Banham Fellow Exhibition explores reuse in architecture through ‘Objectile Adventures’

The lobby of Hayes Hall got a new floor this month — but it’s temporary.

The 2026 Banham Fellow Exhibition — an installation by Celia Chaussabel titled “Objectile Adventures: The Floor” — opened on April 20. Testing methods for designing, building and telling stories with reused building materials, the project challenges us to consider the narratives embedded in the objects around us and how that affects our perception and use of them.

The Peter Reyner Banham Fellowship, a yearlong visiting faculty position at the School of Architecture and Planning, honors Banham’s legacy of experimental criticism, culminating in a final exhibition. Chaussabel, the 2025-26 Banham Fellow, holds a master’s degree from MIT and a bachelor’s degree in architecture from California Polytechnic State University. Before coming to UB, she worked in design offices in New York and San Francisco, as well as conducted research on material use with a Belgian cooperative called Rotor.

A central idea in Chaussabel’s work is that architecture is made up of moving objects. We don’t see it that way — we think of ourselves in motion within a static space. “But in reality,” she pointed out, “every construction site had materials delivered to it, and every building ultimately gets renovated, deconstructed or demolished at some point. And those objects will move again.”

What happens to them next, she argued, is up to us. These materials are what Chaussabel calls “objectiles” — object-projectiles — and each has its own unique narrative, shaped by its prior use and how it might be used again. While some objectiles could easily return to their original roles — like a door reused as a door — Chaussabel is especially drawn to those that resist a single interpretation. Ambiguous shapes, layered histories or subtle markings leave room for imagination.

Her path to this work was forged by her concerns about embodied carbon, an interest in programmatic fluidity and inspiration from Sara Ahmed’s book, “What’s the Use?” Together, these influences led her to seek out more open-ended ways of thinking and designing. She sees her new teaching role as a natural extension of that curiosity. “I was excited to teach because it would allow me to work with other people who have their own back stories, lives and ways of seeing things.”

At the exhibition opening, Chaussabel spoke about the demolition and deconstruction of buildings, and the beliefs that drive those decisions. To demolish — “reducing a building to basically crumbs” — you must believe that resources are cheap and limitless, speed is paramount and new is inherently better. Reuse, by contrast, reflects a different value system: Resources are scarce and precious, actions require patience and planning, and objectiles with histories are worth preserving.

She posed a provocative question to her students: If we can’t perceive that something has been reused, is it reuse at all? Chaussabel argued that narrative is required in order to perceive reuse. That’s especially true when an object’s location changes but its function doesn’t — again, a door reused as a door. In this exhibition, she leans into this idea by assigning 28 distinct objectiles the shared task of becoming a floor. “To throw a thing away is not only wasteful and bad for the environment, but it’s also a waste of potential narratives that we can tell with these objects,” she explained.  

At the project’s onset, she went in search of objectiles that fit within a set of descriptors: flattish and less than 16 inches deep. She found materials in all sorts of places — propped up against dumpsters, donated from friends and fellow faculty, and sourced from ReUse Action, a local social enterprise focused on reclamation and reuse. She even spotted objectiles on her morning runs, dragging them home one by one. Ultimately, she collected approximately 100 objectiles. Twenty-eight became the floor and the rest are being used by her students to construct their own projects: walls, columns, ceilings and stairs.

When asked which one is her favorite, she paused before deciding on a two-level step covered in holes that she calls brown rubbery. “It’s incredible because it’s so 3D,” she said. 

Language plays a vital role in how Chaussabel frames the work. She likened her approach to object biographies written by anthropologists, but looking forward instead of backward. “You only write biographies about things that are alive,” she noted, embracing an anthropomorphic lens that brings each objectile to life. Bestowing them with names like Aqua Scoopy, Pink Flimsy Triangle Twins and Glowy Glassy underscores this idea, but she’s careful not to let the playfulness overshadow the intellectual depth of the work.

“I think when you give something a life, you will cherish it more. But I’m cautious about the cuteness,” she said. “It’s a respect for the object and everything and everyone that went into making it. But I recognize that not everyone sees the world through that lens, so it’s a balance.”

At the start of the fellowship, Chaussabel was excited for her first teaching experience, and her time at UB did not disappoint. Initially unsure how the boundary between professor and student would feel, she was struck by how open and engaged her students were. The studio quickly became collaborative, with students shaping not just their own projects but hers as well. When her graduate students began building objectiled elements — walls, columns, ceilings and stairs — she asked them how expansive they thought they should be. “I could do that because they really care,” she explained. “If school was just an assignment to them, they would ask for the bare minimum. But we’re so beyond that; they’re so invested in the work.”

Experimentation through making — a major tenet of the UB architecture school — proved to be the key to success in her classes. When a student group conceptualized a staircase made of objectiles, in which each step functioned differently, she had them put their idea to the test. By creating a smaller-scale prototype that Chaussabel called a “chunk,” they realized how much stronger their design would be if it functioned like a typical staircase. “You have to think about the usability of it,” Chaussabel cautioned. “And you can’t just talk about it; you can only get to that balance by making.”

At the start of the fellowship, Chaussabel didn’t know what form her exhibition would take, but she quickly realized how much she wanted to build something herself. Access to the UB Fabrication Lab — and the expertise of its staff — serendipitously made that possible. “I enjoyed every day that I was working,” she said, crediting the sense of camaraderie that she felt among her peers and students, and how supportive they’ve been of her and her work.

At the exhibition opening, she surprised everyone by inviting them to remove their shoes and step onto the floor. Initially unsure how they would respond, she was delighted when attendees happily climbed atop, testing out the feeling of the different objectiles beneath their feet. One student opened up a set of former cabinet doors and climbed inside, remaining there throughout the duration of the Q&A session.

Chaussabel hopes the installation can help change the way that people think about waste — and about architecture itself. “I wanted to show the students, particularly those who are just starting out, that architecture can be more engaging than it is now,” she said. “We can think about the multiplicity of perspectives that we’re designing for.”

She closed with a reminder that the story isn’t finished. “These objectiles have traveled to get here, and they will travel again, specifically on July 27, 2026, when I take this apart.”

Until then, “Objectile Adventures: The Floor” is on view in the lobby of Hayes Hall on the South Campus.