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| In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
The Reader #5 gathers contributions that explore “performance” as a pedagogical mode of transgression, conversation, transformation, and intervention. Performance here goes beyond staged action, becoming a method of learning that unfolds in embodied encounters, collective practices, and material improvisations. To perform pedagogy is to risk uncertainty, to enter a dialogue with others—human and more-than-human—and to disrupt the boundaries of disciplines, institutions, and everyone’s roles. The papers in this collection move between theatre plays, nomadic workshops, feminist media practices, absurd architectures, children’s games, and institutional fictions. They demonstrate how performance generates forms of knowledge that are situated, relational, and actively resistant to capture by conventional academic frameworks. Whether through play, storytelling, dialogue, or spatial experimentation, these contributions highlight how performing pedagogy can create cracks in normative structures, making space for care, solidarity, sharing, and imagination. Together, they propose performance not as representation, but as a lived practice of unlearning and reworlding.
In the first paper “Troll Visions”, the collective MYCKET explores “troll perception” as a practice of unlearning extractivist and capitalist logics while cultivating alternative modes of seeing, hearing, making, and dwelling, with the Earth. Emerging from their artistic research project Troll Perception in the Heartlands, the paper recounts site-specific experiments in storytelling, craft, and collective making with children, communities, and local matter, at Utsikten—a pedagogical garden outside ArkDes in Stockholm. Drawing on folktales, queer and Indigenous methods, and ecological temporality, MYCKET proposes a shift from “designers” to “shapeshifters”—practitioners who tend, rather than produce, and who enter reciprocal relations with materials and myth. Through playful gestures, from slicing apples (part of their presentation at the conference), to awakening trolls beneath bedrock, the work enacts performance as pedagogy—a way of opening imagination, disrupting normative narratives, and reorienting design toward care and kinship with the more-than-human worlds.
In the paper “Transgressing Boundaries: Reimagining Civic Institutions through Nomadic Architectural Pedagogy”, Nadia Bertolino examines how nomadic architectural pedagogy can unsettle entrenched hierarchies and reimagine civic institutions through practices of collective care and feminist spatial engagement. Drawing on the Micro Civic Institutions of Care workshop held in Glasgow with architecture students and local residents, the paper describes a methodology where learning takes place in the streets and everyday spaces of the city, rather than in the studio. Through ephemeral interventions, collaborative collages, and site-responsive encounters, participants tested how architecture might shift from permanence and spectacle toward inclusivity and solidarity. Inspired by critical and feminist pedagogies, the paper foregrounds embodied, situated learning that collapses boundaries between designers and communities. Here, performance operates as transgression, making visible neglected forms of care and animating speculative civic imaginaries for more just and compassionate urban futures.
The paper “Practices of Un-Learnings through Feminist Spatial Conversations and Media Materials”, by Janna Lichter, explores how feminist spatial conversations and media practices can open spaces of “un-learnings,” disrupting dominant pedagogical frameworks and visual narratives. Moving between teaching, research, and artistic practice, the author develops video-based dialogues that foreground lived experience and collective sense-making. Rooted in intersectional feminist pedagogy, these conversational practices resist hierarchies of knowledge, instead cultivating relational ways of seeing and knowing. Drawing on the author’s seminar at the University of Applied Sciences Düsseldorf and the ongoing Queer-Feminist Spatial Conversations series, Lichter shows how experimental audiovisual work can challenge systemic inequalities and hegemonic media representations. By centring care and desire as collective practices, the paper imagines feminist educational spaces as performative acts—dynamic encounters where conversation, media, and pedagogy converge, to nurture solidarity and creativity towards transformative futures.
In “from unstructured dialogues”, Mudita Pasari and prachi reflect on their experimental project power OF space (pOs)—a series of unstructured dialogues exploring how learning might unfold beyond academic boundaries. Conceived as a social experiment with a small cohort of collaborators, pOs foregrounded space, not as property or asset, but as a dynamic process of negotiation and collective becoming. Season 1 unfolded in physical sites across India, where playful encounters and vulnerability became catalysts for equity and shared knowledge. Season 2 moved online, opening new possibilities for archiving, layering, and visualizing conversations across geographies and identities. Through play, placemaking, and collective subversion, pOs generated an evolving commons of learning, challenging institutional authority while nurturing courage and co-ownership within alternative pedagogical futures.
John Maclean presents the project Gröndal Bureau of Investigation (GBI), a semi-fictional, self-instituted public institution that playfully reimagines attention as a civic practice. Emerging from artistic research in Stockholm’s Gröndal district, GBI investigates everyday relations between humans, buildings, technology, and the more-than-human world. Through “fictioning” and autofictional strategies, it stages investigations that use sensory evidence, public boxes, and online/offline platforms to recalibrate how ecological consciousness might emerge within the attention economy. Blurring fact and fiction, Maclean introduces GBI as an institutional voice, yet through the persona of “The Wretched Painter”, also highlights performance as a method of institutional critique and world-making. The project proposes alternative imaginaries of public space, care, and degrowth, inviting participants to unlearn distraction and reorient attention toward multispecies entanglements and ecological futures.
In “An Architectural Play for Learners”, Johanna Gullberg transforms a doctoral research project into a theatre play that reimagines architectural education through performative dialogue, and spatial storytelling. Drawing on the author’s thesis, “Cogenerating Spaces of Learning”, the work stages fictive characters, shifting environments, and architectural drawings as provocations for learners to step outside conventional studio practice. Inspired by collaborations with theatre artists, the play highlights the transformative potential of materiality, corporeality, and risk-taking in design education. Characters like students Cyndyn and Alice, a disillusioned professor, and a whimsical performance artist navigate evolving learning spaces where nonhuman actors also come alive. By combining script, stage directions, and architectural diagrams, Gullberg’s play becomes both research dissemination and pedagogical tool. It becomes an accessible, performative experiment inviting learners and educators to critically reimagine habits, embrace uncertainty, and rediscover architecture’s socio-ethical and imaginative dimensions.
In the paper “Up Side Down Inside Out Educational Surrounds”, Sylwia Janka Półtorak investigates how absurdity and playfulness can serve as critical tools in rethinking architectural and educational environments. Drawing inspiration from Shusaku Arakawa and Madeline Gins’ Reversible Destiny projects, the paper explores how disorienting, unconventional spaces provoke embodied learning and heightened sensory awareness. In contrast to screen-based, sedentary modes of education, such “procedural architectures” invite learners to move, balance, and engage with their environments in unexpected ways, fostering well-being alongside intellectual growth. Through references to pataphysics and speculative design, Półtorak situates absurdity not as novelty, but as a method of transgression, challenging architectural norms, unsettling comfort, and cultivating curiosity. In doing so, the author positions absurd, playful spatial practices as powerful pedagogical strategies for nurturing resilience and critical reflection in times of ecological and social uncertainty.
In the paper “Children Anywhere?” Elena Karpilova and Alexander Novikov question how children’s voices, rights, and presence are represented—or mostly excluded—in contemporary urban and cultural spaces. Tracing philosophical and historical understandings of childhood, they critique playgrounds as restrictive “ghettos” that isolate children from civic life, and they highlight art and architecture projects—from Francis Alÿs, to Lithuania’s Children’s Forest Pavilion—that challenge this marginalisation. At the Venice Biennale, their project Bambini Ovunque (Children Everywhere) positioned immigrant children as active urban agents, reclaiming streets through invented games and performances that addressed migration, displacement, and belonging. Now evolving into the IntelliGENS Play Lab for the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025, their initiative frames play as both research and public pedagogy—an embodied, performative practice that redefines childhood as civic participation, and reimagines the city as a playground for collective futures.
Finally, Zest Kollektiv’s (Lu Herbst, Lucie Jo Knilli, Charlotte Perka and Lioba Wachtel) workshop “Gathering Knowledge in the Gaps Between our Teeth”, stages a multisensory “relational table” to rethink learning through taste, touch, and conversation. By inviting participants to pierce, crush, and chew fruits and vegetables with unusual tools, the collective foregrounds gaps, cracks, and frictions as sites of knowledge-making. Their method resists capitalist and ableist ideals of productivity in education, instead emphasizing unstructured, collective, and somatic experiences. Rooted in their broader practice of creating “schools of the not-yet,” the workshop uses food and shared meals as metaphors for digesting institutional barriers and reimagining communal spaces. Through playful acts of serious experimentation, participants explored what it means to unlearn entrenched habits and build solidarities. Here, performance and pedagogy merge as a practice of sensing and slowing down, cultivating alternative ways of being and learning together.
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