Transforming Studio Spaces: An Intersectional Approach to Accessibility in Higher Education
Introduction
As a studio technician in the Sculpture department at Camberwell College of Arts, my role sits somewhere between technical facilitator, mentor, and institutional mediator. I spend much of my time organizing tools, supporting workshops, and maintaining studios as productive, safe, and creative environments. But through the lens of Unit 2, I’ve started to recognize that these day-to-day responsibilities can also serve as points of intervention, especially when it comes to access and inclusion.
This report reflects on my evolving understanding of accessibility through the development of an intervention designed to improve conditions for disabled and neurodivergent students in our studio spaces. It draws on the Social Model of Disability (Oliver, 1990) and an intersectional framework (Crenshaw, 1989), positioning accessibility not as a logistical afterthought, but as an essential component of equitable education. It also reflects how my own experiences, ranging from personal sensitivities to conversations with students, have shaped my practice.
Studio Context: Accessibility in Practice
The sculpture studios at Camberwell are vibrant, hands-on spaces, but they also pose considerable challenges when it comes to accessibility. A recent example that stayed with me involved a second-year student who, due to ongoing back problems, regularly brings in her own ergonomic chair because none are available in the studio. While a simple adjustment could solve this, the fact it hasn’t been addressed institutionally speaks volumes. We also frequently need to remind students to keep doorways clear of clutter, sometimes clearing them ourselves, despite this not being sustainable or safe practice. These are not isolated incidents but indicators of a broader systemic issue.
The environment itself can be intense: open-plan spaces mean that students are often exposed to high levels of noise, from hammering to blaring music. Some students have also reported discomfort when others mix fine powders or work in ways that create airborne dust, something I resonate with personally, as someone with allergic rhinitis. These overlapping factors contribute to an atmosphere that, while creatively rich, can be overwhelming or even exclusionary for those with sensory sensitivities or physical health conditions.
All of this points to a reactive, compliance-based approach to accessibility—one where accommodations are made only when students advocate for them individually. This is out of step with our legal responsibilities under the Equality Act 2010, which mandates reasonable adjustments, but more importantly, it fails to foster a sense of belonging for students who already face marginalization (Equality Act, 2010).
The Intervention: A Phased, Collaborative Approach
In response to these concerns, I developed a two-phase intervention aimed at transforming how accessibility is embedded into studio operations. The first phase involves a comprehensive accessibility audit, working directly with disabled students and in collaboration with Disability Services. This process would start within Sculpture and eventually expand to other fine art areas across Camberwell and UAL more broadly. It will include physical access assessments, sensory environment evaluations, and equipment usability audits.
The second phase focuses on implementation. Early steps include marking pathways using high-contrast floor tape, installing height-adjustable workbenches, creating quiet zones with noise-reducing materials, and reorganizing tool storage to reduce visual clutter and improve reachability. These ideas were inspired in part by Fox and MacPherson’s (2015) call for inclusive arts practices that expand access and enable genuine choice.
By grounding the intervention in my core responsibilities — studio layout, equipment management, and student induction — I aim to normalize accessibility as an everyday consideration rather than a specialist concern. This also serves to reframe technical support as pedagogically significant, demonstrating that technicians are crucial to the inclusive learning environment.
Inclusive Learning: Theory Meets Practice
The studio is more than just a physical workspace; it’s a site of learning, identity formation, and, ideally, collective care. Bell Hooks (1994) describes education as a practice of freedom, where classrooms become spaces for risk-taking, vulnerability, and authenticity. But when disabled students face environmental barriers, the studio becomes instead a site of negotiation and survival.
The Social Model of Disability (Oliver, 1990) has helped me conceptualization these barriers not as individual deficits but as institutional failures. Brown and Ramlackhan (2021) argue that ableism in higher education is often embedded in everyday norms, studio culture included. In my own context, these norms include the assumption that all students can tolerate noise, dust, clutter, or unpredictable schedules.
An intersectional lens further complicates the picture. Many students experience disability alongside other forms of marginalization, racial, economic, gendered, which affect how and whether they access support (Crenshaw, 1989). As someone who values tidy, calm, and structured environments, I’ve realized that my own preferences intersect with my understanding of accessibility, not only as a professional but also as someone living with a health condition that is affected by dust exposure. This self-awareness helps me appreciate how subjective ‘comfort’ or ‘functionality’ can be, and why multiple perspectives are necessary.
Boler’s (1999) idea of “pedagogies of discomfort” also resonates here. Reflecting on the studio’s exclusionary tendencies has been personally unsettling, but that discomfort has catalyzed growth. It’s prompted me to ask: who feels entitled to space here? Who adapts, and who is adapted for?
Reflection: From Ideas to Action
Conversations with students have been the most powerful influence on my thinking. The second-year student with chronic back pain wasn’t just making a practical adjustment by bringing in her own chair. She was silently absorbing the message that her comfort wasn’t considered part of the default. Similarly, when students voice concerns about noise or air quality, they’re often framed as making individual complaints rather than highlighting structural gaps. Listening to these accounts has shifted my understanding of what ‘inclusion’ actually entails.
Peer feedback was invaluable in shaping the intervention’s direction. Charline’s insights pushed me to think more strategically about resourcing and sustainability, while also encouraging me to consult with health and safety teams, a step I’d initially overlooked. Her feedback reframed collaboration as a necessity rather than an optional extra.
Xiyao’s challenge “what are the “meanwhile” actions we can take while waiting for bigger changes” prompted me to plan incremental modifications like pathway tape and tool reorganization. These small wins can provide immediate relief while building momentum for longer-term changes.
Eden’s feedback was perhaps the most expansive. She encouraged me to think beyond physical access and consider cognitive and sensory needs, an area I’m still learning about. Her questions reminded me that accessibility isn’t just about ramps and chairs; it’s about rethinking the entire atmosphere of a space.
A key dilemma I wrestled with was scope: should I focus narrowly on one barrier, or attempt a more holistic intervention? Drawing on intersectionality, I opted for the latter. While this makes implementation more complex, it better reflects the real-world experiences of students who navigate multiple barriers simultaneously.
Action and Next Steps
The phased nature of this intervention is intentional. It allows for pilot testing, reflection, and revision, especially important given that I haven’t yet engaged Disability Services. This remains a priority moving forward. Partnering with them will lend institutional legitimacy to the project and help secure resources for implementation.
Immediate actions include conducting informal mini-audits during upcoming workshops and collecting anonymous feedback from students. These will inform a more formal proposal to be presented to course leaders and, eventually, senior management.
Longer-term, I’d like to co-develop a studio accessibility toolkit tailored to UAL’s fine art contexts, drawing on findings from the audit and including checklists, design principles, and training resources for staff. This could be disseminated across departments, positioning technical teams as central to inclusive teaching practices.
For my own development, this intervention has already deepened my skillset. I’ve begun to see accessibility assessment, inclusive design, and change management as part of my role, not separate from it. This shift from reactive support to proactive advocacy feels professionally and personally significant.
Evaluation
If implemented, success will be measured not just through physical changes but through student feedback, usage data, and institutional uptake. The ultimate aim is to shift from seeing adjustments as individual exceptions to embedding them as standard practice.
Evaluation will be iterative. Regular consultation with disabled students will ensure that solutions remain relevant and effective. As the disability rights movement reminds us: “nothing about us, without us.”
Conclusion
This process has redefined how I see my role at Camberwell. I’ve come to understand that even in a technical role, I hold influence over how inclusive a space can be. By embedding accessibility into the technical fabric of studio life, through tool layout, workshop planning, and environmental design, I can contribute to more equitable learning conditions.
The intervention is only a beginning. But it has already challenged me to think differently, act with more intention, and embrace discomfort as a route to change. Most of all, it has reminded me that inclusive education doesn’t start with grand strategies and it starts with paying attention to who is left out, and asking what we can do, right now, to bring them in.
References
Boler, M. (1999). Feeling Power: Emotions and Education. New York: Routledge.
Brown, N. and Ramlackhan, K. (2021). Exploring experiences of ableism in academia: a constructivist inquiry. Higher Education, 83(6), 1199-1216.
Crenshaw, K. (1989). Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: A black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and antiracist politics. University of Chicago Legal Forum, 1989(1), 139-167.
Equality Act (2010). London: HMSO.
Fox, A. and MacPherson, H. (2015). Inclusive Arts Practice and Research: A Critical Manifesto. London: Routledge.
Hooks, B. (1994). Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom. New York: Routledge.
Oliver, M. (1990). The Politics of Disablement. Basingstoke: Macmillan.