queering space<\/a>,\u201d Black designers should be leading the efforts in decolonizing design. I\u2019m curious, are you seeing some of your concerns and critiques mirrored in the design studios you teach today? What kind of conversations are you having with your students? <\/p>\n\n\n\nDavid Gissen: <\/strong>It is terrific that there are more and more projects engaged with disabled people. In addition to making projects about disability, I think it’s important for our disciplines to ask how we can better recruit, train, and give opportunities to disabled designers. I have never attended nor taught at an architecture school that would be an easy place for a disabled student. This includes the barriers presented by admissions committees and who often wonder whether disabled applicants to their programs can meet the “demands” of design education. It also, of course, includes the facilities where we educate future architects. Many of the most important architecture schools in the U.S. have facilities that disabled students, faculty, and staff cannot fully use. I am teaching as a visitor at Columbia University this semester, and I am surprised that a university that receives so much federal money (whether in the form of subsidizing of loans or more directly) can have an entire campus that is so menacing to its students and employees. <\/p>\n\n\n\nAs a disabled faculty member and a life-long architectural educator, I center my impairments in my teaching: I am less concerned if my studios or courses engage the topic of disability, though I like to do that for some courses. Rather, I want to make sure that disability is an origin point in my methods and teaching. For example, in my studios, my students are encouraged to have critiques that are “place downs” rather than “pin-ups.” In my lecture courses, students often can experience my lectures in different formats\u2014audio, visual essays, or texts. In a studio that I taught last semester, we examined the history and future of the “one-story city”\u2014here in New York and elsewhere. All of this lowers the physical and cognitive intensity of design education. I hope it makes a better place for my students to explore their work and that it changes the institutions where I teach.\u202f <\/p>\n\n\n\nThermography of David Gissen by Philippe Rahm, 2019. This thermographic portrait of me was made in collaboration with the architect Philippe Rahm. The thermographic image captures the heat outline of my body underneath my clothes and reveals that I wear a full-length prosthesis on my left side. It demonstrates the heat-insulating property of artificial limbs, as my residual limb extends down to midcalf but can barely be seen in the image.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nJLS:<\/strong> In the book, you describe Walter Benjamin\u2019s flaneur and the Situationist concept of the d\u00e9rive <\/em>(drift), pointing out that they seemingly leave little room for the experiences of disability. You go onto say that \u201cwandering behavior\u201d\u2014a derogatorily characterized feature of autism\u2014might be destigmatized if seen through these concepts. As someone on the autism spectrum, I found this fascinating. Since writing, have you thought more about how neurodivergent folks fit into your thesis? <\/p>\n\n\n\nDG: <\/strong>First, one of the things that I love about the reception of my book is that it gives an opportunity for people to discuss their own experiences with their impairments. That is very important and an unexpected outcome of this book.\u202f <\/p>\n\n\n\nAs for the book and its engagements with these topics, The Architecture of Disability<\/em> primarily explores the relationship between architecture and cognitive disability through the topic of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). PTSD is very important to the history of architecture\u2014from efforts to engage veterans after World War I to\u202fpresent forms of “post-traumatic” urbanism.\u202fI don’t usually talk about this because cognitive disabilities can be so stigmatizing, but this topic is personal for me as I struggle with PTSD. Most pediatric cancer survivors do. We all survived intensive, often brutal chemotherapy regimens as well as numerous operations, and this all has its impacts.\u202f <\/p>\n\n\n\nAs an author and educator, I find the writing of Kurt Goldstein<\/a> very inspiring when thinking about PTSD. He was a German neurologist who escaped Nazi Germany to the U.S., taught at The New School and then at Harvard. He studied World War I veterans who were considered to have untreatable “shell shock,” finding that these veterans could manage their PTSD by reconstructing or “debating” (to use his term) their environments. What he meant was that people with PTSD (among other disabilities) are constantly constructing their surrounding conditions as a way to manage their impairments. This might involve how we change sound and light, among other factors. This rang very true to me. His key argument was that cognitive disabilities were relative to environment and could never be fully quantified or known by researchers who study patients in isolation. <\/p>\n\n\n\nAs far as more specific developmental disabilities, I am very sensitive about speaking for those with developmental disabilities. In the publishing context for example, many of the key books on developmental disabilities, and that are oft-quoted in a disability studies context, are written by the parents<\/em> of people with developmental disabilities. At the risk of offending these authors, this disturbs me\u2014I hated what my own parents wrote about my experiences as a disabled person!\u202fIf we are truly devoted to representing the perspective of those who don’t have easy access to publishing or designing their world view, then we must blow open our disciplines’ ways of working, writing, and representing self-hood to project and amplify their perspectives. <\/p>\n\n\n\nStanley Tigerman, model of Garage Building, Illinois Regional Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped, Chicago, 1976. The photograph shows an architectural model on a wooden base. The facade of the building resembles both the side of a car and a human face. The \u201ceyes\u201d of the building\u2019s facade are closed, and the \u201cnose\u201d is shown as a window, allowing light into the interior. The architect of this project is negotiating representations of mobility, humanness, and architectural anthropomorphism in a design for disabled people. Courtesy of Tigerman McCurry Architects and ArtResource.\n\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nJLS: <\/strong>What shocked you the most when working on this book?\u202f <\/p>\n\n\n\nDG: <\/strong>The most shocking thing I discovered when first researching this book was that over 75 percent of career construction workers in the U.S. become seriously and permanently impaired from their work. This is disturbing in so many ways and learning this shifted my perspective on the politics of architecture and disability\u2014away from questions of access to deeper questions regarding architecture’s role in histories of disability. I think the other surprise, though I wouldn’t say it was shocking, was that Adolf Loos was deaf. His deafness\u202fwas surprising, but even more, he really fashioned himself, and the aesthetics of a few of his projects around this impairment. He didn’t hide it in portraits of himself: He often represented himself as struggling to hear. He even played with the aesthetics of noise and hearing in a few works\u2014most notably the bedroom for himself with its fur and curtained interior.\u202f <\/p>\n\n\n\n