Eiffel Over

Tag: regenerativedesign

  • Preaching to the unconverted

    Cognitive dissonance is when we know something to be true but we don’t act as if it is true.

    In the built environment sector, the cognitive dissonance is that the living world knows how to operate complex systems much more effectively than engineers (and other humans) do. And yet, the living world is not revered and not held as a reference point.

    Imagine if the opposite were true, if we held deep reverence for the most sophisticated of operating system on the planet, this respect would be reflected in:

    • The stories we tell about new ideas and innovation.
    • The design references we put on the wall or use as inspiration.
    • The metrics we track to measure successful outcomes.
    • The way we relate to and engage with living systems.
    • The way we make design decisions.

    In short, deep respect for the living world would be reflected in our culture, which is another word for ‘how things get done’.

    But we know this isn’t the case. 

    Of course, we know the important, long-term work is to shift the culture in engineering and construction to see humans as part of a larger web of life. This is the work of changing paradigms and goals, which Donella Meadows tells us are the highest points of leverage in a system. Movements like Engineers Declare are doing great work at this level.

    But the reality is that most organisations in our sector do not have an ecocentric culture. We have the opportunity to influence people every day, but only if we can help them with the challenges they face. 

    The goal of regenerative design is for humans and the living world to survive, thrive and coevolve. But this isn’t the goal of most people running projects today. Their goals are usually much more occupied with the present: budgets, deadlines, dwindling resources and growing uncertainty. 

    This isn’t a criticism, but an observation. 

    So we need to find a bridge, a way to meet people where they are, tools that help tackle the challenges of today in ways that are compatible with a thriving future. A language that translates into both today’s conversations and tomorrow’s. 

    If we can use a shared language, we can start to close this cognitive dissonance, not by telling people they are wrong, but by meeting people and projects where they are.

    This work is about earning trust, building empathy, finding common ground and helping people do their jobs today in a way that sets the foundations for systems change tomorrow.

  • A regenerative framing for supporting local workforce development

    One of the participants in the Regenerative Design Lab is exploring working with The Purpose Xchange,  who work directly with individuals to uncover their dreams and aspirations. The organisation then helps to match those aspirations with work opportunities in the local borough. 

    A key question the lab participant is exploring is how providing an operating space for this community activity could help enable and scale this initiative, proven elsewhere, to thrive in their local borough.

    We can  intuitively see the benefits of this approach, but how does this work for more explicitly into a regenerative framing? 

    The Living Systems Blueprint

    In regenerative design, we use the living world itself as a template for understanding how to thrive within ecosystem limits. Instead of extractive, linear systems, we seek to imitate the mechanisms that the living world uses to thrive within its ecosystem limits. 

    The Living Systems Blueprint, which James Norman and I first proposed in the Regenerative Structural Engineer, outlines three key characteristics of thriving, living systems. 

    • Increased interconnection – strengthen the number and quality of connections between elements in the local system
    • Increased symbiosis – creating mutually beneficial exchange that build local system richness
    • Increased capacity to adapt – ensuring the local system can adapt in response to changing environmental conditions. 

    Creating more local symbiosis in the workforce

    Of the three elements of the Living Systems Blueprint, this example relates most closely to creating symbiosis, but it also relates to building interconnection and unlocking capacity to adapt. 

    Living systems create thriving with the resources that are present in the local ecosystem. By resources we mean materials, energy and labour. These resources go round and round, the waste streams from one process being the input to the next. The work of the system creates structures of growing complexity that give the local system increasing richness. 

    This approach is distinct from the alternative: importing materials, energy and labour from other places, and treating processes as linear, creating unlimited consumption and drawdown of resources.

    Building on this principle, the regenerative economy:

    • Works with and seeks to build the latent potential of the local workforce. 
    • Creates local thriving by working with the unique potential and needs of that  place. 
    • Avoids one-size-fits-all solutions that waste resource and a poor fit for the local system’s needs.

    A workforce that is rooted in the local economy and connected to local opportunities:

    • Returns money to the local community – but also builds relationships of trust (symbiosis)
    • Strengthens people’s connection to their local place and each other (interconnection)
    • Builds the local capability to maintain, repair and modify our build environment (capacity to adapt)

    The role of the regenerative designer

    One of the key roles of the regenerative designer is to connect together and enable the growth of positive initiatives that create thriving. Regenerative design isn’t necessarily about imposing solutions – rather it about seeking out and amplifying what is emergent in the system.

    In this case, creating operating space for Purpose Xchange to work from could be a key step in unlocking this change. Sometimes, the barriers to initiatives that build local thriving are not about potential or demand, but lie in being able to join up the pieces. This could be one of the most important roles for the regenerative designer.

  • Full Circle

    Here’s a simple experiment. Take a wine glass and place it on a city map. With a pencil, draw around the base. Follow the circle as closely as you can and see what you discover.

    These instructions are the basis of a psychoderive, an approach to rediscovering the city, proposed by Situationist philosopher Guy Debord.

    Debord wants us to see the city anew. To break the matrix of familiarity, the hierarchies of roads, the boundaries of commerce. And instead to see again the underlying contours of place and community.

    Familiarity dims the senses. The circle forces us onto new paths. This uncertainty sharpens our awareness again. To notice the gaps between buildings. The pockets of life thriving in forgotten spaces. Not knowing if there is a way through.

    This act—forcing us to see the familiar in a new way—is a perfect analogy for how regenerative design begins. That starting point is deep observation of place. In places we think we know, it’s about peeling back the skin that habit forms and seeing what lies beneath. Then we can connect more deeply with community and ecosystem. To see what ingredients we already have to work with. To spot potential we can help unlock. To recognise the successful patterns of place.

    To do all of that, we need to learn to look again. Guy Debord’s wine glass gives us a good starting point. What do you notice when you follow the circle?

    Further reading

    • It turns out I did my first psychoderives in 2018 – Read Derive#2, about a circle I tried to squash into the Square Mile.
    • And continuing on the theme of games that change the way we experience the city, check out the Left-Right game, which my daughter and I invented during lockdown.

  • What you only notice when everything quietens down

    This is my final post for the year.

    Some things we notice because we are looking for them. I have lost my keys; I look around the house, my brain is scanning for the keys; I spot the keys. But in that search what I fail to notice is that the pot plant above my desk hasn’t been watered for weeks and is about to die. 

    Then there’s another kind of noticing, an awareness that isn’t driven by a specific task. It’s a more open awareness, in which we we may be able to see things that we were not necessarily looking for. 

    For me, the starting point in design is observation. And not just the laser-focused, looking-for-a-thing type of observation, but a more open, breathing-in-of-the-situation kind. What does a place feel like? What is the energy of a group of people? What am I drawn towards or away from? 

    Our brains are incredible at spotting patterns, but only when we let them. Hyper-focused attention, while useful, often comes at the cost of perceiving the bigger picture.

    For many in the built-environment sector, work is a hyper-focused, task-orientated space. Deadlines don’t leave mush space for stepping back. But taking a break from work gives us the opportunity to look up and have a more general awareness.

    If you have holidays coming up, then I invite you to simply notice what you notice when you aren’t looking for anything in particular. What you see might reveal be the wider patterns of place, of community, of life that we aim to serve in our work as engineers (and other humans). 

  • Juice the System: a strategy for exploring complex systems

    Last week, I wrote about an idea-generation strategy I regularly use in teaching called Juice the Brief.

    This week, I’ve been working on an analogous method called Juice the System. This approach builds on the Systems Bookcase model, which we use to understand why systems behave the way they do and to identify opportunities for intervention.

    The challenge with complex systems is that they often seem overwhelming—like walking into a messy bedroom where everything is scattered across the floor. The goal of Juice the System is to “tidy up” this complexity by sorting the mess into clear categories using the Systems Bookcase as our framework.

    Recap – The Systems Bookcase model

    The Systems Bookcase is a way to organise information about a system into ascending shelves on a bookcase. From bottom to top:

    1. The Design Shelf

    • For anything tangible—what has been built or created.
    • Examples: buildings, infrastructure, physical objects.

    2. The Operations Shelf

    • For rules, incentives, restrictions, and enabling or limiting conditions—the mechanisms that drive the system.
    • Examples: policies, processes, regulations.

    3. The Mindsets Shelf

    • For attitudes, assumptions, and beliefs that underpin how the system operates.
    • Examples: cultural norms, biases, overarching worldviews.

    4. The Goals Shelf

    • For the high-level goals of the system
    • Example: in our current paradigm in construction, to build things profitably and safely; in a more holistic paradigm, for humans and the living world to survive, thrive and co-evolve.

    5. The Paradigm Shelf

    • Right at the top, the paradigm – the guiding philosophy of the whole system
    • Example: in UK and similar economies, the paradigm of continuous economic growth.

    How to juice the system

    To start, you’ll need some “mess”—raw material to sort through. This could be:

    • A report,
    • Notes from a site visit,
    • An audio recording or podcast, Or any other information source related to the system you’re exploring.

    Follow these steps to organise the mess:

    Step 1: Gather Inputs

    • Read or listen to your chosen input material.

    Step 2: Sort Information onto the Shelves

    • As you go through, pick out elements and assign them to the appropriate shelves:
    • Design Shelf: Tangible outputs (e.g., buildings, objects).
    • Operations Shelf: Rules, incentives, restrictions, or enabling factors (e.g., policies, processes).
    • Mindsets Shelf: Attitudes, assumptions, or beliefs (e.g., cultural norms, biases).

    Step 3: Infer Connections

    The Systems Bookcase helps you uncover how layers of the system interact:

    • A mindset permits certain rules (operations shelf), which in turn result in specific designs (bottom shelf).
    • Ask questions like: what belief enabled this rule? and what process allowed this design to exist?

    Why Juice the System?

    The purpose of Juice the System is to make sense of complex, messy situations. By categorising information, you can identify patterns, understand interconnections, and pinpoint leverage points for meaningful intervention.

    It’s like tidying a messy room—suddenly, everything is in its place, and you can see how it all fits together.

    Whether you’re tackling a large-scale project or understanding the behaviours of a system, juicing the system gives you the tools to start untangling complexity.

  • Imagining the wood from the trees

    This week, I’ve been writing about observation as the starting point for regenerative design.

    Today, I’ve been working with colleagues at Hazel Hill Wood to envision a year-long process of investigating what timber is currently—or could be—available for harvesting from the wood to use in our buildings. In a sense, we are learning to tell the wood from the trees.

    Through this process, I foresee the following levels of timber availability:

    • Ready – Timber that has already been felled, sawn, and seasoned—ready to be used immediately.
    • Ready for processing/seasoning – Timber that has been felled but still needs additional preparation, such as seasoning.
    • Ready for felling – Mature trees that are best harvested now to make the most of their timber potential.
    • Needs tending to – Timber that could become valuable in the future but requires care now—such as thinning or pruning lower branches—to ensure a high-quality crop later.
    • Needs time – Young trees that aren’t yet ready for harvesting but can be planned for as part of a long-term strategy.
    • Needs imagining – The trees that don’t yet exist. With thoughtful, long-term planning, we can envision trees growing in the future—trees that may one day be harvested, perhaps not by us, but by future generations.

    It’s this final phase that I find particularly magical: imagining the wood from the trees. It’s about seeing what’s missing and planting the seeds—both literal and metaphorical—that could flourish decades from now.

    All of this thinking reminds me that the role of the regenerative designer is imagine a thriving future and take steps towards creating that future. It begins with observation and imagination.

  • Begin design with observation (Part 2)

    Yesterday, I wrote about how starting design with observation allows us to take a broader, more holistic view of the systems we’re working within. Another reason to start design with observation stems from the final part of the goal of regenerative design: for humans and the living world to survive, thrive, and co-evolve.

    This isn’t a goal that can be achieved within our current extraction-based economy. Instead, it serves as a guiding “north star,” helping us think about how to shift our economy towards a more holistic way of operating.

    From that perspective, we see ourselves as collaborators with the rest of the living world—humans living and working in partnership with ecosystems, and humans collaborating across communities.

    As I’ve written before on this blog, collaboration requires both interest in the other party and assertiveness for our own ideas.

    Starting design by writing a design brief is an act of assertiveness—it focuses on what we want. Starting design by observing and investigating the needs of others—both the needs of other humans and those of the living world—means we begin the process with interest.

    Given humanity’s historic tendency (and that of certain groups within humanity) to over-assert ourselves on the rest of the living world, there’s no question: we need to increase our interest in other parties.

    Starting design with observation ensures we begin by understanding and addressing those needs first.

  • Begin design with observation (part 1)

    We often think of design as starting with a design brief—a set of requirements outlining what we want.

    But when seen through a regenerative lens, design begins differently. The goal of regenerative design is not just to meet human needs but for human and living systems to survive, thrive, and co-evolve.

    This shift in focus changes the design process in significant ways.

    The first difference is that our goal is not simply the creation of a building. Instead, the building itself must contribute to greater thriving within the system it inhabits.

    This leads to a different starting point. Instead of asking, “What building do I need?” we ask, “What is the overall state of the system I’m working within?” Part of that system might include the immediate need for a building. But in this framing, we also consider the broader system needs.

    • What is the health of the ecosystem? Where is it thriving, and where is it depleted?
    • What is the health of the community? In what ways is it flourishing, and where are there unmet needs?

    By starting from these wider perspectives—and including many other factors we might observe—a more holistic design brief emerges. One that has the potential to address far more than our own immediate needs.

    But there’s another important reason to start design with observation. More on that tomorrow.

  • Story of poo

    Some context. When people started visiting Hazel Hill Wood for respite and educational weekends in the early 1990s, there were no buildings. I believe the first structure to be built housed a pair of composting toilets. These were wonderful creations, with hide-like windows that let you gaze out across the wood from your perch high above the long drop—without anyone seeing in.

    By the mid-90s, we began constructing off-grid buildings to accommodate larger and larger groups. With this expansion came more toilets. Today, three of our four accommodation buildings contain indoor composting toilets, each with a different design. Altogether, we now have nine toilets on site. We’ve become a veritable museum of composting toilet design.

    But while our capacity has grown, we haven’t developed a cohesive plan for dealing with all this “output.” Back when only small groups visited occasionally, a pair of long-drop toilets worked perfectly. Between visits, there was plenty of time for the poo to break down.

    As the charity has grown, though, so has the intensity of toilet use. With less time for natural decomposition, we now have a mounting problem—literally.

    Staff must increasingly deal with shifting shift —unpleasant, hidden work that highlights a gap in our design and planning.

    But here’s the thing: our story of poo could be so different. Poo is, after all, one of the clearest examples of a waste stream that can be transformed into input nutrients for new growth. This is a fundamental principle of self-sufficiency, permaculture, and regenerative design.

    What if we could close the loop on poop, turning it into a productive part of our nutrient cycle? And what if the process—given how beautifully it illustrates these principles—were well-designed, pleasant to manage, and something visitors could learn from?

    So, my ambition is to rewrite the story of poo at Hazel Hill. It starts with improving the design of our most unpleasant-to-operate toilets and refining the process of transporting “humanure” to the composting bays.

    As for what we’ll do with the composted material? The leading idea is to use it as manure for a fruit tree orchard—which doesn’t exist…yet. But hopefully, one day, we’ll be able to enjoy the literal fruits of this labour.

  • Where we make but also where we take

    This post has moved.
    It now lives on the Constructivist blog: read the updated version →

    Eiffel Over is now my stage for engineering-related clowning, singing, dancing and writing — you’ll find my professional writing on design and regenerative thinking over at Constructivist.

    This has become one of my catchphrases in regenerative design*. To think of design as being for ‘where we make but also where we take’. The role of the regenerative designer is to create a transition to an industry in which our designs create human and ecological thriving. 

    To make that possible we need to bring two separate things into our view at the same time. The place where we are doing the making, and the places that are we are drawing upon to do that making.

    Because if our work makes the world better where we are making, but worse where we are taking, we are not creating thriving. We are just shifting it from one place to the other.

    *It definitely is a catchphrase – I’ve already written a post this year with this exact same title.

  • Remote treehouse design

    Sometimes humour serves best to highlight the ridiculousness of a situation. 

    In my last few posts I’ve been exploring the relationship between designers and the ecosystem they draw their materials from. 

    The working thought experiment has been a game in which differently sized design teams compete to build a wooden shelter from fallen branches in a forest. The size and configuration of the team have a big impact on how the teams source and work with their materials. 

    Now, let’s make it ridiculous. Imagine that instead of the design teams being situated on site in the wood, they are instead situated in a cabin just outside the forest. The construction teams remain on site. How would the game work?

    The direct link between designers, the site, the construction team and the environment that the materials come from is broken.

    The first challenge is communicating to the designers what the site is like. This could be done by means of a drawing, or even a video sent to the designers. But any representation is likely to be a partial version of fully understanding the site. 

    Next we need to find a way to communicate to the designers what materials are available. In the game, the materials are sourced from the surrounding woodland. But found materials don’t necessarily conform to easily describable units. We could envisage then a system in which branches are harvested and sawn to make their dimensions easier to work with and specify. In doing so, we lose some of the material in order to ease communication and specification for the remote design team.

    With a list of standard parts the remote design team can then begin their design. They may invite the build team in to the design office for ‘early contractor involvement’. When the designs are produced, there will need to be further meetings to brief the construction team on how the design works.

    As construction begins, the people on site notice the design could better fit into the local environment with some changes, but that would take additional meetings with the design team over in the cabin. And it’s not their own design anyway. They don’t feel like they own it, so they don’t bother.

    Meanwhile, the design team forget that they are in a game and start selling their remote treehouse design services to other people. They have a design that they believe works, and so start using it in other woodlands, albeit with even less knowledge of the locally available materials, site conditions, and fitness-for-purpose of their design.

    Of course, this is a ridiculous way to organise a construction process.

  • Just build less

    This post has moved.
    It now lives on the Constructivist blog: read the updated version →

    Eiffel Over is now my stage for engineering-related clowning, singing, dancing and writing — you’ll find my professional writing on design and regenerative thinking over at Constructivist.

    More and more people are asking: how do we move from sustainable design to regenerative design?

    In these conversations, we often talk about system change. We talk about strengthening the connection between designers and the origins of their materials. We discuss unlocking symbiotic loops in material supply and enabling designs that best serve the local ecosystem. All of these changes are essential—and they’ll take years, even decades, to fully implement.

    But these conversations can be a distraction from a much more pressing, if uncomfortable thing we can do to shift our industry towards more regenerative ways of working. Given the massive contribution that construction makes to greenhouse emissions and the massive impact it has an habitat destruction, it is simply this. 

    We must build much less stuff. 

    Build less is writ large in the IStructE’s Hierarchy for Net-Zero Design. And while this hierarchy focuses on carbon, given the impact that material extraction has on habitat loss, there is a strong case that building less will significantly reduce our impact on ecosystems too.

    Of course, there will be things we need, structures we can’t do without. But once we set the intention to build less, we can redirect our creativity as designers toward adapting and thriving with what we already have.

    We’ll still need to build some—but we can, and must, build much less.

  • Seeing the latent potential

    This post has moved.
    It now lives on the Constructivist blog: read the updated version →

    Eiffel Over is now my stage for engineering-related clowning, singing, dancing and writing — you’ll find my professional writing on design and regenerative thinking over at Constructivist.

    As Rob Hopkins points out in his wonderful book From What Is to What If, the climate crisis is, at its core, a crisis of the imagination. If we can’t envision a thriving world, we won’t be able to create it.

    A key skill in regenerative design is cultivating the conditions that allow us to imagine this thriving future.

    This requires us to not only see what exists but also to imagine what could be. For example, looking at an empty park and envisioning it full of people running (as highlighted in yesterday’s post), or standing on a traffic-filled street and picturing it so quiet that birdsong fills the air and people stop to chat.

    In these cases, the elements are already present—they are latent. But to unlock this latent potential, we must recognise both the desertified present and the abundant possibilities. Only then can we begin to design the next step toward that vision.

    Equipping ourselves for this imaginative work is, I believe, a critical part of becoming a regenerative designer.

    Hopkins, R., 2019. From What Is to What If: Unleashing the Power of Imagination to Create the Future We Want. Chelsea Green Publishing, White River Junction, VT.

  • From no run to park run

    A few days ago, Parkrun turned 20 years old. What started as a simple community gathering, launched by Paul Sinton-Hewitt on October 2nd, 2004, has grown into a global sports phenomenon with over 7 million registered participants. It began as a way for people to come together and socialise, and it’s evolved into so much more.

    I’m an occasional Parkrunner myself, showing up every now and then to run the 5km loop at my local park. And I often wonder: what would all these people have been doing otherwise? Twenty years ago, at 9am on a Saturday, this park might’ve had a handful of runners. Today, hundreds gather to run.

    To me, Parkrun is a story of what happens when something unlocks the potential in a system, creating abundance where there was once scarcity. Where there were only a few runners, now there are many. Where people might have spent their Saturday mornings passively at home, now they’re out in the fresh air, moving, connecting, and engaging with their community.

    What’s remarkable about Parkrun is that it’s powered by volunteers—ordinary people who freely give their time to make these events possible. This time and energy were always there, untapped, waiting for an outlet. Parkrun created that structure, unlocking this latent resource.

    In many ways, this is the essence of regenerative design: seeing potential abundance in situations that seem scarce. Parkrun didn’t introduce new people or new resources into these communities; it simply provided a framework that allowed people to organize and engage. The potential was always there—it just needed to be brought to life.

  • No more fish in the sea

    Somehow the topics of my posts have returned to the subject of the sea. It is apparently a rich subject to trawl.  Sorry, I couldn’t resist the pun, but it is exactly to trawling that I am heading. 

    Yesterday I used Donella Meadows’s fish stocks example to show how humans can harvest a living resource while enabling it to thrive. A key to enabling this system to work is the balancing feedback loop between supply and the people doing the harvest. When the catch gets too low, the boats go home, and the fish can restore their population.

    But what happens when that balancing feedback loop is broken? 

    Let us imagine an entrepreneurial fisher who, noticing that their catch was diminishing, decides to invest in a much bigger net. Now their catch goes up and it is worthwhile for them to stay at sea for longer. Other boat captains do the same, and the fleet stays out much longer. 

    Now, rather than the fish population having time to replenish itself, it is further depleted. When the fish are further apart, their rate of reproduction diminishes. 

    Here, trawling is breaking the balancing feedback loop between supply and harvesters. So, instead of stopping, fishing continues and the population becomes so low that it is not able to grow back. It has become what is known as a ‘desertified state’, a vulnerable situation in which a living system can no longer thrive. 

    Clearly, this is a simplified version of a much more complex system. But hopefully it serves to illustrate that in thinking about how we scale up options, we need to think about how we might inadvertently be breaking the feedback loops that enable our activities to operate within the living system’s limits.

  • Plenty more fish in the sea

    Yesterday’s post on the fish écluses on the Île de Ré speaks to the idea of creating straightforward connections between the resources that humans need to live and thrive. 

    As engineers (and other humans) we need to find ways to harvest the materials and energy we need in balance with what the living and mineral world can sustain. So to help us understand how this can work I’m sharing Donella Meadows’s example of fish stocks to help see how humans can live as part of a sustainable system of supply.

    Meadows’s model concerns the local fish population in an area of sea. Left to its own devices, the fish population is stable because there is only so much food to go around. Too many fish, less food per fish, some fish die. Too few fish, more food per fish, they reproduce more. This feedback loop stays in equilibrium around a mean.

    Now, the local fishing fleet gets involved. By harvesting a small number of fish, the population goes down, increasing the reproduction rate of the remaining fish, and the population returns to what it was. Fish too much, however, and the fish are further apart. Fish that are further apart take longer to reproduce! And so for a while, there are few fish, the nets are empty and the boats go back to port. During this time the fish population recovers, and eventually the boats can go back to sea.

    This simplified model beautifully illustrates how humans can harvest what they need while still living within the ecosystem’s limits.  The key characteristics here are a living system that regenerates itself – the fish; and a feedback loop between supply and those doing the harvest. Simply, when the catch is too low, the boats go home. 

    This feedback loop between supply and harvesting is what interests us in regenerative design. It is what allows us to harvest abundance, and even create abundance, all while living within the ecosystem’s limits. 

  • The past, present and future at the same time

    This post has moved.
    It now lives on the Constructivist blog: read the updated version →

    Eiffel Over is now my stage for engineering-related clowning, singing, dancing and writing — you’ll find my professional writing on design and regenerative thinking over at Constructivist.

    In conversations about regenerative design I draw heavily on Bill Sharpe’s Three-Horizons Model because it allows us to make sense of a complex situation. For in any group of people collaborating on a project it is possible to find people who are managing the decisions of the past, some who are dreaming about the future and some who are thinking about what we should do next. 

    This co-existence of past, present and future so beautifully showed up for me recently as a parent, watching our daughter manage the transitions of the present, dreaming about her grown-up plans for the future, and still wanting the care of a younger self. 

    And now I am thinking about it, I recognise these different voices, with needs and hopes, from different times, co-exist in my adult head too.

    The power I see in Bill’s teaching is to recognise and welcome all three of these voices at the same time. Last week I wrote about chaos and looking for the signal in the noise. But when we can start to recognise that there are three (or more) things going when we encounter any change, we can start to make more sense of the signals we are working with. 

    The future, present and the past are always present. Recognising them can help us work with them to reach design decisions that are the best next step. 

  • On the Ultraviolet Catastrophe and teaching design

    This post has moved.
    It now lives on the Constructivist website: read the updated version →

    Eiffel Over is now my stage for engineering-related clowning, singing, dancing and writing — you’ll find my professional writing on design and regenerative thinking over at Constructivist.

    In the first year of my undergraduate chemistry course, we learnt about a concept called the Ultraviolet Catastrophe. This term refers to a phenomenon predicted by classical physics that people could see just didn’t make sense in reality. This was a major problem for physicists because it showed that their theories didn’t stack up. The punchline was that Max Planck came along and explained the phenomenon in a new way, which became the birth of quantum mechanics. 

    I remember finding the original Ultraviolet Catastrophe concept difficult to comprehend (although I did think it would make a good band name). And now I realise the only reason we learnt about the theory was to show that it was wrong. In a sense, we were being taught chemistry in the order that the discoveries had been made – in the order that predecessors had learnt.

    But does that always make sense? This approach is founded in a ‘positivist’ learning framing. It says, this is how the world showed up to me and I will now pass that story on to you (and then test you on it!). I named our company Constructivist after the more modern learning theory that says that people learn by taking new concepts and mapping them to their previous experiences. Learning is to do with how the world shows up to the learner, not the lecturer. 

    And so this leaves design educators with a challenge. In a sense, the ‘Ultraviolet Catastrophe’ moment of classical design thinking, is that as currently formulated, design thinking is not sufficient to make the world better. I see regenerative design as an evolution in design thinking. One that integrates more fully our responsibility for increasing living-system health. And as we are discovering, it has some very different approaches compared to traditional design. 

    For the ‘classical’ designers, developing an understanding of regenerative design will indeed be an evolution. But for people new to design thinking, they aren’t burdened with that history. Instead, they have grown up with the climate and ecological crises that previous design and engineering thinking has helped to create. This is not an imagined ultraviolet catastrophe, but a real, unfolding catastrophe. We need to be teaching design for their story, not ours.

    [My thanks to Nick Francis at the University of Sheffield for our recent conversation that fed into this post]

  • 340-degree vision

    I read on a fact sheet that guinea pigs have 340-degree vision. On a horizontal plane they can see almost all around. Imagine! Their only blind spots are directly behind and a small patch directly in front of them. 

    That’s because they are prey animals. They spend their whole waking time observing their environment for threats (they can even sleep with their eyes open). And while they can’t see far, they build up a detailed mental map of their surroundings by scuttling around, which means they can navigate even in the dark.

    The animals that hunt them, on the other hand, have forward-facing eyes. Their breadth of vision is limited but their acuity is much higher. This focus allows them to spot and lock on to their prey from much further away.

    I note that my eyes are on the front of my head. Does that make me a hunter? 

    And when we design, which way are our eyes pointing? Are we focused on a pre-defined target or are we continually scanning the landscape to build up a picture?

    For the regenerative designer, seeing is much more akin to the latter: building up a picture of the system we are in by continually exploring it. Building our interconnection with place. Searching for symbiosis we can unlock. Looking for emergent patterns we can enable. Then we can know how to act, even without being able to see straight forward.

  • Some things you might not know about the Regenerative Design Lab

    In the coming weeks I’m going to be talking quite a lot about the Regenerative Design Lab because we have a new cohort starting next week. Some of you will know all about the Lab, some will know nothing, so, this quite long post is to help fill in the gaps.

    Beginnings

    Back in 2022, I was the recipient of the Sir Misha Black bursary and had the opportunity to develop my design teaching in new areas. I wanted to explore regenerative design. From what I already knew I realised that this exploration would be better done as a group, and so we set up the first Lab for that purpose. 

    Working with Alexie Sommer, we put together the original advert, and 20 brave people gave us their trust and signed up. About that time I also met Ellie Osborne, a brilliant facilitator, and the two of us have been co-facilitating the Lab ever since.

    The first cohort ran from March to October 2022. Our first cohort of participants from across the built-environment spectrum started digging into regenerative design. Our aim, to explore its principles and translate these into practice for industry. 

    Right from the start we have delivered the Lab with the support of Engineers Without Borders UK. Being regenerative is one of their four key principles for globally responsible engineering. We will be collaborating with Engineers Without Borders UK to share the findings of the Lab in the educational policy space.

    Growing

    Since then, with funding through my 1851 Fellowship in Regenerative Design, two more cohorts have completed the Lab process. We have over fifty Lab alumni who between them are spreading the ideas of regenerative practice across industry. The conversations from these cohorts heavily informed the book James Norman and I co-authored, The Regenerative Structural Engineer. 

    For each cohort there’s a report (accessible here).

    Regenerative design challenges the way we approach design. It’s not just a new flavour of design, but questions the goals, the motivations and how we show up. And so during the Lab, we consider regenerative design from a wide range of angles – including mindsets, systems thinking and how we collaborate.

    A key part of the Lab is spending time in a thriving, living system, which is why we take our participants on three residential visits to Hazel Hill Wood. We see the wood as one of the facilitators, providing an example to us of thriving, a place for congregation and focal point for considering the wonder of this living world that we want to protect.

    Evolving

    Our fourth cohort begins next week, and for the first time we are delivering this Lab in partnership with another host organisation, the Sustainability Accelerator at Chatham House. The focus for this cohort will be on how to create policy that delivers regenerative design. For the first time, this Lab cohort will have two homes, with one foot in the woods and the other in the centre of a city. 

    We are already beginning planning for our fifth cohort, for which we will be partnering with Watershed in Bristol. This cohort will focus on exploring regenerative design with a project context with particular emphasis on inclusion, diversity and power. Cohort 5 will kick off in September 2025.

  • Harnessing waves in our work

    Harnessing waves in our work

    Today’s post picks up on yesterday’s theme of riding the waves of human energy in our work. The idea is to create a cycle of working that tunes in to our own and others’ level of available energy to create better thriving for all involved. 

    For the regenerative designer, the living world often gives us a good template for how to create thriving systems. And so, whether the wavelength we are designing for is a day, a month, a year or even a lifetime, here are some modes of working inspired by the changes that living systems cycle through. I have organised these into five touch points.

    1 – Start of a new cycle 

    • Associated with potential and possibilities.
    • Might be a dream-like state.
    • Might be quite slow or dormant – possibly no activity visible on the surface.
    • Gradually shifting into planning.
    • Darkness, low levels of light or energy.

    2 – Ascent 

    • Gathering momentum.
    • Plans transition into action.
    • Gaining confidence.
    • Work becomes visible.

    3 – Peak

    • Maximum output or yield. Possibly a launch phase.
    • Everything is visible, a point of recognition.
    • The brightest part of the cycle, associated with clarity.
    • Celebration of achievement and milestones.

    4 – Descent 

    • Harvest, where outputs are gathered, enjoyed and shared.
    • Reflection on work done, evaluation. 
    • Taking apart or shedding in readiness for the next cycle.
    • Gather resources for dormant phase.

    5 – Rest and renewal 

    • Recovery and restoring. 
    • Lower visibility.
    • Less action, slower movement.

    Of course, how we spend our time is a negotiation with others. The invitation here is to look for opportunities to acknowledge the cyclical ways in which we work. And to acknowledge more widely the cyclical pattern to the living systems that enable us to thrive.

  • Riding the wave

    I spent most of yesterday afternoon up to my middle in waves learning to surf. (I’ve got a long way to go). So it is no coincidence that today’s post is about waves. Not necessarily physical waves but the waves we experience as humans. 

    As James Norman and I set out in our book, the goal of regenerative design is for humans and the living world to survive thrive and co-evolve. If we are thinking about human thriving then we should consider how we, and the people around us, experience a whole series of waves through our lives. The daily cycle of night and day, the menstrual cycle, the seasonal cycle and the cycle through the different phases of life. These cycles are waves with peaks and troughs. Trying to flatten them or ignore them by pretending that all things are constant stresses the system.  Maintaining a high level of work when there is no energy in the system can be damaging. Equally having an abundance of energy and no means to dissipate it can also cause damage.

    Much better is to try to work with energy of a system when it is available and use the downtime to recover. 

    Imagine a graph showing the power of two systems over time. One system has moments of high power and low power. The other system just operates at a constant power level that is the midline of the peaks and troughs. 

    The total area under these two graphs (which represents energy of each system) is the same. 

    If we have a system that is trying to run with oscillating levels of available energy and we try to flatten it, we risk damaging the system without gaining any more energy.

    When we are thinking about how to organise our own work and how we collaborate with others, it is much better to ride the wave of available energy. Whether that’s through tuning in to our own daily, menstrual, seasonal or life cycles. Or through providing allyship to how others experience theirs. 

    Riding the wave is also much better for surfing. Sadly, I’m a long way off riding it for very long.