“The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven...”

- William Shakespeare

The Garden for Bereaved Mothers is nestled within a non-denominational chapel. Green roofs angle down to a  gutter system, and rain follows a path through waving grasses, down rain chains, and into  depressions in the earth which lead to the central raingarden.  Rain channels are echoed in the floors of the chapel, where eight rough-hewn wood benches face glass walls that open to the elements. Bereaved mothers tend to daylilies, salal, grasses, and hydrangeas found in the inner and outer zones of the garden; a reminder that time, space, and life are part of an eternal flow.

Shown at the Seattle Architecture Foundation

In the heart of our city, there stands a gathering place, a community hub of tender remembrance for victims of the plague that engulfed our world. A mystical labyrinth of sorrow and solace, its gold-strewn facade mesmerizes. Fluid metal rises from a reflecting pool like a celestial tribute to the fallen. Walls echo the whispers of a thousand souls, their stories woven into its metal fabric.

Individuals gather, steps heavy with grief, but not without hope. After all, we are the survivors. We traverse the intricate paths, fingers grazing the smooth surfaces, seeking connection with others.

As the sun sets, casting hues of gold and crimson upon its facade, a profound silence blankets the memorial. In this mystical hour, a communion of souls transpires, bridging the chasm between living and departed. Now that we are no longer isolated, lives intertwine, forever immortalizing those extinguished by the merciless hand of fate.

Shown at the Seattle Architecture Foundation

“If something’s existence is contingent upon the existence of another entity, can we truthfully call them separate beings?” 
― Chris Matakas

Submerged Sanctuary uses the Seattle Underground to provide refuge for homeless women and children. After the great Seattle fire of 1889, the city was rebuilt atop old structures, leading to a subterranean labyrinth of brothels, speakeasies, and gambling dens below the new city. The women who worked as prostitutes below ground were taxed, helping pay for the new construction. (The city was built on the backs of women.) As Seattle undergoes another monumental change, the number of homeless women has increased. This project proposes that they find emergency shelter underground. Sleeping pods balance next to sunken gardens, lit by clear tubes that undulate through existing pavement lights in Pioneer Square sidewalks. Vines grow between levels, consuming facades and reminding urban dwellers that they live symbiotically with a neglected population.

Shown at the Seattle Architecture Foundation

The Urchin Citadel reflects the resurgence (resistance) of the feminine. It is a 9-level center for women nestled in the urban fabric, carving out space and revealing itself only from certain vantage points. Each center is located at a node of historical interest in the city, such as the site of a "former house for wayward women". Subterranean levels contain necessary programs for a population under siege - abortion clinics and rape and assault triage and recovery. Higher levels include a hostel for abused women and children, a center for health and defense education, a library of feminist history, and gathering spaces for advocacy. A tending garden, cared for by survivors, grows up through the building, lit by an oculus at the top. Entry is gained through access points linked to non-descript office buildings, and only those who know can find admittance. The Urchin sends out its spines - for light, for entry, for knowledge - into the city that unknowingly hosts it.

Urchin quotes: Malala Yousafzai, Emily Doe

Shown at New York Design Week and at the Seattle Architecture Foundation