 OK, so we're at our closing conversation. Troy Tarion, a curator at the Guggenheim, is going to be our moderator. And our first speaker is Yenna Suttela, a visual artist. And I think. Sorry, that's the change. Oh, OK, so Ed Keller is going to be our first speaker. He is associate professor of design strategies and director of the Center for Transformative Media at Parsons, the new school for design. Former GSEP faculty, so it's great to have him back, and also friend of Madalyn and Arakawa. Hi, everybody. It is really great to be here. Beginnings and endings. Well, thanks, Irene, and thanks to everyone who organized the event and the exhibition, which is beautiful. Really nice. I'm very glad that this conference is happening so that their work can be recognized. I know that a number of friends here, like Leopold, share that sentiment very strongly. And it's also a bit melancholy, the reflective process to prepare for the discussion today. Had a great discussion with Irene a few weeks ago. Brought up a series of memories that I hadn't thought about in probably 15 or 20 years. I met them in the early 1990s. I was working doing CGI with a small firm run by Issao Nagaoka. I don't imagine anyone has heard of Issao, but he did CGI in New York between about 1990, 1994, 95. And they came in with the Nagi Rewanji Project to do some computer graphics for that. I was working for Issao. I didn't really speak to them very much then. Later on, Issao worked for Nick and Seke, a New York office, so did I, and for Bernard's office, doing the Kyoto Station competition. And so there was a kind of an interesting community of people who were doing very early on computer graphics, rendering line drawings, who were all part of that conversation. And then several years later, maybe before 94, when I was still a student here, I became more involved in John Knessel's work. And Johannes was a really deep architect, designer, involved in city planning in New York City, and a close friend of Eric Howe and Ginzes, who had devoted a tremendous amount of his philosophical inquiries and spiritual inquiries to their work. So Johannes and I were involved in the Google Time interview book, those interviews in that. And along the way, I ended up writing book reviews about their work and a piece for again, the Shisu, the philosophy journal in Japan. They were remarkably generous people. The story of the 10-hour conversation just rings true for me as well. I was working on a project in the early 90s, and they just hosted myself and my collaborator for hours-long discussions about our project. We were very young. It was completely unjustified for them to have that kind of conversation with us. And then they took us out to these lavish dinners, which went on for hours and hours and hours. And it was just, it wasn't just fun. It was really extraordinary intellectual and artistic generosity. So I just want to really acknowledge that their reception in the architecture community in New York was interesting and mixed. And I think we'll talk about that in the panel. So what I'd like to do now is just read a few fragments from the Gende Shisu piece I wrote in 1996. I was going back through all of this this week, and it actually rang in a useful way, I thought. What are the implications of a critical will? And how does it emerge from an architectural work? How can it have an inseparable relationship to a radical ethics? As Eric Howell and Ginz noted, somehow we must ask the universe to accept some kind of cessation of habit or the residue thereof as in exchange for the alternative body and soul they propose. How to invoke a critical will, a cookbook for new awareness? In process, identify the elements that foster a non-critical sensibility, a complacent subjectivity. Habit falls into the forefront. Repetition, memory, the elements that contextualize all human perception in time that allow us to represent, fictionalize, regulate behaviors, regulate ideas. This habit is produced by a set of forces, the forces that deluse through Spinoza identifies, which produce inadequate ideas in individuals captured by the canalizations that regimes of power set up versus Spinoza's adequate ideas, critical, self-reflective, fluid, non-integrative motivations, which question even the possibility of repetition itself in a single linear time. On a daily level, we constantly fluctuate between a stable, normative perception of ourselves and the world around us and a much more dynamic and variable self, a distributed self in which the body performs as a smear in time across spaces where the perceiving self dissolves into a multiplicity of sentiments, directions, actions. This breakdown is the moment which Arakawa and Gin's precipitate and attempt to prolong. However, even extending this moment is useless unless a return is facilitated, the landing sites which deposit the individual in a place inflected and slightly different from where she started. Hence the role of critical resemblance in their work. The value of this is found in a straightforward tactic, dislocation relocation. The relocation proposed is not one which attempts to reintegrate the subject into the social structure from which she exited. But in alignment with Victor Turner and Roberto Anger's elaborations of the improvisatory nature of any social organization, it's one which sets up a possibility for absolute invention, a possibility for absolute invention which provides the opportunity for the subject to realign herself and again create or invent a new spectrum of selves of landing sites. Intentional constructed situations should sound familiar. A moment of life concretely and deliberately constructed by the collective organization of unitary environment and the free play of events. Arakawa and Gin suggested that through the organization of transitory cessations of habit, a transformative subject emerges. In contrast to the engines of discipline utilized by Pouvoir, in general, we find a fluid teleology. It leads to a radical ethics. It's not a reintegrative strategy either socially or on the level of the individual, but it's this reinvention of the self. The logical extreme of their pursuit suggests we might imagine a society where people who never speak the same language, never practice the same activities, nonetheless on a daily basis endlessly improvise on a theme of existence as exuberant game. And in this schema, the cessation of habit critically deployed leads to a human constantly engaged in the production, the living of spinozist active affections. So I thought that Lucy's talk was beautiful in the sense that the crucial aspect of redirecting attention in Madeleine's work was underscored. And the translation question from Madeleine and Arakawa's work in terms of that problematization of attention and that casting of the attention back, the McLuhan-esque cold media, hot media problem, back onto us as audience. That was, in my opinion, at the center of their work, whether it was the artwork, the writing, or the architectural design. They made architecture to help us think thinking. The container of the mind was the body, the building, the world. So in 2011, I organized a conference called Transhumanism Meets Design. It was a two-day conference at Parsons. And Madeleine was supposed to come to it. But then the conference was substantially overbooked. I was putting it together with some other organizers. And I ended up apologizing to Madeleine and saying, I don't think this is the right conference for you to come and speak at. She was very, very disappointed. And I've never gotten over the fact that I let her down and didn't have her speak at the conference. She did come, and she did speak at the conference during one of the panels. But she didn't come and speak as a panelist. And she wrote to me after this in an exchange. I think this was the last email I got from her. We were talking about dropping the ball on that conference. And I assured her that I thought it actually probably was not the right conference for her to speak at and strongly support what she was doing. We went back and forth a few times. And she wrote, dear Ed, yes, I am on the edge of an edge, as far as the office is concerned. This was in maybe March or April of 2011. And the way you describe it, your office is right up there on the edge as well. Perhaps we should do a competition together so as to have all around more ground to stand on. I'm guessing that you have a strong fondness for humanity plus. Who amongst that group, I wonder, has a good firm sense of what needs to be done. And after the conference, my intuition was right. Not too many people at that conference did. And I really did need Madeline there. Planning things further out for the next event seems just right to me today. I'm finishing up a direct speakbook these days, which is a reversible destiny tell all. And in 2012, I could deliver that in utter seriousness laced with hilarity, the hilarity that she and Eric Hall always had, which I think the architectural community often missed. Laced with procedurality and purpose. Of course, outlining and pinpointing what needs to be done is my specialty. Then I thought if Ed had a telegram in hand for me, it might be a simple matter, after all, for him to introduce the AG Reversible Destiny Corpus into the discourse at some point. Telegram, dear Ed, I believe our team, AG, has found a way to help people stay viable for an inordinate and really long period of time. This can be achieved through a double initiative. Procedural architecture and biotopology, yours in the reversible destiny mode, love, Madeline. The art science of viability, that biotopology, introduced in making dying illegal, end of telegram. If you have some thought as to what to do in my direction, do let me know so that I can turn up for the action. It is late at night now, and off I go to sleep. Once again, yours in the reversible destiny mode, love, Madeline. You're from Vienna, so tell us. First of all, thank you so much for the invitation. I'm totally honored and humbled by the chance to be here today and celebrate Arakawa and Jin's work. And being a mega fan, I contacted the Reversible Destiny Foundation in 2014, proposing an interview with Madeline. We had already settled on a date when I heard the devastating news. She had passed away. After a while, I still got to visit the studio, as well as the Bioscleve house on Long Island. And later, Momoyo Homma in Tokyo at the Mitaka Lofts. And I also made friends with Hailey Silverman, an artist who had been working closely with Madeline during her last years. In spring 2015, a Harvard Design Magazine published my text, meditating on the idea of longevity or life prolongation from Madeline and Arakawa's perspective, in contrast to computer science-based approaches emphasizing principles like mind uploading or forsaking of the body. And I was asked to show some of my work here today while discussing its resonances with Jin's and Arakawa's practice or the ways in which they've inspired me. One of the aspects has to do with the idea of embodied cognition, the practice of constant reconfiguration of the body and the mind in relation to the built environment, and specifically the role of the labyrinth in an almost absolute dislocation of the subject in their work. It means to slip out of language, out of self, and even out of time. And another aspect is Madeline's idiosyncratic language making, how she used language of her own to create spaces or actually a whole new world. So I often work with words, sounds, and other living materials, exploring biological and computational systems. For example, one of my frequent collaborators is Fisarun Polisefalun, the single-celled yet many-headed yellow species of slime mold. In this picture, I'm ingesting it before a performative reading, imagining that it's hive-like behavior is programming my own. The speech act can be considered as a form of artificial intelligence. The slime serves as a paranoia critical agent, helping me make connections where none previously existed. Its movement takes me where I need to go. The slime mold is often referred to as a biological computer. It has been popular in scientific experiments for its able to navigate a maze using the shortest possible route to its food source, and, for example, confirm the efficiency or refute the efficiency of transportation networks. In the field of robotics, there have been attempts to use it as a control unit. A couple of years ago, I visited the mathematical biologist Toshi Yuki Nagagaki at the Hokkaido University. Nagagaki was the first person to put the slime mold into a labyrinth in the early 2000s. And in his original experiment, the slime mold's movement mimics the Tokyo Railway Network, showing how a supposedly simple form of life can effortlessly accomplish something that we humans conceived as technological advancement. The slime mold coordinates itself through sensory feedback with its environment. Its cognition is identical to its movement. In his book, this cognition, Stephen Chaviro likens this behavior to the theory of extended mind, a philosophical concept from the late 1990s that the brain and its environment can be seen as an indistinguishable cobbled system. Nagagaki gave me some of his slime mold cultures. And according to his example, I've also placed them into labyrinths with agar and oats. This plexiglass labyrinth, for example, shows a living slime mold drawing itself across an organizational chart, depicting self-organization or decentralization in the human world. Here, the slime mold navigates a three-dimensional maze inside a spherical microenvironment. The shape takes its inspiration from a mandala drawn by Minakata Kumagusu, a Japanese naturalist and a Mahayana Buddhist monk, famous for his early studies of slime molds. The mandala represents Kumagusu's view of the world through the lenses of science and spirituality. He placed humans at the center of the diagram, which suggests that our ability to comprehend causal connections between things diminishes as they move further outward from the center. And our awareness of them becomes more tenuous. The lines on top stand for things completely beyond the reaches of human reasoning. I'll actually skip the video and save it for the talk. And yeah, the other project that I wanted to bring up briefly is called Gut Machine Poetry. The premise of this project is that ever since the Renaissance, the most complex machines that humans have developed have been used as the analogy of the mind. But the human mind is intuitive and too complex an organism to formalize. For example, the head brain works together with the gut brain. Computers are by design deterministic, and they follow set procedures. In Gut Machine Poetry, the idea is to introduce entropic processes into computing via inserting fermenting food stuff or wetwear into the guts of a computer. Operated by a symbiotic colony of bacteria and yeast in a kombucha tea ferment, this homebrewed computer produces a new kind of language. Here, randomness is generated from microscopic footage of the ferment, a wetwear random number generator. Changes in the living material, the stochastic movement of yeast, eating sugar, shape a text that I wrote about code laws and the gut brain. I actually wanted to save this for, but this, maybe the one video is missing, but it's OK. A word jumbling algorithm connected to the kombucha feed and crafted by Vincent Balval takes after Jumbo, a program that cognitive scientists Douglas Hofstetter developed to solve anagrams based on the actions inside a biological cell. In his experiment, letters are combined and broken apart by different types of enzymes that, as he describes, jiggle around, glomming on the structures where they find them, kicking reactions into gear. Now it's starting to make sounds a little bit too early, but maybe if there's a way to silence them, I don't know if I can do it on my controller. But anyway, well, maybe it's OK. I'll just show this video now at the end, and it's a short clip from video piece, Nam Got, the Microbial Breakdown of Language, which also gives a voice by Jessica Edwards to the microbial poetry culture. And then we can continue with the discussion afterwards. Thank you. Thank you. So Troy will wrap it up with Ed and Yenna. Thanks. Hello? Hello? Great. Yes, we will wrap it up. Thank you very much, Irene. Thank you, Ed. Thank you, Yenna. Irene wrote to me a few, a couple of months ago, I guess, and said, quote, I was wondering if you'd be interesting in taking part in a closing panel to reflect on the day, the work and theories at Raracoa and Ginz, and in particular, its resonance with contemporary practices. So I said, yes. And I said, to do that, you absolutely have to invite Yenna Sutila. And Irene said, oh, that sounds amazing, great. And we should also have Ed Keller. And I was like, how lucky am I? Because I think the only way I can imagine answering that question of how to connect Raracoa and Ginz to contemporary practices in a truly intellectually honest way is to, in the most, I guess, Peter Thelian way of saying it, let's spend the next few minutes publicly taking the concept of eternal life both literally and seriously, which I think maybe the three of us do a little more than most people in our everyday lives. So let's put that on display. So let me back up that statement for a second. I teach a seminar here. I think everyone who runs the school forgot that I teach the seminar, which is great, because nobody reads my syllabus. And the syllabus is basically each year I spend eight months kind of redpilling myself with new weird things. And then I tried to make a way of teaching students what the craziest ideas that I think are percolating are. And this past year, it was really focused around the ideas of Charles Fort, who was a late 19th century, early 20th century, paranormal researcher, a kind of collector of curiosities, things like incidents of frogs raining from the sky and stuff like that. And he had this sort of proto-Fukodian or Kunian idea of revolutions and thinking. But even more radically, he wasn't saying that each time we get a kind of a new discovery in science, we have to rebuild the old science. He actually said science itself is just a period of thinking. What happened before that might have been called a kind of period or what he called the dominant of religion. And what's forthcoming or what's in the near future is what he called the dominant of wider inclusions or what's more recently been called witchcraft. And I really feel like we might be on the verge of this era. And I'll give a couple of examples. And I think it's sad that Madeleine and Araco aren't here with us in the flesh at this moment. I think of them actually kind of regularly when reading some of this stuff. But also I think they made a kind of, I feel like the more I read and the more I research, the more prophetic they seem. So the three themes in the studio or the seminar rather are techno scientific relativity. So for Einstein, when things got close to the speed of light, they got weird. I think we're in a moment where technological acceleration and scientific acceleration are competing for weirdness. And you get things where you have technologies now that work in practice but not in theory. So NASA has an electromagnetic drive that's a perpetual motion machine that breaks the laws of thermodynamics that works. And yet we still haven't rewritten our 10th grade chemistry textbooks. The second one is this idea of Western civilization or originating in the East. Very, very recent kind of consensus discoveries of things like the earth being hit by a comet 12,000 years ago. That actually makes a lot of megalithic archaeological evidence make sense. And yet still we can't allow ourselves to kind of accept that into our historical paradigms. And the third one, I think, and this is where it gets really interesting, I think, is the kind of normalization of the occult. Occult meaning hidden or esoteric, the stuff that some people know but not everybody's allowed to, with things like the internet, et cetera, it becomes really difficult to conspire to hide all knowledge. And I think increasingly we're starting to see some really weird things come to the fore that maybe Madeleine and Arakawa might have already been operating under that kind of paradigm. So I have two questions to kick off. One for Ed, one for Yenna. I'm going to say them both because I think we'll just jump in, but let me put it on the table. First one is I feel like, and Yenna, I think your art and yourself as a person and a good friend are kind of prime evidence. I feel like the art world welcomes Arakawa and Ginz and their thinking with open arms. And Ed, the story that you told just earlier that I think would be great to hear a little more on. And what I kind of experienced myself in knowing a bit of the work of Madeleine and Arakawa is that whereas art embraces them with open arms, architecture seems to cross its arms and say this is an architecture. So my question is sort of does architecture deserve Arakawa and Ginz? And then, so that's for both of you. And then the other one which is a little more Yenna inspired is another thing that I would throw into this kind of mix of strange new weird science is the concept of commentary panspermia. And just late last year when we had this kind of cigar shaped interstellar object fly by the earth, umuamua, presumably covered in biological material. And as my favorite magician with a podcast likes to say, with this one heads its aliens, tails its aliens. It's either an alien spaceship or it's a rock from wherever covered in. What's that? A rock with aliens all over it. Right. And so Yenna, I think your work really kind of dives into this whole heartedly. And I feel like for me that's, you know, I feel like you have this sort of ability as all good artists do to kind of pluck the zeitgeist out of the air and put it in front of our face. So I guess I'm curious to you if you could give a little bit more of the background Yenna on your work and what inspires it, maybe in this frame of mind. So who wants to go first? Yenna? Sure. So the slime mold is an extremophilic organism and I've been working with others. Recently a bacteria called basilus subtilis that's also a frequent test case on space flights sort of when it comes to testing the limits of life and I've been very fascinated by the theory of panspermia, literally seeds everywhere. So exactly the idea that life travels throughout the universe and maybe distributed by meteoroids, comets, and asteroids, planetoids, spacecraft, and so on. And somehow through that idea and also sort of like the video that was playing in the background sort of speculating on whether things like slime molds that were there way before us might also be there afterwards or they might be some sort of an ancestor to a new species that we may be also part of. But maybe it won't look exactly like us but there's this sort of planetary panspermia is quite the hopeful idea to me when it comes to this idea of eternal life also that maybe some part of us may be also a part of some thinking species on a distant planet in the future. Do you see it as sort of orthogonal or in opposition to Elon Musk going to Mars or do you think of it as all kind of part of under the same umbrella? Well, for example, in this video that I'm working on right now that where the Baselus subtilis, this space bacteria is the protagonist, I'm also looking into this sort of planetary protection rituals taking place in all the space agencies and with the idea of cleaning spacecraft from earth bacteria to prevent contamination of other planets and letting life forms develop there in peace, which to me is a very sort of a beautiful attempt but also of course has to do with the fact that people who look for life on Mars, if they see life it might be our bacteria that they're seeing and they don't want to see that but basically I would, for example, this activity I consider as sort of an alternative to the Elon Musk style final frontier thinking. Ed, do you want to respond to that? Yeah, you know, I'm so glad that the slime mold work was shown because, and we just spoke about Stephen Chaviro's book, Discognition, which I'm really glad you know. It's a very interesting book because in it he uses different models of mind to talk about how both our human models of mind are flawed but also how we might look to other models of cognition, sentience and sapience to recognize some of the aspects of them in hours and of course what you pointed out with the slime mold is that the slime mold actually thinks with its environment, right? You can't have a model of mind for slime mold without registering the fact that its memory literally is externalized and is embedded in its environment and so the slime mold doesn't have a brain, it doesn't even really have multiple cells but it actually does have the capacity to remember environments, find resources, solve path-finding problems and so forth and so if you took that model which is what Chaviro tries to do in Discognition and you applied it back to Madeline and Eric Howe's work and you said, what's up with the landing sites? What's up with the dislocation problem? What's up with using architecture as a physical disruption of habit to then create some alternate form of mind, some other kind of landing site, some other kind of sentience or some other kind of sapience? It seems to me that there's a really beautiful connection there and that's where I think that they were consciously doing that kind of work with the phantom limb work, they were looking for ways that the human mind could be rewired, how there are circuits visually and neuro-architecturally in the human which can be broken but then literally with visual tricks can be rewired and unbroken or not unbroken but fixed like turned in a different direction with the phantom limb problem and so they're playing with the question of meaning, they're playing with the question of creation of in Madeline's writing, a recursive system that builds a different mind through the interaction of text with human mind, of text with reader, text with writer but then they extend that out and they start to make the rigorous argument well but we can't just do this with visual work, we can't just do it with text, we actually have to do it with things that disrupt the physical body and I think that this is where we as design critics could step in and say, okay well did they get it right in terms of what kind of disruption was necessary to create a new kind of mind and what new kind of mind or what alternate or what more resilient or what more deathless kind of mind would emerge from that. You know during Spears's presentation I was thinking of Galliano, Fernandez Galliano's fire in memory. You know and the argument in fire in memory essentially drawing on the anecdote of the primitives wandering through the forest and discovering some wood, do they burn it or do they make a hut and the argument Fernandez Galliano makes there is if they burn it, it still is an architectural act. Either forgetting of the possibility of architecture is still an architectural act and so the entire book fire in memory is basically a meditation on the problem of what it means to do heat management in architecture and cities and building typologies with that in the back of the mind. We think we're only doing architecture when we build stuff and when we manage entropy but actually if we allow entropy to proliferate we are actually doing something architectural. You know so I feel like there's a whole series of connections there between the slime mold, the external memory system like the extended phenotype that people like Dawkins talks about, Madeline and Eric Howe's work and then the question becomes where do you situate a human in that context? What kind of human does one want to emerge? Is it simply a longer lived human? Is it a human who lives exactly the normal lifespan that we live but much more richly and intensely, more recursively, more self-awarely? You know it seems to me that that's the problem. I mean it's a high modernist problem too. What if you go to degree zero with architectural and urban form? You take all of the forms, the vernacular forms that humans have known for hundreds or thousands of years and you erase them and you install a new set of supposedly degree zero forms. You erase a set of race memories of animal memories of gestures and you replace them with something new. What's the goal with that? The goal, high modernist goal, the high modernist goal was to provide a platform that gave people more agency and freedom. Didn't extend their lives although Madeline and Eric Howe probably would have said well to some extent maybe it did start to extend their lives. So I feel like that's the big question. That's where I wish people had been saying, had been engaging them on this level. You know, like Jenna's work 15 years ago with exactly that kind of question because to me that's the question they were asking. And I never heard a response in a conference or a crit of their work from friend or foe that actually took it on on that level on the grounds that they set up. I thought again, a few of the panel said oh the work was perfectly intelligible. The work was perfectly intelligible to me and I was an idiot savant in my late 20s when I first met them. And I'm mostly idiot, 99% idiot and 1% savant. And I still didn't find it unintelligible. You know, so I felt like they articulated the question very, very clearly. So what was going on with the audience? Yeah. Jenna, do you wanna, well actually, so you've really wove it all back full circle. Jenna, do you wanna respond to that about anything? Do you wanna latch onto or do you want me to? I think it's a really, really good weaving. So let's tease it. I would agree. Well let's tease a couple things out and ask. I know we're gonna go to the opening in just a minute, but I do wanna throw a couple things on the table, almost keywords or something. But Ed, when you were quoting from Madeline or Arco and Madeline, you were, Victor Turner came up for instance, which for me triggers like ritual. Yeah. And so when you talk about the Galliano text and the idea of kind of fire as architecture, I think, sort of like not speaking about politics as a political act, not doing architecture as an architectural act. But then I think there's also a kind of, fire is one of the places around which ritual is performed. It's also one of the places around which kind of ritual dance or what's it called, ingestion of psychedelics, et cetera, et cetera, where you basically altered states of consciousness. So I'm curious in both of your work, Jenna, the first picture you showed was basically taking like an acid tablet that was seeping out onto your tongue through a slime mold, what's the role, Jenna, in your work of like altered states of consciousness? And then Ed, maybe as a, could you kind of do the interpret through Arco and Ginza again thing? I think it was really nice. It's a lot about that obviously. And with the slime mold, just even the knowledge of it has sort of changed my consciousness considering that it's an ancient life form that has been there way before us and that we haven't really paid attention before it somehow became like potentially useful but in computing and mapping and so on. But yeah, a lot of it. Then of course the sort of breaking apart of language and a lot of the work is sort of suggesting this sort of like another world or hopeful for different kind of ways of sensing the world beyond the limits of language. I was also thinking of the fire question in relationship to breath. Again, because breathing is burning. We're breathing in oxygen and our bodies are literally on fire when we breathe. And so there's a kind of installation of memory and then there's an erasure of memory and an installation of memory and an erasure of memory with each one of those cycles. There's micro cycles and then there are larger cycles and larger cycles. So I wonder how this can get chained back into the question of the thinking like a slime mold which is the chapter of one of Stephen Chaviro's. It's the title one of Stephen Chaviro's chapters in his book, Discognition. And whether it's appropriate for us to kind of leverage that. I mean, I personally feel very strongly that it is because what we normally consider to be human it's just a shadow. It's a very imperfect description of what we really are. It's like the opening line of Thousand Plateaus. When DeLuz and Guattari sit down, they say when we sat down to write this book, there was two of us but each of us was already several. So there was quite a crowd. And I think they're funny too. And this is in the sense that Madeline and Eric Howard were tricksters and pranksters. They were able to be completely serious about the idea that one wouldn't think like a slime mold but you could also laugh about it and then you could present it in an international architectural conference and see people's consternation and be dead serious. No, we really mean it. We really mean it. We're designing something to not die. And then they would laugh and the audience would think, well, they must be joking. We talked about this before the panel. Are architects allowed to have a sense of humor? I don't know, I've always had one. But then again, I'm maybe not entirely an architect so. Yeah, any questions from the audience? I think we're gonna wrap it up really quickly but throw up your hand if you wanna squeeze one in. Anyone, go in once, twice. Okay, well, I think we do wanna get over to the opening. I think we're, yeah? Yeah, okay. So thanks very much to Ed and Yana. Thank you very much to Irene for having us, for hosting this. Beautiful exhibition. Super excited to check it out. Some more, hope y'all will make your way over there. Back to you, Irene. Just to reiterate, thank you to everyone. And it was a really lovely set of multi-disciplinary voices bringing so many different perspectives, critiques, revelations, confusing points as well. So it's been a real pleasure. And you are welcome to come to the Beall Gallery, the Arthur Ross Architecture Gallery. Just two doors down, there'll be a reception. Thank you.