The knowledge is already in the room. We build the rooms that let it move — a phone in a pocket, a wall in a youth center, a dome ceiling, a headset, a market street in Puebla. Then we hand over the tools so the next room doesn’t need us.
We make immersive pieces with our own communities and put them on whichever surface is open — a phone in your pocket, a classroom screen, a community-center wall, a planetarium ceiling, an immersive museum room, a wall-side projection on a Tuesday night. The surface is whatever's already there. The story is what we bring. Then we open the toolkit so others can do the same.
Voice testimony. Lived-experience documentary. Neighborhood capture. Held inside a 360° space anyone can step into. Free voices from a Berlin table in 2006. A juke joint in Clarksdale. A mercado in Puebla. A youth center in Orlando. Held with consent and citation, not extracted.
The same piece plays in a browser, on a community-center wall, inside a pop-up dome in a gym, on a planetarium ceiling. We design for whichever room a person actually has.
The Community 360° Builder lets anyone make a world from a phone — no code, start from one of ours. Squinch shows finished work on any surface before you rent the room. The Invisible Choir turns a street into a sound walk. Every one of them is running right now, free for community use. See the toolkit →
Five mediums. One practice. The doors below are how you find your way into the work — education and civic, immersive culture and music, the open tools we built so anyone can do it themselves.
From Puebla · community workshop
In the room · voices in motion
Open toolkit · built and shared
Community-authored 360° pieces, each one live at its own address. Hover to hear the room — the place, the people, the sound of it. Click to walk in. Consent on file, citations in, free for educators and community use.
116 people sat down for two days and answered the questions nobody had solved — on power, money, war, faith, whether a child can bloom. Every answer was filmed. Then the tape sat for twenty years.
On 9 September 2026, twenty years to the day, the table is set again. The empty chair was left on purpose.
It was already in the room — on the porch, at the table, down the block. What was missing was a way for it to travel without somebody else owning it on the way out.
See what we built ↗A room you can stand in, a street you can walk, and someone you can argue with. All three open in a browser, right now, with no sign-up. If they don’t move you, none of the rest matters.
Also open, no strings: walk a block and hear who belongs there · this morning’s civic weather · all 10,583 answers, searchable · build a world of your own
Not because they’re precious — because handing someone a blank tool and walking away is how good projects die. We open them with you, in your room, around what you’re actually trying to do. Twenty minutes tells us both whether there’s something here.
Start from a world we already built, drop your people’s voices into it, share the link. Runs on a phone. The hard part isn’t the software — it’s who you gather and what you ask them.
Move one piece along every surface — phone, wall, classroom, pop-up dome, planetarium, a wall-and-floor room — before you book anything. Tell us your room and we’ll show you yours.
Reads a community’s own words back through lenses that community chose. It’s a lens, not a verdict — which is exactly why we won’t leave it running unattended.
A word becomes living type, and a whole room edits the same piece at once. Twenty minutes of this opens up a class that wouldn’t talk. That’s the part we bring.
Tell us the room, the group, or the question you’re sitting with. We’ll open whichever of these fits and you’ll know quickly if it’s real. No deck.
Knowledge from our communities has been undervalued by default — by museums, by curricula, by the rooms where culture is decided. Whose voice counts as voice. Whose room counts as space. Whose story gets to be canon. We don’t want better metaphors for that. We want the rooms.
A planetarium showing the night sky from a Mississippi porch. A museum room holding a market in Puebla. A Berlin table opened back up for the next twenty years. Same tools, same dignity — not as exception, but as the work.
The lineage we read from runs from Ralph Ellison’s basement to the curriculum committees and back. Visibility on our own terms. Light we made for ourselves. From the streets to the ivory tower — both rooms are ours, neither is the only one.
We build forward. Gaussian-splat 360° capture. Object-based audio that knows the room it’s playing in. Immersive pieces designed for documentary, civic media, and education in the same breath. The pedagogy comes first; the tooling serves it.
The spatial web is being built right now — mostly without us.
Apple, Meta and Google are scanning every street to build their version of spatial reality. Our neighborhoods become the backdrop. Voices already extracted from us once flow out of our hands a second time.
So we built the tools we needed. Some of them are open to anyone right now — the worlds, the archive, the walk. The rest we open with people, because a tool handed over cold is a project that dies in month two. If you’re building for the same reason, come talk to us. The work is more interesting together.
Digital sovereignty, for us, is plain. Whose hand holds the microphone. Whose consent is on file when the piece ships. Whose neighborhood owns the archive after — not just sits inside it. If you’re building your own tools for the same reason — we want to know you. The work is more interesting together.
2026 is the twentieth year of the Table of Free Voices, and we’re setting it again. The work isn’t ours to finish — everyone who steps in adds what they carry. Send a voice note. Record a quick video. Or just write us. Same form, your medium. We hold what arrives. It all gathers at tableoffreevoices.org.
No spam. No marketing list. A real person reads it — usually within 48 hours.