Architectural Reflections and Symbioethical Philosophy:

Many years ago *creak*, I began my journey in architecture studies, inspired at the time by the creative spirit at the Centre of Alternative Technology in Machynlleth, Wales.

My undergraduate thesis, published in 1993, examined Kenneth Frampton’s concept of Critical Regionalism. I concluded that local, shared traditions—rooted in the materials and memories of a place and shaped by its climate and ecology—are invaluable. Modern technologies can then transform this wisdom into creating beautiful, efficient buildings in and around which to live, work, and play. Critical Regionalism stands as a positive resistance to pulp Modernism and the empty symbolism of Post-Modern architecture. I spent time studying the work of Alvar Aalto and Carlo Scarpa, who both offer fascinating examples of these ideas, and I was lucky enough to visit some of their remarkable buildings and grounds in Finland and Italy.

Eventually, I stepped away from the egotistical and rather ruthless business of architectural CAD duplication that most graduates entered in the early 90s.

Urbanizations as Places for Life:

Much later, I came to write about my own neologism, Kinnages, published online by Humans and Nature in 2017. I like to imagine urban areas as vibrant, interconnected places from below the ground up, where flora, fauna, funga (click to sign the FFF petition), and humans alike can flourish together. We know it’s possible to grow food in cities, enjoy both private and shared spaces, and make responsible use of water, renewable energy, and waste in ecological cycles. To create welcoming communities for everyone, human and teresapien, we need to learn the inherent wisdom of a Place, spark creativity, and work together. This means thinking beyond just lowering emissions and planting individual trees as if they are carbon-absorbing street furniture, and stretching our moral imaginations. Kinnages metabolise. Once this way of thinking spreads, the old practice of creating short-lived, human-centred designs for private markets—at the expense of life on Earth—will feel outdated and embarrassing.

On Fluminism, Symbiosis, and Materials:

At the heart of this vision is Fluminism.
If flow and resistance are to embody mutualistic love, the organic and inorganic processes of Nature within and without any retrofit or new development brief must enable LiFE to thrive.

T H R I V E !

LiFE, buildings and grounds in sym-ial relationships.

The idea of symbiosis in its parasitic form isn’t at the forefront of my mind here (though it has its place in the chaos of life). Industrialising the living essence of mycelia symbiosis into bricks, including the loving, connecting hyphae, then dehydrating them to death, exclusively for human use, is not part of this plan. Worse still, fashionable desire isn’t part of this plan. How does mass use of this material show reverence for living beings any more than, say, intensive tree plantations, clear-cuts, vast sawmills, and more death by the lorry-load? I understand that, just by existing, we cannot avoid all possible harm to other species, but this is a deliberate act with the intent to expand at scale! Try again.

Any real embodiment of the sym-ial means letting the natural flows—both organic and inorganic—move through our developments, giving LiFE places to thrive in relative homeostasis with our buildings and landscapes.

Symbioethical Design Principles:

Choosing materials and construction techniques with care—whether cob, stone, recycled, or reused—shapes both the look and feel of our buildings and surroundings. Sometimes, the design process becomes wonderfully complex, even accounting for the tiniest living things, like microbes or organisms nestled in rocks. On a broader scale, we should pay attention to how our designs impact these invisible communities and ourselves. But this is also about considering how light, noise, air, plants, and pollinators respond to new places and changing climates, and how they may impact epigenetic inheritance in all the species that inhabit them. There will be mistakes, but we will learn from them.

When we design homes and workplaces, we can do so in a way that encourages life to grow. It becomes a purposeful act, with measured ecological companionship. Technology may be required to maintain “One Health,” such as preventing the transmission of zoonoses, harmful spores, rising damp, or ants setting up home in the sugar bowl (if, like me, during the last heat wave, this turns out not to be your thing). And from the pre-planning stage, we can be mindful and practical about the ecological and dynamic management of water, waste, and transport.

All-Species Communities and Collaborative Practice:

Imagine communities built for all species—intentionally planned for any place on Earth, even floating marine homes that can weather storms and tsunamis. I see endless possibilities for collaboration, especially between builders and ecologists, as well as among various species. Like beavers, fluminists might appear to be disruptive by their structural interventions, but they are, in fact, generous creators of opportunities for LiFE. So let’s put on our thinking caps!

Etymology and Neologisms:

“Substrate” comes from the Latin substratum, meaning “that which is laid under”—from sub, “under,” and sternere, “to spread.”

“Architecture” finds its roots in Latin architectus, from Greek arkhitekton, meaning “master builder”—arkhi, “chief,” plus tekton, “builder,” and ultimately from the PIE root *teks, “to weave” or “fabricate.”

With this in mind, I offer “substrarchitecture,” or more simply, the verb “to substrark,” as possible life-enhancing words for practical movements.

Valuing Vernacular Wisdom:

I value the hard-earned wisdom of local and Indigenous communities, as well as genuine involvement from everyone, just as much as formal architectural methods. I’ll continue to develop this neologism, along with the idea of land as commons (see “locacede”).

~~~