FEDERICA ZAMBELETTI / KOOZ Thank you so much for gathering today. I want to start with how you came to work with mangrove ecologies. Starting with KMRU and Pratyay: what prompted your interest in these ecologies and your reciprocal research at RMIT and the Mangrove Ecologies residency in Lamu, respectively?

KMRUFor me, the impetus for the project was prompted by the Life between Ebb & Flow — Mangrove Ecologies residency. It’s interesting, because I've been going to Lamu, this island off the coast of Kenya, where there are lots of mangroves… I've been going there for a long time, during my travels, but I never saw them as this habitat of mangroves that would buffer or protect the land and seascape. More and more, as part of this residency, I feel a personal need to engage with the mangroves from a perspective of listening to ecocide approach. In relation to the island of Lamu, it was mostly through engagement with the residents. In my background, I have a practice of field recordings, but not entirely focussed on mangroves. But this was interesting, like engaging with mangroves, from this approach — a very artistic direction of interacting with mangroves.

PRATYAY RAHAI was born and brought up in Kolkata, India. Around a hundred kilometres south of Kolkata, is the largest mangrove delta of the world, which is called Sundarbans. I used to visit as a tourist, when I was child. The pneumatophores, breathing roots which protrude from the soil, and the way they are entangled with the whole ecosystem, was very intriguing to me as a child. This was my first encounter with the mangroves. In the last decade, there have been a lot of super cyclones affecting the Sundarbans. After one such super cyclone, called Amphan, I revisited the region as a part of a social work initiative. People didn't have any resources at that time. What I saw was very devastating; most of the human settlements and the forest areas were impacted; everything was destroyed because of the super cyclone. At that moment, also because I had that childhood memory, I wanted to do something with and for the mangroves. I was also shifting my whole career towards composition and music at the time, so I wanted to blend my artistic endeavours with this kind of ecological awareness, and as KMRU was saying, towards an awareness of ecocide or climate grief. I started thinking about using sound art and field recordings to understand more of these ecological transformations that are happening very rapidly in the Sunderbans. Then I was fortunate enough to get the opportunity to start a PhD at the esteemed RMIT University in Melbourne.

GABRIELA CARRILLOFor us also, it was also an important discovery to work with mangroves — we didn't know a lot about them. I think that's one of the main issues, that maybe only specialised people and those who are directly involved in environmental issues, are truly concerned with the importance of the mangroves. For us, this discovery was incredible: we were given a plot where 80% of the land was categorised as mangrove. When we saw the precise site from an aerial picture, we thought ‘wow, this is the most amazing site we ever had.’ But when we tried to walk through it, we couldn't, because we finally realised that the land was not land; it was this swamp, with all these roots. In the conscience of Mexico, the nature of the mangrove has been neglected — even despised, I think, because we have always focused on what's ahead — the amazing sea or lagoons. We finally found a very small path which led to a very small beach on this huge plot. We found that this place — which was meant to be our most amazing architectural site — is totally invisible, and in a beautiful way, it would be impossible to inhabit it consciously. For us, that was a big change in our minds, to find out how, through this opportunity of leaving this space, we can make ourselves conscious of the importance and the beauty of this site. Moving through it is complex, even dangerous. You don't know if a crocodile is going to appear there. I believe it's a lack of consciousness about this place that inhibits us from appreciating it. Once we understood that, we approached specialists from whom we could learn more about this ecosystem.

KOOZ Please feel free to share more as to how that particular project in Bacalar came about, as one of the 36 projects C733 has realised under 36 months — it’s quite distinct from the others.

CARLOS FACIO GAXIOLAYeah, it was quite special. From the beginning, we learned that our property was the last area with mangroves in the town. The Bacalar Lagoon is the largest freshwater bacterial reef in the world. It is an incredible, highly sensitive, and special ecosystem. It has stromatolites and other forms of life that are totally unique. But the whole lagoon, especially near the town of Bacalar, has repeatedly perpetrated a very destructive form of urbanism against mangroves, indeed around the whole peninsula of Yucatan. The Yucatán Peninsula, in southeastern Mexico, was formed due to the meteorite that wiped out the dinosaurs. It struck the northern part of the peninsula, so geologically speaking, the land is made up of very particular, mineral-rich soil. It is karstic soil, without mountains, and it has an underground system of rivers and cenotes — holes in the ground beneath which fresh water is found. The entire peninsula is a territory once inhabited or populated by the Maya people. This whole cosmogony about the underground rivers, the underworld, the place of the dead, and this incredible network of waterways culminates in the Bacalar Lagoon. All these minerals and compounds in the water foster a unique and special ecosystem.

At the beginning, we were asked to make a building there. We argued that would be a crime — the last part of the mangrove, and you want to build something there too? So we set out to investigate who the experts were. We found biologist Luisa Falcón, who was a key figure in helping us understand the place and providing us with information and contacts for other specialists, such as Claudia Teutli and Jorge Herrera. Several communities in the peninsula are very concerned about the protection of the mangrove; the impacts of tourism around Cancun has been exploding over the last thirty years. It has destroyed the fabric of the coastal borderlands including, of course, the mangroves. Communities of scientists are trying to protect the ecosystems and doing a lot of social work with the communities to restore the mangroves. So we began this process with specialists to understand the place and then, using that investigation, proposed a change in the programme; Instead of proposing a building that would harm the mangroves, we proposed a lightweight structure that would serve as an observatory and protective framework. The authorities did not find the proposal favorable and canceled the project. However, since the research had strong foundations, we managed to revive the project after dialogues with various institutions and government agencies.

GCI think that we repurposed the idea of building a community centre, understanding that community centres can have many faces, and that face is not necessarily a solid building. It can become something meaningful that can protect and inform people about this ecosystem. Again, this is a landscape which is not really known, it was only recently deemed worthy of protection. This is now a big concern for the authorities: how to communicate the importance of this ecosystem.

KOOZ All of your practices really engage with this idea of raising awareness. The project of Gabriela and Carlos does it through the physical manifestation of this pier-like structure, while KMRU and Pratyay work through sound. What is the potential of deploying sound as a means of reflecting upon and drawing attention towards these mangrove ecologies?

KMRUDuring my time on the island in Lamu, I was making field recording trips into the mangroves. That was interesting, because I was recording — underwater with hydrophones — the root systems of mangroves, and trying to hear what fish are there, what is present. Also the awareness of ecocide changes so much when you go inside the mangroves, into the buffer that culminates in this landscape. The mangroves in Lamu are not made up of tall trees, as compared to other mangroves that I've seen in different regions. I was interested in the sound that happens around mangroves — both under the water and above — as well as the relationship that's happening with the inhabitants of the island in Lamu. I realised that when we were there, people were aware that we are the ones doing a research project on mangroves. “These mangroves have always been there; they're always growing, there has never been a need to interfere with them.” But I was thinking about the relationship with the locals, and the power held in the narratives, stories or myths told to those who grow up listening to the mangroves. On the Kenyan coast, there are Baobab trees, so huge and strong; compared to mangroves, there are so many stories around the Baobabs, yet mangroves have not been so present. It's only now, with the rise of sea levels that everyone now wants to plant mangroves, or engage with mangroves in these different ways. I wanted to approach it from a listening point of view, recording the environments of mangrove and also trying to relate to the people around the island.

GCI was inspired by this question about silence and the sounds… I remember one instance on my last visit through the mangrove space: it was really early in the morning, around 6am, the sun was beginning to rise. Our intervention is a big square that varies in height depending on the level of the mangrove. If the mangrove level is at six metre — which is its highest point — it meets the pier. When the mangrove sinks lower, this pier becomes a ramp, so you are always floating over the landscape. You talked about tension and silence; when I visited it that first time , with no visitors (it is otherwise fairly busy with tourists), it was beautiful. This silence and the sounds that you hear in your own works are unveiled somehow; it became a transition between the urban fabric of the small town and the landscape. Up on the structure, because of that strange silence and sense of abstraction, I could almost hear the wingbeats of this huge eagle, sailing over top of this mangrove. At the end, art is that which brings you to this abstraction; what we tried to do was to unveil something that was impossible to see, by raising that path and placing you on top. I found this beautiful connection with your work, because it reminded me of that experience of being contained in a sphere of soundscapes, seeing the eagle… Sometimes you need to be aware of these abstractions.

CFG For sure, the atmosphere was already there. Personally, I ought to say that I’m a little envious; deep down on my core, I'm a musician. I'm an architect, but at my core I'm a musician. More than that, I'm quite obsessed with the world of sound. As we are talking about silence, I remember another mangrove we visited some years ago, “El Corchal” in Solferino, Quintana Roo. It was almost like a sanctuary, no one wanted to speak; we held twenty minutes of silence, punctuated by a bubble or a bird far away. For me and according to the guy who was giving the tour, this was a most sacred place. It made you want to protect it.

That was somehow the case with our project. Many people have this inner sensation of an almost sacred atmosphere, one that needs to be protected. That helped a little — but it was still a hard process to get the community’s attention with that programme. There's a sensation that you're visiting a site, but not touching it in a way, as you're elevated within the environment. One intention of the project was not to touch a single leaf of the mangrove, so it even tilts to one side. Only when you dive into the water, can you truly enter the mangrove; you have these two different perspectives. So since we already have the atmosphere, we just wanted to provoke an entrance into that space.

KMRUWhen you go inside the mangrove, there's always a shift in sound. That happens, if you like, in a flowing kind of transition that's very seamless. I usually like being in a spot where the root systems are very complex; then there's a pure silence that allows you to engage with the nuances of the mangrove, just being with it. In research, I find the mangrove ecosystem really hard to grasp, understanding what the root systems probe — because I feel there's so much nuance that mangrove environments provoke. I was thinking about this in relation to sound, including the sound below water. Mangroves contain fish — lots of fish and breeding grounds; you can hear this constant sound of shrimp in mangroves too. This relates to the people living in this environment, if there are habitats of people; sometimes these people feel that maybe the mangroves should stay as they are, and sometimes they replant other species of mangroves. I think the word complexity has also come up a lot in this conversation, which is interesting, because it's something that I've been thinking about with the root systems of mangroves.

KOOZ You mentioned the notion of ecocide: how are you able to record how an ecosystem changes, and to what extent can that be used as evidence?

KMRUFor example, in Lamu, there's a port being built, for which they had to cut down lots of mangroves. A few years back when I was there, the port project had just begun. The effects can be found in conversations with the fisher-people living on the island and their relationship with the mangroves. You can hear the changing amount of fish or habitats of species that breed in the mangroves. This is still an ongoing research project; I'm engaging more with systems of hydroponic listening in the mangroves to understand what is present, what fish are present. This can be cross-referenced with conversations with fisher-people. Now mangroves in Kenya, as well as other places, are coming under some restrictions in terms of when or how much they are cut and how they are used. I think that listening to the environment, in relation to the people that are living there, is the kind of engagement that I'm trying to build — both with the mangroves and the people, because I feel like there's always an engagement.

CFG I have one question in terms of the work of KMRU and Pratyay, and that’s about the time you spend in that soundscape. I remember this incredible poem by Yoko Ono that describes how, upon entering a forest, you need to remain completely still for some time, until you begin to hear how the forest really sounds. I'm curious about the timing, the time you spend, the experiments or seasonal differences that you might have observed. Is it different between morning and night?

KMRUYes; with different environments, different natures — like in the ocean or in the mangroves — the more you spend time listening, the more you get attuned to the patterns that emerge in an environment. Sometimes it's through this listening that you become one with nature in a way. In practice, when I enter a space, I have to be there for a while, or go back in different patterns, at different times. I try to understand the rhythm, to make a rhythm analysis of the space. And this repetition is like trying to become with nature. My practice extends a lot through listening, the practice of listening and slowing things down and being still with nature, and seeing what emerges from the surroundings.

GCBeautiful. To follow the question of how one’s work could communicate the way that mangrove is being exploited and destroyed. In our case, trying to work with space, it was important that our contribution to the site could also become a symbol. That is why we decided not to create a traditional pier, but a pier that created an endless cycle: this perfect square of 200 metres, with those varying levels in height. It was an opportunity to give visitors the experience of floating over the mangrove — but it's also like emphasising that what's in that area is important. It's an observatory — one that is deliberately not irregular, not organic, because those organic traces are already drawn by nature itself; the floods already have that movement. We almost wanted to evoke what the Mayans had done, placing orthogonal and geometrical features over this beautiful, organic environment that is changing every day. It is oriented to the north to create this tension; I loved listening to you both mention all these words — like protection, tension, silence, all of the things that we wanted to involve with our work.

I wanted to add one thing: I had the opportunity to work with Bernie Krause many years ago, with United Visual Artists!

PR Bernie Krause is a really inspiring figure in soundscape ecology. He did this twenty-year long project in a national park in California and the outcome of the project really blurs the border between science and art. It can be looked at from a scientific lens as well as from the artistic perspective. It's very relevant to the transdisciplinarity of this unique area of study...

GCThat's what's fantastic about this conversation; the border between the disciplines is what creates complexity. We always say that this project wouldn't be possible if we hadn't worked with scientists from whom we had learned so much. Usually one is afraid of not knowing. The problem is that scientists today don't really want people near these ecosystems, they feel that we are too dangerous. Human beings are dangerous. But how can we understand these places if we can’t see them? I think blurring these disciplines, creating these intersections between science, art and space, is a new opportunity to develop more thoughtful and respectful works — at least, to grow our consciousness about the many environmental and social crises that we witness today.

KOOZ Talking about this engagement with the sciences, you had shared some research documents; is there space for sound to be considered as a form of data in the future? Often understanding comes either through seeing a space or understanding its geology; what potential is there for sound to become part of a spatial reading, which can then influence an architectural intervention?

GCI think it's because of the ways that we learn to do things. This is not only limited to soundscapes; it’s also about understanding geology, understanding ideology, understanding not only the culture of the past, but also the potential futures. When you look at how we study architecture, at least in our schools, you find that earth and soil studies only happen when you already have a project. That’s when you would need to know what type of foundation you need to design. But in terms of the available knowledge and the importance of really understanding a place, we should change our usual procedures and reconsider the processes that we usually use. We could start from other points of view, for example; understanding the main disadvantages of the site, understanding the soil, understanding the soundscapes that could be recorded somewhere as part of the memory of the place. These elements that are on site and currently hidden, they often become part of a later process, once you complete the building. You can make a beautiful video with amazing sounds, but if you had that information before — as we received information from the biologists and researchers — or if you worked from the profile of the soil, you might reconsider many things from the start. Like, maybe Mexico City shouldn't be built where it is, because of the type of soil we have and the danger of earthquakes — many things could be reconsidered, programmes could change, including the way that urban development could happen. I think these procedures — and the order of things — are meaningful.

CFG I would only add that happily we now pay more attention to various forms of pollution that our cities and the buildings produce. We live in a very noisy society. I mean, Mexicans are… you can't imagine, I imagine that it's similar to India, as compared with Japan or Switzerland, or somewhere more concerned about noise pollution. We’re at the very first step of that concern here, but I think now we have more awareness of the relationship between physical health, mental health and the health of the environment. I like to think that it's going to be an important part of the design soon; we’re taking tiny steps to achieve that.

GCThis also extends to diversity and accessibility. As designers, especially in the case of architecture, we are mostly focused on the eyes, right, and this expectation of lights and visual effects. In my case, working on a library for blind people was a big point of inflection, at least in terms of starting to become conscious. This was the first time I worked with a sound artist; we were meant to have a piece of art in the library, and we made, naturally enough, compositions of soundscapes. This was amazing, because the whole space was crafted for aural sensation — thinking about how the resonance and the tension of the space could create sounds that could act as locative signals for the people to understand where they are standing. Maybe we are not used to seeing this diversity — the diversity of voices, cultures, sites and people — where we live, and I think that's changing too. We are lucky to be in the 21st century — not trouble-free, but lucky.

KOOZ The last time KMRU spoke to KoozArch, in conversation with Arman Nouri, you mentioned the subject of sound vs. noise: specifically that when you're in Berlin, you’re inclined to get loud while in Nairobi, where the soundscape is quite rich, you play at being quiet. As a question to both KMRU and Pratyay, do you think there is a potential for sound to become a means to read and understand a site, in terms of an archival tool or evidence to be analysed in the future?

KMRUYes, I do. I think so, in my sound practice — more and more. Sound is so ephemeral; it's not a tangible element, but it holds so much information. I think about the production of knowledge through listening only — listening produces so much information. There's always a need to make things very concrete ontologically, then they have to be written down. But I think that there should be room for listening to spaces, and for making sound interventions in order to understand a space. When I'm in Kenya, I can see how noise engages people: in markets, in traffic, how they navigate through space. The noise flow is really high, and the way people navigate that space is so fluid that when it's relatively silent, it feels like something is wrong — I think sometimes it's the unseen things embedded in a city or in a place, that can tell you the most. Sound plays a huge role in how people interact — even with practices like forensic architecture, if you look at what people like Lawrence Abu Hamdan is doing. There are nuances of really tangible information that are being produced through sound and the act of listening.

KOOZ I wanted to kind of understand how much you resonate with this idea of being an activist and how you identify your practice — or reciprocal practices perhaps, between research, design, artistic practice and the act of drawing broader attention to certain crises.

PRSure, I can jump in. I don't see direct activism in my work, as it's very enhanced and complex; during the time I spend listening to the landscape, I don't give that space over to thinking about the political agency it might have. But then I heard from Priscilla Drouin, a researcher at the University of Montreal, she got interested in the social impacts of ecological sound art in the Indian context, studied my work and then in a paper she wrote on the political agency of field recording in Sundarbans. That was really interesting to me, because I had never thought in those terms. After this paper and interacting with Priscilla, I started thinking about what it might mean to work on soundscapes; I started thinking about this agency, which then developed into a small abstract that I wrote on the politics of recording soundscapes in the Sundarbans. It's kind of an oscillation between art and activism, but it's not direct activism.

KMRUI think my practice as a sound artist — also as a performing musician, through listening and making music, through field recordings and sound — I always find there's an impetus that's either social or political, but again not in a very direct way. Most of the music I make is very emotionally weighted; there's always a lot of feeling in the sounds. Some of my works have a more direct context, probing at something, but not to create change per se. There is always an invitation for people to grow and share some awareness, but it's not direct — there's some sense of opacity that I allow in my work. I do always think about it, because sound has so much emotion; when you're listening to music, sometimes you’re just enjoying but some nuance will emerge, through sounds that are relatable to other people and then you start thinking about the world…

GCIn our case, even though our practice as architect is very invasive — or partly because of that — architecture is a political act. We try to define social issues through our work; we do want to be activists, maybe even by not doing, which is what makes sense sometimes. At the end, we see architecture as a service through which we can help humans recognise and take advantage of what diverse territories have to offer — architecture as an articulation between the territory, the humans and society, as the social beings that we are. In that sense, we are always asking ourselves, not only in terms of environmental issues, but also in social ones: how, through our work, can we make some small change. We might not change the world, but we can be meaningful towards pursuing small changes at least, and asking new questions through and with space.

CFG Yes, we were raised in a society and culture that was heavily involved with the social fights common to the generation of the 1960s; we were very involved with ideas of the social contract and so on. At least for me, it was very clear; for instance, in the 2017 earthquake in Mexico City, that we would be ready to help in several ways, because we were raised in that earthquake, in terms of our cultural education. So on the first day, we were physically helping with basic things like food and labour, moving rubble and so on. At some point, we understood that, as architects, we could have more impact in a way, if we work with our expertise and with our tools. I believe that nowadays, it is almost an obligation to be aware and conscious about greater planetary needs — to be activists, in a way. In fact, we don't really consider ourselves as activists, but we really do think that every decision we make as architects is political and it has a social impact. In the 21st century, it is almost impossible to not face that. In the 20th century, there were those who imagined some utopias and alternative ways of life, but perhaps with an excess of innocence or a lack of information. Nowadays, if you’re not aware of the polycrises, you're either stupid or you don't want to know. These crises are already happening across the world and every decision we make needs to face that, in a way.

KOOZ Thank you so much for taking the time to discuss this together, it has been wonderful.

GCAmazing to meet you all. Thank you for putting this together.

Bios

Joseph Kamaru, aka KMRU, is a Nairobi-born, Berlin-based sound artist whose work is grounded on the discourse of field recording, noise, and sound art. His work posits expanded listening cultures of sonic thoughts and sound practices, a proposition to consider and reflect on auditory cultures beyond the norms. An awareness of surroundings through creative compositions, installations, and performances. He has earned international acclaim from his performances at the Barbican, Berlin Atonal, CTM festival, Dekmantel, Le Guess Who and Tramway. He has released music on labels like Editions Mego, Subtext, Seil Records, and his own imprint OFNOT. KMRU is a SHAPE artist, received an honorary mention at Prix Ars Electronica 2023 and has an MA in Sound Studies and Sonic Arts.

Pratyay Raha is a sonic arts and music practitioner interested in ecological transformation, field recording and sound arts; his artistic works are developed to enhance the awareness, dialogue and action relating to the preservation of endangered environments. He holds an MA in Composition and Creative Music Practice from the University of Limerick. Currently, he is pursuing a PhD at RMIT University, Melbourne (Australia) with Dr. Philip Samartzis and Dr. Michael Graeve.
Raha has presented and been Artist-in-Residence at prestigious institutes like Zentrum für Kunst und Medien, Institute for Computer Music and Sound Technology, Srishti Manipal Institute for Art, Design and Technology, Indian Sonic Research Organisation, Forecast, Rosalux and Braunschweig. He is a singer songwriter and collector of stories, engaging actively with the numerous Adivasi cultures (indigenous communities) in India.

Colectivo C733 was constituted in 2019 for the development of public projects in Mexico. It brings together the studios of Gabriela Carrillo, Carlos Facioand Jose Amozurrutia (TO), Eric Valdez (labg), and Israel Espín. They have developed over 30 urban equipment projects in all regions of the country, with a focus on projects integrated into the Urban Improvement Plan of the Ministry of Agrarian, Territorial, and Urban Development of Mexico. Among their works are the Matamoros Market, the Nacajuca Music House, the Tapachula Market, the San Blas Pier, and the Ecoparque Bacalar. Their works have been recognized in Mexican, Pan-American, and Ibero-American architecture biennials. In 2024 the Colectivo C733 received the Obel Award for their 36 works developed throughout 36 months.

Carlos Enrique Facio Gaxiola founded TO in 2015, a collaborative and interdisciplinary studio established in Mexico City, together with José Amozurrutia. His practice views architecture as a vehicle for human knowledge, capable of promoting a social and artistic stance, sensitive to natural processes. He is a co-founder of Colectivo C733, and is currently a member of the National System of Art Creators. Among his recognitions are the AR Emerging Awards in London 2023, the League Prize from The Architectural League of New York 2022, and the Grand Prize of the Pan-American Architecture Biennale of Quito BAQ 2023. He is a professor at the Faculty of Architecture at UNAM and has given various lectures and classes in national and international venues.

Gabriela Carrillo is a partner at the award-winning Rocha Carrillo Studio and has been recognised with various national and international awards, including the Emerging Voices Award in 2014, the Federico Mariscal Chair at UNAM and the Medaille d’Or from the French Academy of Architecture; most recently in 2023, she received The Royal Academy Dorfman Award. Since 2019, she has been a Member of the National System of Art Creators, and since 2021, she has been a full member of the Academy of Architecture of Mexico, CDMX chapter. She is a co-founder of Reconstruir MX and Colectivo C733. Carrillo has been an academic at the UNAM Faculty of Architecture since 2003; she has taught at Harvard GSD, the University of New Mexico, and the WAVE program in Venice, Italy.

Federica Zambeletti is the founder and managing director of KoozArch. She is an architect, researcher and digital curator whose interests lie at the intersection between art, architecture and regenerative practices. In 2015 Federica founded KoozArch with the ambition of creating a space where to research, explore and discuss architecture beyond the limits of its built form. Parallel to her work at KoozArch, Federica is Architect at the architecture studio UNA and researcher at the non-profit agency for change UNLESS where she is project manager of the research "Antarctic Resolution". Federica is an Architectural Association School of Architecture in London alumni.