What does optimism feel like in cities that can no longer rely on perfection as their ultimate ambition? Across the world, urban environments bear the weight of overlapping pressures: climate volatility, spatial inequality, political fragmentation, public distrust, and chronic infrastructural disinvestment. These realities render the idea of an ideal city increasingly detached from lived experience. Yet the hope for building better systems persists. While utopian visions may seem like an escape from the growing complexities of the modern world, the greater challenge for contemporary city-making is to confront those complexities rather than avoid them.
The municipality of Cunha, located in the state of São Paulo, Brazil, is a region known for its inland landscape, hilly terrain, and, especially, a major production of nationally renowned ceramics. It is within this context that the office messina | rivas has been working since 2017, with a set of projects located on a farm. Their work, which integrates design and construction in an indissociable manner, results in interventions that reveal a sensitive approach to pre-existing conditions and their surrounding environment.
The relationship between the office, led by architects Francisco Rivas and Rodrigo Messina, and the site began with a small renovation of a guest house for hosting friends. The project resulted in the transformation of two existing bedrooms into suites and the creation of an external kitchen. Since then, growing demands and the need to adapt existing buildings have driven the design of other projects distributed across the same site.
Mishing traditional bamboo house, Majuli . Photo by Rumi Borah. License Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
Across India's varied geographies, from coastal backwaters to desert fortress cities, architecture evolved with a deep, instinctive connection to climate. These were not isolated craft traditions but complete ecological systems in which material cycles, thermal comfort, and community knowledge were interdependent. As COP30 turns global attention toward the links between heritage and climate resilience, India's vernacular practices appear less as historical artifacts and more as climate technologies refined over centuries.
In public restroom design, innovation goes far beyond aesthetics—it transforms the entire user experience. One of the most exciting trends today is integrating all functional elements—hand dryers, faucets, soap dispensers, and paper dispensers—behind the mirror.
This approach creates a cleaner, minimalist look while optimizing space and enhancing hygiene. All devices remain fully functional but hidden: users simply place their hands where indicated on the mirror, and the equipment activates automatically—no physical contact required.
Urban renewal is inherently fraught—financially complex, politically exposed, stakeholder-dense, and almost guaranteed to leave someone dissatisfied. Precisely for these reasons, many cities default to inertia rather than risk the upheaval that comes with reworking entrenched urban fabrics, their residences, and their dynamics; once the "sleeping bear" is prodded, unexpected complications tend to multiply.
Miyashita Park (Miyashita Kōen), located in Shibuya, Tokyo, crystallizes this dilemma. Its current form—a layered, mixed-use complex balancing commercial activity with a publicly accessible park—emerged from years of negotiation, critique, and recalibration. The result is a distinctive example of a public-private partnership that seeks to align urban amenity, everyday leisure, and economic viability, producing a new piece of city that hosts public life while underwriting its own upkeep.
Modernism has a long history in Morocco. Being close to Europe and under French Protectorate rule, it kept pace with architectural developments in the movement. Its relative peace after the Second World War further strengthened its role as some European architects sought a hub for new ideas. Architects in independent Morocco adopted Modernism as they were tasked to build the infrastructure of a new nation. The architect Jean-François Zevaco, born in Morocco to French parents, practiced across these formative periods, developing his own expressive version of modern architecture.
In a former 16th-century church in Vicenza, two stories come together: that of Italian Renaissance sacred architecture and that of marble, the ancient material by excellence, reinterpreted here in a contemporary key. In this dialogue between eras, Lithos Design presents Quinte, a double-sided partition wall that transforms marble into a design tool: not just a surface, but a rhythmic and modular element that defines and enhances spaces. An idea designed for interior architects looking for solutions that are both functional and decorative, capable of shaping interiors with precision, elegance, and personality.
Spectrum Architecture, in collaboration with SOG and F&M, introduces the masterplan for Gonio Yachts and Marina—a significant waterfront development on the Black Sea coast designed to provide high-end residential and hospitality infrastructure for over 30,000 people.
The project is part of EMAAR's substantial investment in Georgian real estate under the Eagle Hills brand, which plans to develop two megaprojects in Tbilisi and Batumi. The total investment exceeds $6.5 billion and aims to attract $10 billion in foreign direct investment, generate 30,000 jobs across multiple sectors, and host 350,000 visitors annually.
Created by California surfers who wanted to bring the lines of surfing onto asphalt, skateboarding soon outgrew its role as a simple alternative for flat days. It established itself as a practice that reads the city through a different logic, reinterpreting steps, handrails, walls, and interstitial spaces as possible lines, challenges, and opportunities. Over time, it evolved into a global urban culture, a way of inhabiting and transforming public space through movement. What was once marginal has become a catalyst for urban activation, community building, and new uses for overlooked spaces. At its core, skateboarding reveals how many cities coexist within the same city, depending on who moves through them and how each person is able to reinterpret their surroundings.
The new headquarters for Cybernet Systems was designed around the Japanese architectural concept of flexibility, promoting well-being, collaboration, and productivity. As a global leader in Computer-Aided Engineering, supporting industrial production through advanced digital solutions, the headquarters, located in the Fuji Soft Akihabara Building in Tokyo, embodies the company's commitment to creating a dynamic, technology-driven community.
Developed by MB-AA (Matteo Belfiore Architect & Associates) and Shukoh, in collaboration with Cybernet Systems, the project translates corporate values into spatial design. Minimalism, natural light, and openness define the environment. Transparent partitions and adaptable layouts foster communication while allowing each employee to personalize their workspace. Well-being, creativity, flexibility, and technology form the core of the project.
The prestigious BAUMunich, the world's leading trade fair for architecture, materials, and systems, served as the stage for Orama Minimal Frames' latest innovations in architectural frame technology. The exhibition offered a platform for industry connections and showcased advancements that challenge conventional boundaries in frame design.
Meta fitting in Matte Black. Image Courtesy of Dornbracht
Are living spaces getting smaller? As cities densify and the global population continues its steady migration toward urban centers—projected to reach around 70% by 2050—domestic space is becoming increasingly compressed. Rising land prices, high construction costs, and a surge in single-person households push developers toward smaller units and tighter floor plans. At the same time, cultural shifts toward resource efficiency and minimal living support this move. Shrinking living spaces require fewer materials, consume less energy, and encourage people to live closer to their means.
The future of cities has long been defined by intelligence: networks of sensors, data, and engineered systems. From traffic-flow algorithms to climate dashboards, the smart city promised to make urban life optimized, measurable, and predictable. Yet amid this technological abundance, something essential feels absent: sensitivity. Cities are becoming increasingly equipped to process information but less able to perceive atmosphere, emotion, or care.
As recent global debates on urban innovation reveal, the next challenge is not about adding more devices but cultivating new forms of awareness. A sensitive city listens to its climate, adapts to its inhabitants, and responds to the subtle rhythms of the environment. In this shift from computation to perception, architecture and urban design are rediscovering intelligence as a form of empathy.
Can academic projects explore new directions and contribute to public discourse on global and local issues? The 2025 Politecnico di Torino Architecture Students Award aimed to address these questions, showcasing how architectural research, training, and experimentation can be integrated into a school curriculum.
While adaptive reuse has been increasingly acknowledged as a vital architectural strategy worldwide, its discourse and implementation in Asia are still expanding—driven by growing ecological awareness and a shifting understanding of architectural knowledge. Rather than accelerating a developmentalist model centered on demolition and new construction, architects today are confronted with a different approach to the built environment: treating the existing structure as a resource—an archive of materials, spatial organizations, and informal histories.
Adaptive reuse is often associated with the preservation of historic buildings and culturally significant heritage. Yet the vast field of seemingly 'less-valued' structures—abandoned houses, standard yet old dwellings, non-conforming office buildings, and overlooked urban voids—has become ground for experimentation. These sites challenge architects and designers to reconsider prevailing standards of efficiency and market-driven development, and to imagine spatial and ecological practices that avoid the continual loss of embodied material and cultural knowledge inherent in constant rebuilding.
Across Europe and beyond, architects are confronting a turning point. As rising emissions targets collide with shrinking material supplies and the growing urgency of climate commitments, the built environment is being forced into a deeper reckoning with how it consumes, circulates, and discards resources. What was once considered waste is now revealing itself as a dormant architectural archive, an urban ecosystem of materials waiting to be reclaimed, revalued, or reimagined. Within this shift, architects are beginning to play a radically different role. Not only as designers of buildings, but also as orchestrators of the flows that sustain them.
This emerging mindset is reshaping the foundations of practice. Instead of depending on long, extractive supply chains, designers are beginning to build their own closed-loop networks, establishing material banks, negotiating deconstruction protocols, and participating in new forms of urban mining.
Architectural space has long been framed by permanence: rooms for fixed functions, facades that clearly define where exterior ends and interior begins. Yet contemporary life is defined by overlap and transition: between work and living, interior and exterior, privacy and community. Spatial needs evolve continually, demanding architecture that can respond, adapt, and remain relevant over time.
In this context, adaptability has emerged not only as a design ambition but as a sustainable necessity. Buildings that adjust to shifting uses, evolving climates, or new forms of living extend their lifespan and reduce the need for demolition or extensive retrofits. Flexibility becomes a measure of resilience, allowing structures to remain vital across decades. But how can architecture respond to the evolving ways we inhabit and experience space?
For monuments worthy of sustained admiration, conservation practices have been selectively mobilized to reinforce their prestige and secure their place at the center of heritage narratives. Structures whose vernacular ought to be passed down miss the discerning eye of the experts. Rowhouses, shopfronts, and neighborhood structures that form the fabric of our cities are often left to deteriorate beyond repair. Much more is lost, apart from aesthetics.
The conversation around AI in architecture has shifted from hype to application. Architects and designers now want to understand how the intelligent use of AI-powered tools can drive innovation and create a competitive advantage. Yet, as curiosity and optimism grow, firms also face concerns about the ethical and legal questions surrounding AI adoption.
Living by the beach has long been a defining aspiration—drawn by the promise of tempered nature, privacy, and immediate access to the water. Historically, beach houses tended to be rustic and pared back: partly because servicing remote sites and delivering materials was difficult, and partly because their charm lay in being closer to the elements—simpler, rougher, more direct.
Accordingly, many early beach houses were built in timber. Wood offered clear advantages: it was lightweight, adaptable, quick to work with, and could be erected with minimal heavy machinery. While timber weathers and fares poorly in salt-laden humidity, exterior-grade lumber carries a raw, natural character that reinforced the appeal of the beach-house ideal.
In a world facing ecological exhaustion and spatial saturation, the act of building has come to represent both creation and consumption. For decades, architectural progress was measured by the new: new materials, new technologies, new monuments of ambition. Yet today, the discipline is increasingly shaped by another form of intelligence, one that values what already exists. Architects are learning that doing less can mean designing more, and this shift marks the emergence of what might be called an architecture of restraint: a practice defined by care, maintenance, and the deliberate choice not to build.
The principle recognizes that the most sustainable building is often the one that already stands, and that transformation can occur through preservation, repair, or even absence. Choosing not to build becomes a political and creative act, a response to the material limits of the planet and to the ethical limits of endless growth. That Architecture moves beyond the production of new forms to embrace continuity, extending the life of structures, materials, and memories that already inhabit the world.
Public spaces remain some of the most dynamic sites for unbuilt architectural experimentation, revealing how cities and architects can imagine accessibility, gathering, and civic identity. In this curated Unbuilt edition, submitted by the ArchDaily community, the selected proposals examine parks, pedestrian corridors, cultural landscapes, and open-access urban environments that invite people to meet, move, rest, and participate in collective life. Rather than treating public space as leftover terrain, these projects position it as essential infrastructure—shaping urban health, memory, and social interaction.
In 1952, American composer John Cage presented his groundbreaking piece "4'33''" for the first time. In it, the orchestra produces no intentional sound for four minutes and thirty-three seconds. What can be heard instead are breaths, movements, and subtle noises that would normally go unnoticed, but here become part of the composition itself. With this work, Cage revealed that absolute silence does not exist. There is always sound, even when unplanned.
In the same way, every architectural space has its own soundscape. Sound moves, reflects, reverberates, and dissipates according to the materials, volumes, and surfaces it encounters. Hard walls and high ceilings can amplify echoes, while fabrics and porous panels soften them. Acoustics, therefore, is not merely a technical concern but a form of materialized listening, a science that operates at the boundary between perception and emotion. For this reason, it is also complex. Each typology, whether a museum, temple, studio, or theater, has its own sonic logic, and understanding these nuances is essential to creating spaces that embrace sound, voice, and silence with equal precision.
