Heritage preservation and economic viability have long been treated as competing priorities in urban development. Architects typically face a stark choice - to design for community continuity or design for financial returns. Contemporary projects in Mumbai render this binary false. Through strategic programming, material choices, and spatial organization, architects enable buildings to generate sustainable revenue while strengthening, rather than displacing, existing communities.
Mongolia, the world's second-largest landlocked country, spans 1.5 million square kilometers. Yet, over 50% of its population—approximately 1.7 million people—reside in Ulaanbaatar, a city that occupies just 0.3% of the nation's total land area. This disproportionate population concentration has led to significant regional development imbalances and mounting urban challenges in the capital.
In response to these issues, Ulaanbaatar has undergone a series of comprehensive urban development initiatives. Since the first master plan was introduced in 1954, six such plans have been created. The latest, the Ulaanbaatar 2040 Master Plan, includes a strategic vision to decentralize urban growth through the development of two new satellite cities—one of which is the Hunnu City project.
Red clay roof tiles appear in many architectural traditions around the world, despite the cultures being geographically or historically distant. However, this isn't necessarily surprising. Clay is an abundant and accessible building material worldwide, with some studies and other sources suggesting it comprises approximately 10-13% of the Earth's soils. Red tiles, in particular, are often a product of the local soil's mineral content and the firing process. Their widespread use across unrelated regions is less about shared cultural influence and more about material logic: clay is cheap, durable, and easy to work with using simple tools and techniques. In Vietnam, for example, there is a unique and visible tradition of clay tile use that dates back centuries. Regions like Vinh Long, nicknamed the "kingdom of red ceramics", have an abundance of this material, supporting a long history of tile-making. In some parts of Vietnam, these tiles are known as Yin-Yang tiles, due to the concave and convex shape in which they are formed during production.
While Hong Kong is widely celebrated for its iconic harbor view, glittering skyline, and fast-paced urban lifestyle, its origins tell a different story—one deeply rooted in its relationship with water. Before transforming into a dense, vertical metropolis, Hong Kong's architectural identity was closely tied to its maritime context. Today, the city is often associated with slender, glass-clad towers that symbolize modernity. While visually striking in their pursuit of height and form, many of these buildings appear disconnected from their immediate environment, often overlooking natural site conditions, ecological responsiveness, and contextual sensitivity.
Historically, however, this was not the case. Hong Kong's earliest built environments—rural fishing villages in areas like Tai O, Aberdeen, and Shau Kei Wan—emerged through organic, community-driven spatial practices that engaged closely with their surroundings. These coastal and riverside settlements developed architectural systems tailored to the marine environment and to the rhythms of fishing life. Villages were sited around water, and construction strategies were adapted to fluctuating tides, terrain, and social use.
Facing an interconnected planetary climate crisis, biodiversity loss, and resource depletion, regenerative design emerges as a pathway toward building resilient and ecologically attuned rural futures. At the intersection of architecture, agriculture, and local ecosystems, new models of resilient, self-sufficient agricultural practices are emerging. These projects are not grand industrial systems but small-scale, precise, and deeply contextual architectural interventions that create spaces that foster sustainable cultivation while respecting environmental rhythms, local materials, and community knowledge.
As cities around the world respond to shifting environmental, cultural, and social dynamics, new architectural proposals are reshaping how we think about public life, community engagement, and the built environment. From Aldar's coastal wellness destination on Fahid Island in Abu Dhabi, to a flexible scaffolding-based office concept in Athens by Georges Batzios Architects, this edition of Architecture Now features diverse projects that reinterpret architecture as both infrastructure and interface. In Seoul, Heatherwick Studio is leading a resident-initiated redevelopment model for a housing complex near the Han River, while Toronto's College Park is set for a major transformation balancing heritage restoration with vertical intensification. In Oklahoma City, MANICA and TVS are designing a new sports arena that anchors an emerging entertainment district through material, landscape, and civic gestures. Together, these diverse yet interconnected efforts signal a broader shift toward integrated, future-oriented urban design.
The 2025 edition of the European Cultural Centre's (ECC) Time Space Existence exhibition in Venice is guided by the mandate to "Repair, Regenerate, and Reuse." Aiming to move beyond surface-level solutions and overused terminology, the exhibition showcases a cohort of practitioners who interpret architecture as an active agent of repair. The most compelling works presented in Venice demonstrate that "repair" is a multifaceted practice, operating across material, social, and historical registers. The varied approaches showcase a shift in the role of the architect, from a master builder and designer of physical objects, to that of a mender, able to combine technology, community, and material intelligence to restore narratives and build stronger cultural systems.
Humanity rarely embraces major transformations right away, often held back by fear, skepticism, or attachment to what already works. Gutenberg's press raised fears of misinformation; urban electrification drew warnings from doctors; and office computerization sparked concerns over the devaluation of human experience. Such ruptures often provoke resistance, but they tend to open space for critical reflection and innovation.
Today, with the rise of artificial intelligence and the rapid succession of technological innovations, we are living through another of these inflection points. The debate is broad, inevitable, and, as always, necessary. At the TRUE Conference 2025, hosted by Midea Building Technologies (MBT), this discussion takes on practical and strategic dimensions by linking digital advancements with tangible goals for sustainability, efficiency, and quality of life.
At a time of ecological collapse and rising food insecurity, architecture is increasingly called upon to engage not only with landscapes but with the systems that sustain and regenerate them. Among these systems, agriculture occupies a paradoxical role, as both a leading contributor to environmental degradation and a potential agent of ecological recovery. Industrial farming has depleted soils, fragmented habitats, and driven climate change through monocultures, fossil-fuel dependency, and territorial standardization. In response, agroecology has emerged as a counter-practice rooted in biodiversity, local knowledge, and the cyclical rhythms of nature. It reframes farming not as extraction, but as regeneration of ecosystems, communities, and the soil itself.
This reframing opens space for architecture to contribute meaningfully. To align with agroecology is not only to support food production, but to engage with the broader cultural, spatial, and ecological conditions that sustain it. It implies designing with seasonal variation, supporting shared use, and building in ways that respect both the land and those who work it. Architecture becomes more than enclosure — it becomes a mediator of cultivation, reciprocity, and coexistence.
The Benedictine Monastery of San Nicolò l’Arena in Catania, Sicily, holds within its stones the echoes of five centuries, shaped by time, varied uses, violent earthquakes, and the blazing force of Mount Etna. Its walls, silent witnesses to history, were molded both by the fire of nature and by human hands. Yet among all the transformations it underwent, none was as profound or poetic as the one led by Italian architect Giancarlo De Carlo, starting in 1980. After 30 years of dedicated work, time required to truly understand such a complex and awe-inspiring site, the former monastic residence was reborn as a university, not by force, but through revelation.
The new Arden Station in Melbourne goes beyond its functional role as a transportation hub. Opened as a key component of the Metro Tunnel project, the station expands the city's rail infrastructure by relieving pressure on other lines and improving service frequency and, at the same time, establishes itself as a defining element in the urban transformation of Melbourne's northern precincts. Located on a former industrial site undergoing revitalization, it anchors the future development of a new district projected to accommodate up to 34,000 residents and 15,000 jobs in the coming decades.
As climate uncertainty and ecosystem changes reshape design priorities, architecture plays an increasingly active role in these discussions, rather than merely observing. Within this perspective, the idea of making a "re" encourages a conscious step back to rethink, reconnect, and realign the relationship between buildings and their environments. This approach, central to regenerative architecture, extends beyond specific technologies or scales, encompassing everything from master plans that aim to re-naturalize cities to national pavilions that combine art and science.
What is the way forward? On the one hand, many current discussions emphasize technology; on the other, there are approaches that, rather than being in opposition, complement one another and broaden the range of possibilities, drawing on tradition, ancestral knowledge, and a profound understanding of the environment. Among these perspectives, the work of Rudolf Steiner and the anthroposophical movement, developed in the early 20th century, offers a vision and insights that connect architecture with ecological rhythms, materials, and community life.
The circular economy, including the reuse of building materials, is fast becoming a key component in the fight against carbon emissions. This involves designing to minimize waste and utilize materials that can be reused at the end of the building's life. On the opposing side, the reuse of materials from partially or wholly demolished buildings can also reduce waste and carbon emissions that would have resulted from using virgin materials. Sustainability purposes aside, the reuse of building materials has a centuries-old history, both for symbolic reasons and simply out of necessity.
The concrete canyon of Melbourne's Degraves Street was once a stark service corridor in functional obscurity. Today, the narrow laneway now pulses with life beyond its famous café. Native grasses cascade from carefully positioned planters while small shrubs create cooling microclimates. Challenging traditional ecological design models, community-led approaches to biodiversity invite a reimagining of how architects, planners, and communities collaborate to develop biodiverse urban futures.
The theorist André Corboz, known for his contributions to the critical reading of territory, proposes that the cities should be understood as a palimpsest. That is, a surface continuously rewritten, where traces of previous layers remain visible even after successive interventions. For him, the city is not a static entity, but an organism in constant transformation, where historical, functional, and symbolic layers overlap. This is why working on restoration or rehabilitation projects for historical buildings is particularly complex, requiring careful thought about the approach to be taken: should extensions and renovations seek complete coherence with the original language, or assert themselves as architectural expressions of their own time?
Vernacular architecture often utilizes locally sourced materials and construction practices honed over centuries. This approach raises questions about its potential relevance for contemporary design challenges. The prevalence of high-rise developments globally, often relying on sealed envelopes and mechanical climate control, contrasts with historical architectural practices. Traditionally, regional architectures emerged from local communities, fostering distinct cultural identities and integrating passive systems for ventilation, cooling, and heating, often utilizing natural elements. The Hanok, traditional Korean houses, serve as a case study. Beyond their current role in tourism, they are also an example of how vernacular knowledge can provide passive climate-response strategies that align with the current principles of creating environmentally friendly buildings.
Offering a path toward resilience and food security in the alluvial plains of Lake Titicaca, the Waru Waru agricultural fields are spread across the Peruvian highlands and constitute an ancient agricultural system. Connecting an ancestral legacy with modern concerns about water and food security, climate resilience, and sustainable land management, these agricultural systems open the debate about efficient water management and the importance of agricultural biodiversity. At the same time, they are part of the sense of identity and pride of the local Aymara community, consolidating cultural knowledge that is passed down and preserved across generations.
Amidst global economic adjustments and a domestic focus on high-quality development, Shanghai has implemented a strategic shift in its urban development approach—moving from 'incremental expansion' to 'connotative enhancement.' Guided by the concept of a "people-oriented city", Shanghai has elevated urban construction from mere physical space aggregation to a comprehensive endeavor aimed at optimizing functional quality, revitalizing spatial vitality, and boosting residential resilience through urban renewal initiatives. This transformation is framed not merely as a response to resource constraints but also as an intentional approach to urban development principles. Its core proposition lies in: under the policy framework of strictly controlling incremental land use, how to unleash development potential through the "reproduction" of existing spaces.
From forest-inspired offices in Sweden to jungle-nest clubhouses in Tulum, mixed-use architecture continues to evolve as a tool for integrated living. As cities grow and our expectations of public, private, and commercial space shift, designers are increasingly rethinking how different functions including work, play, rest, learning, can coexist in a single architectural language. These projects suggest that buildings and projects no longer need to silo activities, but rather choreograph them to reflect the rhythms of everyday life.
This collection, submitted by the ArchDaily community, presents a global spectrum of approaches to mixed-use design, from large-scale masterplans to conceptual theses. What ties them together is a commitment to spatial overlap, ecological sensitivity, and reimagined programs that prioritize user experience. Whether it's a student dormitory in Tehran, a public plaza in Cairo, or a community hub in Texas, each project embraces complexity to create spaces that are alive with interaction, transformation, and meaning.
Dear Readers,
Architecture is going through transformative times, and so are the platforms that shape how we understand it.
Earlier this year, I addressed you directly to share our vision for 2025: a commitment to reaffirm ArchDaily's mission, elevate our editorial voice, and strengthen our role as a trusted, critical resource for architects worldwide. That message marked the beginning of a new chapter, one grounded in relevance, clarity, and purposeful action.
In the complex ecosystem of architectural development, where innovative concepts meet market realities, a distinct role exists to bridge diverse professional interests and realize impactful spaces. Elisa Orlanski Ours exemplifies this function. This is the domain of Elisa Orlanski Ours, a designer, educator, and industry leader. As Chief Planning & Design Officer at Corcoran Sunshine Marketing Group, Elisa founded her department two decades ago. Now, her extensive portfolio spans condominium skyscraper master plans and individual branded villas across continents, including significant New York City developments like Hudson Yards and 220 Central Park South, as well as international developments in collaboration with prominent architectural firms like SHoP Architects, BIG, Herzog & de Meuron, Adjaye Associates, and SO-IL. Her strategic perspective on bringing projects from schematic phase to final sale provides valuable insights into the industry's intricate workings. ArchDaily's Managing Editor, Maria-Cristina Florian, had the opportunity to discuss these critical topics with Elisa in the following interview.
Fireplaces have profoundly shaped architectural design, influencing how spaces are organized, experienced, and perceived. More than merely functional elements, they represent symbols of power, community, comfort, and culture, tracing humanity's evolving relationship with the built environment. From the primitive hearths that characterized early human settlements to the sophisticated ecological designs of contemporary architecture, fireplaces have reflected broader cultural, social, and technological changes, serving as enduring focal points in the spatial narrative of architecture. Scholars have frequently explored the intimate relationship between architecture and fire. Luis Fernández-Galiano, in his seminal work "Fire and Memory: On Architecture and Energy" argues that architecture fundamentally mediates the relationship between humanity and energy. By understanding how these structures have shaped spaces, symbolized cultural values, and driven technological innovation, we gain deeper insight into architecture's complex interplay between form, function, and meaning.
Andanzas y visiones españolas is the book in which Miguel de Unamuno collects his experiences during excursions through Spain's cities and countryside, accompanied by friends and colleagues. More than a precise geographical description, the text consists of narratives in which each region and every feature of the territory leaves a deep imprint on his thought. The literary discourse actively weaves the diversity of setting, climate, and contextualism as foundational threads, presenting the territory not only as a physical place but also as a space for reflection and contemplation. This attentive engagement with the landscape—so diverse within Spanish architecture—also resonates in the built environment, fostering in contemporary practice a sensitive adaptation to the country's varied climatic conditions, both through design strategies and material choices.
