When designing a space—whether at the scale of interiors, architecture, or infrastructure—materiality is a central concern. Beyond aesthetics, materials determine how a project functions, ages, and endures. Some architects—such as Wang Shu and Kengo Kuma—have built their practices on a deep sensitivity to the potential and limits of materials. But even in the most pragmatic sense, the question arises: What lasts? What doesn't? And how do materials change over time? Naturally, materials shape atmosphere and appearance—qualities that often matter most to clients. Yet increasingly, the discourse around materiality has shifted from structural substance to surface treatment. When did we start focusing more on "decorating" our spaces by layering one material over another, rather than relying on the inherent beauty and performance of the building fabric itself?
For the third year in a row, Melbourne has been selected as one of the top five most liveable cities in the world. The city is widely viewed as the leading architectural hub in Australia for its unique street culture and diverse design expression, with its layers and bold mix of architectural styles. From the very well-restored Victorian era edifices with their intricate ornamentation and detailing to the adjoining Contemporary landmarks, the city seems to achieve a nice balance of all typologies and design movements, while still being very inviting and engaging to its citizens.
The ancient city of Venice, Italy, home to both the art and architecture editions of the Venice Biennale, is known for its unique geography as an island city of canals. Its naval and mercantile prominence now diminished, the city has found a new purpose as a center of learning, exhibiting, and tourism. However, its urban morphology and, indeed, most of its buildings are historic and have remained largely unchanged for hundreds of years. Their appearance exhibits a specific Venetian vernacular that has stood the test of time and stands as a backdrop for the city's contemporary activities. How do the facades of these buildings, particularly their windows, reflect this history? And how do the few modern buildings in the city, such as the Palazzo Nervi-Scattolin, respond to this weight of history?
Founded in 2022 by art advisor Filipe Assis, ABERTO is an exhibition platform celebrating the convergence of art, design, and architecture in Brazil and beyond. Staging exhibitions in private and public modernist spaces, its past editions have highlighted the global connections forged by Brazilians from the 20th century onwards. Following three exhibitions in São Paulo, "ABERTO 4 – Brazil After Le Corbusier" marks its first international edition, taking place at Le Corbusier's Maison La Roche in Paris, from 14 May to 8 June 2025. The exhibition presents around 35 design and art pieces by Brazilian artists, spotlighting Le Corbusier's seminal connection to Brazilian modernist architecture and exploring his influence on contemporary Brazilian creatives. Previous editions of ABERTO have featured over 100 artists from Brazil and abroad in houses designed by Oscar Niemeyer (2022), Vilanova Artigas (2023), and Ruy Ohtake and Chu Ming Silveira (2024).
Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, Inc. has revealed the design for the Amsterdam Avenue side of its campus, developed by Hood Design Studio, Weiss/Manfredi Architecture/Landscape/Urbanism, and Moody Nolan. Recently released renderings illustrate a transformation that includes a new outdoor performance venue, expanded community park spaces, and the removal of the existing wall along Amsterdam Avenue. In response to long-standing calls from both Lincoln Center and local communities, the construction is expected to begin in spring 2026 and be completed by spring 2028.
Little has been written about the work of Abdelmoneim Mustafa, one of the most respected architects in his homeland of Sudan and a pioneer in his profession in the mid-twentieth century. Esra Akcan, who made extensive research of his work with a team in Sudan during a small window of opportunity between 2019 and 2021, laments this lack of recognition thus, "How could someone as gifted as Moneim Mustafa… designer of some of the most exciting mid-century modernist buildings anywhere, be so neglected, so ignored out of Sudan, that to this day there is no internationally accessible publication in his name." Akcan's writings, coupled with the personal blog of Hashim Khalifa, who trained under Mustafa, shed light on his extensive legacy.
The Mid-Century Modernist movement was more than an aesthetic or material shift in the United States, as it was a response to a rapidly changing world. Emerging after World War II, this architectural revolution rejected ornate, traditional styles of the past in favor of clean lines, functional design, and incorporation of flashy materials like steel, glass, and concrete. Modernism was a break from tradition, focusing instead on simplicity, efficiency, and a vision for the future. It reflected the optimism of a nation rebuilding itself, where technology and innovation shaped everything from cityscapes to suburban homes.
Architecture is quintessentially a place-based practice. The amount of local knowledge required to design a building has meant that architects, even many of those with widely spread works, have had concentrations of built projects in individual cities. Giovanni "Gio" Ponti, born and raised in the Italian city of Milan, is one such architect. His projects outside Milan include the Denver Art Museum in the USA and the Villa Planchart in Caracas, Venezuela, as well as university buildings in Padua and Rome, and Taranto Cathedral. However, his works in his native city, such as the Pirelli Tower, best track the development of his architecture and his contribution to product design and publishing.
As architecture navigates a rapidly changing world shaped by ecological urgency, social transformation, and technological acceleration, the notion of intelligence is shifting. No longer confined to individual cognition or artificial computation, intelligence can emerge from cultural memory, collective practices, and adaptive systems. In this broader sense, architecture becomes a field of convergence, where natural, artificial, and social intelligences intersect to offer new ways of designing and building.
Vernacular traditions embed generations of environmental knowledge, often transmitted through materials, construction techniques, and spatial logics finely tuned to local conditions; participatory platforms expand decision-making to wider communities to take part in shaping their environments, redistributing agency in the design process; and computational processes simulate and respond to complex data in real time bringing the capacity to analyse, simulate, and respond to complex variables — whether environmental, social, or behavioural — offering new forms of adaptability.
Through his unbuilt projects, built works, and research, Amancio Williams's ideas emerge as the result of a deep understanding of the most advanced trends of his time reflecting on architectural design, urbanism and city planning. By exploring various themes, concepts, and even materials, he aims to create a personal universe that interprets the present as something future-oriented, both international and distinctly Argentine. His proposal "La ciudad que necesita la humanidad" presents linear and layered buildings raised 30 meters above ground, incorporating everything from office spaces to roads and magnetic trains on different levels of a single structure. The Amancio Williams archive at the Canadian Centre for Architecture in Montreal documents Williams' career as an architect and designer from the 1940s to the late 1980s. The fonds documents his work for over 80 architectural, urban planning and design projects, as well as the administration of his architecture practice and his professional activities. Including drawings and sketches, presentation models, photographic materials, such as photographs of models, finished project (when realized), reference images, photographic reproduction of plans, and site photographs, the archive is available to consult offering more details.
The gas station is an architectural typology that has undergone significant transformations since its inception. Initially, these structures were simple roadside refueling points designed for functionality rather than aesthetics. As automobile culture expanded, gas stations evolved to accommodate new technologies, shifting urban landscapes and changing consumer behaviors. Over time, they became more than just utilitarian stops — they developed into service hubs, integrating restaurants, motels, and leisure spaces, responding to contemporary transportation increasing demands.
By the late 20th century, however, the widespread standardization of gas stations led them to be perceived as "non-places", a concept defined by anthropologist Marc Augé to describe transient spaces that lack social or cultural significance. With uniform designs and a focus on efficiency, gas stations became interchangeable, reinforcing their role as purely functional infrastructure rather than meaningful architectural interventions. This standardization also departed from the era when fuel stations served as recognizable landmarks, contributing to a homogenized landscape devoid of local identity.
It shouldn't be too surprising that architectural concepts were traveling around the globe long before the online spread of information. While many regions share certain historical events and hence references (such as colonization and the mid-20th-century independence movement/ turn of political systems), others might have simply developed parallel solutions to similar climates and material availability. Additionally, it was only natural that with the dissemination of a more uniform architectural pedagogy acquired while studying abroad, followed by the internet boom, we would find almost twin projects from every corner of the world. While these might look nearly identical from some angles, they might bear different layers and stories. Then again, they might also display the same reasoning and prompts shared by counterparts from across the seas.
The intersection of architecture and medicine profoundly shaped modernist design, where transparency, light, and air became essential tools in the pursuit of health. Emerging from the tuberculosis crisis of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the sanatorium evolved beyond a medical facility into a testing ground for architectural innovation. The necessity of fresh air, sunlight, and sterility transformed these spaces into prototypes for modernist principles, influencing spatial organization, material choices, and design philosophies that extended far beyond healthcare.
More than sites of treatment, sanatoriums embodied contemporary medical theories in built form. At a time when tuberculosis — often called the white plague — devastated populations worldwide, medical professionals prescribed environmental exposure as the primary therapy. Architecture adapted accordingly, producing buildings with expansive terraces, large windows, and streamlined interiors designed to optimize ventilation and maximize natural light.
Amidst the traditional streets of Antwerp, where centuries-old townhouses stand as remnants of a historic European city, a stark white volume quietly asserts its presence. Maison Guiette, designed by Le Corbusier in 1926, is an anomaly in its surroundings — a bold statement of modernity in a context that had not yet embraced it.
While today it is overshadowed by the architect's more famous works, this house holds a unique place in history: it was Le Corbusier's first built project outside France, a precursor to his later architectural experiments, and a manifestation of his emerging Modernist principles. Despite its modest scale, it was a manifesto in built form — a house that encapsulated the essence of an architectural revolution.
In March 2025, the actor Adrian Brody rose to the stage to collect his Academy Award for playing the role of László Toth in the acclaimed film, The Brutalist. The film is about a Bauhaus-educated architect who escaped Nazi Germany in the 1930s for the United States. Whilst the story is fictional, it reflects the lives of several émigré architects who left Central Europe in search of better working and intellectual conditions. These included the first three directors of Bauhaus, the renowned German school of design established in 1919. The first and third directors of the school, Walter Gropius and Mies van der Rohe respectively, ended up in the US where their careers in teaching and building both flourished. Lesser known is the second director, Hannes Meyer, who took a different path from his colleagues.
