Below is my entry for the New Zealand Institute of Architects - Te Kāhui Whaihanga 'The Warren Trust Awards' for Architectural Writing 2022, Open Category
The prompt was: What does architecture mean to you?
This is what I came up with :)
The architecture of selves _
Community is not without architecture, similarly, architecture is not without community. In this passing body of text, architecture can be viewed as how it narrates life through the queer lens, where the unfamiliarities of our current youth are guided through the experience of self-assurance. It is a guide of sorts that reveals itself sporadically place to place, where interiors provide a new lesson, bonding and creating a new life. Sought is an architecture of gathering.
An unconscious interaction, architecture means to many as the host of change. A host that hides one from society within a cocoon of ecstasy. Within a heterotypical bubble, growth is stunted. Desperate to be released from the echo of repetition, the search for a space where the architecture of the self can be restructured is vital. It is a temporal escape. It is a means for questioning. It is an experiment. It is home. A home, but not necessarily by way of personal dwelling. It is an architecture where one can truly live.
Here, this architecture requires context. A context where acts of deviance are welcomed, where to conform is to be taboo, where a community can amass, where one can understand their internal and external reflections as they bounce off the walls. It is the nightlife; an epicentre of social elaboration. A utopia where we find hedonism at its peak circling the dancefloor. Within an alleyway of bodies, our synthetic thoroughfare footsteps from the lights, found is us.
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The sensation of touch; the architecture of bodies, merging and interlocking. Like scaffold, these links and hooks and layers and textiles mimic the impermanence of construction. We are floating freely, acting as a filter between spaces and our physical exchange. A nimble exchanging of words is often lost in these fleeting moments, translated into movements are this language. An erotic bond forms between citizen and city. Choreographed is an active, upright love; our lines of desire are bound to ritual. As if a gallery our bodies are displayed in their purest form, preserved and delicate, yet striking.
The sensation of sight; gaze is the route one travels towards curiosity and discovery. The consensual voyeur. Syphoning through memories, I peek through a fence outlining a stranger’s home. The slit between the wooden planks, though just a hair's width apart, was enough to expose glimpses of bodies moving in their private solitude. As if an animal enclosure I am inviting myself into their peep show. Another – where I am sitting poolside, witnessing a swimmer’s slippery body as it takes the plunge. Soon distorted through the peaks and troughs of the clear liquid they inhabit. My gaze is performed selfishly.
Youth. It is a spark of endurance; a chapter requiring the most curious of questions to be asked. It is an era that demands answers. The queer self inherently begins in the closet. It is a safe place where one feels protection from the views of others. It is a prison. It is the place where our interiority begins, containing the building blocks for our social constructs. Our queer space then forms itself in the mirror. We admire our bodies, our minds, our world, reflecting the constraints of reality. The mirror only functions through looking, as once our gaze is broken, that reality no longer exists. The objective of a queer space is the orgasm, whether inherently sexual or not. It is the moment in which the body dissolves from reality into waves of pleasure.
The culture within the night scene – the nightclub – flourishes from this continual cycle of inquisitiveness. This is the architecture I have inhabited. It is the architecture of queers. Exploring these heterotopic dungeons of passion, we gleam with a thirst not so easily quenched. Every queer body battles this thirst. Fulfilment may only be reaped where autonomy is applauded and fed by the hands of our peers – our family. Our architecture is a connection of limbs and the meeting of eyes. The aftermath of this extreme yearning bursts us open. Liberation!
Architecture is queered. Think – the gymnasia of Greeks, the public baths of Romans; ancient queer spaces of vast nakedness, reflected in their order is the resultant friction of bodies. A queered architecture is subsequently a reclamation and exploitation of an existing public space, as to seek benefit by way of extravagance. Like bathing, our queered spaces are a cleansing, a type of rejuvenation. We absorb these spaces, we entertain ourselves, we engage with our selves. Is it obligation versus indulgence; exertion versus leisure? It is all.
In the nightclub, an artificial fog sets the mood. We are isolated. Aromatic sweat seeps through our clothing while the erratic composition of bass is thrusted into our bones. We dance in harmony in a subterranean haven surrounded by genderless caryatids. Our bodies like classical elements of architecture become disguised by a veil of sorts. Our presence is merely suggested within the crowd. This queered architecture threatens a traditional order of society through intense sensorial ambiguity.
The nightlife then becomes the perfect combination of sex and death. The architecture of our bodies fluctuating, our selves evolving, and our fears subsiding. This architecture allows selves to collect. Ingrained is the architecture of change and thereby the selves within it. Sensuality pulls at us artlessly, triggering the death of our inhibitions. Identities are blurred as they come together, our subconsciousness breathing in information seeming immeasurable; a stimuli for the impulsive human being. Lust. Given up is the call for a single self, one who cannot manifest as an independent, for although a function of the body, the self is also a function of our language.
Our queer interiors are replicated. Akin to the architecture of the heterotopia, we parallel society yet are not exactly identical. We are like the public realms of humanity where the city is diminished, and sensuality materializes. The nightlife is not exclusive to the interior. Some queers take to the streets. Cruising the streets for satisfaction of will. Through a process of walking, gazing, and gesturing we engage with our peers. Perhaps navigating a virtual connection at first, architecture again becomes the host, fulfilling intimate desires. Labyrinthine is the journey between the stimulator and participant. Architecture interacts and directs this voyeur; an exchange of glances. This cruise brings life to neglected spaces which become places of escape from social acceptability.
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Community is not without architecture, again, architecture is not without community. The cultural value of our newfound ancestors is invaluable. Controlling our exploitation, we evade the wretched commercial gaze. Like a cavity, it will stick. A support network of great beings can become the powerfullest most beautifullest form of protection. Diffuse and become forgotten, we shall not. For we are artists in our own right, our queer bodies within architecture act out a performance, painting the walls with invisible ink. Illustrating contentment; decorating the moments that await.
Answering ‘what does architecture mean to me?’ is gluttonous. I choose to answer, ‘what does architecture mean to us?" The architecture I speak of signifies a meaning to those others to whom it is a necessity. It is a resource. It is our scene, our backdrop, our stage. This architecture is symbolic. Difficult in writing, yet enigmatic in experience, for queered architecture is lived. Contained within, the masters of tranquility and order are unearthed; inheritors of proud tradition.
Alas, this was not a winning piece of writing, however it was a great technical exercise. I was able to pull some things from my thesis work (See: THESIS) which really got me back into the architecture groove. Quite proud of this one, so I hope to write more fun little essays like this in the future!