The label "Made in Bangladesh" conjures up in the minds of most of us images of sweatshops where garments for fast fashion retailers are produced in dangerous and precarious working conditions and the tragedy of the Rana Plaza factory complex that collapsed in Dhaka in 2013, killing over 1,100 people.
But architect Anna Heringer, inspired by her on-field experience and by the history of textiles in Bangladesh, is trying to change our perceptions of what this label really means.
Heringer, who studied architecture at the University of Arts Linz, is the recipient of the Aga Khan Award for Architecture (2007) for the METI Handmade School (made using local materials such as mud and bamboo) in Rudrapur, Bangladesh, and of the Global Award for Sustainable Architecture.
The architect recently developed a project linked with textiles that she showcased at the 16th International Architecture Exhibition, Venice (on until 25th November 2018). Heringer, who is also UNESCO Chair of Earthen Architecture, is not new to the Biennale: in the previous edition she presented with Martin Rauch and Andres Lepik the project "Mud Works!"
Her new project is entitled "This is not a shirt. This is a playground" and it is a wearable take on the concept of "Freespace", the theme of this year's Architecture Biennale, launched by curators Yvonne Farrell and Shelley McNamara and questioning the quality of space, open space and the presence/absence of architecture.
"We all create spaces, no matter if we are architects or not," Heringer says, "Sometimes the spaces are just so far away from us that we don't think about them, even though we may have a connection with them – think about Bangladesh where a lot of the shirts and clothes we wear are produced."
The architect is a firm believer in relying on locally available resources, a lesson that has so far inspired all her projects.
"In the villages in Bangladesh you have a fantastic situation as there is a lot of freespace and local materials," she explains. "You can use mud from a pond to build a wall and support it with bamboo, creating in this way houses and structures; you can use the fish in the pond for food and women, children and the elderly feel safe. Yet, because of poverty, people have to emigrate and follow the money flow: in Bangladesh textiles represent the main industry and people are forced to leave their villages and move to the industrial hubs. We are linked with this situation as the money flow often ends up being dictated by our shopping attitude and habits."
Heringer's installation at the Biennale comprises a shiny mirrored box with a TV inside, representing the world that workers find in the city after leaving their villages - fake gold, shopping malls and the hope of becoming part of the rich capitalistic world.
There is something ominously dark on the box: on its sides you can read indeed the names of some of the victims of the collapse of the Rana Plaza factory. "They represent scratches on this apparently shiny and polished surface," Heringer comments.
Stepping into the box is a way to experience the limited and stressful conditions people are living in the settlements of garment workers.
"The only freespace people have there is that same rented room with a TV that they share with other workers," Heringer says. "Our TV shows the spaces of the villages they have left that contrast with the spaces of the factory."
The box is surrounded by a display of very special blankets and shirts made with upcycled textiles. Their textures are striking as they seem to be made with layers of differently coloured fabrics that at times are peeled off to reveal the hidden colours underneath.
The designs seem to be going remarkably well with the walls of the Arsenale surrounding them and, like these walls, the textiles have a story to tell: in rural Bangladesh women get one sari a year from their family, while men get one lungi, a piece of cloth wrapped around as a skirt. These pieces are very fine and, when they get worn out, people collect and stitch them in layers (usually 6) by hand, making blankets with them.
"The blankets bear the imprint of several years of sleeping on them, representing a family's universe, story and pattern," Heringer explains.
"A layer may come off and somebody may associate that colour and texture with the time their daughter was born or with this or that event that happened in the family, so the blanket is a receptacle of the family's history. Once they become useless as blankets, people cut them in pieces and use them to wipe the floor or for other purposes."
Heringer decided to take this tradition to a new level developing the Didi Textiles initiative with NGO Dipshikha and designer Veronika Lena Lang: with the help of the women around the villages of Rudrapur and Birgonj these blankets are turned into shirts, bags and pillows. In this way a network of local jobs are developed and migration to the cities is reduced.
The inspiration came directly from the local textile culture: before the British colonisation, Bengal, Kolkata and Dhaka boasted their own silk and cotton productions.
"This beautiful textile culture and production was suppressed with the British colonial rule that advantaged British produced fabrics, and was followed by the boycotting of foreign cloth, while in India the spinning wheel became the symbol of the Nationalist movement," Heringer recounts.
For her architectural projects such as the METI Handmade School and the DESI vocational school for electricians, Heringer focused on using local materials, but she did the same with textiles.
"In those cases I tried to focus on what's there and what's the potential of materials such as mud and bamboo. Textiles are there and they represent a great potential too, but I didn't want to focus on the conditions in the factory, because normally when we think about the 'Made in Bangladesh' label we attach to it a negative connotation and immediately think about fast fashion, but this is actually what 'Made in Bangladesh' genuinely means," Heringer says, indicating the fabrics surrounding her.
The possibility of getting a lot of orders for the Didi Textiles products does not scare Heringer as the workforce is ready. "I've been collaborating with the NGO Dipshikha for 20 years and they have a course every three months that produces more tailors and seamstresses, sewing is the only profession for women, and there's plenty of them who can sustain the production."
The pieces they make are designed for decentralised production, since, as Heringer explains, they can be created without electricity or machines. "Besides, they aren't conceived for any fashion cycles," the architect highlights, "they are indeed timeless and unique pieces, and you won't find two alike anywhere else in the world".
While women can make these pieces from their own houses, at the moment Heringer is working a new mud-walled facility: on the lower level it will provide training people with disabilities, while women will be working on the upper level. "Women love getting together and creating a sense of community, so this will be a good and beautiful place where they can gather, work and talk."
Heringer plans to keep this project as a travelling exhibition and a pop up store where people can buy things, but at the moment it is possible to sustain the project through the Didi Textiles Crowdfunding project as well.
The main aim of the project is self-empowering women and local communities, fostering independence in the villages of Bangladesh. "It is important to guarantee them a job and a steady income," Heringer says. "After developing projects over there for 20 years, I realised one thing is coming in with donations and another providing an income. The latter truly makes a difference: while we get a unique garment made by an artisan, the women over there get an income that also gives them a boost of confidence."
The project and the installation in Venice have many lessons for us all: usually consumers based in the Global North buy a garment made in the Global South. Once it gets worn out or they are fed up with it, that garment is discarded and quite often it ends up being exported again to the Global South, a practice that has so far destroyed local cultures and markets.
"With this project the Global South sends us back a lesson in recycling things over and over, these women show how to add another layer of creativity to an old piece and design something new with a story behind it."
The installation is also a way to think about how to reduce our wardrobes by buying fewer, but more selected pieces. "I was a fast fashion shopper myself," Heringer confesses, "but then I started wearing these pieces and I realised they simplify my style a lot. I never wonder what I should wear today and my life is easier because my style revolves around a few good pieces rather than around too many. They are always with me and they are dear to me. I have developed a bond with the shirt I'm wearing now for example as I feel it tells a story."
Last but not least, the installation is a lesson for all those visitors to the Venice Biennale who may feel such a project does not belong to architecture. "It's a little bit tricky as a woman to do such a project as you could easily be pigeonholed into the textile designer category, put in the wrong corner, and not labelled as architecture," Heringer claims. "But by looking at the installation and getting to know more about the project, all visitors and not just architects can contribute to freespace and maybe the next time they go out shopping they will think more about their consumers' habits. After all it is the everyday small decisions that shape our built environment and make a change."
Studio Anna Heringer's "This is not a shirt. This is a playground" project is on display at the 16th International Architecture Exhibition, Venice, Italy, until 25th November 2018. Anna Heringer will be speaking about beauty and sustainability and her projects in the village of Rudrapur, Bangladesh, at The Great Hall, The Cooper Union, 7 East 7th Street, New York, on 14th November 2018.
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