MASS Design Group’s Director Jeffrey Mansfield Shares His Top Five Recent Obsessions

My research is centered around the Deaf community, and stems from my experience as a Deaf person attending a Deaf school and using American Sign Language. Those activities were deeply formative for me. My family can all hear, so being among other Deaf people allowed me to connect immediately. I’m interested in unpacking the history and the narratives that shape our community. In my work, I consider how architecture can be designed to respond to or to amplify the sensory richness of Deaf people. Having rounded corners in buildings, for example, can allow us to see who or what is coming toward us from a perpendicular direction, thereby preventing collisions.

Deaf artist James Castle didn’t sign or write. Instead, he used his drawings as his primary mode of expression. Over more than 70 years, he produced thousands of soot and spit artworks and constructions. Unfortunately, the art world has often failed to understand the impact Castle’s deafness had on his work. His house in Boise, Idaho, provides a firsthand opportunity to appreciate his unique and imaginative perception of the world. It’s also one of very few civil spaces in the United States dedicated to Deafness and disability. MASS Design Group is working with the James Castle House to interpret the artist’s experience, and advise on ways to improve the experience for Deaf and hard of hearing visitors, including how the space is lit and laid out as well as how information is delivered through sign language, videos, and texts.

The 2021 movie CODA, which follows the story of the only hearing member of a Deaf family, offered a hugely impactful portrayal of the Deaf community. The story resonates with many due to its focus on sound and music, as well as the relationships between parents and their children; however, it’s problematic for the same reasons. While CODA was a huge step for Deaf representation, there are other narratives within the film that highlight moments of resistance and self-determination that I found more compelling. Gloucester, where the film is set, like many other coastal New England communities such as Martha’s Vineyard, is a place where Deaf people have been active in the fishing industry since the 17th century.

Jamaican-British poet Raymond Antrobus writes compellingly about growing up as a Deaf person, including dealing with daily microaggressions. I often think about his “Two Guns in the Sky for Daniel Harris,” which details the killing of a Deaf man who was shot by police during a routine traffic stop. Daniel was the brother of one of my former classmates. Even though Antrobus didn’t know him personally, he brought attention to a visceral fear and an injustice produced by a society that prioritizes legality and order for able bodies over the safety of the disabled. Even though it highlights a moment of trauma, the poem created an opportunity for healing.

During the Covid-19 lockdown, with its increased reliance on the digital, I found myself seeking out analog activities, especially those connected to craft. Gaman, the art of persisting with dignity, is a practice cultivated by Japanese Americans during their internment in World War II. Often, they would pass the time by creating small craft items: wooden sculptures, paper objects, and buttons and pins made from collected shells. Making these objects was a way of maintaining hope and creating beauty during a time of violence and uncertainty. Cultivating my own craft practice became a form of personal meditation that allowed me to focus on the slowness of making, and helped me feel more connected to my late grandmother, who was interned at Tule Lake in California.