Invenção da cor by Hélio Oiticica. Image via Carlos Reis Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
Many of the spatial ideas we now associate with contemporary architecture, collective use, and bodily experience did not originate in buildings alone. In Latin America, these ideas were often explored first through art, at a moment when artists were actively questioning how space could be occupied, shared, and experienced beyond traditional forms.
During the mid-20th century, the region underwent rapid urbanization and profound social change. Architecture was increasingly expected to respond to public life, collectivity, and new ways of inhabiting space. At the same time, art offered a more flexible ground for experimentation, one less constrained by function, regulation, or permanence. As a result, many spatial questions were tested through artistic practices before becoming part of architectural thinking.
In the picture: F128 PA Black Ambiance Granite, U590 PM/TM Deep Blue, U705 PM/TM Angora Grey, U755 PM/TM Havanna Grey, H1708 ST17 Brighton Chestnut. Image Courtesy of EGGER
Designing an interior is, in many ways, an exercise in orchestration. Just as a conductor coordinates instruments, timbres, rhythms, and intensities to compose a coherent piece, the architect brings together materials, color, light, texture, and proportion to define the spatial quality and atmosphere of an environment. None of these decisions operates in isolation: the choice of a surface influences how light is reflected; a given material can shape how a room ages over time; color, in turn, directly affects the perception of scale.
Wood-based materials such as decorative particleboards, MDF boards or laminates can therefore be understood as more than simple finishes. Industrially produced, they combine decor selection, surface texture, and technical substrate, defining both their appearance and the way a space responds to use, light, and time. Factors such as dimensional stability, ease of maintenance, and resistance to wear become integral to design decisions, particularly in interiors subject to intensive use.
Cities around the world share a common goal: to become healthier and greener, supported by civic infrastructure that restores ecosystems and strengthens public life. The question is how to reach this. Global climate targets, local building codes, and municipal standards increasingly guide designers and planners toward better choices. Still, many cities struggle to translate these frameworks into everyday, street-level comfort and long-term ecological protection. What happens if the city is no longer treated as a traditional city, but as a national park?
National parks operate through systems of protection that treat land as a network of ecological relationships rather than a collection of isolated sites. They establish a shared baseline for what must be preserved, maintained, and made accessible over time. When this logic is applied to the urban environment, success can inspire pride and a sense of shared responsibility among designers, policymakers, and residents, fostering a collective commitment to health, habitat, and civic infrastructure.
Artist representation of Orion's lunar flyby. Image via NASA under license CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
It was July 1969, and people on planet Earth were about to witness a historical moment for humanity: the first time a human being stepped on the surface of the Moon aboard the Apollo 11 mission. After this event, NASA landed five more times on the lunar surface, with the last one being Apollo 17 in 1972. Since then, humans have not attempted to return to the Moon until this year, 2026, when they will launch the Orion spacecraft as part of the Artemis II Mission. Planned to set off between February and April 2026, Orion will not yet land people on the Moon, instead it will make a flyby, in order to allow testing of the software and systems. This will set the base for an actual human landing on the Moon's South Pole as part of Artemis III sometime between 2027 and 2028, eventually opening a brand new era in Extraterrestrial architectural design.
Shou Sugi Ban is a traditional Japanese technique for wood preservation that involves charring the surface of timber to create a protective layer. While its origins are rooted in practical durability, the method has been widely adapted into the modern built environment and shapes a unique and distinctive aesthetic. It is a material of contradiction: it remains bold in its visual language due to its dark tones, yet it simultaneously borrows from and complements its natural surroundings, allowing houses to settle quietly into their sites.
The charred finish among the 22 residences featured here across Canada and the United States serves as a common thread for navigating extreme climates. From humid lakefronts to dense forests, the carbonized skin acts as a resilient shield against diverse conditions. Beyond mere protection, these houses demonstrate how the material's texture changes with exposure to light, transforming from a flat matte in the shade to a silver-flecked, shimmering surface in direct sun. These projects also showcase the technique's ability to define architectural volumes, using the dark cladding to create sharp, monolithic silhouettes or to highlight the voids in a building's mass, such as recessed entryways and sheltered terraces.
What matters more: looking to the past or to the future? Recognizing established trajectories or fostering paths still under construction? Perhaps this is not a question with a single answer. Traditionally, architecture awards have operated as devices of consecration, recognizing completed works, established careers, and already tested solutions, most often through a retrospective lens. But what would happen if recognition ceased to be an end in itself and instead began to operate as a catalytic agent, investing less in what has already been done and more in what is still yet to unfold?
Across history, the relocation of capital cities has often been associated with moments of political rupture, regime change, or symbolic nation-building. From Brasília to Islamabad, new capitals were frequently conceived as instruments of centralized power, territorial control, or ideological projection. In recent decades, however, a different set of drivers has begun to shape these decisions. Rather than security or representation alone, contemporary capital relocations are increasingly tied to structural pressures such as demographic concentration, infrastructural saturation, environmental risk, and long-term resource management. As metropolitan regions expand beyond their capacity to sustain population growth and administrative functions, governments are turning to spatial reconfiguration as a means of addressing systemic urban imbalance.
Zaha Hadid Architects has released images of its design for the redevelopment of the waterfront along the Zhedong Canal in Hangzhou's Xiaoshan District, China. The Qiantang Bay Central Water Axis project envisions a sequence of landscaped parklands, terraces, and gardens along the canal basin, proposing the transformation of former industrial areas into a green corridor extending toward the city center. The proposal adds to other recent design initiatives in the area, including Snøhetta's Qiantang Bay Art Museum, planned at the confluence of the Qiantang River and the Central Water Axis, as well as Zaha Hadid Architects' Grand Canal Gateway Bridge, a pedestrian bridge intended to connect the firm's 800,000-square-meter Seamless City masterplan on the east and west banks of the Grand Canal.
For decades, heritage has been easiest to recognize from the street. We protect facades, skylines, and monuments because they are visible, stable, and legible as cultural assets. Yet most of what we remember about living is how we eat together, withdraw, argue, care, and rest, which happen far from view. It happens inside rooms. As open plans quietly give way to thresholds, corridors, and enclosures, a deeper question emerges: what if cultural memory survives not in what architecture shows, but in how it is lived?
Coastal development in major cities has long been a terrain of opportunity and contention—shaped at once by the pursuit of capital (premium views, scarce land, and the promise of reclamation), by civic demands for public access and collective waterfront life, and by contemporary aspirations for sustainability and place-defining urban identity. Precisely because these agendas rarely align, extracting the full potential of waterfront sites is never straightforward.
Yet in New York City and Hong Kong, we can trace each city's ambitions—despite differing strategies, priorities, and political logics—through a set of keystone projects that anchor their coastlines. Read together, these projects reveal not only what each city chooses to value, but also what it is willing to trade off in order to build at the edge.
The European Commission and the Fundació Mies van der Rohe have announced the seven finalist projects for the 2026 European Union Prize for Contemporary Architecture - Mies van der Rohe Awards, supported by the European Union's Creative Europe programme. The selection follows the announcement of 410 nominated works in November and a shortlist of 40 projects revealed in early January. Of the seven finalists, five have been selected in the Architecture category and two in the Emerging category. According to the jury chaired by Smiljan Radić, the finalist projects are exemplary contributions to the future of European architecture, demonstrating how the discipline can respond simultaneously to specific local conditions and broader social, cultural, and environmental challenges. The selected works range from interventions in former industrial sites, small villages, and peripheral urban areas to carefully calibrated projects within larger cities. Across these varied contexts, the projects show how architecture can transform overlooked or ordinary settings into inclusive, high-quality spaces for living, learning, and social exchange.
Tagaytay City Hall / WTA Architecture and Design Studio. Image Courtesy of WTA Architecture and Design Studio
This week's architecture news brings together a series of announcements that reflect how the discipline is engaging with larger structural and institutional frameworks. The OBEL Foundation's introduction of Systems' Hack as the theme for its 2026 cycle foregrounds architecture's relationship to the systems that organize contemporary life, from infrastructure to resource flows. At the scale of the design industry, Salone del Mobile.Milano's outline of its 2026 framework, including OMA's involvement in the Salone Contract master plan, signals an evolving understanding of major fairs as long-term cultural and economic infrastructures rather than standalone events. Running alongside these agenda-setting developments, the final days of nominations for the 2026 ArchDaily Building of the Year Awards underscore the role of collective evaluation and public participation in shaping contemporary architectural discourse.
ArchDaily is looking for Expert Contributor to join our Sponsored Content team. In this role, you will produce high-quality, editorially strong content that highlights architectural products, materials, and projects while maintaining the editorial integrity and design-focused voice that ArchDaily is known for.
This role requires a strong understanding of architecture and design, experience with branded or sponsored content, and the ability to communicate complex ideas in a clear, engaging, and professional manner. Sponsored content at ArchDaily is brand-funded writing created with partners that presents products, projects, and ideas in ArchDaily's editorial voice, with the aim of informing, inspiring, and engaging readers.
https://www.archdaily.com/1038256/open-call-for-expert-contributors-at-archdailyArchDaily Team
Architectural heritage is often described as what survives time. Yet survival does not explain why certain buildings are preserved while others disappear. Many works now protected as cultural heritage were once criticized, contested, or openly rejected; they were accused of being socially misguided, materially flawed, or symbolically excessive. Over time, however, these same shortcomings have become central to their meaning as heritage emerges as a slow and unstable process of interpretation.
Contemporary architecture operates under intense scrutiny, pressured by environmental responsibility, social equity, economic volatility, and accelerated technological change. Buildings are expected to perform ethically, efficiently, and symbolically, often simultaneously. As a result, architectural failure is no longer an exception but an increasingly common condition. Projects age faster, materials reveal limitations sooner, and urban strategies quickly fall out of sync with shifting political, social, and environmental realities.
Tsuyoshi Tane is a Japanese architect born in 1979 in Tokyo and based in Paris, where he founded ATTA – Atelier Tsuyoshi Tane Architects in 2006. Working across cultural, institutional, and landscape-related projects, Tane has developed an architectural approach that positions memory as a fundamental design driver. In his interview with Louisiana Channel, filmed in his Paris studio, Tane reflects on architecture as a discipline of observation and thought, arguing that meaningful design emerges from carefully reading the traces embedded within a site. For him, architecture is not produced on a blank slate but begins with an inquiry into what already exists, physically, culturally, and emotionally, beneath the surface of a place.
Sordo Madaleno, in collaboration with építész stúdió and Buro Happold, has been selected to design the 43,000-square-meter New Debrecen Collection Center for the Hungarian Museum of Natural History. Debrecen, Hungary's second-largest city, is currently the focus of significant urban and university-related development, including plans to relocate the Hungarian Museum of Natural History from Budapest to the edge of Debrecen's Great Forest. The proposed Collection Center is conceived as a facility dedicated to the controlled storage and study of more than 11 million objects, drawing conceptual inspiration from traditional Hungarian clay vessels, structures historically used to protect and preserve. The project would mark the first European cultural commission for the Mexican architecture practice, which operates studios in London and Mexico City.
There's only one week left to nominate your favorite projects for the 2026 Building of the Year Awards! This is your chance to recognize the best architecture from around the world in 15 categories, from housing to educational projects, offices, interiors and more.
https://www.archdaily.com/1038334/last-days-to-nominate-for-the-2026-archdaily-building-of-the-year-awardsDaniela Porto
Situated along the historic Silk Road in Central Asia, Tashkent is a city with a long history spanning thousands of years. Its historic architecture is known for its courtyards, domes, and blue ceramics, typical of its Timurid heritage. The capital of Uzbekistan today, it was absorbed into the Russian Empire in the 19th century, before becoming a Soviet republic. While part of the Soviet Union, the city became an example of modernization, celebrating socialist achievements in Asia. A devastating earthquake in 1966 accelerated this modernization as the city was reconstructed, leading to many of the modernist monuments for which Tashkent is known today.
Commissioned in 2012 following an international design competition, Snøhetta's BusanOpera House is under construction on the city's North Port waterfront, with major works scheduled for completion in late 2026 and an opening planned for 2027. Conceived as the first opera house in South Korea's second-largest city, the project redefines the traditional opera house as an open and inclusive civic institution. Rather than operating solely as a venue for performance, the building is envisioned as a public destination that supports everyday use, collective experience, and long-term cultural engagement within Busan's evolving urban landscape.
Suzhou Museum of Imperial Kiln Brick. Image Cortesía de Jiakun Architects
The Pritzker Prize is the most important award in the field of architecture, awarded to a living architect whose built work "has produced consistent and significant contributions to humanity through the art of architecture." The Prize rewards individuals, not offices, as happened in 2000 (when the jury selected Rem Koolhaas instead of his firm OMA) or in 2016 (with Alejandro Aravena selected instead of ELEMENTAL); however, the Prize can also be awarded to multiple individuals working together, as was the case in 2001 (Herzog & de Meuron), 2010 (Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa from SANAA), and 2017 (Rafael Aranda, Carme Pigem, and Ramon Vilalta from RCR Arquitectes).
"We know we are not born to die," often said Brazilian architect Paulo Mendes da Rocha. "We are born to continue." In architecture, this idea of continuity lies at the heart of heritage, not as a static inheritance, but as something that endures, transforms, and is constantly reinterpreted. Yet what continues, and what is allowed to disappear, is never neutral. Decisions about preservation are shaped by power, memory, and value, raising a fundamental question for contemporary practice: who defines what is worth carrying forward, and for whom?
"In various regions of the planet, nature imposes adverse conditions on the human body. In these places, designing a building is almost like creating a garment: an artifact that protects and offers comfort. This challenge requires technological performance that must be combined with aesthetics. Making human beings feel good involves more than just meeting notions of comfort and safety; it's also a question of working with spaces in their symbolic and perceptual dimensions." This is the beginning of the description for the design of the Brazilian Antarctic Station in Antarctica, by Estúdio 41, located on the Keller Peninsula, where the surrounding sea freezes for around six to seven months of the year, where everything and everyone arrives by plane or ship and the nearest hardware store is days away. If designing a building in normal circumstances already presents numerous complexities, it's not hard to imagine the additional challenges when developing something in an extreme environment, such as locations with very high or low temperatures, or in places susceptible to corrosion, radiation, and more. In this article, we will explore the difficulties, the main solutions and the materials used in these contexts.
"Feeling at home" is more than just an expression—it is the sense of warmth and comfort that transforms a space into a true refuge. To achieve this, elements like color, texture, lighting, and materials play a crucial role in shaping an environment that fosters relaxation and well-being. Backed by research in environmental psychology and neuroscience, the connection between physical spaces and human behavior highlights how architecture can directly influence the atmosphere, turning chaos into tranquility.
Santuario de la Naturaleza Humedal Río Maipo. Image Courtesy of Fundacion Cosmos
Observed annually on February 2, World Wetlands Day marks the adoption of the Ramsar Convention in 1971 and provides an international framework for recognizing the role of wetlands in environmental protection and sustainable development. The 2026 edition is held under the theme "Wetlands and traditional knowledge: Celebrating cultural heritage," drawing attention to the long-standing relationships between wetland ecosystems and the cultural practices, knowledge systems, and governance structures developed by communities over centuries. The theme highlights how inherited ecological knowledge, often embedded in rituals, seasonal calendars, land-use practices, and spatial organization, has shaped resilient interactions between human settlements and water-based landscapes.
