We come with so many different shapes, sizes and abilities, yet the world is built as if there’s a “standard human” whose access and comfort takes precedent over everyone else. If you’re close enough to that artificial norm, you may not notice all of the ways in which people can be excluded.

A project called “A Sidewalk is a Wall” aims to call attention to one major barrier to accessibility: a lack of sidewalk ramps, particularly in the city of São Paulo, Brazil, where they can be exceptionally rare. Organized by Brazil-based youth disability justice movement NGO Movimento SuperAção, the project invites artists to find a sidewalk without an access ramp and decorate it. Each small work of art bears a stencil with the movement’s Instagram handle so people can learn more about the movement and call the city to request more accessibility.

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Accessibility should be a crucial part of any design that’s meant to serve people. Collectively, we have a long way to go to make this happen, but even small steps add up.

“For a wheelchair user, a sidewalk without an access ramp is a wall. And, according to the latest census, only 9% of sidewalks in São Paulo have access ramps. Therefore, to draw attention to this lack of accessibility, we invited artists to do what they do best to the city’s walls to do their art on walls that only wheelchair users are aware of.”

“This is how A SIDEWALK IS A WALL came about, a project by NGO Movimento SuperAção that took on the responsibility of raising society’s awareness about the importance of including people with disabilities. Not only because of the basic human rights principle, but also because of the obvious and inherent advantages of coexisting with differences.”

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You can learn more about the movement at Facebook.com/movimentosuperacao or by following the project on Instagram @calcadaemuro.

If smartphones can fit a whole world of functionality within our pockets, why can’t the same features be incorporated into useful tools for people with disabilities? In a particularly cool example of accessible technology, the WeWALK Smart Cane does just that. Created by engineer Kursat Ceylan of the Young Guru Academy (YGA) in Turkey, who’s visually impaired, the device is integrated with a voice assistant and Google Maps, and features ultrasonic sensors that detect obstacles above chest level.

“In these days we are talking about flying cars,” says Ceylan, “but these people have been using just a plain stick. As a blind person, when I am at the Metro station I don’t know which is my exit – I don’t know which bus is approaching or which stores are around me. That kind of information can be provided with WeWALK.”

The cane alerts its user to their surroundings using voice and vibration, and features a touchpad, microphone, accelerometer and Bluetooth connectivity to just about any smartphone.

While a lot of these great ideas never make it past the conceptual stage, the WeWALK cane is already available for purchase for $499. Back when it was just a prototype, the WeWALK broke records on Turkey’s crowdfunding platform, and it’s now in production. It’s also open platform, so developers around the world can create their own application to work with it, potentially opening up the ability to use it with all sorts of apps.

Why should architecture continue to look, feel and function almost exactly as it always has, in spite of a dramatically changing world? Sticking to established conventions is often the easy and inexpensive way to do things, and it’s backed up by decades or centuries of practice. But as we move into a future of climate crisis and other challenges, perhaps it’s time to be bold.

Experimental architecture explores new paths and imagines new ways to meet the needs and challenges of humans in relation to the natural world. It’s not easy to break out of our assumptions about what we think architecture should be; radical new paths often don’t seem possible until we see them in action. Visionary architects and designers make the abstract into reality when they not only conceptualize extraordinary new ways of sheltering ourselves, but test them out in the real world, even on a small scale.

Breaking out of conventions might mean changing how we use our built environments, how they’re oriented, what they’re made of, their shapes or how they’re put together. After a while, if it’s successful, the experimental can become conventional, asking to be questioned and bucked and broken again in favor of something tailored to emerging circumstances. It never stops evolving.

Experimental Shapes & Materials

Reducing waste and pollution should be a major objective of architecture from this point forward, and that might mean shifting away from current construction norms altogether. What if all new buildings were made out of things like super-strong renewable wood, fungus-based self-healing concrete, nano cellulose made of waste materials and 3D-printed sandstone? Bendable concrete, water-saving bricks, cement that absorbs CO2 out of the atmosphere: all of this is possible and more. The ‘Concrete Vessel’ home pictured above, by Atelier FCJZ, features translucent glass fiber reinforced concrete made from recycled construction debris.

Some of the most impressive examples of experimental shapes and materials in architecture result from biomimicry, examining how nature’s forms and processes can help us develop more effective, efficient (and often more beautiful) structures. We see this in Singapore’s spectacular solar-powered Supertrees, a mechanical forest of vertical gardens, rainwater collection systems and conservatories that could theoretically also contain shops, restaurants or housing.

The University of Stuttgart’s carbon fiber pavilions are another striking example, inspired by the lightweight shell encasing the wings and abdomen of a beetle. Woven by robots, the pavilions are able to achieve highly unusual proportions, and they’re unusually strong. Imagine if we built custom structures like this and covered the surfaces with protective membranes to make them into walls and ceilings.

Experimental Construction Methods

Robots will continue to transform the construction industry in the near future, whether they’re building prefabricated load-bearing timber modules, undulating brick walls or 3D-printed fiber composites based on the behavior of spiders and silkworms. Robots can set building materials into place with unprecedented precision, achieve complex geometries and eliminate the need for waste-producing concrete molds.

Another bold move toward truly sustainable architecture is the Design for Disassembly (DfD, or Design for Deconstruction) movement, which considers and plans for the entire life cycle of a structure before it’s built in the name of adaptability and waste reduction. Ways to reuse or recycle every component of a structure using existing recycling streams are built into the designs, which are typically pre-fabricated, pre-assembled and/or modular. Closed-loop construction systems encourage innovation and produce unique aesthetics, as seen in Kieran Timberlake’s Cellophane House and Kengo Kuma’s Cafe Kureon.

Experimental Usage

Conventional architecture is nearly always distressingly ableist. Designed around the needs of a hypothetically “normal” person, it fails to address the reality of diverse bodies and abilities. Accessible architecture and interior design shouldn’t be “experimental,” it should already be a core element of every design, but alas, here we are. Architects can help the world catch up by adhering to the principles of Universal Design, serving as many people as possible without segregating those with different needs and working directly with people who are most impacted by inaccessible structures. The Universal Design Living Laboratory, the top-rated universal design home in North America, offers one example of what this can look like.

Other forms of user-centered design might center upon a social element, like Soar Design Studio’s residence converted to a communal space for local students, or the so-called “dementia villages” granting patients a degree of freedom and community they don’t experience in a typical nursing home setting. Experimental structures might also be placed in unexpected settings to expand access to housing in overcrowded cities, like Matthew Chamberlain’s “street tree pods.”

Top image: robot-built metallic structures by Prix

Conventional design only welcomes a certain type of person: the one arbitrarily deemed “normal.” It’s easy for designers, or even the casual observer, to define the most typical user of a space as one who requires no modifications in order to access it. But “normal” doesn’t really exist, and you can’t necessarily tell by looking at someone whether they’re having a lot of trouble heaving open a heavy door, struggling to mount stairs, feeling confused by a complex access system or excluded from using it altogether. In that sense, the appearance of being “typical” is useless, just like the space you’ve created is to a large segment of people who might otherwise want or need to participate. That’s where Universal Design comes in.

The Disability Act of 2005 defines Universal Design as “the design and composition of an environment so that it may be accessed, understood and used to the greatest possible extent, in the most independent and natural manner possible, in the widest possible range of situations, without the need for adaptation, modification, assistive devices or specialized solutions, by any persons of any age or size or having any particular physical, sensory, mental health or intellectual ability or disability.” In electronic systems, it also means designing “any electronics-based process of creating products, services or systems so that they may be used by any person.”

In 1997, a group of architects, product engineers, engineers and environmental design researchers developed seven principles of Universal Design to help guide their professions in meeting these goals. To summarize:

• The design is useful and marketable to people with diverse abilities.
• The design accommodates a wide range of individual preferences and abilities.
• Use of the design is easy to understand, regardless of the user’s experience, knowledge, language skills, or current concentration level.
• The design communicates necessary information effectively to the user, regardless of ambient conditions or the user’s sensory abilities.
• The design minimizes hazards and the adverse consequences of accidental or unintended actions.
• The design can be used efficiently and comfortably and with a minimum of fatigue.
• Appropriate size and space is provided for approach, reach, manipulation, and use regardless of user’s body size, posture, or mobility.

Universal Design doesn’t necessarily set out to create a “one size fits all” solution, but rather to push the boundaries of “mainstream” products, services and environments to include as many people as possible, and provide the ability for customization to minimize the difficulties of particular users. That may sound like a tall order, but the key is that no single designer can ever successfully pull it off alone.

How to Begin Making Spaces More Inclusive

To start, Universal Design means going beyond legal accessibility requirements to serve as many people as possible without segregating those with different needs. Putting it into action might mean altering a building that has stairs at the front entrance and an accessible entrance in the back to offer a single entrance for everyone to use. Most of the time, this can be done without affecting the overall integrity of the design. After all, most able-bodied people don’t mind walking up a ramp instead of using stairs. This approach to design works for “virtually” everyone, but there are also ways to accommodate the people who tend to fall through the cracks implied in this statement.

Whereas Universal Design relates to the final product, “inclusive design” relates to the process of designing, testing and refining it. It asks who can interact with a given environment in its current state, and who is left out – and then involves those people in the process of creating something better. The contributions of the people who need these variations the most are integral to a successful result.

Inclusive design is “a methodology that enables and draws on a full range of human diversity,” says designer Kat Holmes, author of a book on inclusive design called “Mismatch.” Ideally, the two approaches would work together to produce objects, experiences and spaces that are accessible to the greatest possible number of people. (By the way, many disability justice activists prefer use of the word “accessible” to describe the resulting spaces rather than “handicap.”)

Examples of Universal Design

So what does all this mean in the real world? Often, the changes required to accommodate and include more people are simple. Placing standard electrical receptacles higher on the walls, selecting wider doorways that can fit wheelchairs and people of all sizes, making entrances flat, installing louver door handles and creating storage spaces that are within reach of people of all heights are some examples offered by the Accessible Society. When more than one option is available for a design feature, choose the one that’s the most inclusive – or lead the charge in demanding a new one.

But Universal Design also means adapting both existing architecture and new building projects to recognize the vast array of abilities, limitations and differences that exist within our communities. To really embrace it, designers, architects and planners must challenge their assumptions of what the “normal” usage of a space will be, particularly since so many disabilities can be invisible to the casual observer. Here are some examples of what that can look like.

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Universal Design Creating Better Buildings Cities For All

In Santiago, Chile, six murals offer visually impaired people the chance to experience large-scale works of street art by Chilean artists through touch panels, braille and audio descriptions. Entitled “Manos a la Pared (Hands to the Wall),” the project adds accessibility to some of the murals found in the bustling Barrio Lastarria, one of the city’s most touristy neighborhoods. In Chile, 16.7% of the population is visually impaired or blind, adding up to about 2.8 million people.

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“The initiative was born from the union of three restless women who met in the Diploma of Cultural Management of the Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile,” says Paula Cancino, president of the Association for Inclusive Culture Mu.Cho. “This project was conceived under the premise of breaking with the barriers that impede access to arts and cultures.”

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The new circuit was unveiled on July 10th, 2018 and includes “La Debutante” by famed Chilean surrealist Roberto Matta in the Plaza Mulato Gil de Castro, “The Player of Palín” by Francisco Maturana on Mosqueto Street, “Ganza” by Javier Barria in Santo Domingo, “A Surrealist Named Matta” by Alexander Tadlock in Mosqueto, “Ludwig van Beethoven” by Jorge Campos in Mosqueto and “Lastarria Patrimonial” by Luis Núñez on the Rosas corner of Lastarria.

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The works were chosen according to the symoblic importance of their content and the accessibility of the space. After leading a test subject through a proposed circuit in the planning phases, they realized there were a lot of tables, restaurant awnings, poles, bicycle parking and other obstacles in the way, so they had to adjust the route carefully.

That initial tester, Monica Sepulveda, says the experience of using the touch panels is “not total, to be honest, but when you add other elements such as audio description, that helps even more to understand what’s there in front.”