Redefining the playing field

Erik Peters: Could you introduce us to your practice?

Gabriel Fontana: Certainly. I am an independent designer and creative director specializing in Social Design. Social Design is a discipline that applies design principles to tackle complex societal challenges, aiming to cultivate positive social change. The essence of social design, from my perspective, lies in its potential to fundamentally reshape our interactions and the environment and societal structures they’re embedded within.

Let’s consider sports, for example. Beyond being just games, sports are also social arenas. In this context, sports can be viewed as an architectural space — the sports field — where various objects like equipment and uniforms come together as a unique design system. These elements are pivotal not just in shaping interactions on the field but also in influencing how we perceive and relate to each other, thus impacting the very fabric of our society.

As a designer who embodies this philosophy, I hold the conviction that our social responsibility as makers is substantial. Our role extends beyond the mere creation of objects or spaces; it involves challenging established biases and transforming societal norms, behaviours, and values. With this ethos, my work is focused on the fascinating challenge of rethinking sports. This is not just about redesigning sports from aesthetic or athletic standpoints, but more crucially from a social perspective. I’m engaged in exploring how sports can be reimagined to become more inclusive, reflective, and transformative, thereby enriching and diversifying our social interactions and understandings.

EP: Could you tell us a bit more about your artistic methodology, which you describe as ‘reinventing sports as a queer pedagogy’? Why do you think it is important to rethink sports? 

GF: I find it interesting that if we look at history, we can see that sport has not really moved on since the first modern Olympic Games in 1896. Therefore, I believe that team sports are still reproducing conservative values and ideologies of an age gone by. On the other hand, our society has experienced constant social change, revolution and evolution. This prompts me with two questions; first of all: why are we actually still playing the same games since that time? Is sport immutable? And secondly and more importantly, how can sports practices evolve to support societal changes?

When I started to work with schools, I realised that many children experience PE class (physical education) as a very hostile and unsafe environment. Dominant ideas regarding gender, ethnicity, physical ability and sexuality are reproduced in sports and physical education. Research shows that girls, children with disabilities, children with a bi-cultural background and children who are part of the LGBTQIA+ community are marginalised and often excluded in PE. This, for example, often occurs during the team building process where some children are always the last ones to be picked up by the team leader and therefore are left on the side, due to their gender, sexuality, body shape, or level of popularity in the class. This experience of exclusion has an impact that extends far beyond the boundaries of the sports class; it is often a determining factor in creating obstacles regarding a child’s well-being and social development. 

 In response to that, for the past few years, I have dedicated my practice to the creation of alternative team sports that reinvent sport as a form of queer pedagogy. I use the term ‘queer’ here as a design strategy that allows me to challenge the reproduction of social norms related to gender, sexuality, masculine norms, binary categories, and body expectations.

EP: Can you give an example of one of your projects that applies this queer pedagogy?

GF: In collaboration with Rotterdam-based primary schools and the philosopher Nathanja van den Heuvel I developed Multiform, an educational programme for primary and secondary schools that contributes to inclusive physical education. The game’s methodology is centred on the use of a three-sided sports field, such as the one designed by the artist Asger Jorn in 1970. This three-team format opens space for collaboration in the sense that two teams can team up on the field against one another, creating a situation where your ‘enemies’ and ‘allies’ are constantly changing. By experimenting with this triolectic format, I realised that, once we go beyond the usual binary system of oppositions, we open up infinite possibilities in developing new configurations and interactions between players. 

In this way, I use the potential of this non-normative playing field as a ground to develop new game systems around the notion of fluid identities. This is, for example, manifested during the games through situations where players are invited to change teams during the game or don’t know at all which team they belong to. For example, for the Multiform game, I designed a transformable outfit that changes colour. Each time a new colour appears on the transformable outfit, the player changes teams. This challenges the way we usually oppose the other. Moreover, by allowing people to take on multiple identities, the games open up spaces for experimentation, play, and collective reflection that challenge fixed categories. As a queer pedagogy, this game teaches us how to deal with more than a binary experience of the world.

EP: You mentioned earlier how your queer pedagogical approach is inspired by Sara Ahmed’s perspective on queer phenomenology. What is queer phenomenology and how do you approach this within your work?

GF: Absolutely. Sara Ahmed’s work on queer phenomenology is pivotal in understanding the essence of my approach. queer phenomenology, as conceptualized by Ahmed (1), is about exploring how bodies and spaces interact in ways that diverge from societal norms and expectations. It examines the orientations of our actions and perceptions, focusing on how we are directed towards or away from certain objects, ideas, and spaces. Ahmed’s work in this area challenges traditional understandings of orientation, both in terms of sexual orientation and in terms of how we literally and metaphorically ‘orient’ ourselves in the world. This concept encourages a rethinking of how spaces and social norms can be more inclusive and diverse, and how breaking away from conventional paths can lead to new understandings and experiences. 

In my work, this translates into utilising sports as a medium to foster new connections and understandings. In the game, I use “disorientation” as a design methodology to encourage players to collaborate and to do what is usually understood as a mistake, such as passing the ball to someone from another team. Additionally, I believe that it is in this situation of not-knowing and feeling a bit lost that new relations, connections, and thoughts emerge. By doing so, the game values moments of ‘failure’ as fruitful ways of loosening up oppressive societal structures. This confusion also allows positioning sports not only as a physical activity but also as a reflective practice because it forces players to constantly question to which team they belong and what their role within the group is. By creating environments where the unexpected is the norm, and ‘failure’ is seen as an opportunity for growth and reorientation, we open up a world of possibilities for how we can engage with each other and our surroundings. This, I believe, is the true potential of redefining sports as a queer pedagogy. 

EP: Last year, coinciding with the 2022 FIFA World Cup, you launched a project at W139 in Amsterdam. How did working within this exhibition context differ for you from previous educational live events?

GF: After years of working with schools, I decided to create my own platform for presenting my games. This led to the launch of the project series: ‘Turning Towards Fluidity – A Tournament of the Unknown.’ Designed as artistic social experiment, this project is a series of queer sports tournaments that reimagine the concept of togetherness. The first edition of the tournament was developed last year in collaboration with W139. Translating my work into an exhibition context provided me with the opportunity to put the culmination of my work and research over the last six years into an expansive large-scale project.

For this first edition, I played with transforming the exhibition spaces into gyms, extending the world I create with my games into a space, a scenography, and a visual identity. I organised W139 through five main spaces: the sports shop, the locker room, the training hall, the stadium and the cooldown room. Each exhibited artwork was directly embedded in the scenography itself. For example, the lockers were used as a display to present the garments of Versatile Forever, an upcycling clothing brand. In the Stadium ─ the main hall of W139 where the games took place ─ the arrangement of the custom-designed seating, flags, and the sports field was inspired by both the assembly spaces of athletic contests as well as spaces of government and parliaments. Based on a triolectic format, this forum configuration suggested a space for discussion, debate, and alternative modes of togetherness. The flags surrounding the field represented a spectrum of different fluid identities that blurred, merged, and deconstructed the entities of the three different teams.

We invited intergenerational groups ranging from schools, local organizations, people from the neighbourhood, and art institutions to come and activate the space by playing the games I developed. In this context, I view exhibitions not only as spaces where an end product is shown on a pedestal, but also as spaces of experimentation, rethinking, and play. They are spaces of conversation for exchanging ideas still in formation and for rehearsing other forms of being together. Different from educational live events, an exhibition space can stage the design of the game setting and can be extended to influence all the sorts of interactions that can emerge between the works and the different audiences.

EP: Which other games, besides Multiform, were activated during the Tournament?

GF: For this show, I specifically developed a new series of queer sports games. During my prototyping workshops at schools, I realised the importance of ‘the voice’ in the reproduction of social norms and power structures. From the referee who displays authority through their voice, to playground shouting and locker room whispering, the voice is so omnipresent that it often remains unheard. When playing Multiform at primary schools, I found that only male names were being called out during the game. Boys were shouting to one another to pass and receive the ball, dominating the space with their bodies and voices. But when they played the game in silence, the girls later mentioned that they felt much safer claiming space within the game. Based on these observations, I extended his methodology by developing a new sports game called Sonic-Cross using new modes of listening as tools to alter how power is usually performed through sound.

The game is a revised version of the traditional sport Lacrosse. For this sonic version, I designed rackets fitted with sensors to produce a generative soundscape. In this game, the teams are defined by a specific sound and the only way to find your team is to carefully listen. Sounds are produced only when a player interacts with the ball, meaning that the gameplay needs to be shared with every single player so that the whole team is identified. In this way, the games foster new forms of engagement towards one another by paying attention to the subtle gestures and sounds players make and the space they take up. 

I believe that the heart of my work lies in not just offering people a new lens to see the world, but also a tactile and playful experience. These experiences that I design allow us to critically examine our norms—around identity, community, and group dynamics—so we can begin to envision and practice new ways of being together in society. In this way, sport serves as the perfect metaphor for a playing field of new social possibilities.

EP: By activating these games through different kinds of workshops and discussions, your work takes a direct pedagogical turn. Can you reflect on how you facilitate this educational process and how different kinds of audiences respond to engaging with the games inside and outside of the museum walls?

GF: Initially, I was surprised by the distinct reactions between adults and children when playing the game. Before introducing Multiform in primary schools, my concern was its complexity for young minds. However, the reality was quite the opposite. Children grasped and enjoyed the gameplay more effortlessly than adults. Adults often seek to thoroughly comprehend all the rules before engaging, exhibiting apprehension towards new experiences. In contrast, children display a natural curiosity and spontaneity. They learn the game dynamics simply by engaging in play, showing remarkable adaptability to continuous team changes and the game’s fluid nature. This highlighted a fascinating point: the concept of team allegiance and exclusive interaction with same-coloured teammates is a learned behaviour. Adults struggle to unlearn this ingrained social structure, whereas children are more adaptable and open to new ways of interacting. 

The experience of playing the game inside versus outside museum walls presents another intriguing aspect. Conducting queer sports workshops in museums challenges the traditional, unspoken norms of these spaces—such as quietness, restricted movement, and conventional learning methods. This juxtaposition offers a unique perspective on how spatial context influences game interaction and participant behaviour. 

EP: What do you believe are the limitations of presenting your work within a museum context?

GF: My choice to work with sports, as opposed to solely within the confines of traditional museums, is driven by the universal appeal of sports. Sports are an omnipresent part of culture, cutting across different social classes and reaching a wide audience that museums often fail to engage. Unlike museums, which are still exclusive spaces reserved for those with certain cultural or economic privileges, sports fields are more democratic and accessible. They are places where people from very diverse backgrounds come together, making sports an ideal medium for my work. 

While museums play a crucial role in the art world, their reach is limited. They often cater to a specific demographic and can inadvertently perpetuate a sense of exclusivity. I want to break out of the ‘art bubble’ and reach individuals who might never step into a museum. By embedding my work in the world of sports, I can engage with a broader spectrum of society, bringing the principles of queer pedagogies to a more diverse and widespread audience. In essence, by choosing sports as my platform, I aim to democratise access to the ideas and conversations my work provokes. It’s about taking the discourse out of the galleries and into the everyday, tapping into the universal language and appeal of sports to foster social change on a larger scale.

EP: To round up, what are you currently working on and in which direction would you like your practice to grow?

GF: As a social designer, it’s crucial for me not only to engage with educational and cultural spaces but also to engage with the industry. That’s why, for the past year, I’ve been collaborating more and more with the sports industry to give my work a broader outreach and stronger impact. In the future, I want to continue collaborating with sports brands as I do believe they are the ones who have the power to set new directions for the sports fields. Additionally, I am engaged in discussions with “Pride House,” an LGBTQ+ sports-focused venue, to explore potential collaborations for presenting a joint initiative at the Paris Olympic Games 2024.

In conclusion, I want to emphasise that the pursuit of a more inclusive future is not a solo journey; it’s a collective effort that demands us to challenge our norms and behaviours across various sectors of society. This is why my work intentionally navigates through education, culture, and the sports industry, targeting these areas and the spaces between as the most fertile grounds for impactful change. 

Footnotes

(1) In Sara Ahmed’s book ‘Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others‘, Ahmed demonstrates how queer studies can put phenomenology to productive use. Focusing on the “orientation” aspect of “sexual orientation” and the “orient” in “orientalism,” Ahmed examines what it means for bodies to be situated in space and time.

Bodies take shape as they move through the world directing themselves toward or away from objects and others. Being “orientated” means feeling at home, knowing where one stands, or having certain objects within reach. Orientations affect what is proximate to the body or what can be reached. A queer phenomenology, Ahmed contends, reveals how social relations are arranged spatially, how queerness disrupts and reorders these relations by not following the accepted paths, and how a politics of disorientation puts other objects within reach, those that might, at first glance, seem awry.

Ahmed proposes that a queer phenomenology might investigate not only how the concept of orientation is informed by phenomenology but also the orientation of phenomenology itself. Thus she reflects on the significance of the objects that appear—and those that do not—as signs of orientation in classic phenomenological texts such as Husserl’s ‘Ideas.’ In developing a queer model of orientations, she combines readings of phenomenological texts—by Husserl, Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty, and Fanon—with insights drawn from queer studies, feminist theory, critical race theory, Marxism, and psychoanalysis. ‘Queer Phenomenology’ points queer theory in bold new directions.