Around the world, a passionate community of bird watchers, from novice observers to seasoned ornithologists, is drawn to the subtle movements, distinct calls, and remarkable migrations of birds. This global fascination has led to the creation of thoughtfully designed spaces by architects and designers, enhancing the bird-watching experience while respecting the ecological landscapes in which they are placed.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The built environment is expected to reduce carbon emissions, support biodiversity, and respond to changing ecological conditions, all while providing housing for communities and reflecting their cultural values. In this shifting landscape, a once-maligned architectural style emerges in a surprising new form. Brutalism, long associated with institutional gravitas and material austerity, is now being reframed through an ecological lens. This hybrid movement, known as eco-brutalism, combines the power of concrete with greenery and climate-sensitive design strategies. The result is a set of spaces that are visually arresting, conceptually complex, and increasingly popular among designers, urban planners, and the general public. This movement includes not only the direct lineage of 1960s Brutalism but also contemporary projects that, while not strictly Brutalist, share its material honesty, monumental scale, and use of expressive concrete forms.
As climate instability reshapes design priorities, architecture is increasingly drawn into ecological debates not as a spectator but as a participant. Among the concepts gaining traction is rewilding, a practice rooted in the restoration of self-sustaining ecosystems through the reintroduction of biodiversity, the removal of barriers, and the rebalancing of human presence in the landscape. Though often associated with conservation biology, rewilding also opens up new spatial and architectural imaginaries — ones that challenge conventional notions of permanence, authorship, and use.
Every June, the Spanish city of Logroño transforms into a space of architectural dialogue, opening its streets, plazas, riverbanks, and traffic islands to temporary structures that redefine how cities are inhabited. For ten editions, Concéntrico has worked not as a specialized fair or an architecture biennale, but as a portable museum — a curatorial gesture that brings a dispersed collection of contemporary architecture into public space. Set in a city suspended between arid plains and distant mountains, far from the circuits of capital cities and cultural institutions, Concéntrico presents itself as a temporary promise. It's a reminder that even cities that are often overlooked can host architecture that is current, diverse, and speculative. In this sense, the festival is less about celebration and more about activation.
But beyond its curatorial logic, Concéntrico operates as a political structure. In the ancient sense of polis, it invites citizens, architects, and institutions to reassess what public space can be. The interventions offer speculative proposals for urban life that reveal what is missing, what is possible, and what should be questioned. A temporary pool over a fountain, a bathhouse in a roundabout, or a shared meal on a major avenue are not just spatial gestures — they are political statements, asking how urban infrastructure might be redirected from control to care, from efficiency to encounter. In that way, the festival becomes not just a reflection of the city, but an instrument for its transformation.
In recent years, architecture has increasingly embraced adaptability, flexibility, and responsiveness as core design principles. This evolution reflects a shift from traditional notions of static, permanent structures to dynamic environments that can adjust to changing needs and conditions. Central to this transformation is the concept of "soft architecture", which leverages pliable materials and innovative systems to create spaces that are functional, sustainable, and user-centric. Soft architecture takes shape through membranes that breathe, façades that move, structures that inflate or fold, and surfaces that bend rather than break. It involves designing for transformation — not only in how a building performs environmentally, but also in how it can accommodate shifting functions, user interactions, or temporary occupations. This approach to building challenges traditional notions of durability and control, proposing instead a more responsive and open-ended architecture. It reflects a growing awareness that buildings, like the societies they serve, must be able to evolve.
The Canada Pavilion at the 19th International Architecture Exhibition – La Biennale di Venezia, hosted Picoplanktonics. A research that emerged as a radical rethinking of how architecture can become a platform that blends biology, computation, and fabrication to propose an alternative future, one where buildings don't just minimize harm, but actively participate in planetary repair. At its core lies a humble organism: marine cyanobacteria, capable of both capturing carbon and contributing to the material growth of the structure it inhabits. The project has been developed over 5 years by a group of researchers at ETH Zurich, led by Andrea Shin Ling and a group of interdisciplinary contributors and collaborators. Together, they formed the Living Room Collective, founded a year ago to build upon this work and showcase it at the Venice Biennale. The Core team members include Nicholas Hoban, Vincent Hui, and Clayton Lee. This conversation with the team behind the project shares the philosophy, technical challenges, and speculative horizons that animated their work from printing living sand lattices to maintaining microbial life in a public exhibition. Their aim is to inspire people to reconsider architecture not as a static object, but as a living, evolving process. One that requires care, patience, and a radical shift in mindset.
Danish architecture firm Third Nature, together with Sophie Sahlqvist Landskab, Arkaia, ILC, and Artelia, recently shared images of Øhjem, their proposed strategic vision for the re-naturalization of Denmark's Greater Copenhagen region toward 2050. The regenerative plan is part of the Water's Ways program under the Agenda Earth initiative, an interdisciplinary project run by the Danish Association of Architects in collaboration with the Dreyers Foundation and the Danish Bar Association. Led by urbanist Boris Brorman Jensen, the program calls for long-term solutions to restore 15% of Danish agricultural land while also protecting 600,000 homes from water-related threats. Third Nature's Øhjem masterplan reimagines the 25 km Ramsø Dale as a step toward implementing the land management objectives outlined in the Danish Green Tripartite Agreement (Grøn Trepart), signed in June 2024.
Traditional building development follows a risky model - design, build at full scale, and hope everything works as planned. Sustainable housing prototypes flip this script by creating functioning micro-versions of larger visions. This methodical approach allows designers to experiment with new materials, technologies, and systems without the enormous financial and environmental risks associated with full-scale development. Sustainable building prototypes serve as compact laboratories where theories can be tested before wider implementation.
Concrete towers dominate the skylines of Asian and African cities - looming edifices embodying development. With access to the tools and materials of industrial modernity, the Global South steps onto the world stage showcasing its bounty. Yet, at the depths of rising ambitions, the construction material speaks to colonial legacies and extractive economics that result in power imbalances in the geopolitical sphere. A climate crisis on the horizon only intensifies the complicated relationship between building materials, sustainability demands, and sovereignty of many countries.
Buildner has released the results of its Pape Info Point Competition, organized in partnership with The Latvia Programme of the World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF Latvia) which focuses on environmental conservation, biodiversity protection, and sustainable resource management in Latvia.
This international competition invited architects and designers to propose a new visitor information point for Pape Nature Park, a protected area on Latvia's Baltic coast. Participants were challenged to design a structure that enhances the park's role in conservation and ecotourism while blending harmoniously with the surrounding landscape. The goal was to create an engaging and educational space that informs visitors about the park's rich biodiversity, migratory bird populations, and unique ecosystems while maintaining a minimal environmental footprint.
Urban living has become synonymous with limited space and creativity for compact apartments. As cities become more dominated by concrete and steel, there is an exciting, yet unsurprising, rise in interest in embracing the green thumb, even within the constraints of a dense urban environment. This interest is not purely to tend aesthetic tastes, as studies consistently show that exposure to nature reduces stress, improves focus, and enhances overall well-being. However, in dense urban environments, the challenge lies in finding innovative ways to make this vision a reality for apartments where every inch matters.
Nestled near the ruins of Fonthill Abbey in the English countryside, Upper Lawn Pavilion — also known as the Solar Pavilion — is a modest yet profound architectural experiment by Alison and Peter Smithson. Built between 1959 and 1962 as a weekend retreat and laboratory for ideas, the pavilion embodies their ethos of economy, material honesty, and respect for context, reflecting the pioneering spirit of New Brutalism.
Upper Lawn's thoughtful interplay between the new and the existing is particularly compelling. Built on the remains of an 18th-century English farmhouse, the pavilion repurposes thick masonry walls from the original structure, incorporating elements such as the well, trees, and lawn into its design. Using prefabricated materials like timber, glass, and aluminum, the Smithsons constructed a light-filled space that harmonizes with its surroundings, embodying their principle of "as found architecture" — a concept rooted in honoring and adapting to preexisting conditions rather than imposing on them.
Lydia Kallipoliti is a recognized architect, author, and educator whose pioneering research has transformed the way architecture engages with the pressing challenges of sustainability, technology, and environmental politics. As an Associate Professor at Columbia University's Graduate School of Architecture, Planning, and Preservation (GSAPP), Kallipoliti's approach to architectural education encourages students to confront critical issues such as waste, reuse, and closed-loop systems. Her pedagogical philosophy empowers students to see design not only as an aesthetic or functional pursuit but as a powerful tool for addressing global ecological crises, urging them to think systemically and creatively about the future of the built environment.
In addition to her role in academia, Kallipoliti has authored influential works such as The Architecture of Closed Worlds and Histories of Ecological Design: an Unfinished Cyclopedia, which delve deeply into the relationship between architecture and environmental politics. Her research and writings have sparked discourse on methods for architects to reconsider traditional design paradigms and embrace sustainability as a core tenet of architectural practice.
Ammodo Architecture has just revealed the first 23 recipients of its inaugural Ammodo Architecture Awards, an annual recognition dedicated to advancing socially and ecologically conscious architecture worldwide. The awardees, chosen for their exemplary contributions, will receive financial support ranging from €10,000 to €150,000 to further their work and projects across three categories: Social Architecture, Social Engagement, and Local Scale.
