SHUMI BOSE (KOOZ) We were talking about recovering equilibrium, and whether there’s a point within the academic year to do that.

MARINA OTERO VERZIER (MOV) It is equally challenging to find respite at both the end and the beginning of the academic year. However, I am not teaching this term. I am taking a term off.

KOOZ That's probably healthy, after a point. Shannon, where are you teaching at the moment?

SHANNON MATTERN (SM) Everything’s new to me this year. After nearly two decades at The New School, a progressive, experimental, arts-focused school in New York, I’ve just moved to the University of Pennsylvania, a member of the so-called “Ivy League.” So, I’m acclimating to a new city, a new institution with unfamiliar (and, frankly, unintelligible) protocols, a return to an old discipline but in the form of a brand-new department, a very different pedagogical culture, new routines, and all new classes. In short, I don’t anticipate achieving equilibrium any time soon!

KOOZ There are relationships between your interests. Not only have you both spent a long time in academia, but also specifically thinking about knowledge and its enclaves. I know that Marina’s training as an architect has led into that; Shannon, what about you?

SM I started as a chemistry major, intending to advance to medical school, but I ultimately realised that I preferred my literature classes. I graduated with a double-major in English and communication. I had initially assumed I’d work in publishing or advertising but then, rather late in my senior year, I was encouraged to apply to graduate school. I was accepted into a media studies PhD program at NYU, but I took classes all over the university, probably breaking a few curricular guidelines and failing to fulfil some of program requirements in the process— but I’m actually quite grateful for my advisor’s laissez faire approach: I got to explore urban studies, American Studies, architectural history, landscape studies, art history, and beyond. My dissertation ultimately combined media and information studies with urban and architectural history, and my committee was composed of scholars from three disparate fields.

Since then, I’ve taught across media studies, various design fields, and anthropology at The New School. I’ve also really enjoyed partnering with external organisations like the Architectural League of New York, Open House New York, and with various arts organisations, libraries, and archives across the city. Now I'm trying to renegotiate what that all looks like — and if it's even possible — at a different institution, in a different city, or if I can manage to build connections within and across two cities.

KOOZ Right: so you kind of moved from a notable design school but there, you were in the anthropology department?

SM I originally worked in a division called the School for Public Engagement, which held the more civically engaged, praxis-oriented programmes. While there, I was housed in media studies, but my classes drew students from across the Parsons School of Design and a range of humanities and social science departments. For my final few years, I was invited to move to the Department of Anthropology in the New School for Social Research, to start a new graduate minor in anthropology and design, which required me to build bridges between the social sciences and the various design programs across Parsons. I then assumed the role of directing, simultaneously, the undergraduate major and minor in anthropology, which bridged NSSR and Eugene Lang College, the undergraduate division. So, I worked across four divisions, each of which had its own protocols, schedules, culture.

KOOZ Wow. That sounds exciting in theory, but in reality I can’t imagine the institutional complexity —

MOV My trajectory was perhaps more conventional in the sense that I studied architecture. At the time I studied in Spain, the field directed one towards establishing a practice, a small office, and combining practice with teaching at a university. That was my initial plan. However, as a senior architect in an office, directing the construction of a significant cultural building in the city, I began a PhD programme and realised along the way that I wanted to learn more. This realisation led me to apply for a Fulbright grant to study the Critical, Curatorial, and Conceptual Practices programme at GSAPP. Everything changed for me. It was an unconventional path, as I pursued a master's degree while taking a break from my PhD. I like to do things my way!

I did not return to Madrid; my path changed. Eventually, I moved from New York to the Netherlands to become the Director of Research at Het Nieuwe Instituut. This role was particularly interesting as it encompassed architecture, design, and digital culture, pushing me to engage with disciplines outside my original expertise.

I am very curious and enjoy being constantly challenged. I do not mind being in situations where I am not the most knowledgeable person in the room or do not have expertise in what is being discussed. I listen and ask questions. This openness allows me to engage with diverse topics, become deeply interested in them, and explore them further. Yet, I always define my work through the lens of architecture, even when it involves other mediums and languages.

KOOZ Shannon, do you have a discipline that you tie yourself to in that way?

SM Every time I’ve undergone a major academic review, I’ve had to retroactively manufacture a cohesive narrative for what I do. Fortunately, media studies is a pretty capacious field that encompasses people who write about everything from geology to physics, texts to hardware; it bridges a bunch of fields. I ultimately learned to talk about myself as a disciplinary mediator – an embodiment of the core concepts in our field. I’ve actually quite enjoyed that many folks, when introducing me at public events, admit: ‘I don't know what to call you.’ That non-place, that interstitial zone, feels like home to me.

KOOZ One of the commonalities you share is this conscious role of having to fuse different languages, disciplines, fields. I was at art college in the late nineties, when words like multiculturalism and multi-disciplinarity were much used; we were not so much taught what to do as left to make our own way. This same course is now required to conform to various standards of professional validation; transdisciplinary practice is given very little time in the curriculum. Do you believe in multidisciplinarity, and how achievable is it in academia?

SM I do believe in it, and it’s the only mode of existence that has allowed me to survive the academy! It’s achievable, but not without struggle. During my last semester at the New School — which was getting into the third year of the pandemic — I had sensed much disaffection amongst graduate students, especially doctoral students, who were realising they probably wouldn’t find, and perhaps no longer wanted, a tenure-track academic position. They were wondering about the purpose of the academy, who it serves, the facticity and function of its institutional conventions and architectures — and whether things have to be the way they are. Institutional administrators were making some egregiously poor choices and effecting a great deal of disillusionment.

I taught a class — proposed before I knew that I’d be leaving The New School — called ‘Redesigning the Academy’. We looked at the work in critical university studies, the history of the academy, the history and politics of the academic discipline — which we tend to reify because it has been inscribed into curricula and professional accreditation. Things like hiring lines, budgets… we just assume that their organisation into disciplinary tracks or units that are themselves natural facts. But intellectual history shows us that disciplines are often historical accidents, driven by political economy, cultural shifts, nationalist interests — a variety of non-intellectual or professional factors. The natural historian, the “Renaissance man,” the dilettante reveal that there’s a deep history to interdisciplinarity — but it perhaps feels new today because specialisation and directed training have been normalised and so deeply entrenched. Interdisciplinarity — and I mean brave interdisciplinarity: not just anthropologists talking to sociologists — was accommodated, recognized, validated, and encouraged at The New School, which helped shape me into who I am today.

MOV Many of the points Shannon mentioned resonate with me. Firstly, the impact of the pandemic and the resulting disaffection have been extremely evident across various institutions where I have worked. This is true for me as well: since January, this is the first time I do not hold a permanent position in an institution.

I sought this break intentionally to reassess my role within an institution and to reconsider the types of projects I wish to pursue. It is not that I do not believe in institutions and institutional work — there is indeed much work to be done — but it is also important to step back, reflect, and embrace change rather than allowing inertia to take over. That’s why I have given myself time to explore different forms of practice.

Regarding the disciplinary framework, architecture is particularly perverse in that one constantly has to argue or justify that what they are doing is indeed architecture. I find it limiting and tedious, almost a form of intellectual constraint, to continuously justify how one's work or ideas pertain to architecture. This seems to be more about professional protection related to degrees, titles, and skills, rather than the advancement of knowledge.

Being at the Nieuwe Instituut, where I could explore diverse types of knowledge and their intersections, was very refreshing. We challenged these rigid categories while others sought to maintain them, protecting a realm of operations that is losing relevance. Similarly, at the Design Academy in Eindhoven (DAE), design is treated as a more interdisciplinary field. When I directed the Master of Social Design, my favourite aspect was to create a welcoming space for everyone interested in design, regardless of their background. We had musicians, performers, theatre makers, political scientists, and philosophers among others — it was incredible. It energised me; these diverse engagements allow for the sharing of vast amounts of knowledge.

Encountering these diverse voices and interests, from cultural preservation and urban planning to political theatre, each with its unique language, invigorates me. I thrive in these messy and dynamic environments, which keep me engaged in education. I don't just want to help people attain degrees; while I understand the importance of that, it is not my primary motivation.

MOV I agree. We pursue interdisciplinarity because we believe in its importance, and it indeed involves significant care work. I love to care for the student community and my peers, but to provide care, I must also be cared for. It is crucial to be in an environment where one feels supported, enabling the ability to experiment, explore, and even fail.

Many institutions are precarious and perpetuate precarity. As a leader in these institutions, one is sometimes compelled to implement policies that promote this precarity — short-term contracts, stagnating salaries, lack of mental health support — a stance with which I cannot agree. I strive to combat this, but it is not always successful; sometimes the structures are too entrenched for certain battles. Reflecting on the last 15 years, I recognise the beauty and relevance in much of what we accomplished, and I am very proud of our achievements. However, the process has been exhausting. I am currently exploring how to continue this work without depleting myself, others, and the planet.

KOOZ I have been thinking about what constitutes value in the educational or academic environment. In that sense, interdisciplinary units are often not seen as clearly fungible. My students are burdened with the financialisation of educational space, and this puts pressure on particular forms of learning.

SM The New School, for all its faults, embraces and embodies interdisciplinarity, which, there, is “fungible” in the sense that its integrative thinking and creativity define its “brand”: it’s thus an attractive place of employment for people who desire that kind of atmosphere, and it’s a source of labour for industries that value that kind of thinking and creative skill.

My new institution is a different story. During my years of recruitment, I was repeatedly told that what defines Penn “as an Ivy” is its interdisciplinarity. Yet, now that I’m here, I’m not quite sure what they’re referring to. What I see is a highly professionalised, fractured school whose administrative structures and budget models make it incredibly difficult to work across divisions. Students are incentivized to choose majors with clear career trajectories that will yield large paychecks. They sometimes double-major in fields that will either enhance their marketability as job candidates — or, more rarely, fields that reflect their non-utilitarian interests. Think of the pre-med or economics student who’s double-majoring in art history, simply because they find it fascinating. Yet I find that so many institutional infrastructures work against these curiosity-driven, organic modes of integrative thinking. Intensive degree requirements, restrictive schedules, internship obligations, pressure to join networking clubs. Even the software used for registration marginalised arts and humanities classes, which diminishes possibilities for serendipitous discovery.

Yet it’s important to remember that progressive education happens beyond the academy. I’ve been grateful to work with public libraries for over 20 years; they’re great places for interdisciplinary work, multigenerational exchange, and collaboration with artists and designers. They’re not beholden by the same kind of institutional credit structures that often restrict intellectual possibilities in the academy.

MOV I had a very different experience as a student. For me, being at the university was, in general, very fulfilling; it opened up numerous possibilities. I had the privilege of engaging with incredible colleagues, peers, and teachers, which significantly broadened my perspective. I learned to see things in ways I had not considered before, particularly from the vantage points of being in the United States or the Netherlands and reflecting on my own context. It would feel somewhat selfish or disingenuous to say that degrees are not important when I have benefited from holding a master's degree and a PhD and having the stamp of prestigious institutions. These qualifications are a form of currency that facilitate navigating the professional environment.

However, in recent years, I have become increasingly uncomfortable with how knowledge exchange manifests in certain institutions, including museums. I was fortunate to hold a unique position at the Nieuwe Instituut as Director of Research, where I was not compelled to curate exhibitions unless I saw a genuine need. With the research team, we were able to implement long-term research projects, addressing my frustration with the short cycles of knowledge production typical in museum culture, which often prioritise new productions to attract audiences. It was quite bold for a museum to commit to a single question or topic for an extended period.

As Shannon mentioned earlier, much of the work involves creating connections. During the pandemic, questions about institutions and colonialism became particularly volatile. Conversations were often fraught with frustration and tension, with institutions sometimes retreating into self-protection. This left us caught in the middle — between institutional settings and our responsibilities towards the communities we sought to engage. For example, institutions rarely want to apologise, which I find very frustrating. It is important to take responsibility and acknowledge mistakes to be able to instigate profound change.

Over the past two years, it has been crucial for me to venture out of the full-time institutional framework and focus on establishing meaningful relationships. I was able to conduct independent work in which my interactions have been one-on-one. My learning has primarily come through embodied forms of knowledge, conversations with people, and field trips — not bound or mediated by the walls of an institution protecting its identity or brand.

SM A lot of that resonates for me, too. I'm thinking about colleagues for whom their experience of the academy has been very different than my own and what you’re describing, Marina. I think about colleagues — usually white senior men who came up through the ranks in an earlier era — to whom the Academy offers a luxurious space with minimal additional obligations; a place where they can build a lab that feeds into their own research interests, and that affords decades to think through some longitudinal challenges. That's really hard to create when you're asked to take on new heavy service roles every two or three years; you can't sustain a longitudinal research agenda or nurture a cohort of students when most of your time is spent addressing the institution’s problems. There was yet another report published recently about the disparity between women's and men's labour in the academy. We see once again the racial, generational and gendered distinctions between who enjoys this life of Academic Luxury — who can activate the promise of the academy as a space for concentrated interdisciplinary thinking.

Thinking more specifically about design education: the community-engaged studio is another place that can foster deep, collaborative, interdisciplinary thinking. Yet the limitations of the 10- or 15-week semester can create false impressions or dangerous precedent for students in terms of how long it's supposed to take for knowledge to be produced, or what is the length of your obligation to community partners, for instance. The slicing up of the school semester, and the reification of the semester as “the appropriate time to finish a job,” can do some longer-term damage when we consider what’s at stake when our newly-graduated designers are out in the world, designing community engagement processes and allocating time for the work.

KOOZ How easy have you found it to model the practice of good behaviour for students within institutions? In our own jobs, we are obliged to operate within unhealthy and unjust labour practices, all the time. I do believe in academic education, but how can we model healthy practice for our students within these structures?

MOV As Shannon also mentioned, the structure of study, with most courses running for only one term, makes it very difficult to build any type of enduring relationships, discussions, or long-term thinking. If there are rigid parameters defining a successful course or specific student achievements, it restricts the freedom to pause and address emerging issues that require more attention. For instance, a new, unexpected question might arise and suddenly become very relevant, or a contemporary debate might emerge that demands discussion. Part of my role is to allow time for these moments, the discomfort, the conflict, and the debates that were not included in the syllabus or that need more time.

However, you must also deal with final reviews; everything needs to look polished and complete. Students want to have their portfolios ready to showcase their ability to meet requirements and regulations when they search for jobs. This can limit the possibilities of the class. Can formal education accommodate both structured objectives and the flexibility to respond to immediate concerns and discussions? I hope so. I would feel more comfortable fostering relationships and addressing the energies, concerns, and conversations happening in the group at that moment, rather than just delivering abstract objectives.

SM I have tried to introduce case studies or welcome guests who centre design justice in their practice, or who’ve organised into cooperatives or unions. These folks show that there are other ways to operate that put values first. Values-driven practice might create some friction — it might take extra time or prove less lucrative — but it’s about prioritising principles.

Also, I'm known for offering deep and constructive feedback and trying to model intellectual generosity in the classroom. Students frequently note that they don’t feel a sense of competition with their classmates; instead, they strive to learn from what each other brings to the table. They’re genuinely motivated to help each of us be the best versions of ourselves. That means a lot to me, when students recognize that these values can then be imported into other classes, or even a workplace. They know that some colleagues try to cultivate competitive dynamics in the classroom, but they can choose to build a different world.

KOOZ Do you nudge certain values in your classes?For example, would you suggest that they apply knowledge towards the public good, rather than for personal enrichment? Or are you the sort of teacher who doesn’t mind if students want to pursue extractive practices, for example?

MOV I'm very straightforward. I am respectful and adapt to the cultural setting, but my students are aware of my political views because they are familiar with my work. I do not pretend to hold a neutral position on certain issues and am very open about this. However, I also encourage discussion, create space for diverse views, and never suggest that my perspective is the one everyone must follow.

I would like to address what Shannon mentioned. Some aspects are particularly interesting to challenge; for instance, the notions of authority that are mobilised in a class and how a different impression can be created by embracing messiness. In certain cultural contexts, the open-ended and participative approach to teaching is perceived as unprofessional or indicative of insecurity.

KOOZ Or even lack of knowledge or care.

MOV Indeed, it is unfortunate. However, I do not wish to create a fully controlled environment. While we will prepare a syllabus, readings, class structures, field trips, guest lectures, deliverables, and reviews, I also want to include moments of openness and spontaneity, allowing students to be creative in their approach to the material and in making decisions. Personally, as a student, I often did the opposite of what I was instructed to do. Now, when I tell my students, "This is your decision; I won’t tell you what to do," it can generate anxiety.

In promoting the kind of agency and responsibility we want students to assume, it can sometimes appear as though we are insecure or indifferent because we are not providing explicit instructions on how to succeed. This approach raises numerous questions about the role of the educator, the nature of the educational space, and the value of messiness, uncertainty, vulnerability and discomfort.

KOOZ We've talked a lot about the predicaments we find ourselves in professionally and institutionally, but what is exciting you just now?

SM A lot of the challenges we've been discussing unfortunately determine how much mental space remains for excitement! I unfortunately haven't done any research for a year and a half, because acclimating to pervasive newness — during a time of institutional and global instability — has been quite consuming! But the ideas that, honestly, give me hope involve thinking and working beyond the academy and exploring alternative spaces of knowledge production and public learning. I’m increasingly convinced that, in order for me to do my best work, and to do the most good, the Academy may no longer be the best platform for me.

MOV I reached the same conclusion and left my full-time academic position at DAE last September. I have several projects underway and am still working on long-term research on data storage through the Wheelwright prize. I’ve been travelling, conducting fieldwork, and actually having a lot of fun. I’ve returned to designing, developing prototypes with scientists, and exploring media I had never worked with before, such as film. I’ve also been collaborating with communities and activist groups, and working on new legislation for ecosocial data centres with tech companies and governmental bodies. Additionally, I am still teaching, though not full time. One term a year, I lead a 'clinic' at Columbia University GSAPP focused on the intersection between digital infrastructures and the climate catastrophe, by invitation of Dean Jaque. It's been great. We merge architecture studio students with those from critical and curatorial practices, historic preservation, computational design, and urban planning.

SM I was just thinking: I wish you could host Feminist Focus Groups when you're having a mid-career crisis. You know, gather up some people who know your work, who know what you're capable of, who can help you remember your own worth, especially when the institution has really deflated your ego — and help you imagine what’s possible.

MOV I greatly admire those who work within and care for institutions and strive to bring about change. I am currently taking a break from full-time institutional life. In the meantime, I am here to offer support because I understand what it takes to be in that position. We should create support groups as well; if someone is committed and willing to effect progressive institutional change, we must support them. I also love the idea of a peer-to-peer support group for mid-career crises and life-changing decisions.

KOOZ You have both negotiated these waters and you’ve been generous enough to share some of that experience today. We are so grateful: I think that in terms of modelling good academic practice, you are it. Thank you so much for your time.

Bios

Dr. Marina Otero Verzier is an architect, researcher, and Dean’s visiting assistant professor at the Graduate School of Architecture, Planning, and Preservation at Columbia University, New York. Since 2023, she has been a member of the Advisory Committee for Architecture and Design at the Reina Sofía National Museum and Art Center. Otero Verzier specialises in the relationships between architecture and digital infrastructures and resources such as lithium that sustain them. In 2022, she received the Harvard Wheelwright Prize for a project on the future of data storage. Between 2020 and 2023, she was the Director of the Master in Social Design at the Design Academy Eindhoven, and from 2015 to 2022, Director of Research at Het Nieuwe Instituut, where she led initiatives focused on labour, extraction, and mental health.

Shannon Mattern is the Penn Presidential Compact Professor of Media Studies and the History of Art at the University of Pennsylvania. Mattern served for nearly two decades as a professor of media studies and anthropology at The New School in New York. Her research and teaching focus on media architectures, information infrastructures, and urban technologies. Her books include The New Downtown Library; Deep Mapping the Media City and Code and Clay, Data and Dirt: 5000 Years of Urban Media, both published by the University of Minnesota Press and A City Is Not a Computer, published by Princeton University Press. She also contributes a regular long-form column about urban data and mediated infrastructures to Places Journal. In addition, she serves as president of the board of the Metropolitan New York Library Council and regularly collaborates on public design and interactive projects and exhibitions.

Shumi Bose is chief editor at KoozArch. She is an educator, curator and editor in the field of architecture and architectural history. Shumi is a Senior Lecturer in architectural history at Central Saint Martins and also teaches at the Royal College of Art, the Architectural Association and the School of Architecture at Syracuse University in London. She has curated widely, including exhibitions at the Venice Biennale of Architecture, the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Royal Institute of British Architects. In 2020 she founded Holdspace, a digital platform for extracurricular discussions in architectural education, and currently serves as trustee for the Architecture Foundation.