Sunset panorama of a large residential gated community (Aparna’s Elixir) viewed from Khajaguda hills, India. Photo by iMahesh. License Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
You learn how to behave long before you arrive home. At the gate, you slow down and wait. You are watched, then waved through. A badge is checked, a barrier lifts, a camera blinks. Nothing dramatic happens, and that is precisely the point. The most consequential work of gated communities is not done by their walls, but by the choreography of entry that quietly teaches residents what to expect, whom to trust, and where they belong.
Lu Wenyu—co-founder of Amateur Architecture Studio with Pritzker laureate Wang Shu—has shaped many of the practice's most emblematic works across China, including the Ningbo History Museum and the Xiangshan Campus of the China Academy of Art in Hangzhou. Often working outside the spotlight, her leadership is unmistakable in the discipline of execution and the roles she has assumed: in 2003, together with Wang Shu, she established the Architecture Department at the China Academy of Art, where she also serves as Director of the Sustainable Construction Center. Her practice and teaching form a reciprocal loop: research conducted in studios at the China Academy of Art continually folds back into construction strategies on site, while lessons learned in the field return to the classroom as material intelligence rather than abstract theory.
Founded by Oliver Thomas, the ATN Summit is the first flagship conference of the Archi-Tech Network, marking five years since the platform began as a grassroots initiative to share real-world architectural knowledge. Taking place on March 18–19, 2026, in London, the ATN Summit brings together architects, technologists, and industry innovators to explore how emerging technologies are reshaping architectural practice. Designed as a high-production, ideas-driven event, the Summit reflects ATN's evolution from an informal online conversation into a global platform actively engaging with the future of the built environment.
The magic of Indian architecture lies in an invisible order amidst visceral chaos. When an uncertain future knocks on the doors of local practitioners, one might begin to look within the four walls they occupy to discover an opportunity for reinterpretation.
Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru, and other major metropolises are described as needing massive housing solutions for millions. The instinctive answer is predictable — masterplans, dense towers, and standardized units smeared over haphazard developments. The lexicon misses a deeper truth about how the people already live, work, and build in India. The shorthand used in policy and planning — slum, informal settlement, unauthorized colony — implies a temporary state to be corrected. A designer's eye views these places as layered urban histories, formed through necessity.
Once a Najdi settlement defined by mudbrick walls and courtyard houses, Riyadh has undergone one of the most radical urban transformations of the 20th and 21st centuries. The discovery of oil reserves, the consolidation of political power, and the rapid expansion of infrastructure reshaped the city from a regional capital into a sprawling metropolis almost within a single generation. As a result, Riyadh's urban fabric is marked by discontinuities, fragments of vernacular architecture coexist with mid-century institutional modernism, and a rapidly evolving contemporary skyline.
In recent decades, this layered condition has been further intensified by large-scale development strategies and cultural investment programs that position architecture as a tool for redefining national identity. International practices have played a decisive role in shaping key institutions, infrastructures, and landmarks, while local studios increasingly contribute projects that reinterpret climate, materiality, and social space within a contemporary framework.
Historic center renewal has become a recurring strategy in Central American cities seeking to reassert the symbolic, economic, and functional relevance of their traditional cores. These processes often combine physical rehabilitation, institutional investment, and stricter control over public space. San Salvador offers a recent and instructive case, which allows for understanding of how interventions in inherited civic spaces balance infrastructure improvement with heritage conservation and social regulation. It also enables the assessment of how these choices resonate within broader debates on urban transformation in the region.
By shifting rotation away from traditional hinges and distributing weight vertically, pivot doors were developed to address a specific architectural challenge: how to move large, heavy door panels with precision, durability, and minimal visual interference. These systems allow doors to grow significantly in scale, weight, and material ambition, often blurring the line between door, wall, and architectural surface. Over time, this technical innovation has expanded the role of doors in architecture, allowing them to operate not only as points of access, but also as spatial thresholds, compositional devices, and expressive elements within the building envelope.
Highlighting this evolution, FritsJurgens established the Best Pivot Door Contest to showcase projects where engineering precision and architectural intent converge. Founded in the Netherlands, the company is internationally recognized for its concealed pivot systems capable of supporting exceptionally large and heavy doors. These systems give architects greater freedom in scale and materiality while maintaining precision, reliability, and architectural clarity.
In the translation of three-dimensional reality onto a two-dimensional plane, axonometry stands as one of the graphic systems of representation that form the foundation of the language used by architecture and design professionals. Alongside plans, sections, and elevations, its exploded views often stand out for their ability to study the multiple layers that compose a project. Although axonometry is also employed in other disciplines such as engineering and urban planning, it consistently proves its capacity to function as more than a mere representational tool, strengthening the understanding not only of a project's construction processes, materials, and structural systems but also expanding the communication of the ideas and design processes that shape a project.
How did a material conceived for bridges, factories, and large-scale structures make its way to the living room bench, the apartment bookshelf, the café table? For centuries, metal was associated with labor, machinery, and monumentality—from the exposed structures of 19th-century World’s Fairs to the productive logic of modern industry. Its presence in domestic interiors is not self-evident but rather a cultural achievement: the transformation of an industrial material into an element of everyday, intimate use, in close proximity to the body.
Leisure spaces are often where different generations cross paths. Without formal programs or assigned roles, they allow people to move, pause, and remain together, each engaging space in their own way. In a built environment increasingly shaped by specialization and separation, these shared spatial grounds have become less common, giving leisure-oriented architecture a renewed relevance.
Discussions around public space have repeatedly pointed to the value of openness and flexibility in supporting collective life. As architect Herman Hertzberger has noted, "the more a space can be interpreted in different ways, the more people it can accommodate." Rather than attempting to create interaction, architecture shapes the conditions that make togetherness possible.
Across cities worldwide, architecture unfolds continuously at the scale of people and community—not only through new buildings, renovations, or monumental works. "Third spaces" are especially revealing. Consider the street-side culinary realm: how seating, serving, and lingering occupy the edge of the street often discloses a city's cultural codes and spatial habits. What forms of dining and inhabitation have emerged in response to local climate, regulation, and social custom—and how have they evolved over time?
In parts of Europe, for instance, al fresco in Italy and en terrasse in France name culturally specific ways of dining in public, drawing the meal into the urban field—attuned to weather, air, and the passive sociability of people-watching. Since COVID-19, New York City has similarly expanded outdoor dining, reflecting a community-driven desire to engage the streetscape while eating—an everyday, street-level "third place" within a dense metropolis.
Beneath the visible surface of cities lies an invisible architecture. Subways, tunnels, water systems, data cables, and bunkers form a dense network that sustains urban life while remaining largely unseen. The ground beneath our feet is not a void but a complex territory that holds the infrastructures, memories, and anxieties of our age. In recent years, as land becomes scarce and climate pressures intensify, architects and urbanists have turned their gaze downward, rediscovering the subterranean as both a physical and conceptual frontier. To design underground is to engage with the unseen mechanisms that shape the world above.
The subterranean has long been a site where architecture intersects with politics, technology, and belief. From the catacombs of Rome to the industrial subways of modernity, descent has symbolized both protection and exposure. Twentieth-century urbanism transformed this gesture into a system: metros, shelters, and utilities redefined the city section as an instrument of governance. Beneath the promise of efficiency and progress, the underground absorbed the anxieties of an era of war, surveillance, and collapse. Its evolution reveals not only how societies build, but also how they fear.
Today, the ground has become the new frontier of urban expansion and ecological adaptation. As digital infrastructures, energy systems, and climatic buffers migrate below grade, architecture confronts a space both technical and metaphysical — essential yet marginal, invisible yet decisive. To think in sections rather than in plan is to recognise that contemporary cities no longer exist solely in their skylines but also in their depths. The challenge for architecture is not only to occupy that space, but to render it legible, to turn the unseen into knowledge, and the hidden into a new terrain of design.
Building Frame of the House. Image Courtesy of IGArchitects
Founded in 2020 by Masato Igarashi, IGArchitects is an architectural practice based in Tokyo and Saitama, Japan. The studio, one of the winners of the ArchDaily 2025 Next Practices Awards, explores enduring architecture through a careful yet assertive treatment of structure, scale, and materiality. Prior to establishing his own practice, Igarashi worked at the large-scale firm Shimizu Sekkei as well as the Suppose Design Office, gaining experience across projects ranging from major developments to smaller, concept-driven works. This breadth of experience continues to inform IGArchitects' current focus on residential and commercial architecture across Japan.
Bazaar in Hyderabad, India. Photo by Kanishq Kancharla on Unsplash
Architecture is most often represented as a stable object: a building captured at a moment of visual clarity, isolated from surrounding contingencies. Plans, sections, and photographs promise legibility by suspending time. Yet many of the world's most enduring public environments resist this mode of representation altogether. They are not designed to be read instantaneously, nor do they reveal their logic through form alone. Their spatial intelligence emerges gradually, through repetition, occupation, and duration.
The bazaar belongs firmly within this category. It cannot be understood through a single drawing or a finished elevation. Its organization is not fixed but rehearsed. What sustains it is not purely architectural composition, but shared timing, collective memory, and long-standing patterns of use. Togetherness in the bazaar does not arise from formal design decisions; it is produced through repeated encounters, negotiated proximities, and social familiarity accumulated over time.
Breakfast nooks emerged in the early twentieth century in response to increasing domestic density and shifting ideas about everyday life. Rooted in the American Arts and Crafts movement and popularized through bungalow housing of the 1910s and 1920s, they evolved from the more formal Victorian breakfast room into compact, built-in spaces embedded within the kitchen. As houses grew smaller and more economical, architects and millwork companies used fixed benches and tables to occupy corners, alcoves, and bay windows that might otherwise be inefficient. These light-filled enclosures provided an affordable means of concentrating daily activities while preserving comfort and spatial clarity.
The pursuit of stronger, lighter, and more durable materials has guided architecture long before polymers or carbon fibers existed. One of the earliest large-scale examples of composite materials can be found in the Great Wall of China, where stone, clay bricks, and organic fibers such as reeds and willow branches were blended to create a resilient and lasting structure. These early techniques reveal a timeless intuition: distinct materials, when combined thoughtfully, produce properties unattainable by any single element. As the construction sector faces urgent ecological pressures, this intuition is being revisited through the lens of sustainability, with architects and engineers exploring bio-based, recycled, and hybrid composites designed not only for performance but also for circularity and environmental responsibility.
The architectural history of North American cities in the 20th century is often characterized by the pursuit of urban renewal. In the United States, Boston, Portland, and San Francisco are just some examples of when municipal governments prioritized high-speed vehicular infrastructure over the existing urban fabric. In Canada, Montreal would have followed this trajectory if not for the intervention of several figures throughout its history, most notably Blanche Lemco van Ginkel (1923–2022). A Harvard-trained planner and architect who, along with her husband Sandy Van Ginkel, advocated for the preservation of urban heritage while applying the principles of modernist infrastructure.
Having explored adaptability at the city scale, we are now zooming in on the building itself—and, crucially, on practice. How can architects, developers, and consultants embed adaptability as a measurable, mainstream outcome? This question will be on the agenda at the Adaptable Building Conference (ABC) on January 22 at the Nieuwe Instituut in Rotterdam, where architects, engineers, policymakers, and industry leaders will explore the potential of adaptable buildings—and how to deliver them at scale.
Reflecting on the modern city, Walter Benjamin described the flâneur, a figure who walks without a defined destination, attentive to details, chance encounters, and the narratives that emerge from urban space. This way of being in the city, shaped by observation and openness to the unexpected, has long been in tension with the rationalist and functionalist ideals that came to guide urban planning throughout the twentieth century. Streets designed primarily for efficiency and flow rarely leave room for detours, pauses, or the coexistence of different rhythms of life.
Jane Jacobs was also one of the voices that challenged this predominantly rationalist logic, arguing that truly vibrant streets are those capable of sustaining the diversity of everyday life, its informal exchanges, and the forms of care and natural surveillance that emerge from them. What these authors share is a fundamental insight: streets are not merely infrastructures for circulation, but social ecosystems, shaped by the relationships, uses, and encounters that take place within them.
In a balance of aesthetics, performance, and versatility, HIMACS shows a solid surface material of choice for many architects and designers. Taking a further step forward, the entire range of standard HIMACS sinks and basins is now officially SCS certified, containing a minimum of 8% pre-consumer recycled content. This certification enhances the material's technical and visual appeal by providing a more sustainable option without compromising quality or functionality.
From bathroom vanities with integrated basins to kitchen islands with flush-mounted sinks, HIMACS shapes offer a seamless balance of style and function. Each component integrates effortlessly with the surrounding HIMACS surface, creating a continuous, grout-free finish that is both elegant and easy to maintain.
Cultural institutions represent an active field for unbuilt architectural exploration, reflecting how architects continue to question the role of public buildings in shaping urban life. In this Unbuilt edition, submitted by the ArchDaily community, the selected proposals bring together a range of projects that engage with museums, exhibition centers, and diplomatic buildings as sites of public encounter. Rather than treating these programs as fixed types, these projects approach them as evolving spatial settings through which cities engage with history, knowledge, and representation.
Across varied geographies, from Wenzhou and Helsinki to Belgrade, Debrecen, Mexico City, and Nürnberg, the proposals explore different responses to contemporary cultural architecture. They range from adaptive reuse of industrial and ideological structures to new buildings embedded in waterfronts, parks, and residential neighborhoods. While some emphasize continuity with historical contexts, others experiment with lighter structures, environmental strategies, or new relationships between interior programs and the public realm. Together, they offer a snapshot of how cultural institutions are being reimagined in diverse urban conditions.
Throughout history, fish markets have played a singular role in mediating the relationship between city and sea. From the port agoras of antiquity, through medieval markets established along docks and estuaries, to the large covered structures of the 19th century, these spaces have been instrumental in shaping coastal cities. More than simple infrastructures for food supply, fish markets express cultural practices and modes of occupation rooted in proximity to water, consolidating themselves as intense and highly social public spaces. Within them, architecture, landscape, and social dynamics intertwine directly, revealing how the built environment can translate maritime traditions and reinforce the identity of coastal and port communities.
The potential of existing buildings to shape cities and communities in flux through reuse and adaptation is the key focus of HouseEurope! and their activism: addressing the pressing challenge across much of Europe, where it is often easier, cheaper, and faster to demolish buildings than to renovate. For decades, construction policies, industrial practices, and market systems have favored new development, often undervaluing the cultural, social, and environmental significance of existing structures. For their work advocating systemic change in architecture, HouseEurope! received the 2025 OBEL Award under the theme "Ready Made." In a conversation with ArchDaily, collective members of HouseEurope! Alina Kolar and Olaf Grawert discussed the organization's approach to architecture, policy, and collective action.
In recent years, food has taken on a renewed role within architecture, not simply as a program or typology, but as a shared spatial practice. Beyond restaurants or dining design, communal eating spaces are increasingly understood as environments where presence, ritual, and time intersect, allowing people to gather, stay, and coexist. In these settings, eating does not just happen within space; it actively shapes it, temporarily transforming ordinary, borrowed, or improvised environments into places of exchange.
This shift is visible across a wide range of built projects, installations, and community spaces that use shared meals as a way of bringing people together. Initiatives such as Fondo Supper Club frame dining as a social platform, using food to connect artists, designers, and local communities through conversation and collaboration. Similarly, sit.feast, presented during Milan Design Week 2024, approached the table as a spatial installation, one where sitting and eating together became the primary means of collectively producing space.