Perhaps we should start with inversion — with nonhuman animals rather than ourselves, with sound rather than sight, with minerals rather than materials — and with African traces beyond the continent. At the Venice Biennale 2025, the British pavilion entitled ‘GBR — Geology of Britannic Repair’ floated a similar idea, reframing ‘Britain’ by its presence outside its borders rather than from within. In co-curator Kathryn Yusoff’s words, ‘The idea was to turn the pavilion inside out’.
Architecture as earth practice
The neo-classical structure, with the words ‘GRAN BRETAGNA’, houses a cave-like interior. Mimicking this geological form, a manifestation of ecological time (longue durée), it encloses longer histories of colonialism and possibilities of repair — possibilities that are found within a return, not to a country nor a particular time, but to the earth as a single system. Kenyan co-curator Kabage Karanja says that ‘GBR — Geology of Britannic Repair’ is the beginning of ‘looking at architecture as an earth practice, a material practice that can transcend challenges’ by situating ourselves within the ‘earth system’ that we have neglected for so long.
At a British pavilion, one may not expect a cast of a Kenyan Rift Valley cave, a compass connecting London and Nairobi’s night skies on 12 December 1963 (the day Kenya gained independence), nor the Maasai clay beads hanging over the façade (creating a ‘Double Vision’). Should you find yourself in this moment of surprise, you may shamefully realise just how disconnected we are to the ‘earth system’, how subconsciously and cruelly borders limit our recourse. But here, the earthy interior is protective and regenerative; organic forms and morphic sculptures, painted in natural tones, continue the cave-like motif throughout the GBR exhibitions. Co-curator Kabage Karanja is familiar with this geology, a recurring theme in his practice cave_bureau.
Double Vision, GBR — Geology of Britannic Repair, photographed by Chris Lane
Image top left: Shimoni Slave Cave, GBR — Geology of Britannic Repair, photographed by Chris Lane
When asked why this form, Kabage Karanje explains, ‘Caves are ingrained in our prehistoric consciousness.’ It is where architecture begins: ‘Humanity’s early experience of inside and out, the nave, light wells, shafts, chambers, echoes — among many other architectural experiences — can be directly connected to our ancestors’ encounter with caves. To put it more directly, caves are nature’s origin point and manifestation of all endeavours in the theory and practice of architecture.’
In an uncanny coincidence, caves find their way into the Togo pavilion too — the country’s first exhibit at the Venice Biennale. It’s an appropriate accident, for Togo was once a German colony and its early architecture relied on geological matter as resistance. In the 17th century, ancient Nôk cave dwellings acted as cliffside shelters where residents sought refuge from slave traders. These images are displayed alongside traditional construction techniques and modern architecture. The correlating cave stories are signs that the ‘earth practice’ may have its own logic, an intuitive force connecting places in ways we are yet to understand. Where else may we find a cave-ly abode? How are our stories mirrored, subconsciously, coincidentally, in each other’s architectural geology?
The architecture of new language
We, humans, have an unusual bond with elephants. The Kamba tribe in Kenya knows this, believing that these grossly intelligent creatures were once humans who had a magic ointment smeared on their teeth. In South Africa, many of us have grown up with the tale of Saul Barnard and Oupoot, the elephant he is curiously bonded to — a story from celebrated writer Dalene Matthee’s novel Kringein ‘n Bos(Circles in a Forest).Inter-species communication is mystical, particularly with wildlife where the magnitude of this possibility makes it even more fantastical.
Spectrographs from the Talking to Elephants exhibition
Bass guitar is probably not the first instrument that comes to mind for languaging across species. But it is Franco Schoeman’s way of understanding elephants. ‘As a musician I mimic their discourse using a bass guitar and pitch modulation devices,’ he explains. ‘In the process of learning what they say to each other, we learn more about how we can build our own vocabulary to discuss and explain boundaries or limitations to them.’
“Bass guitar is probably not the first instrument that comes to mind for languaging across species.”
In Limpopo and surrounding areas, the elephants’ natural migration has been prevented by expanding developments. Elephant herds are overpopulated, callously controlled through culling and contraception. Architect Marc Sherratt and musician Franco Schoeman sought to restore natural migration routes. Together they developed a language to prompt elephants along a new 1000-kilometer migration corridor, designed to coincide with rural communities who benefit from the elephants that disperse seeds, creating local fruit trees for food security along their path.
But how? The key is in broadcast towers and infrasound, which has low frequencies below 20 Hz. ‘The wavelengths of low frequency audio are large, and this allows us to reach a herd across the vast landscapes of Limpopo and other parts of the Southern African subcontinent,’ Franco explains. This sound is felt before it’s heard.
One is invited to experience this at the Talking to Elephants exhibition, which features three ASCENDO infrasonic subwoofers and an active coaxial speaker for higher frequencies. From the ceiling, Marc Sherratt’s horn-shaped model, designed to distribute the infrasonic frequencies across the landscape, is suspended mid-air. ‘Sometimes we as architects think too short term. The great cathedrals of Europe were not completed within an architect’s lifetime. Could our 60-to-100-year timeline for our buildings be too short in forming a perspective for real change?’ he asks.
Talking to Elephants is just one of the team’s bio-acoustic endeavours. Land Ear, an AI device, marks bird calls and air pollution to generate a measurement of biodiversity at a site. Marc teases, ‘I have the responsibility of training the software to correctly identify bird calls, which is like teaching a smart child. Sometimes, it thinks a truck reversing is a black cuckoo!’
Research on infrasound as elephant language is still developing. While our linguistic capabilities may be infantile at this stage, Franco reminds us: ‘what we know for sure is that they are listening.’
The architecture of three’s
It starts in threes. And it starts in Africa.
‘Earth, recycled metal, and some concrete,’ says Mariam Issoufou, Nigerien architect and designer of the Rolex Pavilion. This is the golden trio that has shaped buildings in her home country, Niger. She chose to continue a tri-material palette for the exhibition, authentic to its immediate locality and artisans in Venice. Glass, metal, and wood are the stars that align.
The partners of the project, Rolex and Mariam Issoufou Architects, share the same dedication to sustainability in its candid application rather than a label for affirmation. Mariam dissects what this value means: finding opportunities for reuse, sourcing local materials, and using as minimal resources as possible. ‘Every beam [of wood] that is recovered has its own story,’ says production manager Luigi Ascenzi, commenting on the aged wood sourced from discarded structures in Venice that are tailored into triangular prisms. Once joined, these form the walls of the site.
In the artisans’ workshop, ovens scorch and thick smoke covers their heirloom-in-process. It is an exercise in precision and surrender; each circular piece of recycled Murano glass may be similar in shape and tone but will naturally form their very own quirk to declare, ‘This is my skin’. These semi-translucent disks are positioned in linear patterns on the ceiling of the pavilion, creating a dappled light effect on the interior walls. It’s an ode to Italian architect Carlo Scarpa, well known for his mastery of light.
Inside the pavilion, the exhibition features a film screening of the artisans that made the space, a documentary on Beirut produced by Armenian-Lebanese architect Arine Aprahamian under the mentorship of Anne Lacaton, and a display of scenes from Rolex’s new showrooms in Milan and Tokyo.
