The term vault in architecture refers to a self-supporting arched structure that forms a ceiling or roof, which can effectively create a wide, column-free space. While traditional masonry vaults transfer loads to walls and buttresses, contemporary versions are more broadly defined as any ceiling that follows the roofline, creating a high, curved interior. These modern ceilings are typically framed using materials like concrete, timber, or steel, which provide the structural flexibility to create the dramatic effect of a vault without its historical constraints. The round arch vault, in particular, seems to have been a recently favored form for its simple, elegant geometry and its ability to adapt to a variety of modern residential styles.
Kindergarten architecture has long stood apart as a realm where design and imagination converge. Unlike most building typologies, these spaces are conceived not only to shelter and function but to shape the earliest experiences of curiosity, play, and social interaction. Throughout history, the design of kindergartens has evolved alongside pedagogical shifts, moving from modest, utilitarian beginnings to highly intentional environments that stimulate both learning and wonder. In this context, architecture becomes more than a backdrop — it becomes a silent educator, capable of nurturing emotional, cognitive, and physical development.
In contemporary architecture, façades have evolved beyond their traditional role as protective exteriors—they now serve as powerful expressions of identity, creativity, and sustainability. As the visual gateway to a building, façades play a dual role: safeguarding structures from environmental stressors while enhancing their aesthetic appeal and architectural character.
Much like interior design reflects the personality of its occupants, a façade communicates the essence of a building. It forms the first impression and serves as a canvas for architectural storytelling, often embodying the vision and creativity of the architect.
To recover, revitalize, convert—these actions have become increasingly present in contemporary cities, where architecture takes on the role of stitching together the overlapping layers of time that make up the urban fabric. Faced with this task, architects have explored a range of design strategies. Among them, one material in particular has stood out for how frequently—and effectively—it appears in interventions on historic buildings and contexts: corten steel. With its rusted surface, rich in texture and tone, it seems to offer a compelling answer to the challenging question of how to insert the new into the old. But what makes this material so recurrent in these situations? Is it simply its durability and versatility, or is there something deeper in its visual and symbolic presence?
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.
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.
Seeking to create a fluid dialogue between architecture and its surrounding landscape, the study of topography embodies an awareness and exploration of the use of materials, self-sufficient strategies, low-maintenance solutions, and landscape designs that integrate into the natural environment and minimize the environmental impact of projects. Beyond recording variations in elevation, sun orientation, prevailing winds, or drainage slopes of the terrain, several architects in Argentina demonstrate a strong interest in developing architectural solutions capable of adapting to natural geographies and restoring the bond between nature and the human being.
The Royal Institute of British Architects (RIBA) has announced the 20 winners of the 2025 RIBA National Awards, recognising the most significant contributions to architecture across the UK. Presented annually since 1966, the awards celebrate design excellence and provide a valuable snapshot of evolving architectural, cultural, and social trends. This year's winning projects span the length and breadth of the country, from the Isle of Wight to Scotland and Northern Ireland, and represent a wide range of typologies and scales, from major institutional buildings to small-scale residential and community-focused interventions.
Studio Gang is an architecture and urban design practice founded in 1997 by Jeanne Gang and based in Chicago, with additional offices in New York, San Francisco, and Paris. Comprised of over 100 professionals, including architects, designers, and planners, the studio is known for its research-driven approach to design. On Friday, July 11, the Aedes Architecture Forum in Berlin will inaugurate an exhibition on Studio Gang's work, organized in collaboration with AW Architektur & Wohnen magazine. Titled Studio Gang: The Art of Architectural Grafting, the exhibition explores the studio's design methodology through six recent projects.
Lighthouses have stood along the margins of continents and islands for centuries as points of light in vast maritime territories. Rising in solitude from rocky cliffs, reefs, and headlands, these towers were tools for navigation and instruments of spatial clarity, shaping coastlines and marking the boundary between land and sea. Built to guide, warn, and locate, they constituted a global network of visibility long before the advent of digital mapping. Yet as maritime technologies evolved, many of these structures lost their original purpose. The typology, once essential, now stands at the edge of obsolescence. What remains is not merely an architectural relic, but a powerful spatial form — resilient, symbolic, and increasingly open to reinterpretation.
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 India, brick as a construction material holds memory, meaning, and modernity. From the aligned fired bricks of the Indus Valley Civilization to the intricate brick jaalis that decorate homes, public buildings, and landmarks, the material's legacy is deeply embedded within the subcontinent's architectural identity. Yet no one has shaped the narrative of brick in modern Indian architecture more eloquently than Laurie Baker.
Public space has long been central to architectural thought, often framed in terms of planning, infrastructure, and regulation. From Haussmann's Paris to contemporary masterplans, architects have worked to define and formalise collective life through spatial tools. Yet, outside of these frameworks, artists have continuously offered alternative ways of understanding and inhabiting public space—ways that rely not on construction or permanence, but on presence, perception, and participation. Through actions, objects, or atmospheres, artists engage the city as a site of friction and imagination. These gestures challenge architectural conventions and invite artists to reconsider public space not as a solved form, but as a contingent and open process.
Every year, the Naomi Milgrom Foundation commissions an architect to design a temporary pavilion for the Queen Victoria Gardens, in the center of Melbourne's Southbank Arts Precinct. The pavilions are then transferred to the state of Victoria. The tenth edition of the MPavilion was designed by Pritzker Prize Laureate Tadao Ando as his first and only built work in Australia and the southern hemisphere. The pavilion opened on November 16, 2023, and its presence was extended until March 2025, hosting a wide-ranging program of cultural events over two summer seasons. After facing demolition, given the temporary nature of the initiative, a community-led program, "Preserve the Pavilion", was launched in hopes of preserving the building. The Naomi Milgrom Foundation has recently announced that the pavilion will remain in Queen Victoria Gardens until 2030, following a decision by the City of Melbourne.
What does a change in use and/or scale in buildings imply? How can a church or chapel be transformed into a home? While the architecture of many contemporary sacred spaces shows a remarkable capacity for adaptation and evolution, the creative boundaries of many professionals extend beyond their conception as structures of spirituality or worship. Globally, the conversion of large churches and small chapels into private residences reveals a wide field for intervention and exploration, one that can preserve, restore, adapt, and/or renew the character of spaces originally conceived for other uses and scales, which for various reasons have been abandoned, become obsolete, or now require transformation.
Located in southern Spain, Seville unfolds as a layered city shaped by centuries of cultural intersections. As the former capital of Al-Andalus and a central port during the Spanish Empire's expansion, its built environment reflects a deep historical complexity. From Roman foundations to Islamic geometries, from Renaissance palaces to contemporary interventions, Seville presents a unique spatial narrative in which architecture directly reflects its political, religious, and social transformations.
The city's architectural heritage is inseparable from its climate and geography. Narrow shaded streets, inner courtyards, and water as spatial elements reveal a deep knowledge of environmental adaptation that still informs how public and private spaces are articulated today. While monumental landmarks such as the Alcázar, the Giralda, or the Cathedral preserve and reinterpret historic legacies, modern projects have begun introducing new materials, programs, and spatial typologies, challenging conventional forms and proposing alternative ways to inhabit the city.
Designed by David Chipperfield Architects, Muzej Lah, a new contemporaryart museum, is set to open in the summer of 2026 in Bled, Slovenia. Located at the foothills of the Julian Alps, the museum will house the Fundacija Lah art collection, developed over more than three decades by Slovenian philanthropists Igor and Mojca Lah. The collection will be made publicly accessible for the first time with the opening of the institution.
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.
