Freedom and responsibility

AD: A lot is going on in the world at the moment, especially with everything you see on social media. Our city is huge, and our country is vast, so there's a ton of room for different architectural ideas. It's interesting, though, how we don't have the same strict regulations for architects here as they do in other places. On one hand, that's liberating, but it also has its drawbacks. In some countries, you must gain a lot of experience in a big firm before you can strike out on your own, but not here in Mexico. It's a bit more flexible, which can be both good and bad. So, it's up to us architects to ensure we're creating quality architecture for our city. I see it as a real opportunity that we should seize. It's a journey of learning and gaining trust from clients. Responsibility comes with the territory, requiring a professional team of engineers to ensure project safety and coherence, fostering client trust. While not all architectural practices shoulder this responsibility, it's crucial in our free country with fewer regulations. This freedom prompts reflection on regulations and project needs, like water harvesting, even if not mandated. It urges us to question and potentially propose alternatives in urban development regulations, fostering an active role in shaping how regulations function.

Expanding horizons

AD: I've always been on a learning journey, striving to articulate two key thoughts. I'm eager to expand my portfolio with new projects, particularly buildings designed by Adriana David. However, I believe it's vital to be conscious of our era and the specific territories where we work. This includes considering various energies and users, both human and non-human, who interact with our spaces. Understanding the entire system in which our designs exist is crucial. Simultaneously, I've been deeply engaged with the concepts of seed sovereignty and conservation. My mother, an activist, founded an NGO, Canasta de Semillas, focusing on seed banks across Mexico's bioclimatic zones. Growing up, I was exposed to the complex political, territorial, economic, and social struggles, especially regarding food seed diversity. This niche area is specific and essential for our resilience, particularly amidst the climate crisis. So, my mom used to task me with designing seed banks every time she secured a grant. Mexico's incredible diversity means we must consider a wide range of ecosystems and terrains, from deserts to tropical forests, each requiring different architectural approaches, especially if we're discussing adaptable designs. So, I applied for a grant to create a manual, the "Manual de diseño arquitectónico de Banco de Semillas" (Manual for Architectural Design of Seed Banks). The goal was to empower communities to self-construct these seed banks in various locations. However, during the grant period and my research, along with guidance from my tutors, we came to a realisation. Seeds are tiny, right? They can be stored in your fridge, on a bookshelf, or even just a corner of your home. We don't necessarily need new architectural structures for them. What we do need is to raise awareness about this issue.

Reconnecting with agriculture

AD: It's crucial for people to understand the origins of our food. With the advent of the Green Revolution and the influence of capitalism, many political policies have obscured this knowledge. Nowadays, we walk into supermarkets oblivious to where our food comes from, how it was cultivated, who was involved, and what substances were used. This lack of awareness leaves us vulnerable. Reflecting on this, I realised that our basic need for sustenance has become completely disconnected from us, which is incredibly perilous. Political shifts, natural disasters like the flood in Svalbard, or events like the pandemic can disrupt our food systems, leading to skyrocketing prices and impacting vulnerable communities disproportionately. While urban living has its merits in terms of sustainability and efficient land use, we often overlook the rural areas where our food is grown, neglecting the vital role they play in our survival. As architects, we rarely consider these areas in our designs, despite their crucial importance. So, the question becomes: “How can we communicate this importance and empower architects to transform these systems for greater justice and democracy?”.

Roots in food sovereignty 

AD: I'm constantly pondering the connection between humanity and nature, especially in architecture. The way we construct buildings, constantly pushing back against the earth, against nature, it often feels like we're completely disconnected. On the one hand, there's my passion for architecture, for crafting built environments and shaping spaces. Then, on the other hand, in my research on sea conservation, three key concepts keep resurfacing: food justice, food security, and food sovereignty. The UN defines food security as having enough food on the table, typically measured by whether a community has access to three meals a day. However, this definition overlooks the quality and origins of the food. It could be fast food like McDonald's, but as long as there's something to eat, it's considered secure. This perspective is quite superficial as it neglects the broader food system and its implications. On the other hand, there's food sovereignty, a concept I stumbled upon and found truly remarkable. It takes into account every step of the food network, from seed to consumer. It addresses education, economics, and health, asking questions like: “Where does our food come from? How is it produced? What about agriculture and fishing practices?” And importantly, “What nutrients does the food provide?”. Because sustaining a community solely on noodles and fast food isn't viable in the long run. But what's crucial to understand is the root of this issue: it stems from a lack of comprehension about the system and the inherent injustices within it. This system must prioritise considerations for the farmers, such as how the food was cultivated, the water sources used, the quality of the soil, and whether harmful agrochemicals were involved. “Are there any chemicals involved in the cultivation process? Are the farmers exposed to harmful substances? Can they transport their produce to the market?”. These are the questions that occupy my mind, even as I discuss architectural spaces. Think about it: there's the plot of land, the vehicles needed for transport, the parking lots, and even the gas stations. And then there's the issue of preservation. “How long can the food last before it reaches the consumer, especially if it's grown far away?”. This leads to considerations about refrigeration and storage. And again, “Where is the food sold? Is it in local markets or supermarkets? Are these markets accessible and affordable for small-scale farmers, or are they dominated by big agricultural industries focused solely on monoculture, deforestation, and chemical-intensive practices that harm biodiversity?”. It's clear that there are numerous spaces within the food system that architects need to consider. This realisation prompted me to see how my two passions could intersect, gradually uncovering these spaces and highlighting the agency architects have in shaping them. Whether it's designing markets, storage facilities, restaurants, or kitchens, every architectural decision impacts the lives of farmers.

Reviving Mesoamerica’s food triad

AD: Where we currently stand in the research, which I call the architecture of food sovereignty, is quite significant. It's a lifelong endeavour. My focus is on three specific ingredients in Mexico: corn, beans, and squash. Together, they form a triad known as MILPA, the "three sisters" in English. These staples were the foundation of food in Mesoamerica, sustaining civilisations with their rich nutritional value, much like rice did in other parts of the world. I've delved into the historical food chain, starting from the time of Tenochtitlán, particularly focusing on Mexico City because it's my hometown. I explore how the population, which numbered around 1 million when Hernán Cortés arrived, was fed. I delve into places like Xochimilco, with its hyper-fertile lands near the lake. My primary interest lies in reconnecting people with a passion for the food they eat. That's why I've begun conducting workshops with architects and artists, aiming to start small and gradually scale up, fostering this reconnection. I share stories like these to emphasise the importance of understanding where our food comes from and reconnecting with it through storytelling, memory, and our senses. It's essential for us to realise that we don't have to rely on modern methods to sustain ourselves solely. We should embrace the fact that, like other animals, we're part of a larger multispecies community, and it's through care and preservation that this community thrives. If we neglect this care, the chain of survival breaks. That's why I emphasise the importance of remembering recipes and traditional cooking methods. These stories not only preserve ingredients but also highlight the significance of specific varieties, like the unique corn and beans your grandma used to cook with. By remembering and valuing these ingredients and the peasants who cultivate them, we contribute to the diversity and resilience of our land.

The impact on distribution

AD: I believe we hold significant agency within various points of the food supply chain, many of which are architectural spaces. Take, for instance, the market or a restaurant. Let's consider the Central de Abastos (Central Market) in Mexico City as an example. This vast marketplace was designed and constructed in 1982, spurred by the bodegueros, the individuals responsible for storage. These bodegueros needed a better solution for handling goods, such as bananas from Chiapas, which they would receive and store before gradually selling them. Originally located in La Merced, which is in the city centre, they eventually lobbied the government to create a new space for food distribution. “Why was this necessary?”. Because the scale of food distribution in Mexico City is unparalleled. The Central de Abastos serves as a hub where produce from across the country funnels in before being distributed to various regions of Mexico. “Why didn't we opt for a more direct approach?”. It's a question that needs consideration. Today, it seems we've inherited a system reminiscent of colonial times, where centralisation was key, sending the best goods to the colonising country while leaving the rest for the colonies. As they designed these new Central de Abastos facilities, spanning a massive 354 hectares, nobody paused to reflect on this historical context. “Why do we need such colossal spaces for distribution? Couldn't we have smaller, decentralised facilities that would not only be less vulnerable but also more equitable for the farmers?”. This is where architecture plays a role in perpetuating injustice from the very start of the food chain. As architects, we often underestimate our agency in these matters, but the reality is we have the power to effect change. When embarking on public projects like the Central de Abastos, we must consider the political, social, and economic implications first and foremost. This market sees a staggering influx of 50,000 people daily into the city centre, yet there's a glaring issue: inadequate parking. Just imagine the traffic congestion and the challenges of storing and preserving such vast quantities of food. The result? Problems with pests, rats, and glaring inequalities stemming from poor design and planning. There was immense economic pressure from the bodegueros, the storage operators, who were pushing for more and more storage space to streamline their operations for capitalist efficiency. However, this efficiency came at the expense of small-scale farmers who couldn't afford the transportation costs to bring their goods from afar. As a consequence, they remained trapped in poverty. This underscores the critical importance of holistic, thoughtful planning that takes into account the needs and realities of all stakeholders.

Fostering sustainable food chains

AD: Currently, we've identified the spaces within this realm that are sustainable and those that seem unjust or undemocratic. The latter are cancelled out, while the former are set aside as opportunities for new architectural ideas. Moving forward, I'd like to focus on developing hybrid food chains, spaces that blend sustainability with innovative concepts. At times, I refer to "we" because I collaborate with a large team, but often, it's driven by my personal passion. When we didn't design that manual, I initiated a new project called Limbos Semillas. It serves as my activist outlet for advocating these topics. Through this initiative, we organise events and have coordinated numerous festivals since its inception in 2015. Initially, it began as a public installation featuring various seed banks, comprising around 300 pieces arranged in open spaces with terracotta pots resembling a garden. This setup sparked conversations about seed conservation and led to the formation of a network of seed guardians in Mexico City, conserving over 33 seed diversity seeds. As we progressed, we recognised the need to visit and collaborate with spaces actively contributing to sustainable food practices in Mexico City. During this time, we explored Xochimilco and Milpa Alta, visiting sites where local food production is thriving to learn about their methods. Additionally, at the Tamayo Museum, we hosted a series of film screenings, conferences, and lectures focused on these themes, which turned out to be a great success. In fact, we received an award for the best environmental action in the city. This journey has been about connecting and understanding sustainable practices that merit our involvement. At the same time, with the Mellon Grants I received last year, I explored the other side of the spectrum, visiting Central de Abastos. I've also had discussions with government officials, particularly with SEDUVI (Secretaría de Desarrollo Urbano y Vivienda de la CDMX), who play a crucial role in urban development in Mexico City. My goal is to delve deeper into these areas continually.

Blending cuisine and consciousness

AD: My role is not strictly that of a politician but rather a blend of different roles where I get to devise and bring to life these concepts. In Teocintle, I put together a unique performance dinner alongside several dinners we organised with a variety of chefs. For this special event, I presented each meal with a narrative explaining the origins of the ingredients and the unfair practices in their supply chains. This experience evolved into more than just a dinner; it became a sanctuary for expression and awareness within the gallery space. This particular performance turned out to be quite a memorable experience. In a truly magical moment during our performance dinner, food began to grow right from the table where we dined. It was beautiful, especially since we hadn't even watered the soil for one or two weeks. The mustard that sprouted was particularly stunning. My background, though not entirely relevant here, has always been intertwined with the performing arts and theatre. Drawing on this, I designed a score for a world that extends beyond just humans. This project aimed to uncover and showcase the unique energies found in traditional milpa cultivation, particularly the synergy of the three sisters. I've been in talks with a choreographer friend to bring this to life next year. The concept is evolving, manifesting in various forms and interpretations.    

A fair and friendly approach

AD: one of our inspirations is Vandana Shiva, an incredible activist from India who advocates for food sovereignty. It was truly inspiring when she visited the GSD (Harvard Graduate School of Design). I believe it's crucial for architecture to embrace concepts like care and acknowledge the interconnectedness of our multi-species world. That experience resulted in a proposal presented in 2023 for the Mexican pavilion at the Venice Architecture Biennale. We were thrilled to have reached the finals and even secured second place. During the judging process, there was intense deliberation between our project and the eventual winner. It's a testament to the importance and complexity of the ideas we're exploring. Our proposal was criticised for lacking architectural elements, but we strongly disagree. I collaborated with an exhibition designer, Jose Antonio Sada, and a biologist-anthropologist on a project called "Weaving Milpas". It aimed to showcase the diversity of rural territories and interpret Mexican architecture through food diversity. We wanted to highlight the uniqueness of the "three sisters" agricultural system across Mexico. Each milpa, shaped by its soil and terrain, generates distinct tools and spaces tailored to its crops, reflecting our nation's cultural richness. By understanding and celebrating these intricacies, we can see rural Mexico as a model of sustainable architecture integrating labour, food production, economics, and community-building. For example, the Solar Maya concept among Mayan communities integrates milpa crops with animals like rabbits, turkeys, and chickens, engaging the entire family in cultivation and fostering a symbiotic relationship between agriculture and daily life. It's not just about machinery; it's about a democratic and sustainable approach where everyone, from women harvesting and cleaning seeds to men doing heavy lifting and grandparents and kids pitching in, contributes to the process. This inclusivity forms the basis of an architectural blueprint that varies across territories, showcasing the richness of our land through food diversity. Our project aimed to illustrate this diversity through a woven carpet depicting the story and calendar of agricultural cycles, which dictate the creation of spaces. We displayed ethnographic objects and glass "seed banks" to represent layers of diversity, advocating for the importance of rural architecture. 

A holistic and sustainable vision

AD: Our architectural practice primarily focuses on creating spaces through renovations, delving into adaptive reuse by transforming existing spaces. We always incorporate sustainability in some form, which I believe is incredibly valuable. Concurrently, we operate two parallel practices. Sometimes, they intersect, the extent of which depends on the workload. I'm hopeful that someday they'll fully intertwine, allowing us to design in broader markets. On a related note, I'm particularly passionate about residential architecture, where everything starts from the basic dwelling unit. Designing houses and apartments is a joy for me, as it allows for a closer connection with clients. I prefer working on a smaller scale, where we can address intimate human emotions and forge a connection with nature. In the context of a climatic crisis, large-scale projects often lose touch with the immediate impact of our carbon footprint. In contrast, the simple act of watching a bean sprout can evoke a deep, universal appreciation for nature. In our architectural projects, like renovations or new houses, we adopt a unique method I learned from a choreographer: exchanging letters with clients. This approach, different from traditional briefings, uncovers personal insights and desires through the client's written words. These letters often reveal sensory details – smells, feelings, connections – that help tailor our designs to each client's individuality. Our projects are deeply influenced by natural elements. We consider the sun's energy in window design, utilise passive dwelling techniques, and even address challenges like humidity. For instance, we're currently tackling a project by a lake where understanding and living with humidity is crucial. This methodology allows us to connect architecture with nature and our clients' emotions and senses.