Queeries: On grief & loneliness

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Photo by Nathan Duck on Unsplash

It’s been quite a month, hasn’t it?

Somehow it feels like the election was yesterday and 10 years ago; like I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, when a whole Payless ShoeSource is raining a never-ending stream of shoes; like my friends and colleagues and collaborators are winning and healing and doing amazing work, but the majority of the world is leaning into fascism. And violence at mass scales has never stopped, not even to take a breath.

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I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad, I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, and I can’t get out of my head, I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, and I can’t get out of my head, and I turn to doomscrolling to dissociate, I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, and I can’t get out of my head, and I turn to doomscrolling to dissociate, but it only further escalates my feelings of helplessness, I remember that I am not alone.

Because alone feels like no one understands and no one’s going to make things right and no one cares—but who am I to forget that I am who I am because of everyone I love and everyone loves me, that I am not separate from “nature” but an active participant in its evolution, that I am made of stardust?

So…

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, and I can’t get out of my head, and I turn to doomscrolling to dissociate, but it only further escalates my feelings of helplessness, I reach out to (re)connect with my network and I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, and I can’t get out of my head, and I turn to doomscrolling to dissociate, I create something—anything—that brings me joy and I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, and I can’t get out of my head, I breathe into my belly, see with my eyes, listen to the movement of air, wiggle my fingers, stomp my feet, run my hands through my hair, feel the energy in my body and I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad because my anxiety isolates me, I recall the wisdom of elders, writers, poets, activists, changemakers, and ancestors who came before me and I remember that I am not alone.

Whenever I feel sad, I am also in awe of and grateful for my capacity to love and care, because grief is love that has nowhere to go.

I remember that I am not alone.

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Thank you for reading this newsletter. It really would not exist without you.

I hope these words inspire in some way, shape, or form.

❤️‍🔥💋🍉🚨🍄👹🌹🖍️

Until next time,

A.L.

Queeries: On Teaching, Part 2 👽

Happy start of the 2024 - 2025 academic year to those who celebrate 👽

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash

aaaand another summer has come and gone! Honestly, I’m still holding on until September 22, the autumnal equinox and astronomical start of fall, even though the meteorological start of fall is September 1. The school year has already begun at many institutions, sooner than pumpkin spice has taken hold this year.

Many of you have asked me whether or not I’m teaching this semester, and my answer has been an emphatic no—until late last week. I’m still shaking my head at my extremely adjunct instructor experience: receiving an email 1.5 weeks before the start of the semester asking if I could fill a spot 👽 It’s something I am honored and prepared to do—even with notice at the eleventh hour—because, well, the opportunity & prestige & students (& truthfully the extra dough)!

I’m excited because it’ll be my first time teaching my own studio, and the thought of mostly just having to coordinate with myself is relieving. I’m going to build in campy activities like a show & tell for what you did over the summer; send an email to your future self; thinking out loud/no wrong answers; and leaning into the performance / drag-ness of giving presentations. My studio brief features pastel colors and uses Hanken Grotesk as its main font. We’re going to have community agreements. Students will set learning goals for themselves and do self-assessments, which will factor into their grades.

But not everyone can commit to a semester of teaching twice a week at the drop of a hat. You’d think monied institutions would be able to start the planning and outreach process earlier… and don’t get me started on the precariousness of landing a job from one semester to the next. This is all to say—adjunct faculty are organizing, and we’re going to win 👽

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Photo by Andrii Leonov on Unsplash

I wrote in my studio brief: “I believe learning is a spiral: you set out to do something new, you try new things, and then you come back and reflect on what you learned, and what you would do differently next time.” This opportunity, for me, is a chance to do things differently, this time. This August marked the ten year anniversary of my move across the country to New York City to attend graduate school at the institution at which I will be teaching starting next week. Back then, I had only barely begun to query my queerness—I was just setting out on a journey around a huge spiral, which is still wrapping in on itself to this day. And I don’t remember community engagement being a focal point of the design studios. Returning as a studio instructor, teaching the way I wanted to be taught when I was a student, will be a full circle / spiral moment.

I often refer to my own architecture graduate education as traumatic. (For the record, it wasn’t just the studios or courses that left marks; I was going through emotional and mental growing pains as well, so to speak.) Years after graduating, I could not step foot on campus without feeling a deep sense of dread 👽 Trauma can teach valuable lessons, but are the scars worth it? I hope to foster a learning environment that is healing, that promotes growth. Because what is school, if not a safe space to try things, fail sometimes, and figure out what works for you?

Somewhat selfishly, I know that I will learn from my students as well. Learning is a two-way street. Or maybe an intersection? Two—or more—spirals colliding? Am I taking this metaphor to far? 👽 Wish me luck, because you know I’m going to queer things up, even if the studio topic isn’t solely focused on queer space!

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Anyway, see you around Columbia University most Mondays and Thursdays 👽 Hit me up if you want to get dinner together!!

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Once again, thank you for reading this newsletter. It really would not exist without you.

I hope these words inspire in some way, shape, or form.

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Until next time,

A.L.

On Pride 🤲🏼

Spiraling 🌀 but in a good way 🌀

Another Pride Month has come and gone! Whether you spent all June partying or just one night out on the town or somewhere in between or elsewhere / none of the above, I hope you were able to bask in queer love and found fulfilling sources of joy. 🌀 And I hope you resisted and stood up for something this month, too. Because that’s what it’s all about, in the end—celebrating queerness in all its forms, and protesting the status quo in order to make the world a more just, more queer, place.

That’s how Pride Month started, after all: as a brick thrown at the police at the Stonewall Inn back in 1969, culminating in six days of uprisings. (There were momentous protests for queer rights before and after Stonewall, but this was theeee pivotal one.) That brick held the force of so many injustices. I always welcome the reminder that the progress we’ve made on accepting and celebrating queerness did not come without multiple fights. It’s those instances of sustained resistance that lead to large-scale change. 🌀

At the 2024 AIA Conference, at the very end of the Out in Architecture: Elevating LGBTQIA+ Stories to Build Equitable Futures panel, a younger member of the audience asked a very vulnerable question, one that would have made more sense in a one-on-one conversation than in a conference seminar session. After nearly 90 minutes of discussing Out in Architecture’s overarching themes and personal stories, I thought it poignant and telling that the final question asked of the panel was a bid for everyday advice—not unrelated to the book, but one hundred percent about what it’s like to be out in architecture. The person with the question felt safe enough to be open about their identity and their struggles, and I did not take that lightly. 🌀 We were running out of time—conference organizers were entering the seminar room—but each panelist took the time to give heartfelt, genuine, actionable counsel drawn from their personal experiences. Together, we invited such a raw, emotional inquiry into a professional conference on architecture. 🌀

Then, we were told to wrap it up as quickly as possible—another seminar needed to use the room. As the Out in Architecture panel and audience left, a noticeably different demographic of architects filed in and sat down. Within a minute, the energy in the room had completely shifted. Queer joy out, AI in architecture in 👀🌀

The panelists! Photo by Jessica Nelson.

So, in a way, going to the AIA Conference this year as a visibly queer nonbinary transgender person was both an act of celebration and protest. There were enough queer people to create safe spaces for tender moments like the young person asking an unguarded question to happen. No bricks were thrown, but metaphorical bricks were collected by queer attendees and we started the process of building our own space together, within the Conference. 🌀 So much has changed in regards to queerness in architecture in the past five years—I can barely imagine what the next five will bring. 🌀

For me, Pride Month is a convenient way to compartmentalize celebrations, but it is by no means the only month when queerness matters. The joke is that corporations will switch their logos back from rainbow colors at midnight on July 1st, and we’ve all seen it happen. 🌀 But I’m queer all day, every day, and there’s no turning it off. The way that I see the world is queer, and even if June is over, there’s still a lot of pride and celebration to be had. Here’s to more compassionate, big-love, promiscuous-care moments together in the future, in architecture and beyond!

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What’s coming up:

Out in Architecture 2 — Interested in knowing more or sharing your story through Out in Architecture Volume II? Interested in hearing more about events in your area? Curious about other ways you could get involved and share your story? Fill out this form :)

2024 NOMA Conference — It’s in Baltimore this October! I’ll be on a panel with Jha D Amazi (MASS Design Group) and Cyrus Dahmubed (Utile) called Queer Spaces: A Model Framework for Inclusive Design.

Q:DREAM virtual exhibition — Kind of a mess right now, but watch this space! More to come soooooooon.

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Once again, thank you for reading this newsletter. It really would not exist without you.

I hope these words inspire in some way, shape, or form.

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Until next time,

A.L.

Queeries: On Gatherings & Retreats, Part 2

See you sometime soon?! 🌈 *cue mixed feelings*

Screenshot of AIA 2020 promotional video

It’s that time of year again! You might ask: American Institute of Architects Conference or Pride Month? What if I said… BOTH??? weeeeeee

How many emotions do you see mixed up in my face in that screenshot of me?

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1. Excitement! I’ll be part of an ongoing conversation with the co-editors and co-authors of Out in Architecture, a book that a bunch of queers in architecture (and architecture-adjacent) self-published last year. If it’s not on your conference calendar yet, look up TH118 – Out in Architecture: Elevating LGBTQIA+ Stories to Build Equitable Futures. If you’re curious about the motley crew of co-authors, we’ve been slowly spotlighting each of the contributors on the Out in Architecture Instagram. So looking forward to catching up with this phenomenal group, continuing to spread awareness and acceptance, and foster solidarity. Excitement is the glitter-bomb of emotions because it gets itself on everything else, so it’s definitely mixed with…
   

2. Apprehension! Have you ever been to an AIA Conference? Even if you have, step into my shoes for a minute: smol genderqueer Asian American me, swimming among thousands of people who all seem to know each other already (how??) or do not look approachable at all (think architecture firm owner vibes, iykyk), just trying to get to the seminar session I signed up for. Once I’m in the session, I’m fighting to stay awake because the entire presentation is geared toward architecture firm owners… 🙃🙃🙃 Not the best place on earth. I do think my network of queer (and non-queer) architects has really blossomed over the past five years (which was when I last attended an in-person AIA Conference), so I’ve been making plans to see people and hopefully will also run into all the folks I haven’t made plans with!

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3. Zealous! On Saturday, the very first AIA-sponsored LGBTQIA+ in Architecture Symposium will take place! We’re all going to be in one room, talking about queer visibility, advocacy, and design. I’m definitely going to bring in some hot takes about architectural education and designing queer space. Because 28% of new college graduates identify as LGBTQIA+!!! And because we are more powerful when we work together, and that’s what this symposium will do—bring us together. And because, as trans activist and lawyer, Chase Strangio, said: “Visibility without solidarity is a trap. Visibility without safety is a trap. We need so much more than visibility.” Let’s goooooo!!!!!!!!
   
   …this enthusiasm is mixed with…
   

4. FOMO! There are so many interesting events and seminars and parties that I won’t get to go to… and I want to learn alllll the things. Not to mention all of the wonderful people I know who will be honored for being elevated to Fellowship—congrats!!! Alas, I do not have a time turner, but I wish I did.
   
   A quick plug for a happy hour event I’m helping to organize, if your conference calendar isn’t already full: Association for Community Design will be at Bartaco on Thursday. Come hang! Info and RSVP here.

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5. Appreciation! DC Pride is the same weekend and I feel so lucky I get to experience it! Every time Pride month rolls around, I feel so much gratitude for all of the queers who came before me for protesting, rioting, and pushing for change—so much so that Pride weekends are such well-known celebrations all over the world. It feels good to know the queers will be extra out and about the weekend I’m there for AIA!
   
   …mixed with…
   

6. Foreboding! Just a funny feeling, always lurking. This time, it’s partially because I will be celebrating my birthday at the conference (on Thursday, the same day as the Out in Architecture panel). My anxious brain also wonders about what could go wrong, and there are so. many. things. that could 😬 Who doesn’t get a little nervous about attending a huge, overstimulating event, amirite???

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7. Acceptance - that the AIA Conference is what it is. In the past, I’ve expressed a desire to move away from advocacy through the AIA. I’ve found much more authentic belonging in “alternative” spaces that I’ve actively helped create from scratch. I still don’t entirely feel like an “AIA architect,” despite attaching the letters to my email signature, and we’ll see how I actually feel once I get to this year’s conference… But what I’m learning is that there are so many ways to participate, to push for change in the field of architecture. And all of those ways are needed, because there are layers and levels and dimensions that all need to shift away from the status quo.
   
   …and that’s mixed with…
   

8. Urgency - to shake things up! To make lasting changes! A lot can happen at a conference… let’s get this thing going!!!!

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Once again, thank you for reading this newsletter. It really would not exist without you.

I hope these words inspire in some way, shape, or form.

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Until next time,

A.L.

Queeries: On Teaching 🐛

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I took a break from teaching this semester and it turns out that time still flies by, whether I’m giving feedback on student work or not!

Ever since Q:DREAM closed on March 23rd, I’ve been meaning to write a newsletter. Tale as old as time… (and I may actually write an issue reflecting on Q:DREAM sometime, maybe later this year 😅) Now that Pride Month is right around the corner (in some respects, it’s already June 😵‍💫), and I’ve had my fill of frolicking among and smelling the flowers, here are some thoughts on teaching/learning spaces that I’ve been in, or am planning to be in very soon.

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Last week, I had the privilege of joining an advisory council for a queer organization for folks working in the architecture, engineering, and construction industries. I didn’t ask everyone’s ages during introductions, but I’m pretty sure I was the youngest person in that room (in my thirties and still clinging to “young” as a concept!!). We managed—organically—to have architects sitting on one side of the table, and non-architects on the other. Usually in spaces like those, where I clearly do not have the decades of experience that everyone else has, I feel a panicky, what-am-I-doing-here imposter syndrome.

But knowing that everyone in that conference room was queer made it a safe space. Maybe I didn’t say the most eloquent sentences, or describe my thoughts very articulately, but I felt free to express them, which can be uncommon in the profession of architecture. Our discussion built off of each others’ comments, swirling and weaving together to create cohesive pieces of advice. It wasn’t a formal teaching setup with an instructor wielding grade-giving authority, but it was an opportunity to learn from the conversation we were having together.

Photo by Christian Liebel on Unsplash

This coming Thursday, May 23rd, 6pm - 7:30pm Central, I’m moderating a panel titled “Integrating Queer Perspective into the Design Studio,” hosted by AIA Dallas. (Shoutout to Larry Paschall, also known as Big Gay Architect, for the opportunity!) I’m very excited for this one, not just because all of the panelists are extremely cool, but because they’re practicing queer pedagogies in their teaching in ways that ought to be more normalized. And maybe also because I get to ask all the questions that I have so that the audience—and I!!!—can learn!

Yes, it’s a bit self-serving, but learning how to teach and what it means to teach, especially queer methods of teaching that challenge the status quo of architectural education, is something that I will never stop learning. There are just so many ways to do it, as evidenced by the fifteen chapters and nearly 300 pages in Queering Architecture: Methods, Practices, Spaces, Pedagogies (editors Marko Jobst and Naomi Stead, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2023). I contributed a chapter to that book titled “Teacher/student: Queer practices to dismantle hierarchies in studio culture,” in which I emphasize from the start that the practices I write of are based on my own personal experiences. Everyone has a different experience of the world, so moderating this panel is one way for me to start learning all the queer ways!

Click here to learn more about the panel, the panelists, and to register—it’s free and open to everyone.

The webinar is part of Kaleidoscope – The Prism of Queer Architecture, a program series presented by Gensler and organized by the AIA Dallas LGBTQIA+ Alliance. The goals are to enhance the visibility of queer architects, connect the Dallas architecture community with a broader audience, and create a clearer picture of what architects can contribute beyond architecture. Since their founding in 2021, the Alliance has worked to create a space for queer architects in Dallas, and the Kaleidoscope program will help continue that effort.

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At the end of May, I’ve been invited to give a guest lecture on non-conforming design standards, a topic that I’ve touched upon in a previous issue of Queeries.

I wonder if I could give the lecture in a way that doesn’t conform to standards???

Photo by Jonathan Bean on Unsplash

The biggest thing I’ve been missing because I haven’t been teaching at an institution these past few months is the wave of student protests, and the faculty members who support them. It’s disgusting to see violent suppression by the police at the urging of the ruling class… mostly I have felt hopeful in a way I haven’t felt in months. Lmk if you’d like to discuss offline 🍉

But I’m still teaching in other ways, learning by other means. Teaching and learning at the same time. Learning about myself… the never-ending story.

Look out for future Queeries about the upcoming AIA Conference (!), interviews about “home” (no I have not forgotten!!), as well as an archive/library for Q:DREAM!!!

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Once again, thank you for reading this newsletter. It really would not exist without you.

I hope these words inspire in some way, shape, or form.

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Until next time,

A.L.