The Villa Cavrois stands as a powerful testament to early modernist architecture and the vision of architect Robert Mallet-Stevens. Built between 1929 and 1932 in Croix, France, this landmark residence was commissioned by Paul Cavrois, a prominent textile industrialist, to embody modern values and house his growing family. Mallet-Stevens' design merges Modernist ideals with a luxurious, functional aesthetic that breaks sharply from traditional styles, creating a space defined by clean lines, balanced proportions, and innovative materials.
More than just a family home, Villa Cavrois was designed as an architectural manifesto, presenting bold new ideas in residential design that would inspire generations. Its meticulously crafted layout, advanced technological features, and harmonious connection to the surrounding landscape positioned it as a symbol of modern living.
Women have played a pivotal role in the evolution of landscape architecture, overcoming the constraints of a male-dominated profession to introduce groundbreaking ideas and fresh perspectives. From early pioneers to contemporary leaders, their work has reshaped how we interact with public and private spaces, intertwining aesthetics, functionality, and sustainability in innovative ways.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, female landscape architects carved out their place in the profession, emphasizing harmony between built structures and natural landscapes. Their projects showcased a deep commitment to community and ecological balance, setting the stage for an inclusive and thoughtful approach to design that continues to inspire the field today.
Standing out among the array of cultural programs, the opera and theater typology is often understood as encompassing the luxurious and elitist spirit of a bourgeois society focused on entertainment. Across the Soviet Union, this represented the opposite of the principles to be promoted. However, despite the opposition of the political class, the program remained widely popular. As the historical structures, symbols of the previous regime could no longer be promoted, the search began for a new image of the Opera House, one aligned with Socialist ideals and the concept of "art belonging to the masses."
This is the case of Soviet Lithuania, which, in the 1940s, began the process of developing a new Opera and Ballet Theater in Vilnius to replace the theatre in Pohulianka. The process resulted in an unusual commission, as young architect Elena Nijolė Bučiūtė won the 1960s competition for architectural design, turning the initial socialist realist proposals into a welcoming and expressive design, blending elements of early and late modernism. This also represents a surprising accomplishment for a young architect who was a woman and not a member of the Communist Party. Open House Vilnius featured the project in its program for several editions.
From 1977 to 1983, the National Theatre in Prague underwent a major transformation with the opening of Nová Scéna, a modern counterpart to the traditional Neo-Renaissance theatre. For many years, Nová Scéna hosted the renowned Laterna Magika, the world’s first multimedia theatre. This groundbreaking performance style combined classical theatre with computer-generated visual effects, creating a unique dramatic experience. The striking glass building, a symbol of the communist era, became an iconic representation of the political power of the time. In recognition of its significance, this building was part of the Open House Prague festival in 2024—an annual event that invites the public to explore and appreciate the value of architecture.
Regarding urban development, the choice between demolition and adaptive reuse holds far-reaching implications. From debates around the cultural and historical significance of structure to the environmental impact of the process of razing and rebuilding, compared to the cost of preserving and adapting, the matter of demolitions has ignited the architectural community to come together and ask for more responsible assessment strategies in hopes of rediscovering the value of existing structures. This article gathers some of the stories of buildings facing the threat of demolition and the processes that led to their rescue.
Exhibition Hall of the Union of Artists, Tashkent, Uzbekistan, 2022. Image Courtesy of Armin Linke
Tashkent, the capital city of Uzbekistan, stands as one of the most populous cities in Central Asia. Situated in the northeastern part of the country, near the border with Kazakhstan, Tashkent has been profoundly shaped and influenced by diverse cultures throughout its history. The most significant transformation of its urban landscape occurred during the Soviet era when the city was rebuilt as a model Soviet city, following the 1966 earthquake that caused substantial damage. During this reconstruction, architects from various regions of the Soviet Union collaborated with local experts, resulting in a unique form of architectural modernism that harmoniously integrated elements of Islamic architecture, indigenous creativity, and cutting-edge engineering achievements of that era. At that time, Tashkent held the esteemed status of a prominent international city in the East.
The COVID-19 pandemic has seen inequalities laid bare, especially when it pertains to the unequal allotment of architectural resources to people. The start of the pandemic saw Europeans who could afford it, for example, leaving the urban metropolises they lived in and going away to their second homes in the countryside. We’ve also seen how poorer people in places like New York, for example, do not have adequate access to green spaces – a critical part of human well-being. Within this conversation is also the issue of social housing - known by multiple names around the world - and how the social housing that gets designed in the present and in the future should respond to ever-changing global needs.
Given that the architects of modernity were in search of purity of form, it stands to reason that the image of this modern architecture is almost inevitably rendered in white in the collective imagination. Relieved of superfluous decorations, modern architecture became associated with the predominant use of white surfaces to highlight the volumetric composition. Combined with the concept of “material truth” first articulated by Victorian critic John Ruskin, white-colored architecture is often understood as straightforward, clear, and sincere.
Brutalism is a deeply dividing architectural style - a subcategory of the Modernist movement that featured bare concrete finishes, unusual shapes, and an undoubtedly unique aesthetic. Whilst emerging into prominence in 1950s Great Britain, the most iconic examples of this architectural style are arguably found in Eastern Europe - particularly in the territory formerly known as Yugoslavia.
A city of electric architectural diversity – Belgrade’s Modernist structures give the Serbian capital a unique character. The grey of Belgrade’s Brutalist concrete is one of the city’s architectural signatures, existing in both complex volumetric facades and monolithic rectilinear forms. But while a plethora of architectural appraisals has been conducted on the external qualities of brutalist structures in Belgrade and beyond, photographic documentation of Belgrade’s brutalist interiors is relatively rare – something that photographer Inês d’Orey has sought to change in her most recent exhibition.
If one were asked to picture a Catholic Church, the first image to come to mind would probably resemble a medieval gothic cathedral with buttresses, pointed arches, and a spire pointing toward the sky. On second thought, many more styles could easily be identified as catholic architecture: the simple yet grandiose structures of the Romanesque or maybe the ornate styles of Baroque and Rococo. An image more difficult to associate with sacred architecture is that of Modernism. The Roman Catholic Church is a particularly conservative establishment. Modernism, on the other hand, is revolutionary; it is rational, functional, and technical; it rejects ornaments and embraces innovation. Surprisingly, in the years after the end of the Second World War, places of worship defied expectations. Blocks of concrete, raw materials, angular shapes, and exposed structures have all been employed to break from tradition and create churches that barely resemble a church. This article will explore Modernist mid-century Church architecture with the support of images from Jamie McGregor Smith.
When cities grow, fuelled by an expanding population, housing becomes an essential component of the urban character of a metropolis. Across the world, housing experiments have been propagated by governments and states, with mixed results, and undoubtedly mixed opinions. The Soviet-era housing estates of Central and Eastern Europe are particularly interesting in that regard. These mass housing projects have been dismissed as eyesores and viewed as unimaginative monolithic structures. The legacy of these developments, however, is a lot more complicated than that.
There’s the iconic Cenotaph for Newton drawing, the evocative monochrome illustration by Etienne-Louis Boullée. There are the experimental drawings of Lebbeus Woods, evocative urban visions of a distant future. There are also the well-known drawings of Le Corbusier’s utopian Ville Radieuse. Drawing, and in turn architectural visualizations, have always been a useful medium with which to contemplate architectural concepts of the future. It is fascinating to look back at the architectural visualizations of the future done in the past.
The early 20th century saw the birth of Modernist architecture. It brought with it a central architectural movement that in turn birthed off-shoots of its own. A figure often seen as the defining face of this movement is Le Corbusier, whose 1923 treatise Toward an Architecturewas influential to his Modernist contemporaries – a manifesto including the phrase “a house is a machine for living in” where good architecture would have to be intrinsically linked to function and the demands of industry.
Throughout history, architectural styles, have experienced numerous movements throughout time, giving us various expressions of interior and exterior spaces. These movements are often created out of dissatisfaction with the status quo, shifts in religious ideologies, or the emergence of new building technology. Perhaps one of the most famous instances in history was the precedent set by Adolf Loos and his desire to break away from Viennese tradition with his strong dissent of ornament in architecture in favor of simplicity, and his literary discourse that lay the cornerstone for the modernist movement in architecture.
We are twenty-one years into the twenty-first century. The world has never been more connected with the advent of new technologies, yet historical inequalities still run rampant. These inequalities manifest themselves in different ways. Global travel, for example – despite the ubiquity of aeroplanes nowadays – is still only widely accessible to citizens of “developed” countries due to prohibitive visa restrictions. In architectural education, many institutions still prioritise a Eurocentric curriculum, the architecture of non-Western populations largely ignored. Another perpetuation of prejudiced systems is Orientalism – and exploring this concept through an architectural lens is useful for interrogating contemporary design approaches and approaches of the future.
The way our world looks like today is a result of centuries and centuries of human migration, of complex natural phenomena that has resulted in the geographic appearance of the world’s continents today. We understand this world through our lived experiences, but we also understand this world through a two-dimensional man-made invention – maps. Maps define the many contested borders of the world and have been used in an oppressive capacity, in particular places, for example, segmenting off sections of a place from marginalised societal groups.
The National Provincial Bank in Plymouth, Southwest England, completed in 1959 and designed by the bank’s architecture department with BC Sherren serving as chief architect. . Image Courtesy of Elain Harwood
The term “mid-century modern” conjures up images of a sharp-suited Don Draper, slender teak cabinets, and suave chairs from Scandinavia. That is, at least, one perspective of the design movement and a view more of 1950s-era Manhattan offices than anything else. But in Britain, mid-century modernism manifested as something slightly different, coming in the form of schools, cathedrals, housing, and an era-defining festival, all eloquently described and illustrated by the prolific architectural historian Elain Harwood in Mid-Century Britain: Modern Architecture 1938-1963.
