Symbols of technological development and urban density, tall buildings as we know them today emerged in the late nineteenth century, particularly in the United States, as a response to the rapid expansion of urban commerce and the need to grow cities without occupying additional land. The term skyscraper, for instance, was coined in the 1880s and originally referred to buildings with around 10 to 20 stories—an impressive height for the time.
However, the idea of building vertically is much older than the steel-and-glass skyscrapers of modern cities might suggest. Long before the Industrial Revolution, some societies were already experimenting with forms of vertical urbanization as a response to limited space, territorial defense, or environmental adaptation.
In recent years, earthen construction has gained renewed attention in architecture. Materials such as adobe, rammed earth, and compressed earth blocks, once mainly associated with vernacular traditions, are increasingly being explored by contemporary architects. Rather than representing a simple return to the past, this renewed interest reflects a broader reconsideration of how architecture engages with materials, local resources, and environmental conditions.
For centuries, building with earth was part of everyday construction across many regions of the world. Techniques such as adobe, rammed earth, cob, and other soil-based systems developed gradually through adaptation to climate, available resources, and local construction practices. These methods responded directly to environmental conditions while shaping cultural ways of building. This knowledge circulated through collective practices rather than formal architectural education, allowing techniques to evolve through continuous experimentation.
Vernacular architecture is often referred to as harboring lessons for creating low-energy buildings and the fight against climate change. Yet, as weather patterns are changing, there are cases where traditional building techniques are themselves becoming at risk. As well as changes in temperature, different regions have faced becoming wetter or drier, experiencing increased risk of droughts, flooding, storms, and changes to local flora. The painted houses of Tiébélé in Burkina Faso, recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, are one example.
At the Bruder Klaus Field Chapel, designed by Peter Zumthor, the construction process involved the direct participation of residents from the small Swiss village of Mechernich. Using an internal formwork made of vertically placed wooden logs, concrete was prepared in small batches and poured manually, day after day, forming layers marked by subtle variations in the mix and application. At the end of the process, the wooden structure was reduced to ashes, leaving the chapel's interior impregnated with traces of fire and revealing a dark, tactile surface. The result was a quiet and deeply meaningful space, where collective action, time, and material transformation became part of the architecture. Centered on locally available resources and manual techniques, this construction method highlights how the choice of materials and building system can shape the experience of a space, reveal the time invested, and embed the culture of a place into the very matter of architecture. In doing so, it offers an example of how construction itself can become a regenerative act, restoring meaning, connecting communities, and honoring material cycles.
Earth-based flooring materials comprise natural elements such as clay, sand, silt, lime, and organic fibres. They offer both structural performance and sensory engagement when used in both outdoor and interior spaces. Due to their thermal properties, durability, and sustainable qualities, these materials have evolved from vernacular construction techniques into high-value architectural elements that are always being reinvented and optimized. There are several types of earthen floorings, each offering unique benefits, and they are increasingly used in interior settings.
Asaan Museum, Render by Specto-Digital. Image Courtesy of ZHA
Designed by Zaha Hadid Architects, construction works for the Asaan Museum have recently begun. Located in the historic At-Turaif district of Diriyah, Saudi Arabia, the Asaan Museum aims to be a new cultural institution designed to preserve and celebrate the nation's heritage. Deriving its name from the Arabic word meaning "inheritance passed down through generations," Asaan underscores its role in connecting past and present. Situated within a site renowned for its mud-brick architecture and centuries-old urban fabric, the museum draws inspiration from traditional Najdi building techniques. Planned to be constructed using locally sourced clay mud-bricks, Asaan Museum will mark Zaha Hadid Architects' first project to employ adobe construction.
The desert is a landscape in constant transformation. Shaped by the wind, its dunes, ridges, and fissures emerge and fade in an ever-shifting expanse, as if the scenery itself were alive. It is a land of stark contrasts, where the scorching heat of the day gives way to the crisp coolness of the night, revealing nature in its most primal form. In such a dynamic and untamed environment, how can architecture not only integrate but also respect and engage with its surroundings? This is the challenge faced by hotels built within Latin America’s vast desert landscapes.
Landscape architecture has traditionally been associated with lush greenery, rooted in the historical development of gardens and parks as spaces that bring nature into urban areas. This connection to greenery is deeply ingrained in the origins of the field, where the creation of verdant retreats was seen as both aesthetically pleasing and beneficial to human well-being. However, in regions like the Middle East, where water scarcity and harsh climates are more prevalent, there is a growing trend toward using local materials such as sand, stone, minerals, and indigenous plants. This shift reflects a more sustainable approach, reimagining landscape architecture to align with the environmental and cultural contexts of the region.
Within this scope, much is said about the different vernacular techniques employed in architecture, whether it is the production of adobe bricks, thatched roofs, woven bamboo walls, among many others. However, while vernacular technique focuses on specific actions or skills, its meaning differs from vernacular technologies.
When we think of the word "tropic," the image that typically comes to mind is an exotic space, characterized by perpetual warmth and humidity, with frequent and heavy rainfall nurturing lush vegetation. Throughout history, this tropical climate has been romanticized as a paradise and criticized for potentially fostering weakness due to its perceived clemency.
Thankfully, those judgments and associations have been relegated to the past, paving the way for theoretical and practical projects that outline the advantages and disadvantages of living in a tropical climate. These projects acknowledge the various strategies to enhance human adaptability within these distinctive climatic conditions.
In recent years, India has seen a resurgence of interest in natural building materials, a movement driven by escalating environmental concerns and a growing desire to revive traditional lifestyles. From the busy streets of Mumbai to the serene villages of Kerala, architects, builders, and communities are coming together to experiment with the potential of earth, bamboo, lime, and other organic materials in shaping contextually relevant structures that also embody India's contemporary ideals. The shift towards using natural materials and other vernacular resources reflects a movement towards sustainability and a deeper connection with nature.
Rammed earth has been used in construction for thousands of years, with evidence of its use dating as far back as the Neolithic Period. Commonly used especially in China, the technique was applied to both ancient monuments and vernacular architecture, with the Great Wall utilizing the technique. Though interest in rammed earth declined in the 20th century, some continue to advocate its use today, citing its sustainability in comparison to more modern construction methods. Most notably, rammed earth structures use local materials, meaning they have low embodied energy and produce little waste. Below, we describe how to build with this material.
https://www.archdaily.com/933353/how-rammed-earth-walls-are-builtLilly Cao
A contemporary building immersed in a built environment. This building is made of (material). An isometric view with realistic textures. Image via DALL.E 2
As AI has become more accessible, we have witnessed examples illustrating its diverse applications. Prominent among these are generative AIs, which excel in their ability to “create” images through prompts, many distinguished by their composition and vividness. These AI systems are neural networks with billions of parameters, trained to create images from natural language, using a dataset of text–image pairs. Thus, although the initial question posed by Turing in the 1950s, “Can machines think?” still recurs today, the generation of images and text is grounded in existing information, limiting their capabilities.
What has surprised many is the increasingly apparent closeness to overcoming the Turing test and the growing similarity, in terms of visualizations, to what an architect with skills in this field can achieve. In this context, while the debate persists in the architectural community about whether AI can process architectural concepts, this article explores how it interprets materials to develop these visual representations. With that in mind, a single prompt was developed for this experiment (with materiality as its variable) to delve into the obtained results.
https://www.archdaily.com/1010723/does-ai-correlate-materiality-with-contemporary-architecture-an-experiment-with-six-building-materialsEnrique Tovar
From the pre-Columbian period of the Americas –during which cultures such as the Olmec, Maya, Purepecha, and Mexica (Aztec) thrived– to the modern era where architecture has been influenced by social movements and even natural disasters, Mexican architecture showcases a valuable architectural expression, with its own unique voice and distinctive characteristics. Nobel Literature Laureate Octavio Paz argued that architecture is an incorruptible witness to history. Likewise, the materials used to shape it have acted as protagonists of that history, enduring in many cases over time and evolving thanks to the generations of architects who have contributed to it, from different perspectives.
To trace a timeline, it is possible to take as a starting point pre-Hispanic architecture, which exhibited a diversity of nuances due to Mexico's vast territorial extension. This allowed diverse cultures to find their niche and develop their characteristic architectural styles. Subsequently, the era of Spanish colonization, which itself drew influence from Islamic architecture, represented a noteworthy turning point in architectural development. This phase endured until the advent of Mexican Independence in the 19th century. In turn, this marked the initiation of social and cultural movements, both during and after the Mexican Revolution in the early 20th century.
https://www.archdaily.com/1005554/materials-that-define-the-contemporary-mexican-architectural-aestheticEnrique Tovar
In the current scenario of a climate crisis, thinking about an architectural project without defining ecological guidelines has become practically unacceptable. One of the main emitters of carbon dioxide and other pollutants, the construction sector is increasingly looking for new ways and means that can make works more sustainable and, in some way, mitigate damage to the environment. Thinking about ecological materials can be one of the fundamental steps, but, which materials are these?
Take a second to imagine a building or a room. Chances are you are envisioning flat rectangular surfaces and straight lines. Whether it be walls, beams or windows, most architectural elements come in standard and extremely practical orthogonal shapes. However, the pandemic has shed light on designs that are not only functional, but also that improve our mood and well-being. In that sense, the power of curved, free-flowing surfaces is unmatched, which explains why they have been making a comeback as a modern design trend. Adopting beautiful nature-inspired shapes, organic curls and bends energize rooms and make users feel good. In fact, neuroscientists have shown that this affection is hard-wired into the brain; in a 2013 study, they found that participants were most likely to consider a space beautiful if it was curvilinear instead of rectilinear. In short, humans love curves.
