"This space with no doors" is a soft installation designed for the "Cover Me Softly" theme of the architecture biennale in Timișoara, Romania. This innovative project serves as a nexus, interweaving diverse threads of scholarship, artistic practice, and activism to explore the intricate relationships between embodiment, nature, and female activism. Drawing inspiration from the groundbreaking work of Labelle Prussin, Yona Friedman, and Moussa Ag Assarid, the installation challenges conventional architectural paradigms and invites viewers to reconsider the politics of space across multiple scales.
At its core, this project is an extension of the Foundation for Achieving Seamless Territory's ongoing engagement with spatial politics, ranging from the intimate scale of the human body to the broader ecological systems that shape our world. By focusing on the often-overlooked realm of domestic arts, particularly embroidery and textile production, the installation illuminates how creative practices can simultaneously reinforce and challenge societal norms while fostering connections between individuals, communities, and the natural environment. The tecniques explored in this installation, rooted in extensive research conducted in the Sahel region and recent collaborations with Romanian artisans, serve as a poignant reminder of the rapid disappearance of traditional knowledge due to colonization, climate migration, war, and the relentless march of industrialization, globalization, and automation. By engaging with local women passionate about preserving traditional embroidery and domestic craft skills, the project not only highlights the importance of cultural heritage but also empowers communities to resist the erasure of their valuable practices.
This installation draws parallels between the nomadic architecture of the Tuareg, as explored by Prussin, and the experimental, non-extractive approach advocated by Friedman. It celebrates the role of women as primary architects of nomadic environments and challenges the male-dominated narratives that have long dominated Western architectural discourse. Through its focus on local materials, regenerative practices, and participatory design, "This space with no doors" offers a vision of architecture as a collective, feminine endeavor that nurtures sustainable relationships between people and their environment.
By weaving together these diverse elements - from the practical wisdom of nomadic tent design to the empowering potential of Friedman's architectural manuals - the installation creates a multifaceted narrative that resonates with Romania's rich textile heritage while addressing global concerns about cultural preservation, environmental sustainability, and social justice. As visitors engage with the woven fabrics, embroidered patterns, and handmade elements, they are invited to reflect on the power of domestic arts to tell stories, preserve identities, and imagine more equitable and sustainable futures.
The experimental practice of Yona Friedman and the scholarship of Lebelle Prussin, in the lookout for architecture in the scale and nature of the body, the now, the non-extractive, and the non-speculative. Like the Tuareg millennia-old tent – a space shaped by the journey of a girl growing into a woman, continually accumulating skills and craft throughout her life which are reflected in the type of tools and layers of ornaments within the tent. Layers that reveal patches of history, love, the transformation of life and encounters over time. Or the “Roofs” handbook by Yona Friedman, which he deemed the most important architectural element, its elements are capable of literally growing, being harvested, and assembled anywhere. In response to the extractive nature of architecture, real estate, and neoliberalism, Friedman developed handbooks and manuals to share technical skills with the public, empowering them to build their own homes. The stories of Ag Assarid, a poet, artist, and spokesperson for the Movement for the Liberation of Azawad, reveal a deeper connection between humans and nature – we are one, not separated, yet covered by a thin veil, a cloth, a patch of leather, or a woven wool that adjusts its thickness with the changing season and suspended from a branch of a tree.
Nomadic Architecture
I came across the work of Lebelle Prussin before my trip to Mali in early 2016. Mali’s disputed northern territory is home to ancient cities which still reflect the beauty of nomadic culture. Before my visit, I had a lengthy discussion with Moussa Ag Assarid, a Tuareq and the spokesperson for the Movement for the Liberation of Azawad.
Moussa was born in a tent in the area between Gao and Timbuktu, two ancient cities along the Niger River that have thrived for millennia, thanks to the harmonious coexistence of sedentary and nomadic lifestyles. These cities, on the edge of the Sahara Desert, see seasonal fluctuations in population, accommodating pastoralists, desert nomads, fishers, and farmers. Despite their age-old existence, Moussa’s community, also known as the nomads of the Sahara, continues to struggle for international recognition and self-determination. The violence they face has persisted since the early days of the colonization of Africa.
According to the book Land, Man and Sand, in the early 1900s, French colonization profoundly altered Tuareg society and their spatial organization by isolating pastoralists and confining them to a nomadic zone, depriving them of essential southern markets and cereals. This territorial partitioning clashed with the Tuaregs’ traditional land use, reducing the power of existing chiefs and creating new ones, which led to the great revolt of 1917. The revolt, which was eventually suppressed, resulted in significant loss of life and livestock, leading to widespread impoverishment among the Tuareg. The centralization of political power in bureaucratic organizations, unresponsive to local and ecological conditions, further entrenched the disadvantages faced by the nomadic Tuareg people.
This wasn’t the only rebellion. From my conversation with Moussa and limited archival research, I learned that since the beginning of the 20th century, the Tuareg people have rebelled four times. The first major rebellion, as mentioned above, occurred in 1916 against French colonial rule, spurred by a prolonged drought that threatened the Tuareg existence and livelihood. The second rebellion, from 1962 to 1964, followed Mali’s independence and was driven by dissatisfaction with the partitioning of the Sahara by colonial powers, which left the Tuareg dispersed across four nations. Another revolt unfolded from 1990 to 1995, sparked by demands for autonomy amidst drought, famine, and the 1980s economic crisis. This uprising culminated in a peace agreement with the Mali and Niger governments, leaving the Tuareg aside. During this rebellion, the Libyan government attempted to stabilize the region and supported the Tuareg with employment and economic aid. However, after Gaddafi’s fall in 2012, the Tuareg found themselves alone again and fled Libya south to the Sahara, establishing the MNLA. As they moved into Mali with other militarized organizations to capture land, they were halted by the French army and a UN resolution, marking the beginning of a new peace mission.
The quasi stability, however, didn’t last long, and Mali is now facing another militarized coup. The new government asked the UN to leave the country while being helped by mercenaries led by the group formerly known as Wagner to violently displace tens of thousands of people, including nomadic and semi-nomadic communities away from Mali and south to Mauritania.
When talking with Moussa, he spoke passionately about desert cities and how their knowledge and perspective are under a continuous process of erasure. According to him, desert cities are horizontal, submerged with the landscape. “I was born and raised in a tent made of old clothes. A tent is part of nature, and the outdoors is my home. The desert is a flat construct, and our cities have no limits. They embrace this vastness and flatness. We believe that capitalist cities and European cities are mostly vertical, dense with tall buildings. For us, their physical structure manifests inequality. Our desert cities will embody justice and equality in their horizontal shape. They will be able to shrink and expand flexibly to allow access for all.”
These ideas challenge our western understandings of space, time, materiality, and justice, as well as the lifestyles and values that shape our vision of the future.
Space, Place and Gender
In the book African Nomadic Architecture, Space, Place and Gender, Labelle Prussin refers to the tent as architecture, despite its temporary nature. According to her, to understand the architecture of the tent, we must examine the correlation between the nature of desert life and the technology of transportation. The shape, size, and construction method of a tent are contingent on means of mobility.
She distinguishes the indigenous African tent from the missionary tent; while the first is considered home and a complex space of social reproduction and family life, the second, in her view, can be referenced as a political or religious institutional symbol that can be traced back to the Roman military, the Crusaders, the explorers of the Age of Reason, and the missionaries of modernity.
Prussin’s research is situated at the intersection of history, ethnography, and gender studies. She offers another differentiation between indigenous and institutional tents: the former are designed and built by women; the latter by men. Whereas women were the architects of the nomadic built environment, men were the designers of military bases. These discrepancies can be read in the form, tactility, and production processes of each.
Prussin draws another connection between modernist architecture and the institutional tent in an allusion to “a primitive temple” referenced by Le Corbusier. His book Towards a New Architecture celebrates the achievement of the engineer: “The Engineer’s Aesthetic and Architecture – two things that march together and follow one from the other – the one at its full height, the other in an unhappy state of retrogression” As he continues to develop the logic of measures, he dedicates a section to regulating lines as an invisible architectural element. The tent is used in his narrative as an object that connects the past and the future of architecture as an engineering project. In his theories of measure and modular design, the primitive temple – created by “he who builds a shelter for his god” – constitutes the model of perfect proportions.
This extractive and modular pursuit of Le Corbusier, who elevated the engineer to a god-like scale, was contrasted by Prussin, who dedicated decades of her life to documenting the beautiful architecture of nomadic cultures in Africa, specifically in the Sahel.
Prussin’s meticulous research linked the design of the nomadic tent to women, who were the primary architects of the nomadic built environment. They selected the site, planned the camp, and built and adorned its tents.
In her book “African Nomadic Architecture, Space, Place, and Gender,” Labelle Prussin argues that despite its transient nature, the tent should be recognized as architecture. She emphasizes understanding the architecture of the tent involves examining the relationship between desert life and transportation technologies. The shape, size, and construction of these tents are directly influenced by mobility needs, particularly through the labor practices of women who play a pivotal role in shaping nomadic environments. This influence is evident in the design, texture, and production methods of tents, camps, and the cultural and social practices of Tuareg and other African nomadic communities.
According to Prussin, “Nomadic cultures are, however, elusive, difficult to document and record. Nation states have always had problems with their nomadic population and have sought to settle them. Nomads do not observe political borders; they do not pay taxes; they are fiercely independent and live outside the cultural pale.”
Among the Tuareg, both northern and southern, the significance of the tent is deeply embedded in cultural practices, especially around marriage ceremonies. The term for marriage (eduben or ehen) is synonymous with the term for tent (ehen). There are various expressions related to marriage tied to the tent, such as “to set up a tent” or “to fabricate or make a tent” meaning to get married. Additionally, inquiring about marital status involves asking “Have you made a tent?” For men, marrying means “to enter a woman’s tent.” The womb is metaphorically referred to as a tent, and women collectively can be referred to as “those-of-the-tents.”
The circular shape and rounded roof of the tent symbolize the vault of heaven. Typically, tents are made from mats woven from young dum palm tree leaves, cloth, or vellum, attached to a sturdy wooden frame with cords. The dimensions, shape, and texture of these mats often signify wealth and social status within the community. Notably, the tents are exclusively designed and constructed by women, who serve as the sole architects and owners of these integral structures.
Prussin’s work redefines how we map and understand tent types in relation to ethnic origins and geographic movements. She meticulously details the configuration of tents, their construction processes, interior layouts, and their social and political significance within African nomadic cultures, critically aligning these insights with Western disciplinary canons.
Handbooks
In 2015, I visited then-93-year-old Yona Friedman in Paris. Friedman studied architecture in Hungary and Israel. Having witnessed the devastation of the world wars, he dedicated much of his life to improving lives by sharing what he called his “technical skills” through computer programming, animation, teaching, writing, and large-scale and participatory installations. His oeuvre, which was produced outside the conventional realm of architecture, found points of intersection with various United Nations agencies and the art world.
Friedman’s response to our globalizing world was the creation of manuals and protocols that provided essential training and shared construction and design technics through simple instructions and illustrations. These manuals were concerned with the lack of access to resources, growing disparities between rich and poor, and the environmental devastation caused by industrialization, war, and a globally expanding arsenal of nuclear weapons.[i]
Take, for example, Roofs. Produced in 1991 in collaboration with the UN Communication Centre of Scientific Knowledge for Self-Reliance, the manual primarily addressed the lack of shelter among people with the lowest levels of income in India.[ii] Friedman argued that everyone should be able to afford a house through cash purchase or self-construction. A proponent of nonextractive architecture, he believed that houses need to be built of local, regenerative materials that carry minimal environmental effects.
In his manuals, Friedman emphasized the importance of self-reliance and argued that housing projects must allow continuous access to basic needs including water, clean air, renewable energy, and regenerative food production through unsophisticated means like cisterns and windows. His approach rejects the use of supply chains that move materials worldwide and that push up housing costs, contribute significant carbon emissions, and cause environmental degradation. Friedman’s manuals are still relevant, especially now, at a time when the increased use of housing as a financial investment has created an unprecedented housing crisis. In 2021, in the US alone, more than half a million people[iii] were unhoused and deprived of a basic human right.[iv]
While Roofs specifically addressed the housing crisis among India’s lowest caste, Friedman’s solutions have environmental, social, and cultural benefits for all strata. His manuals challenge the architecture field’s complicity in pricing millions of residents out of their cities, communities, and homes. Roofs is an act of radical care by design. It includes care for oneself, care for others, and care for the environment, and it provides a space of hope in precarious times. During our conversation in Paris, Friedman explained that the art world and its galleries, exhibitions, festivals, and socially engaged outdoor installations allowed him the freedom to try new ideas and to develop prototypes that were not supported by the architecture profession and its marketplace.
Embroidery and Textile
The inspiring work of Lebelle Pussin , Yona Friedman, and Moussa Ag Astrid help envision an alternative to the male-dominated and exploitative nature of modern Western architecture cannon and practice. Their ideas empower us to consider a more local, participatory, and organic approach to making architecture a collective feminine endeavor. This space has no doors installation for the “Cover Me Softly” biennale, covers Friedman’s open-ended design guidelines that can be adapted and utilized by anyone wishing to build and cultivate their homes in any setting, and Pussing’s emphasis on the domesticity and powerful social spaces not defined by patriarchal norms but by nature and nurture—a roof, a tent, a home, gradually nurtured by women throughout their lives.
Drawing on the artistic practices that originate from domestic spaces offers profound insights into the intricate relationships between gender, local cultural production, and nature. By examining the elements, technical skills, and crafts that emerge from these intimate environments, we can uncover how these creative expressions both shape and reflect societal norms and values. Consider, for instance, the art of embroidery and textile production. These time-honored crafts serve as compelling examples of how domestic artistry intertwines with broader cultural narratives. Deeply rooted in both social traditions and material culture, they transcend their functional origins to become powerful forms of cultural production and expression.
The use of natural dyes exemplifies this connection between art and environment. In Romanian craft, oak bark dye has been traditionally used to color fabrics and threads, imparting earthy tones that reflect the region's cultural heritage. Similarly, nomadic cultures of the Sahara, as studied by Lebelle Prussin, utilize red-brown tannin extracted from Acacia trees for textile purposes. These practices showcase how women, through their mastery of dyeing techniques, not only preserve artistic traditions but also nurture a sustainable relationship with the land, enriching their communities' cultural and aesthetic identities.
The choice of materials further illustrates this deep connection between craft and environment. The Tuareg people of the Sahara region, for example, are renowned for their rich embroidery on leather goods and garments. Using readily available materials like goat or camel leather, cotton threads, and embellishments such as cowrie shells and silver, Tuareg women create complex geometric patterns that tell stories and express their cultural history. In Romania, hemp has played a central role in craft and culture for centuries. Its versatility and sustainability have made it an ideal base material for traditional embroidery and textiles. The ongoing cultivation of hemp, adapted to Romania's varied climate, aligns with ecological agricultural practices and underscores the enduring link between craft and local resources.
Embroidery and textile production skills not only adorn and enhance everyday objects but also weave together stories of identity, heritage, and lived experiences. They serve as tangible links between the personal and the collective, often preserving and transmitting cultural knowledge across generations. Moreover, these practices historically align with gendered divisions of labor, offering a unique lens through which to examine the roles and expectations placed on women in various societies. At the same time, they highlight the often undervalued artistic contributions that emerge from traditionally feminine spaces. Women play a crucial role in these artistic expressions, passing down their knowledge and skills to future generations, thus ensuring cultural continuity.
These examples from Romanian and Saharan cultures illustrate how traditional embroidery and textile practices, shaped by local materials and environmental conditions, create rich narratives of identity and heritage. Women play a pivotal role in cultural reproduction and the preservation of artistic traditions, ensuring the continuity of these valuable practices across generations. By exploring domestic arts, we gain a richer understanding of how creative practices can simultaneously reinforce and challenge societal norms, while also fostering connections between individuals, communities, and the natural world that inspires much of this artistry. As these concepts interweave into a new narrative within an old industrial space in Romania through the installation "this space has no doors," they seek to resonate with the long-standing local culture of crafts, skills, technology, creativity, and feminine heritage. By engaging with women, the installation—featuring woven fabrics, embroidered drawings, patterns, and handmade pompoms—aims to highlight the importance of cultural heritage and forms of knowledge that are quickly disappearing, first overtaken by the Industrial Revolution and now by automation. Here, at the modernist industrial complex, we hope to draw attention to these valuable traditions and practices.
Soft Cover in Tsimerova
The textile cover at this biennale space weaves stories and ideas across cultures and places, experimenting with the agency of design and architecture to tell stories, collaborate, and activate local spaces and crafts. This soft roof (under the industrial building’s roof) invites interpretation and engagement from all those who participated in its production. By engaging with the local, the making process seeks to breathe life into, or mention a few, suppressed stories and histories affected by colonization, extraction, and marginalization that are both site-specific and global.
Building on Romania’s rich history of textile making, this project invites local weavers and embroiderers to participate in the installation of a tent and its various elements: poles, textiles, embroidery, locally produced organic dyes, and a set of drawings and construction techniques drawn from nomadic cultures, as researched by Lebelle Prusin. These elements serve both decorative purposes and as manuals for construction and textile art.
By utilizing local crafts and knowledge, the tent aims to foster conversations with local women committed to preserving traditional crafts from becoming obsolete. The biennale team facilitated this process by helping to identify and collect locally produced textiles made from hemp, a material traditional to Romanian culture, while selecting a local dye derived from tree stems, similar to those used by nomadic communities in Africa.
The space beneath the tent is designed for assembly and collaboration, featuring seating and a larger round table for workshops. Textiles and pom-poms crafted by local women adorn the tent and are available for sale at the biennale, with all proceeds going directly to the embroiderers and an emerging embroidery club.
Thus, the exhibition serves as a platform for preserving cultural heritage and promoting local textiles and crafts. The project emphasizes women’s agency in creating safe spaces filled with love, beauty, and care. This multilayered tapestry employs ephemeral interventions and fabric as mediums to convey narratives and ideas, ranging from aesthetic motifs to preservation.
References:
Prussin, Labelle. African Nomadic Architecture: Space, Place, and Gender. Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995.
Shoshan, Malkit. BLUE: Architecture of UN Peacekeeping Missions. Actar, 2023.
Friedman, Yona. Energy and Self-Reliance Handbook. 1986.
Friedman, Yona. "Roofs." Internet Archive, 1986, archive.org/details/Roofs-PartOne-English-YonaFriedman.
Malkit Shoshan is a designer, researcher, and writer, and founding director of the architectural think-tank FAST (Foundation for Achieving Seamless Territory) that operates at the intersection of architecture, urban planning, and human rights. FAST’s interdisciplinary work investigates the impact of systemic violence on people’s lived environments and aims to promote social and environmental justice through collaborative initiatives and designs. She is also the 2024 Senior Loeb Scholar and Design Critic at Harvard GSD.
In 2021, Shoshan was awarded the Silver Lion at the Venice Architecture Biennale for her collaborative project Border Ecologies and the Gaza Strip: Watermelon, Sardines, Crabs, Sand, and Sediment, which is also the subject of her forthcoming book with Amir Qudaih (Mack Books). In 2016, she curated the Dutch Pavilion at The Venice Architecture Biennale. Shoshan is the author of the award-winning book “Atlas of Conflict: Israel-Palestine” (Uitgeverij 010, 2010), “Village: One Land, Two Systems and Platform Paradise” (Damiani Editore, 2014), and “BLUE: The Architecture of UN Peacekeeping Missions” (Actar, 2023). Her additional publications include “Zoo, or the letter Z, just after Zionism” (NAiM, 2012), “Drone. UNMANNED. Architecture and Security Series” (DPR-Barcelona, 2016), “Retreat. UNMANNED. Architecture and Security Series” (DPR-Barcelona, 2020), “Spaces of Conflict,” TU Delft Architecture Theory Journal (JAP SAM Books, 2017), and “Greening Peacekeeping: The Environmental Impact of UN Peace Operations”.
Her research and design work have been featured in leading newspapers and magazines, including the New York Times, The Guardian, NRC, Haaretz, Volume, Surface, Frame, Metropolis, and Harvard Design Magazine, and her work has been exhibited internationally at the Venice Architecture Biennale (2002, 2008, 2016, 2021), Cooper Hewitt (2021-2023), Rotterdam Architecture Biennale (2011, 2022), UN Headquarters in New York City (2016), Harvard GSD (2017, 2020), NAiM/Bureau Europa (2012, 2021), Boijmans Museum (2016), Het Nieuwe Instituut (2014), Istanbul Design Biennale (2014), Israel Digital Art Center (2012), and Netherlands Architecture Institute (2007).
In 2021, Shoshan was awarded the Silver Lion at the Venice Architecture Biennale for her collaborative project Border Ecologies and the Gaza Strip: Watermelon, Sardines, Crabs, Sand, and Sediment, which is also the subject of her forthcoming book with Amir Qudaih (Mack Books). In 2016, she curated the Dutch Pavilion at The Venice Architecture Biennale. Shoshan is the author of the award-winning book “Atlas of Conflict: Israel-Palestine” (Uitgeverij 010, 2010), “Village: One Land, Two Systems and Platform Paradise” (Damiani Editore, 2014), and “BLUE: The Architecture of UN Peacekeeping Missions” (Actar, 2023). Her additional publications include “Zoo, or the letter Z, just after Zionism” (NAiM, 2012), “Drone. UNMANNED. Architecture and Security Series” (DPR-Barcelona, 2016), “Retreat. UNMANNED. Architecture and Security Series” (DPR-Barcelona, 2020), “Spaces of Conflict,” TU Delft Architecture Theory Journal (JAP SAM Books, 2017), and “Greening Peacekeeping: The Environmental Impact of UN Peace Operations”.
Her research and design work have been featured in leading newspapers and magazines, including the New York Times, The Guardian, NRC, Haaretz, Volume, Surface, Frame, Metropolis, and Harvard Design Magazine, and her work has been exhibited internationally at the Venice Architecture Biennale (2002, 2008, 2016, 2021), Cooper Hewitt (2021-2023), Rotterdam Architecture Biennale (2011, 2022), UN Headquarters in New York City (2016), Harvard GSD (2017, 2020), NAiM/Bureau Europa (2012, 2021), Boijmans Museum (2016), Het Nieuwe Instituut (2014), Istanbul Design Biennale (2014), Israel Digital Art Center (2012), and Netherlands Architecture Institute (2007).
Ippokratous 9, 10679
Athens, Greece