Monasticism emerged from a deep impulse to withdraw—a radical pursuit of spirituality and transcendence. The word itself comes from the Greek μόνος (mónos), meaning “alone,” reflecting the ideal of the holy hermit who retreats from the world to dedicate life entirely to the divine. By the late 3rd century, in Egypt and Palestine, the first Christian monks began to follow this path, creating ways of life that would later give rise to a distinct architecture centered on seclusion.
In a former 16th-century church in Vicenza, two stories come together: that of Italian Renaissance sacred architecture and that of marble, the ancient material by excellence, reinterpreted here in a contemporary key. In this dialogue between eras, Lithos Design presents Quinte, a double-sided partition wall that transforms marble into a design tool: not just a surface, but a rhythmic and modular element that defines and enhances spaces. An idea designed for interior architects looking for solutions that are both functional and decorative, capable of shaping interiors with precision, elegance, and personality.
Comayagua is a city in central Honduras nestled in a valley with the same name. It holds a pivotal place in the nation's history, having served as its colonial and early republican capital for over 300 years. However, when the capital was relocated to Tegucigalpa in 1880, Comayagua's urban expansion halted, inadvertently preserving an ample and rich heritage. By the early 1990s, much of the city's architectural legacy was in a state of disrepair. Recognizing the urgent need to protect it, the governments of Honduras and Spain initiated a collaborative effort, with the objective of initiating a long-term restoration program to create a policy framework that would ensure the preservation of the city's historic center for years to come.
The capsule wardrobe concept, popularized in the 1970s by Susie Faux, proposes an exercise in synthesis: a compact set of versatile pieces, capable of combining in countless ways to suit different occasions. In visual culture, there are a few metaphors for this: in cartoons like Doug Funnie or Dexter's Laboratory, opening the closet revealed rows of identical clothes, ready to simplify life (and, in the case of animators, the work). In the real world, figures like Steve Jobs turned this logic into a method, adopting a daily uniform to eliminate the small but recurring decision of "what to wear?", freeing up time and energy for more important matters.
For others, however, this would be far from a burden. Choosing what to wear is a pleasurable moment, capable of setting the tone for the day and influencing one's mood. In this sense, the wardrobe is also an extension of identity, a space where practical and symbolic choices meet. Unsurprisingly, expressions like "coming out of the closet" or "skeleton in the closet" are deeply rooted in language, revealing the cultural dimension of this element of the home. In contemporary interior design, this notion has gained new layers: the wardrobe can define the character of a space, guide circulation, influence perception, and even shape the atmosphere of an environment.
The noise of overlapping conversations, the flashing lights of a billboard, hurried footsteps on the sidewalk, and the constant hammering of a nearby construction site: public spaces are sometimes experienced as environments where stimuli accumulate and often overwhelm us. Each person perceives and responds to these sensory inputs differently, and recognizing neurodiversity means understanding that some individuals require more time to adapt, slower-paced journeys, or more gradual interactions with their surroundings. These encounters raise fundamental questions about contemporary public space: how can it accommodate the diversity of ways people perceive and inhabit it? How can we envision it as a space that embraces all ways of experiencing it?
Working with the site instead of against it, the exhibition "Architecture is Cooperation," curated by Josep Ferrando, emphasizes the value of cooperation at the essence of architecture. Showcasing the work of professionals, organizations, and communities in cooperation projects driven from Spain, the installation takes shape through an exhibition design in earth and wood. The choice of these materials is understood not only from their aesthetic or symbolic qualities but also from their functionality and commitment to the principles of the circular economy. Until September 30, 2025, the exhibition will be on view at the Casa de la Arquitectura in Madrid, highlighting the necessary attention of architecture to the demands of the most vulnerable societies and communities by aligning the constructive language with the content of the exhibition.
As cities continue to develop, we are seeing ever more well-planned, thoroughly executed, and tightly regulated approaches to shaping urban centres and their surrounding spaces—for better and for worse. As codes, restrictions, and guidelines improve and tighten, urban environments become safer, more balanced, and less prone to surprise. Yet the flip side is that highly managed districts can drift toward over-order and sanitisation, shedding the messy, accretive character that once produced alleyways, residual spaces, and unexpected sequences of movement—conditions often born from ongoing community improvisation in the grey zones of regulation.
In response, a growing number of initiatives around the world are proposing short-term urban installations that test alternate futures for the city. These works aim to provoke dialogue between what the city is and what it could offer its communities through thoughtful, context-specific spatial practices. One notable example is Concéntrico, the international festival in Logroño, Spain, conceived as an urban innovation laboratory. Marking its tenth edition, the festival is about to publish Concéntrico: Urban Innovation Laboratory, a book that surveys a decade of urban design and collective transformation shaped through successive editions of the festival. Its launch is paired with an international tour designed to share a decade of insights on collective transformation and design.
Asking questions is the first step toward challenging what we take for granted and opening up new possibilities for planning and building. These questions, valuable in themselves, gain new strength when shared and examined through different perspectives. As they intersect with the experiences of professionals and brands, they weave together viewpoints that enrich the discussion. Design fairs and events around the world have become spaces where these conversations gain momentum, fostering connections and encouraging collaborative dynamics. In this landscape, Colombia has emerged as a hub, serving as a platform that promotes architecture and design across Latin America and the Caribbean while bringing the region's voice to the global stage.
In traditional Chinese medicine, acupuncture works through strategically placed needles that trigger healing throughout the entire body. Urban planner Jaime Lerner's concept around targeted architectural interventions find success in China as well as neighboring countries in Asia, where localities are revitalized through simple interventions. Libraries, specifically, are bringing in social, cultural, and economic transformation to the continent.
Lina Bo Bardi / Preliminary Study – Practicable Sculptures for the Belvedere at Museu Arte Trianon, 1968. Credit line: Doação Instituto Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi, 2006. Cortesia de MASP.
Aldo van Eyck and Lina Bo Bardi were two subversive figures. Their visions of collectivity and playfulness—though applied to very different kinds of structures—shared a common ground: an idea of architecture that goes beyond design. For both, architecture was a living space, animated by appropriation, movement, and exchange. From Dutch playgrounds to thw São Paulo Museum of Art, their ideals intertwined, reinforcing the notion of an architecture where anyone could become a child again.
In the pursuit of connecting with the architectural traditions of cities and integrating their natural environments into design projects, the contemporary reinterpretation of colonial homes in Mexico faces the challenge of enhancing the contrast between the old and the new. Through the conservation of historical elements, the reuse of materials, and the fusion with contemporary design, the architecture of Mérida recognizes in its original colonial configuration new opportunities to create spaces in line with today’s demands. From achieving a direct connection with nature to naturally lighting and ventilating interior spaces, numerous ancient constructions, whether in ruins or not, choose to highlight their architecture by giving them a new life.
Behind facades lie vibrant lives, where the exterior melds with the interior, transforming neglected urban spaces into captivating residences. In cities around the world, architects, engineers and designers face the challenge of integrating new buildings into existing urban landscapes with limited space. Many architects are now embracing this concept, expanding their designs beyond conventional boundaries and transforming small city lots into layered and interconnected living spaces.
Architects and designers around the world are pushing the boundaries of modern design, and Corian® Solid Surface is being bent, curved, and twisted to help them realize their boldest visions.
In hospitality spaces, for example, every surface has the potential to shape a guest's experience from the first invitational moment. Visionary designers are using their talents to convey the story of a place, the emotion of an aesthetic, and the essence of a brand. With the right material, we can profoundly influence how a space feels and functions for guests, using everything from sleek, welcoming reception counters to soothing spa-like shower escapes to soaring backlit sculptural panels as our canvas.
As cities and communities adapt to new cultural, environmental, and social realities, architecture is taking on an expanded role in shaping spaces of resilience, gathering, and imagination. This edition of Architecture Now highlights six recent projects that span continents and typologies, from the redevelopment of post-industrial landscapes to sacred architecture, cultural pavilions, and civic hubs. Whether through mass timber innovation in Vancouver and Jülich, adaptive reuse in Ostrava, a children's pavilion in London, a spiritual centre in India, or a parametric church in Kyiv, each project demonstrates how design can bridge heritage and innovation while fostering connection, care, and community.
Architecture has always been more than bricks and mortar. It is equally constructed through words, ideas, and narratives. From ancient treatises to radical manifestos, from technical manuals to poetic essays, the written word has served as a spatial, pedagogical, and political tool within the field. Writing shapes how architecture is conceptualized, communicated, and critiqued — often long before, or even in the absence of, physical construction.
Historically, figures such as Vitruvius, Alberti, and Palladio employed writing to codify principles, project ideals, and legitimize architecture as a discipline. In the modern era, Le Corbusier, Adolf Loos, and Lina Bo Bardi wrote prolifically to expand the scope of architecture beyond form and function, often using publications as tools for persuasion and experimentation. The postwar period gave rise to new editorial strategies, as evident in the manifestos of Archizoom and Superstudio, and the polemical publications of Delirious New York and Oppositions, where writing served as both critique and project.
Does architecture alone define how we inhabit a space? It's becoming increasingly clear that it does not. The objects within a space—particularly furniture and other design pieces—not only serve functional purposes but actively shape the spatial and human experience. As schools, homes, and offices evolve to accommodate new ways of working, living, and socializing, furniture accompanies these transitions, prompting conversations that extend beyond functionality and engage the corporeal dimension implied in its use.
Several decades ago, British architects Alison and Peter Smithson were already exploring the relationship between the body, everyday experience, and space at an architectural scale. Since then, contemporary concepts of flexibility and comfort have expanded this framework to include other scales, such as furniture. These transformations have fostered the consolidation of modular seating systems whose flexibility and adaptability respond to diverse ways of living and relating to space. Emerging from this context are forward-thinking proposals, such as Beau's comprehensive range of seating and table units—an expansive modular seating system designed for multiple possibilities, with a significant emphasis on comfort and sensory appeal.
https://www.archdaily.com/1031877/an-expansive-modular-sofa-system-reimagining-comfort-beyond-sitting-onEnrique Tovar
In historic Stone Town, the main city in Zanzibar, Tanzania, the story of one cinema building and its imminent restoration is reflective of the city's history and the narrative of cinemas generally. The early twentieth century saw the advent of cinema construction, peaking in mid-century, before declining against competition with multiplexes and home television. While many were demolished or irreparably altered, many also lay abandoned, like time capsules for a bygone era. They are a snapshot of the architecture styles and methods of their time, acting as a reminder of their role in their communities. Restoring and adapting a cinema like the Majestic is a recognition of its heritage and community value.
Architects today work across many worlds: from designing furniture, landscapes, and urban blocks to creating film sets, photographs, and videos. They restore and retrofit old buildings rather than build anew, while also writing, researching, and publishing. Some design virtual spaces for video games or speculate on habitats in outer space and underwater. Others engage directly with society through politics, activism, or community projects. Many experiment with biology, test new materials, and step into the role of scientist. Architects are decolonizing old narratives and decarbonizing the construction industry, and by weaving together personal passions with pressing social and environmental challenges, they are pushing the limits of the profession and expanding its scope.
With so many changes in the profession, especially in recent years, one may ask: How is the role of the architect evolving in response to global crises and shifting societal needs? In what ways can interdisciplinarity expand the scope and impact of architectural practice? And what skills beyond traditional design are becoming essential for architects in today's world?
Italy's rich history, evident in its monuments and cities, has created a unique context for architectural renovation. Italian architects often embrace this heritage by engaging in a dialogue between old and new, rather than aiming for a complete transformation. This approach intentionally avoids an imitative style, instead using contemporary materials like steel, glass, and new wood to frame and highlight the existing historic stone and brickwork. This juxtaposition turns the original materials from simple structural elements into featured decorative and narrative ones. The result is a layered experience where the history of the space remains visible, ensuring it is preserved rather than erased by the renovation.
In architecture, the effect of color is rarely neutral. It has the power to calm or energize, to expand or compress space, to unify or divide. Far from solely being a decorative layer, color is a tool that architects, interior designers, and designers use to structure atmosphere and perception. Alongside light, material, and proportion, it is one of the most precise instruments available for guiding spatial experience. When treated deliberately, it becomes a system — one that allows designers to articulate relationships between spaces, establish moods, and create continuity across various scales.
Color is not limited to paint. Surfaces, materials, finishes, and technical elements all carry chromatic weight. Yet in practice, color often remains uneven across the finest details — switches, sockets, intercoms — frequently appearing as neutral interruptions. This gap highlights a broader question: if color is to be considered a true architectural tool, should it not extend to every detail, no matter how small? Addressing this, German manufacturer JUNG has extended Le Corbusier's Polychromie Architecturale to electrical installations, allowing essential building components to speak the same language as the surrounding architecture.
Surfing is, without a doubt, one of the most visually striking and fascinating sports. A fluid choreography that combines strength and delicacy, like a dance on the waves, gathers enthusiasts across the world's oceans. Yet, behind this image of freedom and connection with nature, the sport also carries contradictions. It is a symbol of outdoor life and respect for the ocean, but on the other hand, it is marked by territorial disputes over waves and by an environmental footprint that rarely receives the same attention given to its aesthetics. In times of climate crisis, this paradox becomes even more evident. Surfing depends directly on the health of marine ecosystems, the very ones most affected by pollution and global warming. This tension has been pushing a new generation of shapers, architects, and material designers to seek alternatives, from plant-based and recycled foams to the reuse of industrial waste, in order to reconnect the sport with its ecological dimension.
Work and learning environments have undergone profound transformations in recent decades. In offices, cubicles and compartmentalized rooms have given way to open, collaborative layouts. In schools and universities, traditional classrooms with rigid layouts, blackboards, and rows of desks have been replaced by more dynamic, flexible, and interactive spaces. In both contexts, the goal was to encourage integration, creativity, and constant exchange. But this openness has also introduced new challenges: increased distractions, sensory overload, and the difficulty of finding moments of focus or introspection. The more we remove barriers in favor of fluidity and collaboration, the more essential it becomes to provide moments of quiet, intimacy, and sensory balance for those who need to self-regulate. The challenge is both spatial and psychological, raising a fundamental question for architecture: how can we support connection and withdrawal, activity and silence, at the same time?
Amid the traffic-clogged arteries of Los Angeles, where cars have long ruled the streets, the future of urban mobility is being questioned. The reorientation focuses not on simply removing cars or introducing new technology, but on envisioning the city as an integrated system in which people, places, and vehicles coexist in balance. Automobiles are no longer the unquestioned centerpiece of urban life; instead, they are treated as one component of a broader, multimodal transportation network. Design now seeks to prioritize human needs and experiences over vehicular dominance.
