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Architects: Studio Font
- Area: 250 m²
- Year: 2025




In many homes, the entry is treated as leftover space or a narrow strip transition before the living room begins. Yet in dense Asia-Pacific interiors, sometimes despite the small sizes, the entrance often performs far more work than its size suggests. It is the threshold that dictates the transition: street is filtered, body adjusts, shoes are removed, guests are received, privacy is negotiated, and domestic order begins. Before the living room became recognizable as interior, the entry sequence and space had already staged the first act of inhabitation.
The Japanese genkan is perhaps the most familiar version of this condition, but the logic extends far beyond Japan. Across apartments, terrace houses, public housing units, and compact urban homes, the entry threshold becomes a small but charged architectural device. It manages hygiene as well as spatial sequencing through various deliberate architectural elements. It can be a recessed floor, a thickened wall, a compressed corridor, a screen, or a small foyer between public circulation and private life. Its importance lies not in its size, but in the number of transitions it holds.

What defines the quality of a bathroom beyond its basic functions? As one of the most private spaces within the home, the bathroom is closely connected to everyday rituals and moments of pause. While fixtures, circulation, and technical requirements establish the practical foundation, the atmosphere emerges through a combination of spatial decisions: how furniture meets the floor or deliberately avoids it, how materials interact with light, how storage is integrated, and how form and proportion shape perception.

This week in architecture, discussions around the lifespan of buildings, the evolution of cultural institutions, and climate-responsive design highlighted how contemporary practice increasingly extends beyond the moment of construction. From debates over demolition and adaptive reuse to new museums that integrate landscape and environmental performance, the week's developments reflect shifting priorities around permanence, transformation, and public value. Alongside these projects, major institutional announcements, from the RIBA Stirling Prize shortlist to the election of a new UIA leadership, offer insight into the architectural agendas shaping the profession across different scales and geographies.


Since August 2025, debate has intensified in Dallas, United States, over the future of one of its modern landmarks: I.M. Pei & Partners' Dallas City Hall. As of today, the Dallas City Council will continue weighing whether to repair, sell, or demolish the 47-year-old building, following growing concerns over long-deferred maintenance and the need for major investment. In late October 2025, council members began public listening sessions and committee meetings to gather resident input. Preservationists and some council members urged a full study of repair options and historic landmarking, while others emphasized fiscal and operational concerns. Since then, the Dallas City Council has been looking for a new building to relocate to, without formally deciding on the demolition.
Supporters of preservation stress the building's civic and architectural significance, while those advocating for demolition point to high maintenance costs and the redevelopment potential of the centrally located site. A petition to "Save Dallas City Hall," calling on council members to halt demolition plans and commission a transparent renovation study, remains open for signatures. Meanwhile, the mayor has said he wants to review all the facts before taking a position on whether the city should relocate or invest in repairs. On the occasion of the 250th anniversary of the United States' Declaration of Independence, the World Monuments Fund included the building on the "Irreplaceable America" list, spotlighting urgent preservation needs. The case adds to the growing list of modernist icons worldwide facing uncertain futures, sparking broader cultural debates about civic heritage and public infrastructure.

Antarctica has no government, no permanent population, and no economy. It also, since 1959, has had no legally recognized owner as the Antarctic Treaty freezes every territorial claim on the continent. On paper, this makes Antarctica the closest thing on Earth to a true commons. In practice, close to thirty countries currently operate more than seventy research stations there, several of them within a short flight of one another, and one of those stations has a school, a chapel, a cemetery, and a civil registry office that has recorded eleven births since 1978.
None of that architecture is accidental, and very little of it is explained by science alone. A research station costs millions of dollars to build and supply in one of the most logistically hostile places on the planet; a country does not commit to that expense purely to measure atmospheric ozone it could, in several cases, measure somewhere closer. What a station does, reliably, is stake a claim to a territory that legally forbids exactly that.




