After a seven-year pause, Amman Design Week returned to Jordan with a premise that feels closely tied to the city itself: that nothing is ever entirely new. Under the theme "Accumulations," the fourth edition of the biennial event brought together more than 220 designers, makers, architects, and collectives across exhibitions, public interventions, talks, workshops, and performances from October 2 to 17. The premise was particularly relevant to Amman, a city whose architecture has been shaped by waves of construction, migration, adaptation, and reuse, where accumulation is not simply a metaphor.
"Architecture must return to its essence." With this statement, Wang Shu and Lu Wenyu establish the central premise of their curatorial vision for the 20th International Architecture Exhibition of La Biennale di Venezia, taking place from May 8 to November 21, 2027, across the Giardini, the Arsenale, and throughout Venice. Titled "Do Architecture – For the Possibility of Coexistence Facing a Real Reality", the exhibition calls for a return to the physical act of making architecture, at a time when, according to the curators, the discipline has become increasingly disconnected from lived reality through excessive abstraction, commercialization, and digitalization.
Rather than focusing on what architecture might become, the curators propose a renewed engagement with the present, questioning what it means to practice architecture today through materials, construction, local knowledge, and direct experience. This approach builds on ideas that have long informed the work of Amateur Architecture Studio, founded by Wang Shu and Lu Wenyu in 1997, particularly their exploration of traditional building techniques, material reuse, and the relationship between architecture and place.The exhibition also places the question of coexistence at its center, exploring how architecture can bring together seemingly opposing conditions, from technology and craftsmanship to urban and rural ways of building, while remaining grounded in the specific realities of each place.
On Tarkwa Bay, off the coast of Lagos, the transformation of an abandoned building offers a way to consider how architecture might emerge from the materials, relationships and conditions already present in a place.
Architecture is often encountered at the end, when the uncertainties of making have been resolved into a building, a surface, a space. Less visible are the conditions that allow these outcomes to exist, the movement of materials, the availability of labour, the knowledge held by people and places, and the negotiations through which an idea becomes possible. On Tarkwa Bay, an island off the coast of Lagos accessible only by boat, these conditions are difficult to separate from the act of building itself.
The crossing from the Lagos mainland introduces a different relationship to access. People, tools and materials move across water; some resources are readily available, others less so. Materials move across water; reclaimed elements carry histories from elsewhere; salt and sun alter the behaviour of surfaces; and the availability of local artisans influences how work unfolds. These are not necessarily prohibitions; rather, they make visible the dependencies that building elsewhere can allow us to overlook.
The concept of "eyes on the street" is perhaps the most famous within architectural and urban literature when it comes to urban security. Jane Jacobs uses this expression to refer to people who - consciously or unconsciously - use public spaces or observe them from their homes, generating natural surveillance. A movement that, within our discipline, is encouraged both through quality public spaces and through the powerful relationship between the public and private created through building facades. Advocating for this daily control, Jacobs believes in a way of making architecture and cities that condemns excessive verticalization, reinforced by isolated buildings and single-use ones that deny contact with the street.
Where rivers, reservoirs, and rainfall can no longer be relied upon consistently, water is increasingly being sought in the atmosphere. Fog, atmospheric humidity, and condensation each offer different ways of collecting it. When architecture begins to collect water from the air, surfaces, structures, and open spaces become part of the water system.
According to UNICEF, Jordan's National Water Strategy estimates that each person has access to only about 61 cubic meters of renewable water per year, far below the 500 cubic meters commonly used as a threshold for absolute water scarcity. Around half of the population receives piped water only once a week, while groundwater is being extracted faster than many aquifers can naturally recharge.
What do architects do? This age-old question reveals the perennial dichotomy between two aspects of building–how to construct, and why to build. Despite its ancient origins and its name deriving from Ancient Greek, the profession is one that has transformed over the centuries. Its present-day form, usually dated to the Italian Renaissance, makes a distinction between the act of building and the intellectual and aesthetic decision-making behind it. However, we may be in the midst of another nascent transformation. The commissioning of architecture has historically remained separate from the practice, but as can be seen in the work of MASS and projects like the Moving Windmills Innovation Center, this distinction is beginning to blur.
Regenerative Salt Landscapes, winning entry of the ArchDaily Student Project Awards 2026. Image via ArchDaily Student Project Awards
On paper, entering an architecture competition is one of the most challenging things an architecture student can do. What draws students to them is the chance to experiment, approaching a loosely defined program that leaves room to test unconventional ideas and unfamiliar tools outside the rhythm of the semester. That distance from assessment is a relatively recent development, as competitions were once central to architectural education.
At the École des Beaux-Arts, teaching was split between the atelier, where students developed projects under a practising architect, and the competition, where a jury of professors judged the students' work without having followed its development. This model was later brought to schools such as MIT, Penn, and Cornell by French-trained instructors. Over time, most schools held on to the atelier, which became the design studio, and pushed the competition to the edges of the curriculum.
As cities change, so do our expectations of them. People are asking for more caring spaces: public places open to all ages and genders, nature within reach of every social class, and settings that foster connection. Few design intentions hold these together as well as spaces for children. This selection of unbuilt projects submitted by ArchDaily readers showcases different approaches to care-based architecture. Schools, daycare centers, a library, a youth center, and a new model for orphanages take on the mission of providing a safe and stimulating environment for children at every stage of their development. Not yet built but carefully designed, these proposals offer a glimpse into spaces for play, learning, and calm that fuel creativity in design for people of all ages.
UN-Habitat has announced the five recipients of the 2026 Scroll of Honour Award, recognizing contributions to adequate housing and sustainable urban development in Brazil, Myanmar, Pakistan, Tunisia, and the United Kingdom. This year's winners include a housing organization working with communities affected by conflict and displacement, a researcher developing building materials from local and mining residues, an Indigenous village in Brazil, a public housing agency in Pakistan, and London Mayor Sadiq Khan. Selected from 101 nominations submitted across Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas, the recipients represent a range of approaches to addressing housing and urban development challenges.
The week began with World Architecture Day, drawing attention to the global housing crisis as a fundamental element of human dignity, inclusion, and well-being. In a joint message between the UIA and the United Nations, this year's call is to focus disciplinary efforts on building not only residential structures but also systems to better distribute and use what already exists, proposals that enable new ways of living and alternatives for a more sustainable industry. Aligned with this concept, we featured three projects where reuse and representation converge, and three others that help establish a dialogue between what we consider old and what we can expect from the new. On this week's radar, we find another instance to reexamine the canons of modern architecture in Switzerland, the start of construction on a translucent yet hurricane-resistant building in the United States, and a winning entry for a mixed-use urban complex in Austria.
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Interior of Burkina Faso National Assembly. Image Courtesy of Kéré Architecture.
"Take your dream suppressants." The opening line in Wanuri Kahiū's Pumzi, directed at our protagonist Asha, enforces the order of severing ties with hopeful futures and ancestral memories in pasts shared to compel her focus on the perpetual present in the Maitu Community's heterotopia of an enclave. The bird's-eye view shot of the Maitu reveals a sterile, drone-like structure with a panoptic sphere at its center where normal human behavior is medicalized. The layout is built around closed-loop recycling systems as apt as a self-sufficient organism, designed to escape the toxic environment of a sickly Earth, where every pipe and corridor is engineered to harvest human excretion for water generation, thereby absorbing the roles of nature and state both. The community's architecture perfectly translates the film's message with its physicality.
Across folklore, film, and art, the same move recurs: architecture translates an elsewhere, whether ancestral, spiritual, or speculative, into form that can be seen or entered. The sections below follow that translation from the Kasubi Tombs to Kizazi Moto, and show that the elsewhere is a way of reading the present.
Limbo Engawa, 2026. Steel, salvaged billboard tarpaulin. Co-commissioned by Art Omi and Limbo Museum. Image Courtesy of Art Omi. Photo: Nadia Boyea
Art Omi and Limbo Museum have presented Limbo Engawa, a two-part site-specific installation by TAELON7, led by architect Juergen Benson-Strohmayer. First presented at Limbo Museum in Accra, Ghana, on March 12, 2026, the project was reconfigured for Art Omi's Sculpture & Architecture Park in Ghent, New York, where it opened on September 19, 2026. Developed as a joint commission between the two institutions, the project uses a modular architectural system to explore how spaces for gathering and exchange can respond to different landscapes, climates, and cultural contexts.
Water is life. Animals, plants, fungi, and bacteria all depend on it: water structures their cells, carries their nutrients, and hosts the chemistry that keeps them alive. Even the rare exceptions confirm the rule. Some seeds and spores can lose nearly all their water and enter a dormancy so deep that their metabolism almost stops, yet it is water that brings them back. In the most literal sense, water connects us.
But it also divides us. Every year, thousands of people leave North Africa in overcrowded boats bound for Lampedusa, seeking better living conditions in Europe; more than 30,000 have died or gone missing in the Mediterranean since 2014. Water draws borders and controls flows. Before the war on Iran began in February 2026, the Strait of Hormuz carried around 25% of the world's seaborne crude oil, with effects felt in fuel prices far from the Gulf. Water also sits at the center of the environmental debate, where its excess can be as lethal as its absence. Severe floods increasingly strike countries that have contributed least to global emissions, while the largest polluters remain better equipped to resist. If water is life, it can also mean death. Ultimately, water is political.
What makes a building worth preserving? Age is the most common answer, but not always the best one. A building from the 1950s or 70s may carry as much historical significance as a medieval cathedral; it simply demands a different framework, one that weighs political context, cultural meaning, and architectural innovation over the mere passage of time. This is especially true for modernist architecture across the so-called Global South, where the movement took on unique forms of expression.
It is precisely this conversation that ArchDaily and World Monuments Fund are now opening together. WMF brings on-the-ground conservation expertise across the world, and ArchDaily brings the editorial capacity to contextualize that work and connect it to a global audience. The goal is to do both at once: preserve places and tell their stories, shaping how modernist heritage is understood far beyond the field of preservation itself.
