What Do You Avoid? Where Do You Belong?

In Los Angeles of the 1970s as in New York today, “citizen images of the city” revealed how residents’ different identities shaped their experiences of the city. | From “The Visual Environment of Los Angeles,” Los Angeles Department of City Planning, 1971

What is Perfect City?

Aaron Landsman was born in Northfield, Minnesota in 1968, and lives in the East Village.

I had been watching the city I’d come to as a place that tolerated and even celebrated diversity — not tomention misfits, freaks, punks, and queers — become increasingly homogenized, made safer for newwhite arrivals, and less hospitable to people of color and the poor. As a white male carrying all thetrappings of privilege, I saw myself as part of the problem and I wanted to do something about it. But Ihad a lot of questions: Is fighting gentrification even possible? Is it its own form of NIMBYism? What,tactically, concretely, is creating this nagging feeling of loss?

I found some answers, as well as more questions. From watching a presentation of PlaNYC under MayorBloomberg, I saw that the city was harnessing seemingly progressive ideals like farmers’ markets, bikeshares, and transit to continue making New York a citadel for the wealthy. I saw that the uniform ethic ofnostalgic artisanality, gig and sharing economy venues, and broken windows policing createdunwelcoming and unsafe spaces for young people, especially of color. I learned the difference betweencommunity development and economic development, while watching developers and gentrifiers alikeconveniently conflate the two.

As a theater-maker, I’m often interested in the performances that occur out of necessity or expression incities as a matter of going through your day: government meetings, real estate sales pitches, bus tours,and the cursory interactions that occur on an urban walk have all been the departure points for my priorwork. Perfect City is a logical continuation of that set of inquiries. I also wanted to start this project with

Native-born and new arrivals alike, New Yorkers sure love to talk about neighborhood change. But manyconversations skirt the complex questions these changes bring to the fore. Gentrification is a tale of zoningregulations, real estate markets, and demographics. It is also a tale of guilt, anger, apprehension, embarrassment,nostalgia, despair… everything but indifference.

Based in the Lower East Side, where dramatic change is both a permanent and accelerating condition, themembers of the PERFECT CITY working group are developing a dialogue that feels less familiar. The project’sinstigator is a playwright who has previously PLUMBED THE DEPTHS OF LOCAL GOVERNMENT ANDPARTICIPATORY DEMOCRACY THROUGH PERFORMANCE. The working group members, many from theneighborhood, most under the age of 21, are not the kind of experts whose testimony is usually called on in thesesituations, but they are experimenting with the possibilities for a project that starts as art to make real change. Tothat end, the Perfect City working group is inserting its perspectives into a heated and heartfelt territory throughdiscussion, performance, and this fall, a two-week festival at Abrons Art Center.

We invited the group to host a roundtable at the Architectural League. Joined by some guests, including architectswho work in the Lower East Side and on participatory design, the group led us through an exercise in what theycall avoidance mapping. It turns out mapping what we avoid also shows us where we feel we belong. The exerciseopened into a broader conversation on belonging, the sense of home, the things we avoid, the things we can andcan’t avoid, and the distance from or possibility of living in a “perfect city.”

In retrospect, the exercise recalls a series of maps produced when the Los Angeles Department of City Planning(advised by Kevin Lynch) asked residents of different neighborhoods to sketch their image of the city. The resultsare the images of many cities, and strikingly, the very different worlds inhabited by residents of upper middle classwhite, African American, and Mexican American neighborhoods. The former are expansive, the latter tightlycircumscribed. The maps are from the 1970s, but the story they tell is hardly unfamiliar today. Then and now,cognitive maps help us see the connections between the personal, affective, and experiential, and the collectiveexperiences and structures that guide how different groups experience and access urban space.

–M.M.

more questions than answers, about form, content, and context. Can we do something impactful aboutan issue that is so pervasive? Can everyone have a say in what makes something art, “good” art, or“necessary” art? This means I didn’t presuppose that what we’d end up with would be theater.

The Perfect City working group, comprised of seven to ten members at any given time, started meetingin July 2016. We get together once or twice a week. Our meetings are discursive, rowdy, and complex.We share writing and ideas, we talk about what’s happening in the neighborhood, we learn from guestactivists, artists, and planners. We are paid for our work. We think it’s a valid use of time and resourcesto pay young adults who grew up in the city to generate art projects and activism. In a way, Perfect Cityhas become an ensemble of artists, activists and other interested citizens, each of whom brings a skill-setand point of view that informs what we make. So far this has included performances around a table forinvited audiences, the beginnings of a poster campaign with store owners, a photo series, and more.

Maybe our more radical proposition is that Perfect City is a 20-year project — meaning the issues we areaddressing are not solvable in a year or two (the timeline for a lot of art projects), and we want to makereal change. On one hand, our conversations are wide-ranging, from aesthetics to zoning; on the other,we have a set of long-term goals that are very concrete. We’ve been trying to find ways to engage peoplewho are both like us and different from us, with a goal of having more of a voice in the evolution of ourcity.

Avoidance map by Jamel Ayala

What is Avoidance Mapping? What is it for?

Our working group conducted our first Avoidance Mapping workshop and discussion with theArchitectural League. The workshop came about through a shared, playful, and pointed language we’redeveloping among ourselves. At one session last fall, I asked the group how they were experts in theirneighborhood, and Jamel said, “I’m an expert at avoiding people I don’t want to see.” Mallory Catlett, thedramaturg and director working on the project said, “Can you draw a map of what that looks like?” AndJamel did. As a performance moment, it’s dryly funny and something many, if not all, city-dwellers andwalkers can relate to: we all try to steer clear of certain places and people, whether we’re aware of it ornot. As an exercise designed to lead to conversations about gentrification and displacement, safety andperception, it’s a lens through which to look at bias, belonging, and other subjects. It’s useful (seeing howknowledge of and belonging to a place lead you to be able to successfully navigate it), provocative (whatand whom you avoid says as much about you as the avoidances themselves), and creative (allowing us toforeground new, perhaps competing narratives of the city).

At the workshop we asked people what, whom, or where they avoided, whether it was real or imaginary,and what the consequences might be of successfully avoiding that person, place, or thing — or not. Howdid time factor into their maps? How did their gender, race, class, and geographic backgrounds informtheir informal cartography? There was a sense from most participants that this deceptively simplecharting of a day or a block or a building led them to understand who they were in the city — what theyfelt they belonged to here — in a new way. The combination of maps and the stories that animate themare what make exercises like these potent and valuable. While some of these responses and points ofview might seem purely emotional or fear-based, having the geography on which to imprint thoseexperiences makes them harder to dismiss or ignore.

The evening felt subtly profound to me. Young people with no training were leading architects andplanners in a nuanced conversation about belonging in the city, who gets to claim space, who can’t, andwhy.

Avoidance mapping demonstration by Jamel Ayala.

Jamel Ayala was born in the Lower East Side in 1995, and lives in the Lower East Side.

Whenever I see cops, I usually make sure my hands aren’t in my pockets (especially coat pockets). If Ihave to backtrack because I left something at home or realize I went the wrong direction, I’m veryconscious of who is behind me and how they would react to me suddenly turning around towards them.If I have to cross over to the other side of the street, I’m very aware of how whoever is on that side mightfeel to see me coming towards them.

The block of Twelfth Street between Avenue A and First Avenue is really dark at night. Sometimes I optto go that way when I’m headed home because the people I want to avoid are sometimes on Eleventh andA. I’ve had some very awkward encounters on that block at night. People coming to a full stop when theysee me and crossing over. Or just standing still until I pass them because they’re closer to the corner andwould be more vulnerable if they came further in the block as we pass each other. People looking back at

me several times and then crossing over.

I’ve never really had a negative reaction to this. I think it sucks because there’s the obvious thing of racialprofiling going on, but at the end of the day people just want to be safe. I myself would be alarmed if Iwere on an empty block at night passing by a group or a single person who I think looks like they may beup to no good. The difference between me and the average white person, or non-local who may see me asa threat is that I have a lot more cultural and urban knowledge than them. Looking at an AfricanAmerican man or Hispanic man or any other kind of minority, I can easily tell what they’re about bytheir demeanor. The way they dress. The way they walk. The way they talk. The way they look at you.There are clear signs, in my opinion, that should help you determine who may be a potential threat ifyou’re alone on an empty street. But the lack of knowledge of that will cause someone to put theiravoidance hat on regardless. “Better safe than sorry,” right?

I think a lot of people who experience this from my end of it would feel like they’re a monster in the faceof “White America,” but at the same time, I’ve seen African American and Hispanic people rob, fight inthe street, and do other things that the average person wants to avoid (not just white people or peoplenew to the city). And I know a lot of African Americans and Hispanics who would cross over, or at leastbe alarmed if they came across suspected trouble-makers in a dark empty street. We have to change theperception altogether of minority demographics to get past the racial profiling, because in this sense,(although not to be used as an excuse) it’s a person’s default precaution to stay safe around unfamiliarpeople they are yet to understand.

How do we belong in a changing city? What is a “Perfect City” anyway?

Angela Choi was born in New York City in 1990, and lives in the Lower East Side.

On the Lower East Side, I see the landscape changing on a daily basis — construction looms overheadand luxury buildings soar to new heights. I’m not looking forward to the day when hundreds andthousands of people will descend on the Lower East Side and it will no longer be the culturally diverse,grungier, and quieter part of town that I’ve known it to be. I don’t know how to hold onto something thatis evolving in front of my very eyes.

To illustrate how I feel about these changes, I’d like to share a story on a seemingly unrelated andinnocuous topic: fashion. I’m all about comfort — high heels can be found in department stores, but notin my closet. My preferred getup includes a t-shirt paired with a soft sweater, loose-fitting pants, andsneakers. This outfit makes me feel comfortable, provided that I am in the “right” place. Chances are youwon’t catch me in this attire in Midtown. I sacrifice comfort for aesthetics when I’m in a place likeMidtown because I feel like I’m being judged by the people walking down the street. Yet if you make yourway further south and head into the heart of the Lower East Side, more likely than not, you’ll spot me inthe aforementioned outfit.

I’ve been dressing like this for quite some time now, and while my attire hasn’t changed, my level ofcomfort has. My perception of being judged for my outfit in Midtown has found its way to the Lower EastSide. Strolling down the street in my sweatpants one day, I came across an art gallery that openedseveral blocks from my apartment. Hipsters were milling around in the gallery and spilling over onto thesidewalk, and though we had zero interaction, I felt that they were judging my attire — my comfortablegetup was the antithesis of the ambience they were trying to create. I suddenly had an urge to walk awayfrom the gallery as quickly as possible to extricate myself from being the target of their judgments.

As a psychology major, I recognize that I had fallen prey to the spotlight effect, a cognitive bias thatmakes us believe that other people are more focused on us than they actually are. In reality, these art-aficionados were probably too busy sipping their wine to notice li’l ol’ me. However, this is the impactthat their presence had on my psyche.

Now imagine that feeling multiplied many times over, because that is precisely what is happening, andwill continue to happen, in my neighborhood. Newcomers have been moving in and more will arrive enmasse as luxury high-rises are being erected left and right. I just want to feel like I belong in myneighborhood — is that too much to ask?

Ironically enough, while we call ourselves Perfect City, we have yet to have a full-fledged discussion onwhat makes a city perfect. If I had to start somewhere — I’d say that New York City is inching towardsperfection when it starts to take into consideration how changes and new developments will impact thepeople who are from originally from a neighborhood, the people who truly call this place their home. It isthen that the conversation shifts from what will bring in the most money to what will help sustain theculture and diversity that draw people to New York in the first place.

Tyler Diaz was born in Long Island City in 1996, and lives in Long Island City.

I think that one of New York City’s greatest strengths is the ability to draw anyone to the city withoutjudgement. It’s welcoming. Perhaps too welcoming, in the sense that foreigners (not necessarily justfrom a different country, but also different states) come here and immediately call it home. I don’t thinkNew York is home to anyone who hasn’t grown up — either since childhood, or who has simply lived along time in the city — through the ups and downs of this powerful place.

“Home” is an individual concept in which a person lays claim to a particular place. I have lived in LongIsland City (LIC) for 15 out of my 20 years, and I have never called this neighborhood “home.” I havemoved four times over the course of 18 months (including returning to the place where I lived for 13years prior to moving those four times). Residency isn’t the same as home. Right now I live away fromhome as I can be. I don’t belong and I know it. Developers are in control of the changing faces and costsof neighborhoods. Condos continue to rise higher every day; rents drop near these construction sites,even as they skyrocket for homes that have been here for decades.

LIC used to have a strong sense of community no matter what part you were from. That’s alldisappearing now, and I feel helpless. It’s discomforting having this feeling in my chest, especially assomeone who has a hard time letting things bother him and letting things sit on his shoulders. Almostevery day, I dream of a vigilante swooping down and taking back these neighborhoods from one-percenters. Maybe I can be that vigilante. Maybe Perfect City can be that vigilante.

Mapping what we avoid in an “imperfect” city

Avoidance map by Gabriella Marrero.

Avoidance map by Quilian Riano.

Perfect City asked to consider the complex systems of urban structures and systems through our lived-experience. This is a performative and accessible approach that allows participants to easily considercurrent conditions that cause avoidance and potentials for change in those conditions. I try to work insimilar performative and personal ways. For example, through urban games that ask people to reflect ontheir own experience using a space to negotiate moves with others.

Avoidance map by Tiffany Zorilla.

There comes a level of privilege for those that can walk around the city at any time of day and not have tofear for their safety.

Not having to walk more than five blocks without reaching a comfortable corporately owned coffee shop(y’all know what I mean) while some need to use hours of transit just to reach a supermarket, school, orplace of worship. Sometimes bringing in new structures to a neighborhood can bring peopleconvenience, like a new store that carries your favorite brand of muffins — gluten- and GMO-free, and

Emily Mun was born in Manhattan, New York, in 1996. She lives in Manhattan.

I would do my best avoid the mean kids in high school, but it can be hard since school is such a narrow space.

Gabriella Marrero was born in the Lower East Side in 2000, and lives in the Lower East Side.

This is a map of my hallway. What seems like an innocuous setting is, when you know who’s behind each door, asite where avoidance and belonging can be loaded terms. I animate it and make it real, for generations, because Imay live here with my children someday.

Quilian Riano was born in Bogotá, Colombia, in 1979, and lives in Brooklyn.

This psychogeographic mapping takes a typical day and turns it into a relational path of physical, mental, andsocial avoidances. As examples, it shows the ways I tape my computer to avoid being seen through its camera orthe walks I take with my five-month old to avoid her crying out of boredom at home.

Tiffany Zorilla was born in the Lower East Side in 1996, and lives in East Harlem.

This map reflects how societal behaviors and the built environment have taught me to police my body in order toprotect myself simply for being a young woman of color.

vegan! These places can also bring natives of the neighborhood disconnection; this “convenience”destroys culture and homes. While walking through a neighborhood, please really study and questionyour surroundings. Who do these places benefit? Who are they built for?

Although we pride ourselves on being a progressive city, our policies are regressive. Black and browncommunities are still feeling the aftershocks of policies set in place to divide, conquer, and weaken blackand brown people from creating strong and resilient communities we call home.

Avoidance map by Marc Turkel.

Marc Turkel is a partner at Leroy Street Studio with Shawn Watts, born in Fort Knox, Kentucky, in1971. Shawn lives in Chinatown.

As architects, we believe people need to connect to their environment through the direct shaping andmodification of place. Unfortunately, there is almost no room for this type of engagement in the wayprojects are currently developed and implemented. The language and experience of hands-on making isnot only universally accessible, immediate, and powerfully symbolic, but it also has an outsized impacton the outcome of a project.

Final thoughts on what we avoid and where we belong

Avoidance map by Nola Sporn Smith.

Sharing avoidance stories is a way to articulate what may be lacking in our city when it comes to safetyand belonging, and to invite us to consider what could be done on a more macro-level to addressproblems that at first glance may seem purely personal or emotional. The city itself has a deep impact onthe “personal histories” of people who live here, particularly people who grew up here. How can youdissociate your subjective, emotional approach to navigating the world from the range of ways New YorkCity forces us to navigate its streets, its people, its systems? Many of these avoidances have real systemicweight. If you grew up riding the subways to school, or in public housing, or as a woman who has learnedto watch her back as she walks home at night, or as a person of color who must perform harmlessnessand submission in a city with a history (and present) of racist policing (and on and on), your past,present, and future self are tangled up with the complex structures of this place. One’s history andidentity affects how one moves through the city — and how the city responds back at you.

Jamel and Aaron in email conversation, post-workshop

Jamel: The word “belong” is exclusive. It only favors you when you meet the requirements of theauthoritative force. In this context, authority belongs to the real estate industry, and therefore I don’t feelI really belong in this city. I don’t meet the requirements that are put forward by the industry.

Aaron: For me, this is an interesting connection to make — the idea that you don’t belong to the realestate, but you do belong to the knowledge. Meaning you know the city and operate in it in a belongingway because of the depth and time of your experience here. But you don’t actually “belong” in the senseof having the authority to maintain space here.

Jamel: Yes, you got the right sense of what I mean in terms of “belonging.” I’ll add, the reason I’mrepresenting it as authority and having a hard time describing other aspects of it is because, in all, Iknow that’s the bottom line. I could talk about the knowledge and experience, but I feel that’s a bit besidethe point. This reminds me of the little clash that happened during our roundtable at Henry Street, overthe term “ownership.” One person thought that despite living in a gentrifying neighborhood, communitymembers who rent can still feel a sense of ownership over that place. Another person felt like that senseof ownership only goes so far, and when a real owner wants you out, you’re out. I agree with the latter.

Marc Turkel was born in the Bronx, New York, in 1963, and lives in the West Village.

I sketched a map of the cycling routed I follow with my boys around the bottom of Manhattan, highlightingobstacles I typically try to avoid. One is more keenly aware of threatening traffic issues and environmental hazardscycling with children through our city’s streets.

Nola Sporn Smith was born in Brooklyn in 1992, and lives in Brooklyn.

A map of deciding which train to take home at night, factoring in distance to my house, past uncomfortableinteractions on specific corners, the darkness/emptiness of certain streets, and whether waiting 20 minutes totransfer to the G in order to have the safer-feeling and shorter walk home is worth it.

For me, it’s hard to think about belonging when I know it’s technically only conceptual.

The Perfect City working group was founded in 2016. It has been supported by funding from the RubinFoundation, Graham Foundation, the Jerome Foundation, Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, AbronsArts Center, and Crossing The Line Festival. Perfect City has presented performances in New Yorkthrough Henry Street Settlement, CUNY, and Crossing The Line, and is now working on a fall launchof several projects, including Haruka Sakaguchi’s photo series Original New Yorkers, AvoidanceMapping workshops and demonstrations for neighbors, arts audiences and activists, and a postercampaign and conversation series with store owners called You’re Next.

Gisela Andras was born, raised and educated in Switzerland and Germany, and has come to NewYork to explore the inherent contrasts and opposites of the city. A thinker and strategist in innovation,she is fascinated by the diversity, noise and chaos of New York and wants to gain a deepunderstanding of all the layers that drive this place.

Jamel Ayala is a purpose-driven Lower East Sider. Seeking new ideas and expressing his noveltiesthrough various forms of art, Jamel is impelled to lead a life of lucid exploration.

Angela Choi was born and raised in the concrete jungle where dreams are made, and is interested inexploring the intersection of community engagement and art. Having dabbled in various sectors fromnonprofits to healthcare, across different continents from Asia to Europe, she continues to try to findher place in this world.

Tyler Diaz hails from Long Island City. He has lived in most neighborhoods in Queens throughout hislife, so he is a true Queens native. He has a passion for theatre and music. He is composer and songwriter as well as an actor.

Aaron Landsman is a New York City theater artist making live performances and other creationswith people, language, space and time. He is a 2017 Guggenheim Fellow.

Gabriella Marrero is a 17-year-old native Lower East Sider, and an aspiring actress and writer.

Emily Mun was born and raised in Manhattan, New York. A Woman of Color artist, actress, andmodel, she aspires to be an actress who produces and stars in her own films.

Nola Sporn Smith is a fourth generation Brooklynite, a performer and choreographer, and alwaysknows exactly which car and which door of the subway to stand at for getting where she needs to go.

Tiffany Zorrilla and her family came from Dominican Republic and resided in the Lower East Sidefor a number of years; Tiffany currently lives in Spanish Harlem. She identifies as a musician, poet,and activist.

Quilian Riano is an architectural and urban designer, researcher, writer, and educator working outof Brooklyn, New York. Quilian is the founder and principal of DSGN AGNC, a collaborativedesign/research studio exploring political engagement through architecture, urbanism and art.

Marc Turkel is a founding partner of Leroy Street Studio Architecture and Co-Founder of HesterStreet Collaborative.

Shawn Watts is a partner at Leroy Street Studio Architecture and on the Board of Hester StreetCollaborative.

The views expressed here are those of the authors only and do not reflect the position of UrbanOmnibus editorial staff or the Architectural League of New York.