Architect quits to spark revolution in building techniques with bold research: 'Our idea of progress is completely based on colonialist practices'

To build what's next, we may need to remember what's been forgotten. That philosophy is taking root on the rural outskirts of Tenjo, Colombia, where an Indigenous construction lab is redefining what "sustainable architecture" really means.

The Centro de Regeneración is a 30-acre open-air campus where ancient building techniques meet modern ecological thinking.

As featured in The Guardian, the land is dotted with experimental structures that resemble coiled pots, woven baskets, and even doughnuts. Each one is a workshop in progress, dedicated to earth construction, ecological restoration, biodynamic agriculture, and the medicinal power of native plants.

Much of the center's magic can be traced to its founder, Ana María Gutiérrez. Formerly an architect in New York, Gutiérrez left behind the corporate design world after a life-altering experience building with rammed earth back home in Colombia.

"The moment I was barefoot," she said, "working with the earth, I was like, 'What am I doing sitting at a desk, working on a computer all day, every day?'"

That turning point led her to transform inherited land into what is now the Centro de Regeneración, a living laboratory that centers learning through hands-on, sensory experiences. Alongside it, she launched Fundación Organizmo, a nonprofit that supports remote Indigenous communities in preserving and evolving ancestral construction knowledge.

Her mission: to "unlearn everything we have been taught" about progress. "Our idea of progress is completely based on colonialist, extractivist practices," she told The Guardian. "People talk about sustainability, but what exactly are we sustaining?"

Organizmo's work now stretches far beyond Tenjo. Backed by the Re:Arc Institute, which is supported by the Inter Ikea Foundation, the organization is partnering with communities such as Piaroa de la Urbana, where traditional palm-weaving techniques are at risk of disappearing.

In collaboration with elders, Gutiérrez and her team co-designed a classroom and curriculum to ensure that this intergenerational knowledge survives and thrives.

Elsewhere, Organizmo is empowering youth filmmakers from eight Indigenous groups in the Amazonian region of Vaupés to document land exploitation and cultural resilience. Their message is clear: Indigenous leadership isn't rooted in extraction; it's rooted in protection.

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These low-tech, high-impact solutions are part of a broader movement funded by Re:Arc. Similar efforts include Oasis Urbano, a design collective working to revive overlooked neighborhoods in Medellín such as Moravia. All share a core belief that building a livable future means centering community wisdom, not corporate convenience.

In a landscape crowded with high-tech "sustainable" materials such as bioceramics and hempcrete, Organizmo's approach is refreshingly grounded. It makes life simpler, healthier, and more connected. The payoff? Cleaner air, stronger communities, and homes that don't cost the earth.

As Gutiérrez put it, "What if we saw ancestral knowledge not as a romantic past, but as a vivid present that could teach us resilience?"

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