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Speaking out loud with fungi

## Speaking out loud with fungi

**## A conversation with Sam Edens **

In this conversation, Anja and Márk invited Sam Edens to join them in a collective recollection of, and reflection on, the workshop “Entangled Fibers: Grey Oyster experiment.” The event brought together the students of the TXT department, the Garden Department, the HvA Biomaterials Studio, and the Design Department, as well as other living organisms.

Sam Edens (HvA) is a bio-designer and researcher with experience working with bio-based and living materials such as fungi, algae, yeasts, and bacteria. The workshop guided students in cultivating Grey Oyster fungal threads on substrates of decaying materials from the garden. The collaboration between the TXT department, the Garden Department, and Sam’s expertise aimed to foreground how knowledge emerges from the interplay of materials and the environment in a collective, material-discursive setting. With theory intermissions by Giulia Damiani (theory tutor at TXT), and workshop specialist Mathilde Clerc, we explored how material-based research can resonate in collective learning and embodied forms of knowledge production.

**Workshop outline: **

9:30–10:00

Gathering in the Garden

Introductions by Sam, Anja, and Mark

Presentation and tour by the Garden Department

Giulia introduces first thoughts on relevant theoretical frameworks

10:00–11:00

Collecting materials for growing substrate from the garden

11:00–13:00

Lab safety and creating sterile working environments, work in close space (with view on the garden), led by Sam

Intermission 1 with Giulia

13:00–14:00 Lunch break

14:00–15:30

Intermission 2 with Giulia 15–30 min

Working in closed space (with view on the garden), led by Sam

15:30-45

(If there is time: Intermission 3 with Giulia 15–30 min)
Wrap up

16.00–17.00

Cleaning, sterilising

Giulia’s thoughts about the theory intermissions:

I’m very keen to take part and I’ll join in! I’m thinking my contribution could take the form of 3 extracts from texts that I’ll pick and that we can read together in 3 different moments, and I could prepare 3 questions that can spark conversation in the group. Each moment can last like 15-30 min.

Anja Groten Sam, we thought it would be nice to have a conversation not too long after our workshop to recollect and reflect on the experience, and perhaps follow up on some of the questions that came up. The invitation for you to join and develop a workshop alongside the TXT department came from our shared interest in exploring materiality and material-based research through the lens of living organisms and unstable matter. We also wanted to think about the laboratory as a space, both conceptually and practically, especially since we don’t have access to such a space within our academy. A lab feels like a more controlled and sterile environment compared to a typical art school workshop for instance, yet these spaces share some similarities, for instance the experimental character of the activities that take place in them.

We were particularly interested in how to navigate such a lab space in an educational context and in your experience with that. In our preparatory sessions, we considered materials that were interesting both physically and conceptually for a workshop setting.

We’d love to hear more from you—about your work, and how you established the Biodesign lab.

Sam Edens My job mainly involves coordinating the Biomaterials Studio, teaching about biomaterials in the minor Sustainable Futures and other programs, and working with living organisms. I also spend two days a week as a researcher in the Circular Architecture Research Group, focusing on bio-based and regenerative building materials. My work is split between the technical properties of materials and designing with living organisms and bio-based materials.

In the Biomaterials Studio, we essentially run a community bio lab. It’s open to students, researchers, and lecturers, but in practice, it requires someone to assist, which can be challenging with the small budgets we have available. During classes, I teach students how to work with different organisms, emphasizing the need for safety, protocols, and understanding each organism’s specific needs. Another focus is developing new materials that could replace fossil-based plastics—something very experimental, but it’s particularly appealing to students at a fashion school.

When you say experimental, do you mean that something is not necessarily for immediate application or immediate use for the industry? Rather than solving problems, it’s about seeing what can be done through a process of trial and error?

Well, the Amsterdam University of Applied Science (AUAS) trains students to work in the industry. I work specifically with students from design fields like fashion. Our lab is small, so the work we do is experimental and not scaled for commercial bio-based material production, like mycelium leather or bacterial dyes, which are produced at an industrial scale. I mean, there’s a huge difference between what we can do in a lab and actual industrial-level bio-fabrication.

However, to understand industrial processes, you need some knowledge of microbiology and design. I aim to help them understand processes of how to fabricate these materials,

how the fields of microbiology and design intersect, even though we can’t replicate industrial bio-fabrication in our lab. In a design school, working with living organisms and regenerative materials is more about exploration—how to collaborate with organisms and create materials together.

In industry, bio-fabrication and bio-engineering focus on genetic modification, and optimizing and isolating organisms. The vocabulary and skills involved are quite different. When I teach design students about working with living materials, I’m introducing them to the practice and its vocabulary. However, I don’t have the resources to fully train them for bio-fabrication; that requires a separate program. My goal is to ensure they can have meaningful conversations with microbiologists and bioengineers.

In our workshop, we involved Giulia Damiani, who is a writer, researcher, theater-maker, and theory teacher at TXT. Giulia introduced the theoretical concept of new materialism and how artists relate to fungi. She highlighted the growing interest in these organisms in the arts, noting their uncontrollable nature and ability to thrive in damaged environments. Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing has been read and discussed a lot in the field of arts and design. Mycelium’s unstable characteristics have sparked the curiosity of many artists, not only as a material but also in how we engage with art in more fundamental terms. Given your experience, Sam, I’m curious if you’ve observed this trend as well. Why are artists and designers increasingly drawn to mycelium? Beyond the practical benefits of regenerative materials and reducing waste, there seems to be a more philosophical or fundamental fascination with mycelium.

Well, if you start working with living organisms you have to rethink what a material actually is. Unlike traditional materials, which are controllable and passive, living materials require a different approach. It’s another type of relationship you build with the material, one that allows for a sort of dialogue. Working with living materials challenges how we relate to materiality, especially in environments like AUAS. You know, when we are talking about wood we tend to talk about functionality. But we’re not really talking about its behavior and the way it interacts as an active agent. New materialism discusses material agency, and when working with living organisms, that agency becomes undeniable and experiential. It forces you to adjust your approach, which can be both fascinating and frustrating, but ultimately, it changes the way we interact with materials in a way that other materials don’t.

Márk RedeleI’ve been thinking about the situatedness of these materials and how they’re often removed from their original context when they are brought into labs. The shift toward new materialisms seems to reflect a desire to reconnect with the environments where these materials come from. It’s about exploring where they live and the conditions that allow them to maintain the properties we’re interested in. Maybe that resonates?

Yeah, looking back at, for instance, the minor in Sustainable Futures that I have been coordinating together with Ista Boszhard (co-founder of TextileLab, Waag), I think our workshop captured what we aim to do there as well—practical work with organisms alongside philosophical discussions. In the minor we also focus on critical thinking and reflection, helping students who want to work with materials differently and perhaps engage with it more critically, but don’t know where to start. A question we are interested in is how to engage more critically with material while industries may not seem aligned with our values. This combination of hands-on material work and understanding its broader context helps students bridge gaps between thinking and making. Many students in the minor are frustrated with the system and thinking in dualistic terms, but by offering strategies to connect these ideas, they begin to relax into their practice and things start flowing again.

The workshop highlighted interesting contradictions and tensions. We’re working with living organisms, which are uncontrollable and act as their own agents. As artists and designers, we have to step back and be humble about our influence on them, and let them do their thing. At the same time, we create highly controlled environments to understand something far more complex than we can perceive. There’s also the contrast between the collective learning taking place in the garden of Gerrit Rietveld Academie for instance—where knowledge is passed down across generations and seasons—and the more sterile, though not perfectly sterile, lab environment. Another tension is the pressure students face to meet deadlines and pass exams, which contrasts with the slower, more organic process of working with living materials. These different tempos often don’t align.

I see a similar tension in education. Some programs emphasize a conceptual approach, so students focus on the look and feel of a material without considering its ingredients or properties. In other programs, there’s more focus on the end product, and students treat material development as just a step toward that result. This can be frustrating, especially with living materials, where growth takes time and often doesn’t go right the first time. I try to focus on material research in my programs, making it process-driven rather than result-driven. I encourage students to see each step as part of the learning process and to tell the story of that process. In graduation projects, I’ve seen students working harder than others, making and dyeing materials with bacteria, only to be criticized for the end result, which is rarely under their control. When working with living organisms, you must shift your focus to the process and accept that you can’t control everything.

It’s fascinating. I am thinking about the experience of students entering any type of workshop really—whether it’s glass, printmaking, bookbinding, metal, or ceramics. Sometimes students senter these workshops or lab spaces with a lot of stress. Navigating that stress in the lab can be tricky, I assume. Many educators in more production-based spaces face a mismatch in expectations among themselves, the students, and the tutors—who are often far removed from the hands-on experience but who assess the work. Students often have their own prefabricated expectations, and it’s frustrating when the process doesn’t align with those. But it can also be immensely rewarding when you allow the process to teach you something, letting things emerge and evolve. When it comes to biomaterials, this is even more pronounced, as you can’t predict the outcome and the timeline can be long—sometimes leading to no results at all, or results that are unexpected or not what you wanted.

I always hope that students can have the time to sort of “meet” a material or process. For example, I have students working on making fabrics from pine needles—a process that you won’t do right the first time. It requires several attempts to understand certain details. You need at least three or four turns to understand the cooking time, but they’re often not allowing themselves this space. They’re too focused on the end product and don’t allow themselves the time to explore the process, which only leads to frustration. I can’t solve this for them and it’s hard to shift their mindset, as they’re used to immediate results. It’s like working with wood or clay—you can’t just jump in and expect success right away. We’re so accustomed to instant results that we forget material exploration takes time. Working with living materials forces you to take that time because it’s not bending to your temporality. They can’t rush the process.

Right, I’ve been thinking about how specific pedagogies evolve in different material contexts. Teaching methods can be closely tied to the materials and equipment we work with. One thing I found inspiring and plan to incorporate into my own classes is the practice of vocalizing what you’re doing. If I remember correctly, this approach stems from a safety concern, but I’d love for you to explain it further. How did you come across this idea, or is it something you developed? How do you practice vocalization in the lab?

The practice of vocalizing what you’re doing became important when my colleague Loes Bogers and I had interns, who were all following their individual processes. It helped them understand why a protocol is crucial. A protocol involves going through all the steps and risks before working with a living organism, ensuring safety. Speaking out loud helps them think through their actions and ensures they understand the risks, like working with fire or gas. It’s also a way to confirm they’ve grasped the instructions and fosters learning from each other. Instead of me repeating corrections, students hear the same information multiple times. Additionally, because we often work with hazardous materials, vocalizing what you’re doing helps ensure everyone is aware and prepared for any risks, which promotes better collaboration.

We are usually working together in the lab. That’s why it’s important that every movement is conscious. If you’re not telling somebody what you’re doing, they won’t be prepared if something happens. So it’s also a way of making sure that everybody is collaborating well, and knows and pays attention to what is happening.

Márk and I have been reflecting on the dichotomy between thinking and making. Everyone within the academy seems to agree that there should be no differentiation between material production, the making, and the conceptualization and reflection of that process, but there are few tools or formats to support that constant dialogue. We bridged these modalities by inviting Giulia to introduce texts, but the reading still felt somewhat separate. I wonder if the vocalization exercise could be applied to other forms of making—not just for safety, but as an attempt to articulate something embodied and make it accessible to others. Sometimes it seems there is a resistance to explaining a process, because it might demystify the artistic process. However, just describing what you’re doing can lead to new insights, even if no one else is listening. There’s something valuable in making the effort to explicate your process, as it creates a possibility for knowledge to become shareable.

**MR **

This reminds me of a technique called “pointing and calling,” which originates from Japanese railway safety practices. It involves pointing and verbally calling out each step of the maintenance process to engage multiple senses and ensure heightened attention to detail in the moment.

Yes, this exercise really shifts attention. Even though I know what the students will say, my focus as an educator also remains intense because they’re all vocalizing it. If they weren’t, I’d likely zone out after the second student takes their turn, especially if I’m tired. This shows how much the vocalization helps keep everyone engaged, including myself, and I think it helps the students stay more involved in the process too.

The way I experienced it, the exercise also gave students a sense of agency, by literally giving them a voice. Being given a voice can also be intimidating, with—as Mathilde put it—“the authority of science in the room.” However, the ritual helped foster a sense of community, everyone was in it together. It also made me think about the collective aspect of working with biomaterials, not just interspecies relationships, but human forms of collectivity that evolve too. The act of carrying the box back to the design department with the micro-organisms in it highlighted the shared responsibility, even within a sometimes fragmented institutional structure. It created a new level of communication between us, though managing the care of the organisms was challenging once you left, Sam, especially with our often diverging and ruptured schedules.

It’s interesting because the vocalization exercise not only gives voice to the participants but also to the materials. When working with living organisms, it’s difficult to summon their agency—how do we make that agency present in collective spaces? It’s like talking to plants or materials—there’s something mediative in that act. It’s about connecting the human and non-human worlds, giving a name and a voice to materials and processes. Normally, in workshops with materials like wood or metal, there’s no talk like this, no mediation. This exercise, however, brings that interaction into focus, and it changes the relationship.

I think that this approach, where you literally “talk” to the materials, shifts the experience. It creates an environment where the materials are seen as participants, not just objects to be manipulated. This vocalization brings more awareness and respect to the material’s agency and helps foster a deeper, more collaborative process.

I am still thinking about students working with living materials and how they face challenges. It might be helpful to offer them advice on how to deal with the pressure of deadlines, especially when they’re passionate about working with these materials but face resistance or a lack of support from their departments. They might feel pressured to deliver specific outcomes. Do you have any thoughts on how to navigate this situation, or have inventive ways to approach this kind of friction?

They could focus on the process and ask themselves: Is there a way within my discipline to present the process itself as part of the outcome? For example, can you present steps or several materializations of the research, or develop a toolkit? In material research, we often start with an idea for an application, then unpack the functionalities and properties needed. The research becomes more about showing the development of those properties than achieving the final application, since time is limited. It’s about breaking down and valorizing parts of the process.

Additionally, engaging in material research connects you to a community of practitioners and researchers. It’s about contributing to a discourse rather than simply producing products. Being able to formulate this shift of perspective, could shift the way you’re assessed.

Thinking through the process, through trial and error, is valuable. These small steps are often discarded or placed in a process book. But they can be seen as part of a conscious thinking process. When organized, like in a morphological chart, they become valuable in themselves, showing the development of your work.

Was there anything surprising to you when hosting the workshop at Gerrit Rietveld Academie?

What I really liked was taking the time to read the text together. We often give students reading assignments but don’t take the time to read aloud. Speaking out loud what you’re reading really changed how I engaged with the text. I had done this before when I was studying, but had forgotten its impact. After the workshop, I told Ista we need to bring this method back, and she agreed.

After the workshop, we were sitting with Mathilde, and they also mentioned the moment we read together. Not everyone knew each other, but something was created in that space—a sense of collectivity and knowledge exchange, and personal stories being shared. It made me reflect on the workshop format, this short-term encounter of people. iIt’s not just about outcomes, prototypes, or products, but also about other forms of knowledge production and the community that forms around specific skills, materials, and methodologies. It’s interesting, especially in relation to the subject of mycelium and networked organisms, and how we conceptualize and relate to them.

I think it’s similar to speaking out loud what you’re doing—it keeps you present. When everyone reads a paragraph aloud, you hear your own voice, and that makes it easier to share or tell something. It’s about creating a sense of safety, and that’s what I try to do in the lab space, make sure students feel safe in a lab space.

There was this first moment during the introduction in the morning, in the garden. We asked students to introduce themselves and say a bit about what they expect and what they found interesting about this workshop. Someone excitedly shouted, “I love mushrooms!” Mathilde said later on that it was not just mushrooms that were produced that day, but much more. I thought it was very beautiful.

**SE **

Following up on everything I said about safety, it is such an important point. To create an environment where it’s okay to not know, where questions are welcomed, and where people feel safe to explore and experiment is vital for fostering creativity and learning. It is so important to make sure that people feel welcome in a lab or in a workshop and that it’s okay to ask stupid questions or to not know something. It’s really about shifting the mindset from seeing questions or mistakes as disruptions, to viewing them as part of the process. You’ve clearly put a lot of effort into making sure that your students have that freedom to ask and try new things, and that’s so essential, especially when working with experimental materials. The balance between safety and freedom is key—allowing room for messiness and exploration without compromising the wellbeing of those in the space.

I also noticed that the lab looked a bit low-profile or low-barrier when I visited. I’d imagine that also shapes the way people engage with it. The sterile, high-tech labs can definitely feel intimidating, like you need to be a specialist just to step foot inside, whereas a more approachable, everyday kind of space opens up opportunities for experimentation, trial and error, and more hands-on learning. I think students feel more empowered to get involved when the space doesn’t feel so “out of reach.” It lowers the barrier to entry and encourages a sense of ownership over the process, even if they’re not experts yet. That DIY approach seems to be very much about encouraging curiosity and fostering an experimental mindset. It sounds like you’ve created a space that’s inviting and accessible, and that kind of environment can be super valuable for people to feel like they belong and are able to contribute—especially when you’re working with materials that themselves are a bit unknown and experimental!

Indeed, it makes a huge difference when you can work without barriers or having to navigate complex systems to get the resources you need. Having that accessible, flexible space, especially for non-experienced students, I think, is key for fostering creativity and experimentation.

AG / MR

Thank you, Sam, for sharing your knowledge with us and our students. We hope to be able to continue the collaboration.

Thank you both.