburbs harmoniously foster the lives of varying communities.
By prioritising community as the driving force behind their design, Sibling Architecture’s Darebin Intercultural Centre stands as a welcoming new community facility, aspiring to nurture meaningful interracial, intercultural and interfaith relationships between the people who live, work and play in the City of Darebin.Left: Originally built in 1895, the heritage building provided the bones for a robust and meaningful intervention. Photography Peter Bennetts
Originally built in 1895, the heritage building provided the bones for a robust and meaningful intervention. Sibling’s approach not only embraced cultural diversity but turned it into a driving force behind the design of the project. Retaining the main entry off High Street, the two original large wooden doors welcome the community through the heritage facade and into the new centre. Once inside, the seemingly playful architecture begins to act as a tool – one that enables inclusivity, flexibility and social cohesion within a diverse community context. It veers away from written language and signage, but rather, engages with the physical nature of various spatial typologies to break down language barriers; it allows the people within the space to quite literally do the talking.
Scattering user agency throughout the centre, occupants are invited to shape pockets of space to suit their shifting requirements daily. When talking about why such a kinetic space was employed, Nicholas Braun shares that “it stemmed from the desire to create an unwalled community”. Veering away from solid partitions, several curved pockets of space break down the barrier of the box, and instead, encourage movement, collaboration and a sense of learning. A series of curtains offer privacy and encourage occupants to create the kind of space they want to be in, whether that be fully enclosed, entirely exposed or partially overlapping with adjacent groups of people around them. Two central tables upon entry act not only as a focal point but are an invitation
for people to come together. A series of movable plinths and loose furniture of varying shapes and sizes allow for formal compositions, but also enable moments to sprawl, recline and get comfortable.
Perhaps the most visually striking thing about the cultural centre is its vibrant material palette. Bold and undeniably honest, the colours represent the collage of communities within the City of Darebin, all while retaining bold identities of their own. Lacing various walls and elements with mirror, Sibling creates a looking glass in which the community is constantly reflected; it serves as a humble reminder of each occupants’ importance when inhabiting the spaces.
For some, the centre lends itself to being their home away from home. Leaning into softer, more domestic textures, Sibling worked to counter some of the more robust and typically public materials to foster a sense of home for the centre’s visitors. The softness of fabric curtains carries across to the wall cladding, dressing the hard heritage brick walls in a cushioned scalloped wall lining. Elements like this bring a sense of domestic familiarity into the space.
Located within Darebin’s Civic Centre, this exciting new intercultural space is waiting to greet many more generations of residents. It is a home away from home, a safe and vibrant place that will always have its doors open; it stands as a welcoming new community facility, aspiring to nurture meaningful interracial, intercultural and interfaith relationships.
Nikita Bhopti RAIA is a project architect at Sibling Architecture, a writer, and curator. Through her writing, Nikita actively engages with various art and design publications such as Yellowtrace, Architectural Review, Parlour, and Architecture Media. She is actively involved in curating industry events via her work with the Australian Institute of Architects EmAGN committee, and her former role as lead curator and secretary of New Architects Melbourne (NAM).
Practice team
Sibling Architecture
Nicholas Braun (Design architect)
John Tanner (Project architect)
Construction/ Consultant team
Argall (Structural engineer)
Garawana Creative (Landscape consultant)
Braird Consultants (Services consultant)
Traditional Owners
Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung
Suppliers
Meeting chair (Design by Christoph Jenni)
Ottoman (Boss Design)
Fully upholstered seat in P4 House Ankara colour: lime Curtains and upholstery by Warwick Augustus in Tuscany, Sunshine and Thistle
Paint by Dulux
Carpet by Tretford in jonquille, burnt orange and sisal; Cork floor by Corkwise Flooring in original shell
Ceiling finishes by Troldtekt Wool Wood Acoustic Panel
Ecoustic SC Panel with felt fabric in lemon and paprika
Hunter & Douglas Luxalon metal linear ceiling
Photography by John Gollings
Words by Phillip Pender
The tight-knit regional town is located on Dja Dja Wurrung Country in the Central Goldfields Shire of Central Victoria. The gallery is housed within a historic fire station first constructed in 1861. The old fire station is part of a sequence of interconnected Gold Rush era types. The sequence begins with the grandly scaled Maryborough Town Hall, followed by its 1939 Art Deco extension, which connects via a passageway to the fire station’s first engine shed. Behind the garage’s expressive facade is the gallery’s main exhibition space. A second garage houses the reception, administration, art store, loading dock, temporary exhibition spaces and an education room for public programs. The fire station’s bell tower, constructed in 1888, marks the end of the sequence and a street corner, where a fire-themed sculpture garden designed by Djandak, an arm of the Dja Dja Wurrung Clans Aboriginal Corporation, is due for completion next year.
The interpretive Indigenous garden is a product of engagement with Traditional Owners undertaken during the design process. This collaboration helped to define a design
Reed’s renovation of Maryborough’s Central Goldfields
Art Gallery has reconceptualised the space’s historical narrative, updated its contemporary operations and reinforced its cultural and civic value.Left: Dramatic skylight voids pointed at the bell tower allow new and unexpected perspectives of the structure.
approach that acknowledged First Nations perspectives in the renewal of colonial-era built heritage.
“The aim was to revitalise the buildings while including Djaara history and culture, to correct the dominance and violence of colonial history and ideology. Rather than performing a normal historic restoration of the building back to its original state (and ideology), the design aimed to incorporate multiple narratives into the spaces, to surgically cut into the 19th-century fabric of the building to reveal other histories and viewpoints.”
Subtracted volumes and extrusions of existing forms have expanded previously enclosed spaces, providing light into the deep plan and establishing new visual and spatial relationships between users, the building and its context. Dramatic skylight voids pointed at the bell tower allow new and unexpected perspectives of the structure.“The voids reveal what was repressed; the subconscious of the original building.”
Long views also cut through to the future native garden, establishing a symbolic dialogue with the pierced colonial fire station. The garden is also engaged by a playful, moon-like polycarbonate window in the education room, that will illuminate the garden at dusk.
Nervegna Reed’s deconstruction of the colonial buildings also included the strategic removal of disordered partitions, ceilings and other elements to increase usable space and reveal expressive timber trusses, brick walls and floors that bear traces of past usage.
“It was in part a process of designing through erasing. We wanted to reveal the colonial history of the building while also considering how to entwine another ignored history, or multiple histories, and create a dialectic between them”.
The rawness of these elements is balanced by a contemporary sense of openness; with new white walls in platonic forms recalling abstracted geometries of the existing buildings.
The renovation has updated the gallery’s operations and civic offering. Light and climate-controlled spaces accommodate its growing collection and have enabled the loaning of artworks from larger institutions. The communal nature of the gallery is acknowledged by sliding doors and a window that allows the public to see into the art store. The building’s original hinged garage doors, adorned in red paint and reflective road tape graphics, open to the street, welcoming locals and visitors into an exemplary piece of public architecture.
Phillip Pender BEnvs, MArch is a graduate of architecture at NMBW Architecture Studio.
Project team
Nervegna Reed
Anna Nervegna, Toby Reed, Hsin-Hui Tsai, Ming Lie, Bruno Rabl, Jingyi Zhang, Duke Wang
Consultant team
Searle Brothers (Builder)
Djandak and Djaara members and 3 Acres (Landscape consultants)
WebbConsult (Structural engineer)
Before Compliance (Accessibility consultant)
Ontoit (Project manager)
Traditional Owners
Dja Dja Wurrung
Suppliers COLORBOND®
Lighting Buckfords
Storage rack system and archive Commando
Caroma
Laminex Industries
Johnson tiles
The home is located in a leafy pocket of North Melbourne, characterised by a diversity of heritage and mid-century housing, including Peter McIntyre’s City Gardens and the Hotham Gardens precinct. The home, designed by the practice Morris and Pirrotta and constructed in 1970, is part of a cluster of six townhouses designed by various architects.
Jamie Sormann, a co-director of Foomann Architects alongside Jo Foong, purchased the home ten years after working for Mike Morris, a former director of Morris and Pirrotta. Initially a two-bedroom dwelling, the modestly-sized home has since undergone a sequence of renovations modifying it to suit the specifics of a contemporary family lifestyle. Prompted by the arrival of a second child, the latest renovation added a third level with a bedroom, bathroom and rooftop deck, allowing the family to remain in the inner-city suburb.
“We felt there was sufficient space originally and were comfortable with the size of the home and garden given its location.”
The extension is distinctive yet proportional to the existing building and its neighbours; the extension’s silvered Abodo cladding appearing at home in its context. Rather than filling the maximum allowable massing, the new volume extends only as far as functionally required and is set back to provide light to a ground-floor bathroom via a Danpalon roof.
Other additions and interventions are similarly legible yet merged with tactile existing materials, such as subtle acoustic panels infilling floor joists, new limewashed lining boards and new fences in honed blockwork. The line of the old roof parapet has been subtly expressed with concealed lighting.
“In a typical renovation, demolition tends to create a hard line. Whereas in this house there are many junctions between old and new. In this case, we couldn’t make one decision; it was more a process of making multiple decisions on how to create a graded transition”.
Foomann Architects’ carbonneutral renovation of the Haines Street house displays how sustainable medium-density family living can be accommodated in small-footprint, mid-century dwellings. The modern update is distinct yet considerate of the original building through its modest urban scale, sympathetic materials and clever reworked layout.
Foomann's redesign has consolidated the home’s spatial planning and increased the multifunctionality of rooms through clever moves. A small u-shaped kitchen was reconfigured to join with a previously dark dining room. The existing living room was provided with more usable space through the shortening of existing walls to the stair. The bathroom, previously divided into three partitioned spaces is now one room with a generous shower, vanity with a deep porcelain sink and a washing machine relocated to the old shower niche.
“The home isn’t a Swiss army knife. It is pretty simple, yet everything feels quite generous.”
New features also maximise the usability of limited space. Joinery and custom furniture border and delineate spaces. A large window to the upper-level bedroom incorporates a low sliding reeded glass sash with steel mesh and a timber batten screen, allowing children to open it safely while retaining privacy and uninterrupted views of the street and tree canopy beyond.
The stepped levels of the home allow the interconnection of spaces while maintaining a level of separation. This is continued at the new top level, with views from the terrace passing through the stairwell and to the master bedroom.
Project team
Foomann Architects
Jo Foong, Jamie Sormann
Consultant team
Marven Construction (Builder)
Astleigh Consulting Engineers (Engineer)
Urban Digestor (Energy consultant)
Pangolin Associates (Embodied energy assessor)
Traditional Owners
Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung
Suppliers
Abodo from Britton Timbers (Timber cladding)
McKay Joinery (Doors and windows)
Halliday + Baillie (Door and window hardware)
Right: Haines Street has evolved with a growing family while being respectful of its 1970s origins. Left: Foomann sought to advocate for the retention of good building fabric and demonstrate that compact design can have direct advantages for occupants.What do you think about the concept of home?
Home is a place where I’m at peace and have access to the things that are most important to my partner, Laura, and myself. A place that allows us to bring our lives together and to share time with the people we love.
How would you describe your home?
It’s a 1960s semi-detached brick build. By no means big, but has everything we need. It has a functional layout, natural light, airflow and green space. The back deck and garden are central to how and where we spend our time. Laura made some key renovations to the house a few years back that encourage a nice flow between the living area, kitchen and backyard/deck. It’s
a warm place where we like to surround ourselves with the things most important to us. There’s a great kitchen, which is a big deal to me because I’m constantly cooking. People rarely leave here without me feeding them or taking some food home. There’s room for us to work from home. It’s also a place where Raf (our beloved staffy) can have a great life.
When capturing a project, what is important to you?
If it’s commercial work for a client, then I think it’s important to find that very fine balance. I’ve got my vision for how I’d like something to be represented in images, and they have theirs. Hopefully those things can align, and we all get the best possible result – something we’re all proud of. In terms of personal projects, I just want
to be as authentic and honest as I can. That applies to the way I create images and the subject matter. Hopefully some other people are excited about it too.
What do you choose to surround yourself with at home?
There’s very little in our home that we don’t need or really want. Artwork and objects are things we both love and combined when we met, and there are some things that have a strong personal significance to our families. That’ll keep evolving over time. There’s a whole lot of books and almost a thousand records in the house, but we’d consider those a necessity. Music takes a priority over screens. Materials have to stand up to dogs. A spilled drink during a night of fun isn’t the end of the world.
How do you think backyards contribute to your home and the wider context of neighbourhoods and community?
The backyard is important to how we live. Gardening has become a mild obsession for me. A healthy one, I think. I’m learning a lot, and spending time on it is very calming. We’ve been focussing on making the backyard bee friendly, more attractive to native birds, and to yield herbs and food. I’d like to think that’s going to help with the local ecology. But it also means that I’m stepping out back to grab some ingredients to cook with and often share with friends and neighbours. If we’ve got a comfortable outdoor space to make others feel welcome, then that’s another positive. I think you’re fortunate to have even a few good neighbours. I’ve been lucky enough to experience a real sense of community in a small apartment in a high-density location, and here, in a more suburban setting. We both love that and try to encourage it.
What made you choose renovating an older building rather than buying something new?
The decision was influenced by meeting my partner, Laura. Knowing we wanted to live together and deciding on the best situation for us both. My apartment really wasn’t big enough for us to live the way we want to, but Laura’s place was – and here we are, at home. I've always loved houses like this. Now I pass them every day. The brickwork, detailing, the gardens and generous spaces – it's given me a new appreciation. I've come to this area with fresh eyes, and it's inspired me to work on a new project, exploring the homes and spaces in our local community.
Elizabeth Campbell RAIA is a senior architect within the City Design Studio at The City of Melbourne. She has a broad experience across single and multi-residential, public, cultural and commercial projects. She is a researcher, writer and contributing editor of Architect Victoria.
Dan Hocking is an Australian photographer based in Melbourne. His lifelong passion for design and architecture has led him to photograph buildings, spaces and humans locally and abroad.
Architect Victoria
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At the 2021 census migrant Australians (first- and secondgeneration) formed 50.8% of the population. Between 2011–2021, 88% of Australia’s growth came from these migrant families.1 At the same time, the number of people who identify as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander jumped by 25% to more than 800,000 people. 2
Australian communities are rich and diverse in their cultural makeup and identity. The growing number of first-generation migrants means that our communities will continue to evolve and look different, and our institutions and policies change to reflect this.3
It is common for the design community to interact with people from diverse backgrounds, they are our clients, colleagues, community groups and stakeholders. Designers, decision-makers and those responsible for procuring, delivering, and reviewing projects, need to develop the skills to understand the implications for our built environment.
In over 17 years of working within government, the Office of the Victorian Government Architect (OVGA) has been part of a significant shift in policy settings responding to these demographic trends. The shift is having a direct impact on our work as design advocates and advisers. We recognise the need for a flexible mindset and the willingness to refine processes to best respond to priorities around diversity and inclusion.
In Victoria, The Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities Act 2006 requires public authorities, and those delivering services on behalf of government, to act consistently with the charter. The rights and freedoms that all of us should enjoy including the right to equality, privacy, security, and cultural rights, are fundamental to building cohesive communities. As public servants we have a responsibility to ensure that all members of the community are treated fairly and with dignity, particularly those most marginalised and disadvantaged.
In our recent publication Good Design and Health, the OVGA suggests ensuring the human rights framework is a founding consideration in the design process. A human rights framework reminds us to ask how the community will best be served by a particular design approach. This could involve responding to issues of universal design, cultural safety, mental and physical wellbeing, and the privacy, safety and comfort of all users. Design that successfully addresses these needs is likely to benefit us all.
In reviewing project briefs and design responses, the OVGA questions whose and what needs are successfully being addressed, and whether the right people have been consulted and engaged. With fresh eyes we can question project priorities and consider perspectives that may have been overlooked.
Cultural awareness establishes conscious recognition and appreciation of the principles and values of our diverse communities and is crucial for building our own cultural competence. We are made more aware of our personal biases and the dominant expression of Western and Anglo-Celtic constructs within the Victorian context. This challenges us to question how our own experiences frame our outlook. Our perspectives and priorities may not be shared by, or be in the best interests of, those we think we represent.
It is easy to underestimate the limitations of our own experience and insights. Lack of awareness, a poor choice of words or actions, can lead to unintentional offence, marginalisation and exclusion.4 A commitment to diversity in organisations and processes (for example, selection or procurement processes and design review panels) can assist to mitigate this risk.
OVGA’s design review process provides a forum for a variety of relevant participants to share knowledge and insights on the effectiveness of a design. Perceptions gained from different stakeholders can enhance understanding of project ambitions and context, guide panel discussion, and inform advice. A design review panel in turn, that is both skilled and inclusive, can help develop a more profound understanding of cultural nuances and how community needs can be met. Critical, respectful, constructive review with the right people can help ensure that buildings and places are safe, function well, and feel good for all users.
Our authorising environment within government means that the OVGA is subject to guidelines on diversity and inclusion in recruitment and appointment processes, ensuring that government expert boards and panels reflect the rich diversity of the Victorian community. Diverse and inclusive representation on panels facilitates both cross-cultural and cross-disciplinary insights that engender greater confidence in the process and outcomes of the advice. With each refresh of our Victorian Design Review Panel, the OVGA looks at the makeup of the panel with this objective in mind.
The built environment can be consciously designed to improve cultural safety. Places and spaces that are welcoming, respectful, and socially sustainable can cultivate feelings of belonging, curiosity and inclusion. Growing social awareness has seen a shift towards a more responsive, collaborative approach to design. An open, holistic approach will help designs align with cultural, social, economic, and environmental needs.
OVGA advocates for proactive, collaborative and respectful engagement with relevant stakeholders and community groups early in a project’s lifecycle, to embed social capital and cultural knowledge in projects and engagements. Testing concepts with groups that have appropriate social or cultural authority is crucial to building trust and developing an authentic response. Embedding this knowledge in briefing
documents and project requirements can assist project and design teams, save time, and maintain the integrity of an engagement through the life of a project.
OVGA’s stakeholder base is broad and includes state government departments and delivery agencies, local government, the private sector, design consultants, and community groups. A recent report by SGS Economics and Planning reviewed the effectiveness and impact of the OVGA’s activities found that the OVGA is seen as an organisation that values and promotes the views and contributions of diverse stakeholders – and that this contributes to better design outcomes. Although community engagement is not the OVGA’s core mandate, the report recommended that the OVGA may have a role in sharing its learnings from project engagements to provide guidance for undertaking diverse, inclusive and collaborative design consultation. There is a great need to improve design literacy and to promote the value of diverse perspectives in design processes. Where the diversity and richness of our community is not yet fully reflected in our organisations, leadership, or processes, it seems appropriate to develop our own cultural and social competence and to include many voices in our processes. Only with this ‘insider’5 knowledge, will the places, buildings and spaces designed today be best suited to the communities for which they are intended, now and in the future.
Matthew Borg
Principal adviser, architecture and urban design.
Sophie Patitsas
Principal adviser, architecture and urban design.
Notes
1 George Megalogenis (2023), ‘The two-party system is cooked, and the Liberals are leftovers’, The Sydney Morning Herald, 8 April.
2 George Megalogenis (2022), ‘Root-and-branch renewal as Australia makes migrant-majority history, The Sydney Morning Herald, 2 July.
3 Sukhmani Khorana (2022), ‘Census data shows we’re more culturally diverse than ever. Our institutions must reflect this’, The Conversation, 29 June.
4 Danièle Hromek (2023), ‘Cultural safety: What is it and how do we design for it?’ Architecture Australia, (Jan / Feb), pp.68-69.
5 Peter Anderson (2022), ‘Racism at work: a call to anti-racist action for Australian organisations’, The Conversation, 5 April.
