It is undeniable that, at first glance, the idea of a Louvre in Abu Dhabi or a Centre Pompidou in Brazil may seem somewhat disconcerting. The image of these museums, internationally renowned, appears in many ways inseparable from their original cultural contexts. And to some extent, it truly is. The Louvre, deeply rooted in the history of France as a former fortress and later royal residence, embodies a set of invaluable heritage values, further amplified by I. M. Pei’s iconic glass pyramid intervention in 1989. The Pompidou, meanwhile, is remembered as a historic turning point: by redefining the concept of public infrastructure through radically unconventional architecture, it marked the first time culture drew in mass audiences.
Nearly three years after artificial intelligence captured the world's attention, architecture is still searching for stable ground in the conversation. Between confident claims and cautious trials, many professionals still question whether—and how—AI is truly changing everyday practice.
A new white paper from Chaos addresses this through practitioner interviews and in-depth internal research, revealing how the technology is beginning to reshape productivity, authorship, and creative identity across the industry.
The white paper offers a closer look at where AI creates value, where it falls short, and how architects can navigate what comes next.
Chimneys are among the most quietly persistent elements in architectural history. Yet their presence persists in nearly every cultural and climatic context, serving as a technical feature and a spatial, atmospheric, and symbolic device. It populates dense city skylines and anchors rural horizons alike, its vertical silhouette as ordinary as a window or a doorframe. This apparent ordinariness is deceptive. The chimney is one of the few architectural components that links the intimate scale of interior life with the expansive forces of the environment. For architects and designers, the necessity of the chimney presents a choice: to let it recede quietly into the building's functional fabric or to amplify it as a central, expressive element that shapes a project's identity.
Dedicated to high-end lighting specification, the UK's trade show LiGHT 25 will return to the Business Design Center in Islington, London, on November 19–20, 2025. Following LiGHT 24, which attracted more than 5,500 visitors, this year's edition will feature an expanded program of innovation, education, and networking opportunities. Key highlights for 2025 include the introduction of the Technical Zone, the return of the Associations Lounge, and a new large-scale immersive light art installation.
Few commissions allow architects to focus on non-human users, and fewer still involve horses. While domestic pets like cats and dogs are common muses, the particular needs of horses present a unique challenge when designing stables. Since the horses, who are the stable's primary inhabitants, cannot articulate their needs, design relies on the rigorous requirements dictated by human caretakers, requiring a balance between streamlined human operations and maximized horse comfort and safety. Architects often seem to address this through three core principles: Equine Comfort & Well-being, Contextual Materiality, and Operational Efficiency. Thus, the resulting layouts are characterized by rigorous zoning that clearly separates the programs into residential (stalls), service (tack, storage, wash, feed), and training spaces (arenas, walkers). The designs also address visual well-being: Horses are social animals, so they strategically position stables to promote sightlines between animals and to the exterior, often employing louvered or open-frame systems. Furthermore, lighting is kept diffuse using materials such as translucent panels to prevent sharp, stress-inducing shadows in arenas. Similarly, circulation paths are designed for the safe, efficient movement of both people and animals.
In contemporary interior design, acoustics have evolved from an afterthought into a defining design language. Architects and specifiers are increasingly seeking materials that perform both visually and functionally – where surface texture, light interplay and sound absorption converge to shape human experience. As open-plan workspaces, hospitality interiors and education hubs embrace more tactile, sustainable finishes, the market for high-performance acoustic materials has surged. Within this landscape, Woven Image has emerged as a global leader, continually pushing the boundaries of what acoustic surfaces can achieve.
Infrastructure has long defined the backbone of cities by linking people, landscapes, and economies through systems that often go unnoticed until they fail. Today, as global challenges demand more adaptive and human-centered responses, architects are rethinking what infrastructure can be: not just a framework for movement and utility, but a catalyst for ecological restoration, cultural continuity, and civic imagination. The following unbuilt projects, submitted by the ArchDaily community, explore this expanded role of infrastructure, where airports, bridges, industrial parks, and pedestrian networks become architectural expressions of connection and care.
There is growing awareness around sustainability—and the environmental cost of prematurely demolishing safe, structurally sound buildings only to replace them with new construction. In the broader race to reduce carbon emissions, corporations and institutions are placing greater emphasis on ESG performance (environmental impact, social responsibility, and governance). Many now require carbon accounting, set "carbon-neutral" targets, or purchase carbon credits to offset footprints.
This shift, together with a wave of exemplary adaptive-reuse projects worldwide—Herzog & de Meuron's Tai Kwun in Hong Kong, Powerhouse Arts in Brooklyn, David Chipperfield's The Ned Doha, and Xu Tiantian's transformations of factories, quarries, and rammed-earth fortresses in China—has accelerated serious reconsideration of reuse as a primary development strategy. Yet despite its many benefits, adaptive reuse is still not as prevalent as it could be. Why and what might be the main obstacles and tensions?
As the late urban planner Jaime Lerner once argued, the future of architecture lies not in building new cities but in updating those that already exist. In a world where resources are finite and urban space is increasingly saturated, his statement feels more urgent than ever. It calls for architects to look inward, to rethink what truly needs to be built, and to recognize the creative potential of what is already there. Within the constraints of existing structures lies an opportunity to design differently: to repair, adapt, and reuse. Or, as French poet Louis Aragon would have it, to reinvent the past to see the beauty of the future.
This month, ArchDaily exploresBuilding Less: Rethink, Reuse, Renovate, Repurpose, a theme that examines the growing shift in architecture toward working with what already exists. As urban spaces grow denser and land becomes scarce, architects are rethinking the impulse to build anew. Instead, they are extending the life of existing structures, embracing retrofit and adaptive reuse as strategies for sustainability and creativity. The question guiding this exploration is simple, yet urgent: How can architecture redefine urban futures by building less?
Architecture has entered a pivotal moment. As cities continue to grow under the weight of climatic and social pressures, the materials and systems that shape them are being redefined. Artificial intelligence and robotics, once used to accelerate construction processes, are now being rethought as tools for cultivation. Printed structures that grow, breathe, and decay. Cultivation, in this context, refers to designing with biological materials, where growth and decay are active parameters, merging digital precision with ecological intelligence. This evolution shows the shift from efficiency to empathy, where architecture becomes an agent of active repair. The introduction of mycelium and other natural materials into 3D printing presents a new paradigm in architecture: the logic of the living. A place where computation and fabrication meet biological adaptability.
AI and robotics, once associated with industrial efficiency, are now opening new ways of designing. Early examples, such as ICON's 3D-printed housing prototypes, focused on speed and automation but offered little response to their surroundings. Newer projects, such as the MycoMuseum at the 2025 Venice Architecture Biennale, reinterpret these tools through a biological lens. Instead of shaping concrete, they cultivate living materials, marking a shift from pure optimization toward regeneration.
Vernacular architecture is often referred to as harboring lessons for creating low-energy buildings and the fight against climate change. Yet, as weather patterns are changing, there are cases where traditional building techniques are themselves becoming at risk. As well as changes in temperature, different regions have faced becoming wetter or drier, experiencing increased risk of droughts, flooding, storms, and changes to local flora. The painted houses of Tiébélé in Burkina Faso, recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, are one example.
Aristotle is credited with the proverb "One swallow does not make a summer." In nature, the arrival of these migratory birds often announces the change of seasons, a universal symbol of renewal and hope. Yet it is only when many take flight that the true warmth of summer begins. The same can happen in architecture: an isolated project, however exemplary, rarely changes a reality on its own. When, however, a work teaches, inspires, and can be replicated, it becomes the harbinger of something greater.
Initiatives that combine simple technologies, local materials, and participatory processes show how building can also be an act of learning. Structures and bricks shape places of mutual teaching, where architects and residents share knowledge and build together, multiplying skills and strengthening bonds. These projects point to the possibility of a collective summer, a future in which knowledge spreads as widely as the walls that shelter it.
In many parts of the world, remoteness is not only defined by distance. It may describe a mountain settlement far from infrastructure or an urban and suburban neighborhood on the margins of visibility and opportunity. Across these diverse contexts, the library has been one of the most vital typologies—a space where architecture embodies the modes of accessibility, inclusivity, and community care.
Concrete, steel, wood, glass. Every year, millions of tons of construction materials are discarded, piled up in landfills, and silenced beneath the weight of the next building. Entire structures disappear to make way for others, restarting a voracious cycle of resource extraction, material production, and replacement. Along with the debris that accumulates, something deeper is also lost: time, human labor, stories, and the collective memory embedded in matter. At a time when climate goals demand reducing emissions and extending the lifespan of what already exists, demolition is increasingly recognized as a form of urban amnesia, one that erases not only cultural continuity but also the embodied energy of buildings. And even though it is often said that the most sustainable building is the one that already exists, that principle rarely survives when other interests come into play.
Theaters serve as cultural and social institutions, shaping society by providing spaces where stories of identity, race, and justice are brought to life. These venues foster community through shared, live experiences, sparking conversations that resonate beyond the stage. Architecturally, theaters are more than performance spaces—they are landmarks that embody both the history and future of the arts. Their design often reflects the cultural importance of storytelling, while their refurbishments ensure they remain relevant in a modern context.
In this week's AD Interior Focus, ArchDaily explores how the refurbishment of iconic theaters like the Royal Opera House in London, United Kingdom, and Sydney Opera House in Australia goes beyond modernizing comfort and accessibility. It delves into how these projects preserve the architectural integrity of these historic landmarks, ensuring their design continues to serve as a backdrop for both artistic expression and social discourse.
Wine production has long been tied to place, climate, and culture, and in recent decades, architecture has become a central part of this relationship. Wineries are no longer understood only as functional facilities for fermentation, storage, and distribution, but also as spaces where landscape, materiality, and visitor experience intersect. From subterranean cellars hidden beneath fields to sculptural landmarks rising in rural territories, these buildings shape the identity of winemaking regions while offering visitors a carefully choreographed encounter with the process of production.
At the intersection of agriculture, tourism, and culture, wineries present architects with unique opportunities to merge technical requirements with a spatial narrative. They must respond to environmental conditions, manage temperature and humidity with precision, and integrate with delicate ecosystems, while also providing spaces for tasting, gathering, and celebration. As a result, the typology has given rise to a wide range of architectural solutions. Some are rooted in tradition and local craft, others are exploring advanced technologies and contemporary forms.
The event invited designers to reflect on one of architecture's oldest and most symbolic elements: the stair. Beyond its functional role as a connector of levels, the stair was positioned here as a medium of architectural storytelling—an invitation to explore ideas of procession, sequence, space, and form.
For this first edition, participants were asked to conceptualize a stair not as a technical solution but as an expressive artifact—an embodiment of their design sensibility and architectural values. There were no constraints on site, scale, material, or program. Instead, designers were challenged to reimagine the stair as a sculptural, poetic, and even philosophical construct—one that could provoke, question, or elevate our understanding of vertical space.
Tourism in Portugal began to develop in the late 1950s, initially centered on key destinations such as the Algarve coast, Lisbon, and the religious hub of Fátima. This focus made tourism largely a coastal activity. However, rapid growth and overburdened infrastructure in these areas led to saturation and a crisis in the sector. To address this, efforts were made to promote alternative destinations, appealing to a new wave of tourists looking for more sustainable, authentic, and locally immersive experiences.
Buildings must change faster than they were built to. Shifting tenant needs, tightening climate policies, and rising office vacancies expose the cost of static stock: waste, noise, downtime, and—in the worst case—stranded assets. The consequence is clear: buildings across typologies must be designed to adapt over time. The inaugural Adaptable Building Conference (ABC), taking place on January 22, 2026, at the Nieuwe Instituut in Rotterdam, brings the industry together to turn adaptability from principle into practice.
Hormuz Island, located in Iran, was a strategically significant port in the Persian Gulf, characterized by its landscape of colorful mountains. Despite its tourist appeal, the island faces significant socio-economic problems, with the local population having historically faced economic hardship. In response, the Majara Complex by ZAV Architects was conceived not merely as a building but as a deliberate architectural intervention designed to give control, opportunity, and economic benefit directly to the local community. To do this, the project channeled investment into local human resources and prioritized accessible construction techniques, creating a pathway for localized wealth creation. This allowed the Majara Complex to be one of the recipients of the Aga Khan Award for Architecture in 2025.
For architects and specifiers, selecting the right cladding system is both a technical and creative act, connecting material science with architectural intent. More than simple visual envelopes, façades today are high-performance systems that balance protection, insulation, and expression. As the first barrier between exterior and interior, the right cladding system can define how a building behaves and ages over time, affecting its thermal comfort, acoustic performance, fire safety, and overall durability.
Among the most commonly used façade materials are wood, metal sheets, composites, and aluminum systems. Within this range, single-skin metal panels and extruded aluminum panels are particularly notable for their blend of strength, precision, and architectural appeal. While both benefit from aluminum's inherent lightness and corrosion resistance, they differ significantly in structural logic, performance characteristics, and ideal applications. Companies such as Parallel Architectural Products—specialized in extruded aluminum cladding systems and architectural finishes—have played an important role in advancing these technologies, combining precision engineering, aesthetic flexibility, and local manufacturing.
The VELUX Group is launching the next step in its Action Leadership agenda as an experiment to explore how existing buildings can better serve both people and planet. The experiment builds on decades of demonstration projects and research into healthy buildings, including Living Places, which achieved an ultra-low carbon footprint and first-class indoor climate in an affordable and accessible way. The next step shifts focus towards existing buildings, from new build to renovation—named Re:Living.
Re:Living is a forward-thinking experiment to reimagine renovation to be more than a technical upgrade, and instead as a holistic opportunity to improve human well-being, support biodiversity, and reduce environmental impact. It's part of VELUX's long-term commitment to lead the building industry toward healthier, more sustainable practices, driven by a belief that simply reducing harm is no longer enough.
Agustina Iñiguez's journey into architecture was rooted in a deep appreciation for art, drawing, and craftsmanship, interests that naturally evolved into a formal architectural education beginning at age 18. Based in Buenos Aires, Agustina balances her professional architectural practice with an active role in academia, serving as a teaching assistant at the University of Buenos Aires and as an assistant professor at Torcuato Di Tella University. Since joining ArchDaily's Editorial Team in 2021, she has brought a thoughtful and interdisciplinary approach to curating content that bridges theory, practice, and social engagement.
