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.
Cities bring together the best and worst of the human condition. They concentrate opportunities for work, social networks, and cultural production, but they also expose deep social inequalities. Among the many forms of urban exclusion are limited access to transportation, housing, leisure, or safety issues. One form that is rarely discussed is thermal inequality. In lower-income neighborhoods, where there are fewer trees, parks, and permeable surfaces, heat accumulates and thermal discomfort dominates, resulting in higher energy consumption and health risks. As concern about the climate crisis grows, this discussion becomes more urgent: extreme heat is no longer just a climatic phenomenon but also a spatial expression of inequality.
Founded in Winnipeg, Manitoba, in 2007 by Johanna Hurme and Sasa Radulovic, and shortly afterward joined by its third partner, Colin Neufeld, 5468796 Architecture was established as an architecture firm whose early work explored the current state of housing in North America. The Canadian studio operates as a collaborative group of approximately 20 designers, where they prioritize the collective value of ideas over individual authorship.
Jurong Lake Gardens is one of Singapore's newest national gardens, a 90-hectare urban oasis for the community. Elevate’s PondGard EPDM membrane was used to waterproof the pond. Image Courtesy of Holcim
The future of urban planning and architecture is promising if the world, collectively, looks beyond the concept of mere sustainability and instead embraces a nature-positive approach. As global population growth drives rapid urbanization—requiring humanity to build the equivalent of a city the size of Madrid every week for decades to come—the construction sector faces a defining challenge: how to build durable, energy-efficient, and resilient urban environments in harmony with natural ecosystems.
Giardino delle Sculture / Carlo Scarpa. Image by Jean-Pierre Dalbéra [Flickr under license CC BY-NC 2.0]
When we think of Venice, familiar images come to mind: Piazza San Marco, winding canals, and the reflection of Byzantine domes on still waters. Few, however, imagine that among those reflections lies a discreet chapter of Italian modernity — the architecture of Carlo Scarpa.
This international competition invited architects, artists, and designers to create visionary public sculptures that reflect Saudi Arabia's rich cultural heritage and forward-looking ambitions. As the Kingdom undergoes a profound transformation under Vision 2030, this initiative—organized in partnership with the Mujassam Watan Initiative—called for works that engage with both history and future, tradition and innovation, within the public realm.
As architecture moves beyond human-centered design, new practices are rethinking coexistence as an ethical and ecological framework. From political infrastructures to habitats, these approaches invite us to imagine architecture as a shared living system.
Modern architecture has long been written through an anthropocentric lens, placing the human at its center and rendering other species invisible. Yet this paradigm continues to shift, as architects and researchers redefine the role of design in more-than-human worlds. Studios such as Office for Political Innovation, Studio Ossidiana, and Husos Architects are questioning human-centered narratives and reframing design as a shared practice between species. In this context, architecture is no longer a tool of control but a medium for coexistence, a discipline that mediates between species, environments, and cultures.
Across South America, architecture is increasingly being understood as a collective act. Rather than imposing external views, many studios and designers are building with and for communities, learning from their local practices, materials, and ways of inhabiting. These projects are repositioning the architect's role from an author to a facilitator, transforming design into a participatory process that centers collaboration, care, and mutual respect.
What unites these efforts is not style or scale, but a shared belief: architecture emerges from collective dialogue, not imposition. From rural Ecuador to the urban peripheries of Brazil, Colombia, and Paraguay, these projects reveal how social engagement and local making produce spaces that are sustainable not only environmentally but also socially. They respond to inequality not through top-down solutions, but through co-authorship, offering spaces that reflect the needs, knowledge, and agency of the people who use them.
The ultimate accolades of World Building of the Year supported by GROHE, World Interior of the Year, Future Project of the Year and Landscape of the Year were announced today as hundreds of architects from across the world convened at a grand finale Gala Dinner at Miami Beach Convention Center in Florida. A host of Special Prizes, including the American Beauty Prize supported by the Royal Fine Art Commission Trust, were also announced at the closing event to celebrate the eighteenth edition of the festival. The announcement follows the final day of WAF, in which prize winners across all 43 categories have been competing for the winning titles.
https://www.archdaily.com/1036083/world-building-of-the-year-and-interior-of-the-year-revealed-at-world-architecture-festival-2025Enrique Tovar
Adaptive reuse is shifting from simple preservation to active revitalization, a process of structurally rescuing and reprogramming architectural typologies whose original functions are no longer relevant. The obsolescence of architectural spaces occurs for varied reasons: sociological shifts, leaving spaces uninhabited; technological advances, phasing out specific machinery; and economic changes, making centralized functions necessary. The strategy of repurposingfocuses on achieving spatial and functional longevity through minimal interventions, allowing the original structure to serve as the memory anchor of the project.
This wave of adaptive reuse treats the historic shell as a limited resource, prioritizing structural permanence over surface aesthetics. Designers are engaging in a sort of archaeological process by exposing the original structural essence: the heavy timber, raw concrete, or monumental masonry. Interventions are confined to meeting new programmatic needs, often appearing as an independent insertion within the ancient envelope. This contrast redefines the building's lifespan not as a singular narrative but as a layered story of continuous events.
In contemporary bathroom architecture, the drain has evolved from a purely functional component into a design element that guides layout, accessibility, and long-term performance. When drainage, slope geometry, and waterproofing are designed as one system, the tiled surface achieves both visual refinement and reliable function—qualities that are critical for hotels, spas, and residences. Schluter® establishes the essential drain-to-waterproofing connection in a controlled factory setting, rather than relying on field assembly.
Mehrangarh Fort, Jodhpur, Rajasthan India. Photo by Sanhitasinha. License Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
India's palaces and former colonial warehouses are witnessing a new kind of restoration, one that happens beneath the surface. From discreet steel supports tucked behind centuries-old masonry to digital sensors embedded in frescoed ceilings, technology is quietly reshaping how heritage buildings are protected for the future. These upgrades are more about subtle precision and less about spectacle; invisible engineering wonders.
As the world moves towards adaptive reuse, architects and engineers are confronted with an evolving challenge to make historic structures safe for public access while maintaining the authenticity of the architecture. Whether it's upgrading palaces to cool efficiently or seismic reinforcement of Victorian godowns, the goal is beyond preservation. It's about the intelligent coexistence of the old and the new.
