Next week, I’m traveling to Venice for the opening of Industry Muscle: Five Scores for Architecture, an installation and new performance work by Finnish artist Teo Ala-Ruona (and his multidisciplinary working group, of which I am a part) for the Nordic Pavilion at the 19th International Architecture Exhibition of La Biennale di Venezia. My role as dialogue architect helped shape the conceptualization of the exhibition design, its connection back to architecture, and the accompanying essay that explains the theory behind the installation. In some ways, the essay speaks for itself, and my attempts to summarize what I’ve co-written with Teo may become more confusing than receiving the message straight from the source. But I do want to write about what this project, and being part of this project, means to me.
I’ve been procrastinating writing this—partially because that’s human nature, and partially because I want my statement to be as comprehensive as possible. With the U.S. marching steadily into fascism, things have been changing every single day and it’s been impossible to keep up—so here I am, writing at the last minute, realizing there never will be a perfect time to publish a statement. These words are, really, a snapshot in time, incubated / fermented over many months in the back of my head.
Teo and I started conversing back in July 2024, right before the holiday known as Independence Day in the United States. That’s one of the more complicated national holidays for me, because the “independence” that was won was so specific, but its celebration has become displays of uncritical patriotism. I do enjoy viewing fireworks, but their sudden, loud explosions sound like gunfire and bombs. Red, white, and blue on sale everywhere, even at the grocery store. Mentally, I’m crashing after another long Pride Month, and in no mood to mix national politics with my queer projects.
Teo contacted me seeking a queer architect with whom to converse about the exhibition he was beginning to design. His proposal for the Nordic Pavilion was a critique of its modernist legacy as a starting point for speculating alternative methods of architecture. As a performance artist, he was learning about architecture as a field, including its complicated, contingent histories, and I provided a trans / queer lens through which to investigate and critique the rise and continued dominance of modernist architecture. And in the same way that binary gender norms are inextricable from the bodily proportions that undergird modern architecture, Teo and I both brought our experiences of being transgender into our conversations. Those parts of us could not be severed from our thinking.
By the end of October, Teo and I had co-written an essay of epic proportions, weaving an analysis of modernist ideology through the Nordic Pavilion with bodily experiences of transness intersected with architecture. We explored the potential for trans perspectives of impurity, decategorization, performance, technobody, and reuse as starting points to dismantle modernist notions of purity, categorization, spectacle, bodily standards, and overconsumption. We were very much focused on material realities, always returning to the pavilion’s physical form as a representation of what we were criticizing. I did not actively bring in direct responses to all of the anti-trans rhetoric in the U.S., but I did tap into my knowledge and long-time critiques of gender’s influence on the foundations of architecture, as well as the built environment’s influence on our bodies.
But what transpires on the scale of systems often, inevitably, also impacts everyday life. At time of writing, the American Civil Liberties Union is tracking 575 anti-LGBTQIA+ bills in the U.S. in the 2025 legislative session, up from 533 last year. In a slew of Executive Orders on his first day of office, President Trump referred to transgender people as an “ideology,” rather than a reality; defined male and female as the only two recognizable “immutable biological classifications"; made it the policy of the administration to refuse to accept that people can transition from one sex to another, or be nonbinary; halted federal funding for contracts or grants that promote “gender ideology” or are related to LGBTQI+ issues; ended diversity, equity, and inclusion mandates, policies, and programs; and rescinded several Biden EOs that directed federal agencies to address LGBTQI+ issues. That was on. day. one. -___-
I could list more alarming things… but I won’t. That’s not the point.
Though executive orders (EOs) do not have the authority to override the United States Constitution, federal statutes, or established legal precedent, their impact is felt widely. EOs lend a certain kind of institutional legitimacy that emboldens folks who target trans people, instilling fear and hopelessness in the queer community. And this is in addition to the continued erosion of other civil liberties in the U.S. … The vibe is reallllly off here… We’re seeing this anti-trans trend gobally, too…
So, besides the message and theory behind the installation and its accompanying co-written essay, the point I want to make clear with my involvement in this project is: trans people cannot be erased. At least, not easily, and we won’t go without a fight. Trans people have existed since before modernism was a thing, and modernist thinking has done its very best to stamp transness out. And yet—here we are, thinking and acting on ways to change the world, maybe starting with architecture, but quickly branching out to everything to which architecture is connected. Because there are lessons and tactics and frameworks and perspectives to be learned from trans embodiment that can be applied to architecture.
Queer architecture isn’t just about bathrooms or homes.
Architecture through a queer / trans lens requires a mindset shift.
The installation is an invitation for each visitor to contemplate their own gendered embodiment. You become part of the performance. You are meant to read the essay and experience the pavilion and leave with more questions than answers. The intention is not to provide solutions or models that can be replicated elsewhere, but to spark deep introspection about your body’s relationship with architecture, and others’ bodies relationships to the built environment, and what it all means for your personal practices of architecture and public practices of liberation.
This is but one of countless ways trans people are shifting the discourse. This is but a small inkling of trans perspectives on architecture. It is not meant to be a universal statement; we do not claim any kind of authority on trans experiences. From surviving to thriving, from everyday resistance to elevated performance art, from small shifts at home to reaching an international audience—all of it is important, at every scale, from every angle, to build solidarity and create lasting change in the world.
“Independence” is a myth. What we really need is liberation—the freedom to live in harmonious relationship with all beings on this rock hurtling through space—and that necessitates interdependence: understanding that our existence is nothing without each other, and that learning to be and live with each other is the ultimate task we have in this reality.
Are you/we up for it?
Can you/we handle an installation and performance that is critical of our shared foundational beliefs about architecture and gender?
What questions does it bring up for you/us?
Where will you/we go from here?
