An IABR conversation delves into whether indigenous knowledge and Europe's energy transition can coexist - in the context of Morocco’s Draa-Tafilalet region—home to both the Amazigh culture and the world’s largest solar energy plant.
Before delving into her work, it’s important to share a bit about the artist herself. Lesia Topolnyk’s research focuses on the shifting global political dynamics driven by climate change and how these forces shape local communities and spaces. Having grown up in a constantly changing political environment and trained as an architect, Topolnyk explores how different realities shape human behavior and manifest in the physical world. The biennale’s theme was hope, and that’s where our conversation began. “The layer on which we stand is indigenous knowledge,” Lesia told us. “If we don’t honor it, we will destroy and erode our own foundation. This, to me, is the nature of hope.”
That word—hope—echoed throughout our brief conversation, but it wasn’t the easy kind of hope often associated with sustainability discussions. Instead, Lesia’s vision of hope is rooted in survival, in the resilience of communities like the Imazighen, whose knowledge systems have endured centuries of outside pressures. As the world turns to renewable energy, Lesia is reminding us that we cannot forget those who have been living in sustainable ways long before the word became fashionable.
This vision formed the foundation for Lesia’s installation The New Ecological Order, exhibited at IABR last year, which captures this very contrast. As we spoke, Lesia gestured toward her totem-like structure, made up of everyday objects—farming tools, water containers, woven baskets. These objects are rooted in the landscapes of Morocco’s Draa-Tafilalet region, home to the Imazighen Indigenous communities, but today also the Ouarzazate Solar Power Station, called Noor, the world’s largest solar plant. While Noor is globally recognized as a symbol of green energy, it also serves as a stark reminder of the price paid for such advancements.
The New Ecological Order explores how these Indigenous communities—long stewards of sustainable land practices—are being impacted by global energy policies that move faster than their voices can be heard. The work addresses the tension between progress and its costs, between the rhythms of everyday life and the grand ambitions of sustainability.
To really understand Lesia’s work, it helps to know some context. The Noor solar plant in Morocco, part of a large-scale project that started in the early 2010s, marks a major step in the country’s renewable energy journey. Noor I went live in 2016, thanks to funding from a mix of international development banks and private investors, with the European Union contributing €500 million in 2021 to further push Morocco’s energy transition.
But before this became a landscape for green energy, this land was maintained and used by the Amazigh people, often called Berbers. These Indigenous communities have lived in North Africa for thousands of years, long before Arab influences or European colonization. The name Amazigh, meaning “free people” or “noble people,” reflects their deep connection to the land and their resilience against external pressures. Despite being North Africa’s original inhabitants, the Amazigh have long struggled for cultural recognition and political autonomy. In Morocco, their language, Tamazight, and traditions have often been sidelined in favor of Arabization policies.
In regions like Draa-Tafilalet, where desert landscapes and mountains stretch for miles, the Amazigh have developed sustainable systems for agriculture, water management, and community living. Their knowledge of how to thrive in such challenging environments has been passed down through generations, through oral traditions, rituals, and practices that are deeply tied to the land. Think of their use of oases for agriculture or qanats, underground water channels, for irrigation. Their philosophy is one of respecting and nurturing the land—a perspective that clashes with the modern, industrial approach to energy production seen in projects like Noor. This tension between traditional ways of life and large-scale energy projects is at the heart of the conversation Lesia’s work explores.
Lesia’s work taps into a larger, global conversation about how large-scale projects, even those meant to do good, often overlook the cultural and environmental costs. Europe’s energy transition is widely seen as a crucial step toward a cleaner future, but her project sheds light on the tensions that lie beneath this narrative. At first glance, the Noor solar plant appears to be a triumph of renewable energy. However, as Lesia points out, this mega-project is a stark example of a deeper issue: green colonialism. While Noor is celebrated as a win for renewable energy, it has also disrupted the region in profound ways. As Europe races to transition to renewable energy, Morocco has become a key supplier of solar power for its northern neighbors.
For the Amazigh people, who have sustained their communities through millennia-old practices, this progress comes at a cost. Their sustainable farming methods are being overshadowed by the expansive infrastructure of these mega-projects. The social fabric of their communities is unraveling as their land is repurposed for international energy agendas, disconnecting them from the ecosystems they have stewarded for generations. In Lesia’s view, this isn’t just an energy shift—it’s a cultural and environmental displacement that threatens the survival of a way of life.
Her installation captures this tension. The objects she uses—farming tools, water containers, woven baskets—represent the Amazigh way of life, but in her work, they’ve been stripped of their original context, mirroring the displacement experienced by the people they symbolize. “The narrative unfolds through the space,” Lesia explained. “It invites visitors to look beyond the surface of energy transition, not just as a technological shift, but as a question of cultural survival. What happens to communities when their environment is taken over by international projects?”
As we delved into Lesia’s broader body of work, it became clear that Morocco is only the beginning of her exploration. Her research spans continents, from the sun-scorched deserts of Morocco to the streets of Tangier, where European and African influences have intertwined for centuries. “I wanted to move beyond the European lens,” Lesia explained. “Architecture tends to be very Eurocentric, but when you step outside of that, you start to see how global challenges are impacting different regions. The energy transition is one of those challenges, but it's part of a much bigger conversation about colonial legacies, resource extraction, and power.”
Through StudioSpaceStation, the interdisciplinary practice she founded, Lesia blends architecture, art, and politics to explore these connections. Her work challenges the conventional architectural discourse by treating design as a political tool—one that can either strengthen or weaken local resilience in the face of global pressures. “Where can architecture be used to bridge the gap between different scales?” she asked during our conversation. “And how can designers respond to these large-scale challenges in ways that empower communities rather than dismantle them?” These questions drive her work as one of the Agents of Change at IABR. Her bold approach earned her the Prix de Rome 2022, one of architecture’s highest honors.
Our conversation with Lesia ended where it began—with a reflection on indigenous knowledge as the bedrock of any sustainable future. She spoke with quiet yet firm conviction about the necessity of bringing these voices to the forefront of the energy debate. “If we ignore these layers of knowledge,” she cautioned, “we’re building on a foundation that’s bound to collapse.”
Lesia’s work compels us to face uncomfortable truths about the energy transition, while also offering a way forward. By honoring these often invisible layers of knowledge, she believes we can chart a path that not only sustains the planet, but also heals the wounds left by centuries of exploitation. It’s a vision where progress doesn’t come at the expense of those who have long understood how to live in harmony with the earth. Her installation was exhibited in Rotterdam as part of the recently concluded biennale. Still curious? Be sure to check her website for more insights.
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