“Number of Licensed Black Female Architects Increases to 500”—-after coming across this headline in January a singular question has bounced around my mind: “That’s it?”. Though the influx of black female architects is no doubt a great improvement in the field, it is also a daunting reminder of how far I have to go and how much work there is to be done. My first encounter with architecture came in the form of a spike—a row of spikes to be exact. Two summers ago, whilst at a protest in Washington D.C, I tripped over what I thought was a bump in the road and what later revealed itself to be a prime example of hostile architecture. I had never seen anything like it and some preliminary research led me down a rabbit hole that was the intersection between design, architecture and inequality. Hostile architecture takes the form of small spikes on rails and sidewalks, divisors on benches and otherwise unnecessary fencing intended to make urban areas inhospitable to unhoused people. Seeing how these inaccessible, inhumane structures were not only legal but encouraged made me sick—especially because there was nothing I could do about it. Or so I thought. Over time I’ve explored the many avenues of innovative and restorative architecture and how people-centered design could help bridge the gaps of inequality. Urban Black communities especially faced the brunt of inequitable design, inaccessible spaces, gentrification, and all the public health complications that run along with these issues. So, currently, I'm looking to specialize in Urban Architecture and Environmental Psychology to understand not only how to construct the built environment in a way that promotes racial and economic justice but also to examine how the current system impacts the mind and bodies of marginalized people. So far, being the only black woman, and sometimes the only black person, in my first-year architecture courses has been an isolating and stressful experience. Especially at an Ivy League institution, the racial and economic disparity has made it difficult for me to find space for myself and relate to my peers. However, the absence of blackness in these spaces has only motivated me to complete my degree and be outspoken about the importance of design equity. I want to pursue a degree in Architecture and Psychology because Black communities deserve an environment that breaks down the barriers of inequality, resists the ever-changing climate, and fosters a spirit of community celebration and togetherness.

What is art to me? Art is a steady brushstroke on a canvas, a carefully crafted garment, a heartwarming performance and sweet melody that lulls you to sleep. Most importantly, art is architecture. Thus far, architecture has shown me that art is not just painting, photo making or performance--art can also be a good, sound design that makes positive impacts on people’s everyday life. Like all other art forms, architecture can also be a powerful socio-political tool for the betterment of society, or unfortunately, for upkeep of the hierarchical structures of a flawed political system. My first encounter with architecture came in the form of a spike—a row of spikes to be exact. Two summers ago, whilst at a protest in Washington D.C, I tripped over what I thought was a bump in the road and what later revealed itself to be a prime example of hostile architecture. I had never seen anything like it and some preliminary research led me down a rabbit hole that was the intersection between design, architecture and inequality. Hostile architecture takes the form of small spikes on rails and sidewalks, divisors on benches and otherwise unnecessary fencing intended to make urban areas inhospitable to unhoused people. Seeing how these inaccessible, inhumane structures were not only legal, but encouraged made me sick—especially because there was nothing I could do about it. Or so I thought. Over time I’ve explored the many avenues of innovative and restorative architecture and how people-centered design could help bridge the gaps of inequality. Urban Black communities especially faced the brunt of inequitable design, inaccessible spaces, gentrification and all the public health complications that run along these issues. So, currently, I'm looking to tackle these issues from an aesthetic lens and use my already developed artistic skills to design spaces that are not only functional, but beautiful as well. I want to pursue a degree in Architecture because Black and other marginalized communities deserve an artfully and thoughtfully created environment that breaks down the barriers of inequality, resists the ever changing climate, and fosters a spirit of community celebration and togetherness.

“Number of Licensed Black Female Architects Increases to 500”—-after coming across this headline in January a singular question has bounced around my mind: “That’s it?”. Though the influx of black female architects is no doubt a great improvement in the field, it is also a daunting reminder of how far I have to go and how much work there is to be done. My first encounter with architecture came in the form of a spike—a row of spikes to be exact. Two summers ago, whilst at a protest in Washington D.C, I tripped over what I thought was a bump in the road and what later revealed itself to be a prime example of hostile architecture. I had never seen anything like it and some preliminary research led me down a rabbit hole that was the intersection between design, architecture and inequality. Hostile architecture takes the form of small spikes on rails and sidewalks, divisors on benches and otherwise unnecessary fencing intended to make urban areas inhospitable to unhoused people. Seeing how these inaccessible, inhumane structures were not only legal, but encouraged made me sick—especially because there was nothing I could do about it. Or so I thought. Over time I’ve explored the many avenues of innovative and restorative architecture and how people-centered design could help bridge the gaps of inequality. Urban Black communities especially faced the brunt of inequitable design, inaccessible spaces, gentrification and all the public health complications that run along these issues. So, currently, I'm looking to specialize in Urban Architecture and Environmental Psychology to understand not only how to construct the built environment in a way that promotes racial and economic justice but also to examine how the current system impacts the minds and bodies of marginalized people. So far, being the only black woman, and sometimes the only black person, in my first year of architecture courses has been an isolating and stressful experience. Especially at an Ivy League institution, the racial and economic disparity has made it difficult for me to find space for myself and relate to my peers. However the absence of blackness in these spaces has only motivated me to complete my degree and be outspoken about the importance of design equity. I want to pursue a degree in Architecture and Psychology because Black communities deserve an environment that breaks down the barriers of inequality, resists the ever changing climate, and fosters a spirit of community celebration and togetherness.

Pearl is an 11in by 14in coloured pencil and watercolour drawing. in this piece, I wanted to highlight the delicate yet strong nature of women ( more specifically women of colour). I understand the phrase "Conserve Life" as a testament to resistance in the face of adversity or compassion to others in need; for this piece, I chose to focus on the former. Black women and other women of colour around the world face a toxic combination of racism and sexism so I sought to show the beauty in their strength and continued growth(as shown through the greenery) in the face of adversity.