An invitation to play

"What makes this practice design rather than art?" is the question lingering in the air as Sigríður Sunna Reynisdóttir and I wrap up our conversation about her Iceland-based design collective ÞYKJÓ (pronounced thickyo). Sigríður, who goes by Sigga Sunna, pauses before offering: "Sometimes design is thought of as frivolous or highbrow, but at the end of the day, it's about how environments are shaped – and this is what we are constantly reminding ourselves of: the way you design playgrounds can be crucial to how play is accounted for in everyday life." Play, and accounting for it, is at the centre of ÞYKJÓ's practice.

Founded in 2019, the collective describes itself as a design project for children and their families. Its five members – including Sigga Sunna, Ninna Þórarinsdóttir, Erla Ólafsdóttir, Sigurbjörg Stefánsdóttir, and Embla Vigfúsdóttir – plus a host of other ad-hoc collaborators, build interactive installations, collections and workshops that empower children and advance their right to play, freely. Based out of a coworking-style creative studio on the floors above Reykjavík Art Museum, ÞYKJÓ upends certain traditional notions about design to make good on the promise embedded in their name, which is, and not by coincidence, the Icelandic noun for "make believe."

We spoke with artistic director Sigga Sunna, about the collective, its "Kids Consulting Panel" (Krakkaráð ÞYKJÓ), and how making environments more fruitful for children begins with really listening to them.

What sparked ÞYKJÓ – how did it begin?

ÞYKJÓ was sparked by what is sometimes called the three Ws: watch, wait and wonder. It was during a time when I, as a parent, would witness my baby twins engaging in moments of free play, and I observed how they used costume and textile elements from my theatre set designs in their make believe games. I was really intrigued by seeing what was fruitful and multi-functional and what was not.

From there, I began reading a lot about the theory on free play and reflecting on my own childhood, and I had a realisation that I'd taken some of my own freedoms and Scandinavian's treasured history of children's design for granted.

Around the same time, I met Ninna, a children's culture designer. I had never heard of such a profession and was just so inspired by her – even just as a person. So when I eventually had the idea of creating a costume collection, that's when I founded the collective and asked her to join.

And how did the others come to join?

It's been very organic, with members joining depending on what we need, for example: architecture, tailoring or game design. My background is in puppetry and scenography, and with puppetry you're always listening to the material to see how what it wants to 'say'. Sometimes I think ÞYKJÓ is the same, it's almost like a living creature that surprises us as it takes us to new places.

Why did you choose to focus your efforts on free play specifically?

Honestly, I was just surprised by how little there was out there when I started looking for costume design or free play elements. We are in an era now where a lot of pedagogues are advocating for free play to be added to the UN Heritage List as something that is endangered because kids schedules are so packed and, well, screens have become tough competition.

I agree with the statement that you can judge a society on how they support families and nurture children and youth, as it is where the beating heart of each civilisation should be. And I felt there was such a lack of ambition – and even respect – for how children are sensory beings, so I said "okay, let's try making it ourselves."

Before we get into the projects, I wanted to touch on Krakkaráð ÞYKJÓ – your "Kids Consulting Panel." Tell me a bit more about how this works and influences your design.

Krakkráð ÞYKJÓ is a tool, or platform, created in response to Articles 12 and 13 of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, which is a pillar upon which all our work is based. These Articles essentially convey a child's rights to having their voices heard by grown-ups, stating that adults should not only Listen – with a capital L! – to children's opinions but also create platforms for children to share their opinions.

Practically speaking, this means we always start a project with the kids involved, bringing them on as collaborators during the research and planning to see what interests them most. This is what we're striving to do – and as designers, need to do – to not assume the needs of who we're designing for or working for; but rather start a conversation. What is it that you need? What can we do for you? How can we be your tools?

Even though ÞYKJÓ means 'make believe' and is a term typically reserved for children, it struck me that it has so much relevance in the world of design, which is, essentially, structured around a similar type of play and imagination of possibilities. What do you think about these overlaps?

This is interesting because as designers we've really started being influenced by the kids we work with and how they play or make believe. We started moving away from our screens and began trying to honour ourselves in the same way we do kids. When we're starting a new project, I set up a rich buffet of materials and we try to go into it in a more tactile way. I can always see how it's so different than when we're beginning with, say, an online collaboration tool like a Miro board.

As designers, we tend to think so visually, but going in from a play perspective and how children navigate, we started becoming much more hands-on during the research process. It's a whole different experience to hold a bird's nest in your hand than it is to look at one online or in a book.

Let's talk about some of your projects. You mentioned your costume collection, Superheroes of the Earth ...

This was our first costume collection, and it's an ode to the wonders of the animal kingdom and our imaginations.

We tried to inspire children to explore a range of free play, adopting the diversity of the animals’ traits – whether that be the ‘introverted,’ self- sufficient shell of a snail or the ‘extroverted’ colours and movements of a lovebird.

So then how do you go from costume to your furniture installation project Shellters? Such range!

The Shellters actually started when we were exhibiting Superheroes of the Earth. We had added a makeshift cosy corner to the space, basically like an invitation for parents to sit down with their kids. It was so special to watch the moments families shared there, so I started thinking this is what people really need: a space that facilitates quality time. There's something about being private in a public space that I think especially resonates with parents who are on parental leave. You don't want to be isolated at home, but you still may want a bit of a cocoon. The Shellters, which are these cosy shell-inspired cushioned nooks that can be placed wherever, provide just this.

There is already a tonne of interdisciplinary expertise on your team but you're often collaborating with other specialists on these projects too. Why is that?

It comes from a place of curiosity. When we tap into curiosity, it’s when we’re most fruitful as designers, as this collective. I’ve really come to see how much easier it is than I thought to just knock on some- one’s door and ask them: “do you want to come out and play?”

In our experience, similar to when I was a kid, most people want to. That said, you do need to find people you connect with on a human level. Like when we were working on Shellters, the biologists at Kópavogur Natural History Museum welcomed us into their massive collection of shells, or for another of our projects, Bird Song, they trusted us enough to take the birds nests to the basket weaver, who is visually impaired and needed to hold them to get a sense of how they felt.

Ultimately, it's about finding someone who's better than you at something and being curious to know what they know. And somehow building the bridge of how this information can be passed on to a child.

And then kids are of course collaborators too. What does that look like in real time?

Hljóðhimnar, a sound-based installation we created for Harpa Concert Hall is a great example of this. It was a very open-ended commission so we brought kids to the hall to help imagine how this empty space should be filled.

Then we took their feedback and tried to sift through it both individually but also like a choir, to try and hear the song they're singing.

In the case of Hljóðhimnar (pronounced hl-yoh-th-heem-nar), it was so fascinating to witness how the children internalised the building. As adults, it's easy to see this concert hall as beautiful and historic, but as kids, they mostly noticed that it didn't feel cosy or soft. They all wanted to put carpets on the walls, for example. It's not something that I would have assumed to be such a loud wish from kids.

The exhibition itself follows the journey of a sound wave travelling through different parts of our ear. We noticed that during the workshops with the scientists, there were many details that all the kids loved. One good example of this was them learning about the small 'oval window' that forms part of our inner ear, which they were all fascinated by. So, we then decided to make our own little 'oval window' as a way of moving between two parts of the installation.

Do you think the projects and workshops run by ÞYKJÓ are inspiring children to learn how to design themselves, to approach the world in that way?

I hope so. I'd say it's most obvious in the workshops that we run, which are about children getting hands-on experience and opening windows into different design fields. We run workshops where, for example, they test things like designing in scale, but from a playful perspective. This is often already quite familiar to them from playing with toys like LEGO, but we show them that this is how designers think too if they're building a house – first you design it small.

Our goal is to create these moments and spaces where kids – and everyone – are invited to play. It's not about saying "get off your screens", but an invitation and offering something in return. I think as a society we need to do that more. Ultimately, we're just trying to plant these seeds and open up children's ideas of what is out there.

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