Fragments on curating, archiving, and microdesign

“Women, even in pain, find strength in each other. What the world calls weakness is, among us, the thread that never breaks.”
Euripides, The Trojan Women (c. 415 BCE)

“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go with a friend.”
Akan proverb, Ghana

Friendship is a form of relationship as evident as it is slippery. It is present from the first bonds of childhood to the alliances of adult life, crossing intimacy and politics, affection and ethics. And yet, it remains one of the most difficult social forms to define. What does it mean to be a friend? And how can friendship be represented — or even designed — in a society increasingly marked by fragmentation, digital performance, and precarious connections?

Among the many stories of friendship that cross cultures and times, there are narratives that endure in the gestures and voices of the Global South. The Fulbe, nomadic herders from West Africa, tell of two men who maintained an unusual alliance: they shared everything, even the silence of exhaustion. One day, upon arriving in a strange village, one offered the other their only goat so that he could trade it for clean water. When asked why, he answered: “A friend is the part of the body you don’t see, but whose absence you feel with the very first step.”

In another context, in the state of Chhattisgarh, India, young women perform the bhojali ritual, during which they exchange sacred plants as a sign of affective sisterhood. Through this gesture, they become ritual friends, naming each other bhojali — a public, non-biological bond that transforms friendship into a gesture of fertility, care, and belonging.

These stories, distinct yet kindred, reveal that friendship, far from being a homogeneous concept, is a rooted practice — made of matter and gesture. It escapes the categories of contract or family, inhabiting forms of recognition that, although invisible to institutional systems, are fundamental to sustaining the commons.

Curiously, even within the realms of mathematics and network science, friendship defies intuition. The so-called friendship paradox shows that, on average, our friends tend to have more friends than we do. This structural inequality, identified by Scott L. Feld, reveals that friendship is also a statistically skewed phenomenon: the more connected individuals are more visible in networks, while those with quieter — and often more meaningful — ties remain invisible. This paradox helps us understand friendship not as reciprocal equality, but as a field of tension between presence and absence, recognition and anonymity, connection and marginality.

This reflection takes the exhibition In the Spirit of Friendship (Dom Museum Wien), curated by Johanna Schwanberg, as a starting point to think about friendship not only as a theme, but as a relational form that traverses thought, artistic practice, and design. The exhibition, which brings together works from different periods, geographies, and media, proposes a complex and critical reading of friendship — at times celebrating its gestures of support and complicity, at others revealing its reversals: exclusion, hierarchy, power.

In the field of design, friendship can be thought of as a subterranean grammar shaping objects, spaces, systems, and experiences. Beyond functionality, design can operate as a modulator of relationships — social, material, symbolic — and call forth ways of being-with based on care, reciprocity, and sensitive attention.

In this context, it is worth observing how design — and curating, in particular, as an expanded practice — can make visible the invisibility of friendship: its hesitations, its rituals, its absences. The idea of publishing futures reinforces this possibility, by thinking of publishing not only as a final product (a book, an exhibition, an archive), but as a gesture of opening relational worlds — a way of editing connections, situations, and possible forms of coexistence.

At a time when friendship is both a deep desire and an unstable promise, perhaps its ambiguous and sometimes contradictory nature is precisely where its political and poetic potential lies: a laboratory for rehearsing other modes of relation and imagining new ways of being in common.

Friendship as an open social form

To define friendship is to risk betraying it. In attempting to fix its boundaries, we lose the flow of relations, nuances, and intensities that constitute it. What distinguishes a friend from a sister? From a lover? From a confidante or political ally? Western tradition has, for centuries, tended to conceptualise friendship in normative terms — as a relationship between equals, based on virtue, rationality, or moral affinity. But when we pay closer attention to its uses and manifestations, friendship appears less as a fixed category and more as an open social form: a relation that is lived rather than defined.

In a brief yet influential essay on sociability, Georg Simmel described friendship as a “pure form of association,” a relational practice without external objective, whose value lies in the very act of being-with (Simmel, 1910/1997). This idea shifts friendship from an essentialist to a phenomenological plane: friendship is not something one has, but something one does — and redoes — continuously, in a process open to negotiation, misalignment, and transformation.

It is precisely this instability that makes friendship a political experience with great transformative potential. In interviews from the 1980s, Michel Foucault suggested that friendship could be understood as a form of resistance to biopower — a way of living that escapes normative models of kinship, sexuality, and hierarchy. “Friendship is one of the great possibilities for creating relations that escape institutional models,” he argued, maintaining that it allows for the “multiplication of bodies, affects, and knowledges” (Foucault, 1994/2021, p. 185).

In this light, friendship can be thought of in the context of transitional design — a way of designing passages, contact zones, and processes of care and connection between subjects. Instead of projecting fixed structures or definitive solutions, transitional design involves an ethical and aesthetic attention to moments of change, to the ambiguity and precarity of bonds. This approach resonates with a situated feminist ethics, one that values the concrete and the everyday, recognising in vulnerability and interdependence not a weakness, but a fertile ground for transforming relationships.

Hannah Arendt (1959/2006), in turn, conceived friendship as a political form par excellence, in contrast to the romantic notion that friends merely seek refuge in one another to escape the world. In her view, friendship allows two distinct beings to share a common interest — the world between them — and it is in this space of plurality and difference that political experience emerges. Unlike love, which tends toward fusion and exclusivity, friendship, for Arendt, implies mutual recognition and the preservation of alterity.

Despite being evoked as a universal value, friendship rarely manifests as an equitable or disinterested relation. In many contexts, it is crossed by asymmetries of gender, race, class, and cultural capital, functioning as a mechanism of symbolic inclusion and exclusion. In academic and artistic circles, for instance, bonds of friendship often operate as informal forms of gatekeeping, shaping networks of access, visibility, and legitimacy. Affect, in such cases, is co-opted by logics of privilege and institutional reproduction, obscuring the fact that not everyone has the same capacity to “be in relation.” As Sara Ahmed (2012) reminds us, affect is not neutral: it circulates unevenly, reinforcing norms and centres of power. Thus, to think of friendship as an open social form also means recognising its ethical-political limits — the material and symbolic conditions that make its full expression possible (or impossible). While it offers a horizon of communion, friendship can also conceal subtle forms of exclusion, silencing, and affective conformity.

However, this elevated view of friendship as an ethical and political space is not universal. In a study of the Fulbe, Janosch Schobin (2021) shows how, in African contexts, friendship can be based on the practical expectation of material support, such as the lending of goods, without that making it any less deep or true. The Western maxim that “money and friendship don’t mix” does not apply in contexts where economic reciprocity is precisely what sustains loyalty and trust. Likewise, friendship between women was for centuries rendered invisible by Western philosophy and literature — not because it didn’t exist, but because its modes of expression escaped dominant registers (Bruns, 2006; Delap, 2011). The sharing among women — in caregiving, motherhood, and the struggles of daily life — has constituted, and continues to constitute, a subterranean fabric of resistance and creation.

In this way, friendship reveals itself not as a “type” of relationship, but as a plural field of transitional practices. It can be intimate or political, fleeting or enduring, egalitarian or hierarchical, instrumental or gratuitous. It may arise from elective affinities, historical circumstances, shared projects, or unrepeatable coincidences. Its strength lies precisely in this openness: it is not defined by form, but by the intensity and attention it summons.

The design of relations

Thinking about friendship through the lens of design requires a shift from form to process, from structure to transition. If friendship is built through minimal gestures, shared affects, and complicities that resist institutional frameworks, then perhaps it is within the field of transitional design that its dynamics are best understood. This is a kind of design that does not merely aim to solve problems, but to transform the conditions of life — operating through micro-relations, rhythms, and ways of being-with-others.

Tony Fry (2011), in Design as Politics, proposes an understanding of design as a civilisational act — a tool that shapes the very possibility of the future. For Fry, we must move from a reproductive design (which sustains unsustainable systems) to a design oriented towards transition, one that promotes ethical, cultural, and ecological shifts. Friendship, in this context, can be understood as a relational technology of resistance to collapse — an affective infrastructure where alliances, care, and ways of inhabiting the world with others are shaped.

As early as the 1960s and 70s, Victor Papanek warned of design’s social and ecological responsibility. In Design for the Real World (1985), he insisted on the importance of designing for real human needs — not for the artificial desires produced by consumerism. While Papanek rarely spoke directly of friendship, his call for a design committed to collective well-being can be read as a summons to create more relational, sustainable, and just environments.

In this sense, transitional design is also a political field — a practice of care, mediation, and relational attention, often rendered invisible by dominant design narratives focused on innovation, efficiency, or impact. It is precisely in this underground space that feminist thought has played a crucial role: by reclaiming the value of the domestic, of relationships, of the invisible, and of interdependence as design material.

Anne Galloway, in collaboration with Genevieve Bell, explores this approach through ethnographic and speculative methods, where design moves closer to anthropology and fiction in order to imagine relational futures (Galloway & Bell, 2009). Their work insists on the importance of empathy, difference, and incompleteness as fundamental qualities of the design process. Friendship, in this context, is not a model to be applied, but a relationship to be constructed with the other — human or non-human — within a space of continuous negotiation and mutual availability.

This perspective is complemented by the approach of Bruno Latour (2005), who proposes that objects also possess agency: it is not only humans who shape the world, but the world — technical, material, symbolic — also shapes us. A park bench can be a space of friendship; a digital interface can distance or bring people closer; an exhibition can serve as a device of sharing and attention. Artifacts, in this sense, participate in the choreographies of friendship — and design, as a critical practice, can amplify or mute those possibilities.

This approach is particularly relevant when considering friendship beyond liberal individualism. In the Global South, for example, it is common to understand social bonds through the notion of communality — networks of mutual support, reciprocity, and co-presence that challenge the separation between private and public, between home and politics. Transitional design, by operating in the everyday, can learn from these informal, feminine, popular practices — from what Escobar (2018) refers to as “designs for the pluriverse.”

However, we must not ignore the impact of digital infrastructures on contemporary forms of friendship. Social platforms, designed to maximise engagement and attention, impose specific models of relationship: visible, trackable, quantifiable, subjected to the logic of exposure and constant comparison. The design of these platforms — through relevance algorithms, recommendation systems, and gamified interfaces — conditions how we relate to others, shaping not only who we see, but how we connect. Friendship becomes a gesture mediated by metrics: likes, followers, shares, reactions.

As Jenny Odell (2019) observes, “in a system that rewards attention with data, even the most intimate bonds become subject to optimisation.” In this context, friendship ceases to be merely a relational practice and becomes an algorithmic product, governed by the logic of platforms. This dynamic generates new asymmetries: not all bonds have the same algorithmic value, and the most discreet or complex affects can become invisible.

In a world increasingly mediated by digital platforms, it becomes crucial to consider how technical infrastructures shape — and distort — the possibilities of friendship. The algorithmic logic of social networks tends to favour performative relationships, based on visibility, acceleration, and interaction optimisation, reducing friendship to superficial metrics. In response to this scenario, several practices in critical design and digital activism have sought to build counter-platforms: decentralised networks, encrypted communication systems, community servers, and autonomous digital spaces.

Secure Scuttlebutt (SSB), for instance, is a decentralised peer-to-peer social network where each user hosts their own content and that of their contacts. It does not rely on venture capital or data monetisation and values autonomy and offline presence (https://scuttlebutt.nz). The protocol emphasises “gossip” — or decentralised information sharing — as a foundation for local trust. Meanwhile, the Hypha Collective (https://www.hyphacollective.co) develops cooperative platforms and digital tools aimed at collaboration, trust, and regenerative economies, fostering a supportive relational infrastructure. Zuloark (https://zuloark.com), in turn, is structured as a distributed collective of architecture and culture, with fluid hierarchies, shared authorship, and a logic of co-responsibility that informs both process and outcome.

These alternatives challenge dominant models of digital design: they do not prioritise speed, visibility, or relational efficiency. On the contrary, they propose digital ecologies based on slowness, peer trust, and relational hospitality — spaces where bonds are not capitalised. They show that digital design is not neutral: it can either reinforce affective extractivism or open pathways for more ethical and caring ways of being in networked life.

Thus, among objects, gestures, spaces, and rituals, design becomes a language of relation. It is not about representing friendship, but about creating conditions for it to happen — in time, in the body, in the gesture, in sharing. In this sense, transitional design is also a design of friendship: a way of activating relational ecologies, attuned to fragility, difference, and reciprocity as structuring principles.

Exposing and publishing friendship: Curating, archiving, and publishing futures

Friendship rarely allows itself to be directly represented. It eludes fixation, resists iconography, escapes the pose. Yet it can be staged, invoked, or suggested through gestures, objects, images, and devices that create the conditions for relation. The exhibition In the Spirit of Friendship, presented at the Dom Museum Wien, is exemplary in this sense: it not only displays artworks about friendship but stages friendship as a possible experience — fragmentary, ambiguous, and rooted.

The exhibition, as a form of transitional design, can function as a device of shared attention, a living archive, and a reconfiguration of affect. It is not merely about selecting works and organising them in space, but about designing relationships between authors, visitors, discourses, and sensibilities. Curation, in this context, ceases to be solely a classificatory activity and becomes an ethical and political act of mediation — a way of caring for difference and designing the commons.

In this expanded approach, curation comes close to the idea of publishing. As Paul Soulellis (2019) suggests, publishing is not only about making something public but about creating a shareable space of presence — a choreography of voices, bodies, and affects. What is published, in this sense, is not only the content of the works but the relations they activate, the rhythms they propose, the futures they rehearse. This is where the notion of publishing futures emerges.

Publishing futures refers to editorial practices that go beyond books and print to include exhibitions, dynamic archives, digital platforms, performances, and immersive experiences. In this model, the act of publishing becomes a speculative and transitional gesture — a way of designing relational futures and editing possibilities of encounter. This approach breaks with the idea of a passive audience and instead proposes an implicated reader-visitor, one who is sensitive and sometimes even a co-author of what takes place.

The exhibition In the Spirit of Friendship exemplifies this logic by including elements that activate public participation: walls where one can write, postcards to send, objects that invite exchange or shared memory. These are simple gestures, but they function as small infrastructures of relation — devices that create space for friendship, in its broadest and most unpredictable sense, to emerge.

The field of publishing has been particularly fertile in exploring experimental forms of friendship, collaboration, and care. Initiatives such as Publishing as Artistic Practice (Sternberg Press, 2016), edited by Annette Gilbert, bring together projects where publishing ceases to be merely a vehicle for content and becomes a critical and relational practice — a space for encounter, negotiation, and mutuality. In these contexts, the act of publishing approaches a choreography of friendship, where graphic design, curating, and writing intertwine as gestures of hospitality and reciprocity.

In Brazil, projects such as Design Possível https://www.designpossivel.org and Contracondutas https://www.caroltonetti.net/contracondutas demonstrate how graphic and editorial design can function as relational mediation. Design Possível mobilises communities through participatory design, co-creating solutions that reinforce local care networks. Contracondutas articulates collective conception and the circulation of knowledge in a political-pedagogical logic. These examples not only materialise bonds, they prototype them — inviting participation, orality, and the valorisation of epistemologies from the Global South — all consistent with a friendship built through networks, gestures, and affect.

These projects show that graphic and editorial design can be a territory of affect and politics, where friendship is not a theme but a method: cooperative, situated, and attentive to friction. By making visible the relational networks that sustain each publication — authors, editors, readers, printers, territories — these examples perform an ethics of the commons, of care, and of non-linearity that echoes the spirit of friendship as it is understood here.

Silvio Lorusso (2019), in his book Entreprecariat, critically analyses how entrepreneurial values shape not only the working and emotional lives of precarious subjects, but also the tools and platforms through which one publishes. He highlights how editorial design — both in its graphic materiality and technical structure — can reproduce neoliberal models of autonomy, visibility, and efficiency. By bringing these models into the fields of curating and exhibition-based publishing, it becomes possible to imagine how to design practices that resist such logic and instead cultivate care, sharing, and vulnerability as the basis for relation.

Feminist curating has explored this field with particular intensity, questioning who has a voice, who is represented, and how relations are built between work, audience, and space. Recent exhibitions such as Monstrous Beauty: A Feminist Revision of Chinoiserie (Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2025), which reinterprets porcelain through a feminist and anti-racist lens, or Connecting Thin Black Lines 1985–2025 (ICA, London), a follow-up to the iconic show curated by Lubaina Himid in 1985, demonstrate how curatorial gestures can be both feminist and intersectional. In Mexico, the exhibition Plasticidades Encarnadas (Museo del Chopo, 2025) brought together five decades of transfeminine art, forming a living and critical archive that denounces erasures and expands futures. These projects, along with more historical initiatives such as WACK! (2007) or Feminist Time (2010), show that exhibiting can be an act of affective and political resistance, activating suppressed memories, precarious networks, and unexpected alliances within the exhibition space.

Yet it is important to maintain a critical vigilance over the very gestures of curating and publishing friendship. What is lost when one attempts to exhibit or represent this bond? By making visible what often operates in intimacy, in silence, or in confidence, there is a risk of aestheticising affects, instrumentalising relations, or subjecting to public logic what longs to remain opaque. Some friendships do not want a stage — they are formed precisely in the refusal of performativity or institutional legibility. From this perspective, both curating and publishing must interrogate their own limits: what zones of shadow do they preserve? What silences do they respect? The publishing of friendship, as an affective gesture, must also learn restraint — cultivating spaces of ambiguity, delay, and resistance to full transparency.

Thus, exposing and publishing become inseparable practices when it comes to friendship. Both imply an openness to the other, a formal and sensitive hospitality, a willingness to build the world through sharing. In the context of transitional design, these practices are central: they do not fix friendship, but make its emergence possible.

Rituals, objects, and gestures: The microdesigns of friendship

If friendship is an open form of relationship — made of intensities and transitions — then it is also inscribed, discreetly yet persistently, in everyday objects and gestures. Between a handwritten letter and a shared bench, a symbolic gift and a fleeting touch, there is an affective microdesign that sustains and materializes the relationship. These small devices — physical, symbolic, or performative — do not operate as representations of friendship, but as acts of connection that activate, renew, and keep it alive.

In the exhibition In the Spirit of Friendship, various artefacts function as devices of affective mediation. The postcards available for visitors to write and send go beyond symbolic interaction: they activate a real circulation of language and gesture, extending the exhibition’s relational field beyond its physical boundaries. Other elements — such as seating modules arranged in non-hierarchical configurations, object-sharing systems, and images that reframe conventional portraits through the performativity of the pose — operate as relational interfaces that invite the visitor not merely to observe, but to become emotionally and physically involved. These are micro-infrastructures of co-presence and hospitality, experimenting with alternative ways of being-within the museum space. These artefacts do not represent friendship: they activate it.

This material dimension of friendship is close to what Donald Norman (2004) defines as emotional design — an attention to the small interactions that emotionally engage us with objects and environments. It’s not just a matter of form or function, but of experience: of how details, textures, and subtle rhythms can evoke memories, create bonds, or soften distances. A curved bench that invites sharing, a handmade gift, an inscription on the back of a photograph — these are examples of how design participates in the affective rituals of friendship.

From the side of speculative design and experience-based research, Bill Gaver and his collaborators introduced the concept of cultural probes as a way to provoke affective and imaginative responses in participatory design processes (Gaver et al., 1999). By sending packages containing cameras, maps, or diaries to everyday people, they created situations of openness and intimate expression that gave visibility to daily emotions and gestures. This methodology, more than collecting data, sought to activate a disposition toward the other and promote situated engagement — a deeply relational gesture in which design serves as a mediator of affect.

On the other hand, feminist philosopher Sara Ahmed, in The Cultural Politics of Emotion (2004), proposes thinking of affects not as something internal, but as forms of relational orientation: forces that draw us closer to or push us away from others, that involve us in the world and mark us in the body. In this sense, friendship can be understood as an affective field in which certain gestures, words, or objects function as points of orientation — emotional compasses that guide us through the uncertainty of relationships.

From this perspective, transitional design also manifests itself at the most intimate scales: in the ritual, the gift, shared time, touch, and silent presence. These microdesigns make friendship visible without reducing it, tangible without fixing it. By attending to these discreet forms, it becomes possible to understand friendship not as a fixed structure, but as a continuous event that is updated through seemingly simple — yet meaning-dense — gestures and artefacts.

Friendship is thus drawn in the intervals and in the details: in an unexpected message, a glass of water offered, a bench that invites one to linger, a box kept for years. These are the spaces where design can find — or rediscover — its affective and ethical dimension, not to represent friendship, but to cultivate it.

Friendship as a prototyped future

Friendship, as considered here, is not a fixed category or an exportable model. It is an unstable social form, escaping institutional taxonomies and the normative logics that organize affect. It lives on the margins, in the intervals, in gestures that rarely attain political status or cultural visibility. Its strength lies precisely in its refusal of rigidity — in its capacity to be simultaneously intimate and public, private and political, present and projective.

It is for this reason that design — understood not as product styling but as an expanded field of transitions — can offer a fertile territory to host, shape, and even prototype modes of friendship. It is not about representing or codifying friendship, but about creating the conditions for it to become possible: opening spaces, designing mediations, facilitating relationships.

From this perspective, to think about a design of friendship is also to propose an ethics of hospitality, sharing, and care. It means cultivating devices — material, spatial, editorial — that do not fix the other, but invite them in; that do not regiment the bond, but stimulate it. A bench, a gesture, a publication, an exhibition can function as activators of reciprocal presence, if designed with attention to vulnerability and difference.

At the same time, it is necessary to maintain a critical vigilance over the limits of designing for friendship. What forms of affect are lost when we attempt to structure them? What relationships are diminished when they are translated into form? The temptation to systematize what is, by nature, errant and ambiguous risks domesticating what is most powerful in friendship: its unpredictability, its openness to chance, to detours, to failure.

Yet thinking of friendship solely as a form of care or affection may risk neutralizing its contradictions. As a social relation, friendship is also traversed by asymmetries of gender, race, and class — and at times sustains or reproduces subtle exclusions. As bell hooks (2000) reminds us, “solidarity between women is not a given, but a process — and that process includes confronting privilege within intimate relationships themselves.”

Some friendships include, others exclude; some protect, but also silence. In artistic and academic contexts, bonds of affinity often operate as forms of symbolic gatekeeping — where codes of belonging are tacit, and hospitality is conditioned by cultural capital or networks of power.

Friendship, therefore, is not free from conflict. It can also be a space of negotiation, where dissent, difference, and even rupture are part of its very functioning. Incorporating this dissonant dimension is essential so that the design of friendship — as ethics and as practice — does not become decorative or escapist. As with speculative design, the aim here is to make space for difficult friendships — those that do not offer immediate comfort, but demand repositioning, critical listening, and shared vulnerability.

Thus, rather than designing models of friendship, perhaps what matters most is learning from it: from its way of existing without asking permission, from its persistence in fragility, from its operation without guarantees. Friendship, as a hybrid and speculative practice, offers a horizon of the future not grounded in efficiency or innovation, but in the capacity to be-with, to sustain nonlinear relations and non-utilitarian affects.

In this sense, friendship can be seen as a prototyped future: not an ideal to be achieved, but a set of rooted and experimental practices conceived from the present. And design, rather than fixing this experience, can help keep it in motion — like tending a fire in an uncertain place.

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