Kouki Mojadidi is a licensed Architect and an alumna of The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art.  Practicing architecture since 2000 in New York City and Afghanistan, every project, for Kouki, establishes the importance of creative conceptual thinking as a process essential for implementing socially conscious projects in areas of conflict, natural disaster, and reconstruction.  She has led complex design projects through all phases of development, from concept to implementation to create an inclusive architectural practice aiming to bridge implementing partners, builders with the community.  For Kouki, socially conscious design is taking architecture beyond objectification; recognizing architecture to be more than a static physical reality. She implements projects that not only strive for exceptional design and construction but endeavors to strengthen the weakened threads of architectural practice pivotal to the fabric of society.

The home without a house.

The home without a house.

Home is the open water,  the open globe, like the crab in the ocean, it knows everything as home. It's mere existence is reason enough for having a home and we are all living in it.  
 

Left: Childhood House with Pool in back,  I lived in the pool. I was able to live freely swimming in water.  Middle and Far Right:  Adolescent House on River in Back.  My thoughts about home lived in the river.  The house sheltered my thoughts.

 

I hold my spoon and i look into my bowl of food, my forearms lean resting against the edge of a butcher block table above four metal cast iron legs.  i try to put my weight on it - in total.  The table does not move resting on a floor two stories above street noises.  The exterior is brick stacked and the surface crumbles when i run my hands across the surface but the core is strong and it is solid.    My feet meet the ground next to the brick wall, there confronted with a stair point me into a way inside, in a stride, its one foot up and another, i do it four times.  i stand in the shadow of an entrance door and held inside a dark shade.    I need to step to be inside.    i place my hand on the handle: it is only the physical part of where home begins.   My hand activates the handle and the rest of what this construction means. -        What is the life of home saying?       can i listen or can i speak to it?      What do my walls do to me.    i think about my walls.        Are they present to me all the time - or do they materialize when i want shelter to sleep, run from a storm, looking for a quiet space. Are they the reason my paintings can be hung or have I made a hole and the nail is the champion of this connection. Maybe the wall is the champion of the nail that is making me think of that champion painting.         When I have a conversation or when I am quiet - Do my walls listen to me and absorb the sound or do they protect me from hearing something outside or is it just in my “ free mind ” that those walls are not really there.     Ihave   traveled   past the door -  andi am   turning   the corner.     my   soul goes from  dark   to   light…  cause i see the person I was looking for.   Sitting in that upholstered orange chair.  This is one chair out of four other different chairs that leans back at a 60 degree angle while resting low to the wood floor.  The wood tongue and kissed detail that is resting above a wood frame structure spanning across the main pier member of a group. Those that carry the load, the baggage, the stress and ultimately sitting on the living breathing foundation life.    Your life,   their life,   my life.    It serves it’s structure so that its inner workings below grade is always silent, never to disturb laughter in the home, so that life can flourish  -

above     mud  -

above     dirt. 

THRIVE IN YOUR UNCENSORED HOME.

THRIVE IN YOUR UNCENSORED HOME.

How war and greed has decimated vernacular architecture in Afghanistan.

How war and greed has decimated vernacular architecture in Afghanistan.