Abduljaleel Sodangi’s path as an architect and artist is deeply rooted in self-reflection and creative output. From his early experiences meticulously crafting cardboard question cards to his current endeavours, such as The Table of Thoughts, Sodangi has consistently been driven by a desire to shape both physical spaces and abstract concepts.
In this insightful conversation, Sodangi delves into what inspires his work and how architecture and art can impact human safety, behaviour, and emotions. His unique approach—blending tradition with innovation and profound emotional depth—offers a fascinating look into the mind of a creative visionary who is pushing the boundaries of art and design.
HANEEFAH ABDULRAHMAN: What inspired you to pursue architecture and art?
ABDULJALEEL SODANGI: It began with cardboards. I was around eight when I started cutting pieces into little question cards. My parents noticed how well done they were—it was a small act, but it told me something about myself: I liked shaping thoughts into form. That instinct stayed with me.
Later, travelling through Europe and marvelling at the meticulous details of buildings and the intentionality behind every edge and joint. This stood in stark contrast to what I observed back home in Nigeria. While it was tempting to simply conclude “Europe is better,” I came to realise that our architectural styles in Nigeria are equally profound. The distinction, I understood, wasn’t in our inherent foundations but in the extent to which we’ve nurtured those roots, the attention we’ve given to detail, evolution, and care.
A pivotal moment arrived during my SSS3 Technical Drawing classes at New Horizons College. My older cousin, an architect, assisted me with a project, and that experience completely engrossed me. Although I was still considering aeronautical engineering then, an inner conviction told me that architecture offered a pathway to truly feel beauty, to shape it, rather than merely calculate it.
Today, my design philosophy extends beyond mere aesthetics; I aim to solve real problems, whether for a client or in response to the world as I perceive it. When embarking on a personal project, I carefully consider both the optimists and the sceptics, finding equilibrium in their perspectives. From this balanced understanding, I strive to create something that evokes a sense of novel familiarity, something that makes people say, “I’ve never seen that before, but I feel it.”
Haneefah: What has been the greatest challenge you have faced as an architect, and how did you overcome it, or how are you overcoming it?
Sodangi: The greatest challenge I’ve faced is learning how to trust time, especially when your vision is clear but the resources, understanding, or support aren’t immediately available.
Architecture isn’t just about drawings and construction; it’s about people. And people come with their own timelines, fears, politics, and perceptions of value. I’ve had projects where clients didn’t fully understand the importance of the process. I’ve worked on concepts that needed boldness, but what I met was hesitation or underinvestment. And I’ve had moments where I had to put in my own money just to ensure a design wasn’t compromised.
One specific project I’ll never forget involved a design that was too ambitious for the regulatory body to approve. It had to be scaled back drastically, which meant reworking everything—zoning, layouts, even how the building breathed. It was frustrating. But it also taught me patience, humility, and how to treat constraints as creative invitations rather than roadblocks.
What keeps me grounded is understanding that as architects, we’re in a continuous conversation with time. The buildings we create will last longer than us, so every delay, every rethinking, might just be part of refining something worth leaving behind.
Haneefah: In what way can architecture influence human safety, behaviour and emotions?
Architecture is often mistaken for just a backdrop to life, but it’s far more active than that. It’s a participant. It can protect, provoke, inspire, or even oppress—depending on how it’s conceived.
Sodangi: In terms of safety, architecture is our first form of shelter. But beyond walls and locks, true safety comes from how a space makes you feel. A well-designed environment intuitively guides movement, reduces anxiety, and communicates calm. Whether it’s through sightlines that make you feel seen (but not exposed), materials that absorb sound, or natural light that balances your mood, architecture plays a silent but constant role in our well-being.
Behaviourally, space can either encourage connection or create isolation. A circular seating arrangement might inspire open dialogue, while a narrow hallway could make someone feel rushed or unwelcome. Architects, knowingly or not, become choreographers of human movement and interaction.
Emotionally, I think architecture is one of the few things that speaks directly to the subconscious. You may not know why a certain room gives you peace or why another makes you uneasy, but your body knows. Your senses know. That’s why I always say: architecture is not about building for people; it’s about building with feeling. If you get that part right, you don’t just create a structure—you create an experience.
Haneefah: What role does personal expression play in your artistic process, and how do you convey your unique perspective through your art?
Sodangi: Personal expression is at the core of my creative process, but it often begins quietly. For me, it’s less about showcasing identity and more about revealing what feels honest in a moment, and allowing that honesty to shape form.
In architecture and design, I often begin by listening to the space, to the client, to the silence around an idea. I try not to rush. I let the materials, context, or tension guide what the work needs to be. Some ideas come from questions I’ve carried for years. Others come from an instinctive response to something I see, read, or feel.
My background—growing up in Northern Nigeria, travelling through Europe, studying in Istanbul and Milan—shaped how I see. I draw from Islamic geometry, African spatial traditions, and contemporary minimalism. But I don’t mimic them. I decode them, reinterpret them, and try to create something that speaks to the present.
Table of Thoughts is one expression of that process, but there are others—designs where symmetry is interrupted on purpose, where form is softened to feel like memory. What connects them all is a desire to make people feel something new yet familiar—to pause, to reflect, to feel held by the work even if they don’t fully understand it.
That’s what personal expression means to me: not ego, but invitation.
Haneefah: Can you share the story behind the creation of ‘Table of Thoughts’?
Sodangi: The Table of Thoughts wasn’t born out of ambition. It started as a form of quiet reflection—typing notes into my phone during moments of emotional fog, yes, but also in times of happiness, connection, introspection, and laughter. I wasn’t trying to build anything. I was simply trying to understand what I was feeling, to hold on to certain questions before they slipped away.
As time passed, I noticed a rhythm in those thoughts, a spiral. A loop where questions returned, not to be answered, but to be understood more deeply. That spiral became a metaphor for how the mind processes meaning. It reminded me that we don’t grow in straight lines. We circle back, we revisit. That realization shaped the earliest sketches of what would become the Table of Thoughts.
The design process was deeply personal. It wasn’t for a client or a brief—it was for a feeling. I became intentional about every element: the shape of the spiral, the engraved questions, the materials. I wanted it to feel like an artefact of presence, a physical space for people to pause and be with their thoughts, without distraction or judgment.
The first time I placed it in a room and watched people interact with it, I saw something unexpected: stillness. A kind of reverence. People slowed down, leaned in, and reflected. Some laughed. Some cried. But more than anything, they connected with themselves and with each other.
That’s when I realised the Table of Thoughts had become more than an object. It was a conversation without a voice, a mirror without a face. It reminded people that their thoughts matter, that questions are sacred, and that silence—when shared—can be a powerful form of presence.
That’s the story. It began in solitude, but it was always meant to be shared.
Haneefah: How do you think embracing a non-judgmental space like yours can unlock new ideas and perspectives?
Sodangi: I believe the absence of judgment is the starting point for genuine transformation. When people don’t feel the need to perform, defend, or impress, they begin to speak from a deeper place—one where vulnerability, creativity, and clarity live. That’s what the Table of Thoughts was created to hold: a space where thinking out loud feels safe, even sacred.
The design—the table, the spiral, the deck of cards—is intentional. The table offers grounding and equality. The cards gently open doors, guiding people into questions they might not ask themselves otherwise. And the atmosphere of the experience—slow, reflective, warm—doesn’t demand anything. It simply invites.
At The Assemble retreat, I saw this invitation come to life. One evening under the moonlight, after the bonfire, we gathered around the table. A woman opened up about a health challenge that had quietly been draining her emotionally and financially. She said it out loud—not for sympathy, but because the space felt safe enough to hold her truth.
I didn’t know what to say. But then Maxwell—someone who had only recently joined the project—spoke up. I had no idea he had a background in clinical psychology. He listened to her, then gently offered insight. Practical, compassionate, affirming. His words shifted something in the room. It wasn’t therapy. It wasn’t advice. It was a presence. Real, human presence.
That moment taught me something: safe spaces don’t just help people feel better—they help people remember who they are. And when we feel safe enough to be ourselves, we unlock ideas, empathy, and solutions that don’t come out in traditional, high-pressure environments.
So yes—creating non-judgmental spaces like this isn’t just about comfort. It’s about discovery.
Here is the continuation and conclusion of your finalised interview responses:
Haneefah: How much impact has ‘Table of Thoughts’ given considering your vision when you put it out there?
Sodangi: When I first envisioned Table of Thoughts, I knew I wanted it to be more than a piece of art or design—I wanted it to become a living experience. Something that could exist between people, not just in front of them. But I couldn’t have predicted how far-reaching the impact would be.
In the last year alone, the table has travelled across different contexts—urban innovation hubs, art galleries, farm retreats, and even fashion events like The Royal Oath. Each time, it adapts. And each time, people leave something behind—a thought, a truth, a shift. I’ve seen moments of silence become turning points. I’ve seen friendships start around the table. I’ve seen strangers cry, laugh, and share things they’ve never spoken aloud before.
One of the most moving experiences was when Nigeria’s Minister of Culture, Hannatu Musawa, participated and left her own reflection at the table. That moment affirmed that this project wasn’t just for artists or creatives—it was for anyone willing to slow down and listen inward.
But perhaps the most profound impact has come through people like Maxwell—someone who encountered the table, felt awakened by it, and is now one of its strongest advocates. He’s brought the cards into homes, helped couples reconnect, and sparked healing conversations in the most unexpected places.
So yes, the table has had an impact—but more importantly, it’s shown me that the act of thinking, when shared, is powerful. The vision is growing. And the most exciting part is that the table no longer belongs to just me—it belongs to everyone who has ever sat with it and left a piece of themselves behind.
Haneefah: What’s the relationship between art therapy and traditional therapy in your view – can one replace the other, or do they serve different purposes?
Sodangi: I see art therapy and traditional therapy as two rivers flowing toward the same ocean: healing and self-awareness. But they move differently. Traditional therapy often works through language—naming experiences, analysing patterns, and tracing emotional histories. Art therapy, on the other hand, allows expression when words are hard to find. It speaks through gesture, colour, silence, and form. It offers freedom where language might feel limiting or unsafe.
I don’t think one replaces the other. They serve different purposes, and ideally, they can even work together. There are things traditional therapy can help you understand, and there are things only creative expression can help you feel.
During my time studying architecture and later footwear design, I went through a phase of emotional and creative uncertainty. It was during a visit to the Istanbul Modern Museum that something shifted. I was surrounded by works that didn’t need to explain themselves—they just were. And in their stillness, I felt seen. That experience gave me the clarity I didn’t know I was looking for.
It became the spark for my footwear design project, which I later documented here. That project wasn’t just about aesthetics—it was about translating emotion into wearable form, rhythm into silhouette, and identity into structure. It taught me that healing sometimes comes not from dissecting pain, but from expressing it without asking for permission or permission to feel better.
In my work today, especially with Table of Thoughts, I see how design and reflection can become a kind of soft therapy. It doesn’t diagnose. It doesn’t fix it. But it holds. And in that holding, people often find what they need.
Haneefah: What is the most awkward form of inspiration you have ever had?
Sodangi: One of the most awkward and unexpected sources of inspiration came during a renovation at the office. I had requested grey window frames—something subtle and neutral to match the intended palette. But when the delivery came in, the frames were bright yellow.
At first, I was irritated. It felt off-brand, too loud, not what I had envisioned. There was a series of back and forth with the team—should we replace them? Repaint? But then something clicked. I realised grey and yellow weren’t random. They were actually the two main colours of the Como logo. The “mistake” had unintentionally brought the brand identity into the space more boldly than I had planned.
Instead of rejecting the mix-up, we embraced it. We kept the window frames yellow and paired them with grey panes. The result was unexpectedly cohesive. It created a playful tension, warmth and seriousness, brightness and balance. What started as an error became a visual statement, and now it’s one of the details people always comment on when they visit. That experience reminded me that inspiration doesn’t always come through planning. Sometimes it shows up through disruption. And if you’re open to seeing things differently, even mistakes can reveal deeper meaning.
Haneefah: Which of your pieces of work are you most emotionally connected to and why?
Sodangi: Without hesitation, it’s the Table of Thoughts. It’s not just my most personal work—it’s also the one that continues to teach me something new every time it’s experienced.
The emotional connection runs deep because it started from such an intimate place. It came from a season of self-reflection, of needing to ask questions I didn’t have answers to. And instead of pushing those questions away, I began writing them down, shaping them, honouring them. That simple act eventually grew into a physical object—something sculptural, symbolic, and shareable.
But what makes the connection stronger is how people respond to it. I’ve watched strangers hold the cards like sacred texts. I’ve seen friends fall silent around the table—not from discomfort, but from recognition. I’ve seen people cry, reflect, and reconnect. And those moments remind me that the Table of Thoughts no longer belongs only to me. It has become a vessel, carrying pieces of everyone who sits with it.
I think as artists, we long for that—to create something that outgrows us, that continues speaking long after we’ve left the room. That’s what Table of Thoughts has done for me. And I carry it with the kind of care you reserve for something sacred.
Haneefah: So far, so good, you have achieved a lot. I know, creatives are never satisfied because growth never ends—but does it get overwhelming for you sometimes? Do you not crave the need to take a break?
Sodangi: Yes, absolutely. It does get overwhelming.
There are times when the pressure to keep building, keep creating, keep proving yourself becomes heavy. When people start to recognise your work, they often see the outcomes—the finished projects, the applause, the moments of visibility. But what they don’t always see is the exhaustion behind it. The late nights. The self-doubt. The pressure to be both artist and executor, both visionary and manager.
I do crave breaks. But I’ve come to learn that rest doesn’t always mean stepping away. Sometimes it just means slowing down, breathing differently, or creating without the pressure of output. I’ve learned to take solitude seriously. Not to escape—but to listen. To return to the quiet where ideas come from.
There are also times I remind myself that it’s okay not to be available to everyone all the time. That I can step back and recharge, and the work won’t disappear. In fact, it often deepens after rest.
So yes, I do get overwhelmed. But I’ve learned not to fight that feeling as a weakness. It’s part of being deeply engaged. And the more I accept it, the more sustainable my creativity becomes.
At the core of everything I do—whether it’s architecture, art, or conversation—is a desire to create spaces where people can feel seen. I believe we’re all just trying to find our way back to ourselves, and sometimes, design helps us do that. Not because it gives answers, but because it asks the right questions.
If Table of Thoughts or any of my work has made someone pause, reflect, or feel a little less alone in their thoughts, then I consider that a success. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about the projects. It’s about the people they touch.
And I’m just grateful to be part of that unfolding.
