It is a vast rural expanse spread across the planet, assuming different expressions depending on context—from Asian rice fields to African agricultural settlements, from small European farms to the large estates and agro-extractive communities of the Americas. Yet, beneath this plurality, is there something that unites them? And, more importantly, how might architecture illuminate this quiet thread?
Liminal Air Space-Time by Shinji Ohmaki, Noor Riyadh 2025. Image Courtesy of Noor Riyadh
Noor Riyadh 2025 brought large-scale light installations to public sites across the Saudi Arabian capital, temporarily transforming transit hubs, historic districts, and significant landmarks into illuminated urban environments. From November 20 to December 6, 2025, Riyadh became a citywide gallery of light, motion, and shifting perception. The festival's fifth edition featured 60 artworks by 59 artists from 24 countries, including more than 35 new commissions, responding to the theme "In the Blink of an Eye." Through light as both medium and concept, the installations reinterpreted the capital's rapidly evolving architectural landscape and reflected how perception shifts in spaces shaped by heritage and ambitious urban development.
This past year marked a period of introspection for architecture. As 2025 unfolded, the discipline, confronted with evolving environmental and social realities, entered a broader turning point in how it understands its role and how users engage with it. Throughout the year, exhibitions shifted focus away from buildings as isolated objects toward a broader understanding of relationships between ecology, equity, everyday life, and collective imaginaries. Across institutions and cities, they operated less as showcases and more as discursive platforms: places where architecture was not only presented, but also imagined, questioned, and collectively redefined.
While exhibitions have long functioned as sites of discourse, politics, and community, this role became more explicit in 2025. As Carlo Ratti noted in an ArchDaily interview during the pre-opening of the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025, exhibitions today can "hybridize the way that people come together," an ambition that echoed across cities and institutions as exhibitions evolved into spaces for debate, experimentation, and collective reflection. Exhibitions are places where architects and designers meet, where conversations unfold openly with the public, and where ideas emerge through spontaneous exchanges among passersby. Exhibitions became spaces where architectural discourse extended beyond professional circles, opening conversations to broader publics through everyday encounters, shared experiences, and informal exchanges.
Creating living spaces in a world between on and off. Image Courtesy of GIRA
Across recent architectural discourse, interior design has been centered on how spaces shape psychological and atmospheric experience, and on what gives interior environments their emotional resonance. Attention has shifted toward small details rather than relying primarily on form or structure. Light, for instance, is not only a technical requirement but also an architectural material in its own right. It can structure space, animate surfaces, define textures, and shape atmosphere while influencing well-being. At the same time, the characteristics between minimalism and maximalism shape how atmospheres are perceived, prompting reflection on how approaches to simplicity or exuberance might influence mood. Rather than existing as opposing aesthetics, these tendencies explore how interiors interact with mental states, reflect personal identity, and respond to the subtle shifts in the way people inhabit and experience space.
La Sagrada Familia by Antoni Gaudi. Image by Maksim Sokolov, via Wikimedia Commons, License CC BY-SA 4.0
As 2025 concludes, we look ahead to 2026, a year scheduled to deliver a diverse range of significant architectural projects across the world. The year is particularly notable for the completion of new infrastructure and cultural buildings, including long-term projects. Europe will be in the spotlight of the new year with the Milano Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics. This event will feature projects such as the Olympic Village by SOM and the Winter Olympics Arena by David Chipperfield Architects. Also in Milan, BIG is set to complete construction of the City Wave project as part of a new business district in the city. At the same time, after more than 140 years of its establishment, the architects around the world will also be watching for the long-awaited completion of Antoni Gaudí's La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, announced for 2026.
Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan and one of the oldest cities in Central Asia, has long been shaped by a hybrid culture. Located at a strategic point along the Silk Road, the city developed an architectural tradition defined by inner courtyards, domes, decorative ceramics, and Islamic geometric patterns. The annexation by the Russian Empire in the 19th century introduced administrative buildings, orthogonal squares, and straight avenues, creating a dual urban fabric — between the “old” Eastern city and the “new” European one — in which contrasts and overlaps became the norm.
During the Soviet period, when Tashkent became the capital of the Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic and received intense migration from across the union, the city was transformed into a modernist showcase. The coexistence between Islamic heritage and the ideology of socialist progress found a new inflection point with the 1966 earthquake, whose destruction triggered a large-scale reconstruction effort involving architects from across the USSR. Massive housing complexes, cultural institutions, and monumental buildings emerged, reinterpreting local motifs through ideological and technological language. It was in this context that the Palace of Peoples’ Friendship took shape.
As the year culminates, it's once again time for the ArchDaily team of curators to reflect on the best-performing projects of 2025 and consider what readers were most interested in. Through this diverse overview, we assess the cross-continental similarities and differences in trends and construction development. This year brought us many grand cultural and public spaces by Lina Ghotmeh, BIG, Zaha Hadid Architects, DnA, and Serie Architects, who populated events like Expo Osaka and the Venice Biennale, as well as a surprising number of museums and public or landscape works in China and the rest of the Asian continent. However, while these were sought-after projects, the leading works remained, unsurprisingly, residential projects.
More specifically, the houses that were most viewed on the ArchDaily global site were concrete houses that bore considerable injections of greenery and landscape focus. They propose layouts highlighting voids and double heights, as well as inner courtyards or large openings to the exterior. While some references did suggest traditional or vernacular elements, modernist revivals were still predominant. Material trends are much more tame, with a recurrence of raw concrete use, as wood and stone were common accent elements. Still, the more interesting thing about the works this year is the efforts brought by architects in situating and setting the projects within their surroundings, bringing special attention to landscape and how projects merged with nature.
Cities are slowly reshaping themselves. Walkable streets, bike-friendly networks, and mixed-use neighborhoods are becoming planning priorities as climate goals, changing lifestyles, and remote work reshape daily patterns. Yet even as these people-centered ideas gain momentum, most cities still rely heavily on private cars, creating a tension between the urban futures we're designing for and the mobility habits that persist today.
This tension has pushed architects and developers to rethink one of the hardest pieces of the urban puzzle: parking. Mixed-use buildings are multiplying, stacking homes, workplaces, and services into tighter footprints, and every square meter has to work harder. The challenge is no longer simply where to put the cars, but how to integrate parking in ways that support density, livability, and long-term adaptability—allowing cities to evolve without letting vehicles dominate their form.
In recent years, this long-standing relationship began to shift. Architectural images did not simply become more refined or technologically advanced; they took on new social and institutional significance. As images moved beyond professional contexts and entered wider public circulation, their role expanded. They were no longer only methods of communication within the discipline, but also objects of public interpretation, discussion, and, at times, dispute. This marked a subtle but important change in how architectural visuals were understood and used.
Earlier this month, news of Frank Gehry's passing prompted an outpouring of tributes to the architect behind flamboyant museums, concert halls, and sinuous residential complexes. Rather than revisit that well-charted terrain, it is worth pausing on a more contemplative work in his oeuvre: Maggie's Cancer Caring Centre in Hong Kong. Quiet, optimistic, and calibrated for everyday resilience, the building reflects multiple registers of Gehry's intent: a commitment to positivity and survival—and, more personally, an architect's own reckoning with loss and end-of-life care.
The remark reframes Maggie's Hong Kong as more than a commission; it suggests a design process shaped by grief and turned toward comfort, dignity, and the possibility of hope—an ethos that aligns closely with the organization's mission.
NPO Aoyama Design Forum (ADF), a non-profit organization, has announced the ADF Design Award 2026, celebrating architecture that does more than please the eye—it aims to make a meaningful impact on society, culture, and the environment. The award aims to recognize outstanding works that challenge existing conventions, demonstrate innovative thinking, and enrich people's lives through visionary, responsible design. Architects and designers around the world are invited to submit their proposals on a unique platform that fosters connections, promotes the exchange of ideas, and encourages meaningful cross-cultural collaboration.
Where cities were once shaped by simple structures that could adapt to new uses, they are now packed with rigid dwellings—often designed with a single use in mind and fixed in both layout and lifespan. As climate deadlines tighten, communities demand more resilient, resource-conscious spaces, and work and living patterns continue to shift, this rigidity is becoming a liability. When buildings refuse to bend, they are often treated as disposable, triggering cycles of demolition, downtime, and loss. Adaptability, once considered an added convenience, is becoming an imperative—something the inaugural Adaptable Building Conference (ABC) in Rotterdam aims to put front and center.
Every year brings new ideas, projects, and shifts in architectural culture, but it also marks the loss of voices that have shaped the discipline across decades. Architecture moves forward, but it also advances through absence. When figures who helped articulate its language and its ambitions disappear, they leave behind more than completed works or influential texts. Their absence becomes a threshold, a moment in which the discipline pauses to understand what remains, what evolves, and what continues to guide us. These moments of loss remind us that architecture is a long, collective construction, carried not only by those shaping the present but also by those whose visions continue to orient how we think about cities and landscapes.
The architects and thinkers we lost in 2025 came from remarkably different worlds, yet the questions that shaped their work often intersected. Some approached the city through identity, symbolism, and historical continuity, seeking to ground the built environment in cultural memory. Others interpreted it through engineering precision, ecological systems, or radical experimentation, expanding what architecture could be and how it could be experienced. Their work spans contexts as diverse as postwar Britain, rapidly urbanizing China, Central European avant-gardes, and the evolving cultural institutions of Berlin and New York. Together, they form a spectrum of responses that defined, and continue to define, architectural culture over the last half-century, revealing the multiplicity of ways in which architecture can engage with society, technology, and the environment.
Once confined to the aerospace and automotive industries, composite materials have taken on an increasingly central role in contemporary architecture. By combining two or more components, such as fibers and polymers, they offer lightness and strength, high durability, formal freedom, and enhanced environmental performance. Their incorporation into architectural practice marks a profound transformation in how we design, fabricate, and inhabit space.
The niche has been a space of visible intention throughout the history of architecture. In ancient Roman architecture, it served as a formal device carved into masonry to display statues, vases, or other objects. These recesses animated the walls of temples, bath complexes, and civic buildings, adding rhythm, depth, and focal points to otherwise massive structures. The interior spaces of the Pantheon framed statues of gods, and the Baths of Caracalla used similar voids to structure expansive halls. By the Renaissance, the niche evolved into a refined architectural frame. In Florence, the external cavities of Orsanmichele held guild-commissioned statues, while the Uffizi Palace's recesses displayed sculptural works. Whether filled or intentionally left empty, these openings articulated internal and external walls and facades, introduced hierarchy, and provided visual interest, serving as deliberate gestures meant to be seen.
Architecture has always played a key role in providing shelter and protection for human beings. In prehistoric times, we sought refuge in caves, taking advantage of rock structures for protection against the natural elements and predators. Over time, shelters began to be made from materials found in nature, such as branches, leaves, and animal skins, evolving into more permanent and complex homes, with walls made of stone, bricks or wood, roofs to protect against rain and sun, and doors to control access. As we developed more advanced building skills, we used materials such as wood, stone, and clay and architecture evolved significantly, with the construction of temples, palaces, and fortifications that provided not only shelter but also symbolized power, status, and cultural identity. Even so, our buildings can continue to be seen as shells that protect us from the outside world.
From the massive stones of Greek temples to glazed skyscrapers, we work with a range of possibilities and thicknesses to separate what we consider internal and external. This article seeks to explore this diversity of thicknesses in architecture, from simple materials to complex construction techniques, highlighting how this variation not only provides protection but also influences our perception and interaction with the built environment.
https://www.archdaily.com/1014920/from-thin-veils-to-thick-barriers-exploring-different-widths-in-architectural-envelopesJosé Tomás Franco and Eduardo Souza
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The Basic Services Unit, a full-scale housing prototype by ELEMENTAL and Holcim, presented in Venice during the 2025 Architecture Biennale. Image Courtesy of Holcim Awards
During the Time Space Existence exhibition, organized by the European Cultural Centre in Venice, the building-solutions company Holcim and Pritzker Prize-winning architect Alejandro Aravena, with his firm ELEMENTAL, unveiled a full-scale prototype that introduces a new approach in incremental housing solutions.
The housing prototype—The Basic Services Unit—was built with Hoclim's recently launched biochar technology, which transforms buildings into carbon sinks by permanently trapping carbon in a bio-based material called biochar. This material is used as a component of low-carbon concrete, cement, and mortars.
As 2025 approaches its end, we look back at an eventful year in the world of interior design. Last year, designers favored reserved, modest approaches, a trend that continued from previous years. The emergence of artificial intelligence generated intense discussions on digital equity and misinformation, which continued into 2025, especially with the topic of the Venice Architecture Biennale, Intelligens. This opened the conversation to the opportunities of digital technologies, attempting a more hopeful outlook. On the other hand, completed interior design projects over the year focused more on the tangible and the pragmatic, with expressed raw materials and an appreciation of history.
How does the construction sector shape the future of cities? What challenges does it face? At the crossroads of demographic, social, energy, and climate pressures, the construction sector is changing fast. Professionals, institutions, and citizens are working together to build environments that improve health and well-being, encourages durable and place-responsive solutions, cut carbon emissions, withstand climate risks, and provide affordable, high-quality housing.
Specificity has re-emerged as a central language in architectural discourse. In an increasingly globalized field, where projects often follow familiar models regardless of context, architects are now turning toward approaches rooted in the particularities of each site. This renewed attention to context reflects broader social, climatic, and political pressures: cities are facing extreme heat, ecological challenges, shifting demographics, and new forms of collective life that demand responses grounded in their immediate conditions.
Situated architecture describes this shift. It refers to design approaches in which form, program, and materiality emerge from the specific environment that produces them: its microclimates, cultural structures, and everyday rituals. Rather than beginning with universal templates, these practices start with observation, prototyping, and direct engagement with local dynamics. This logic is visible in the climatic and material experiments of TAKK in Spain, such as Portable Garden and 10k House, which operate as lightweight prototypes tuned to thermal and ecological gradients; in Studio Ossidiana's Art Pavilion M, shaped by layered soils and ecological cycles in the Netherlands; in Izaskun Chinchilla's reinterpretations of vernacular objects and her later experiments with 100 Sillas and 3 Salones Urbanos; in the narrative-driven domestic spaces explored by Common Accounts; and in Raumlabor's urban interventions that respond directly to the specificities of post-industrial Berlin.
The fragility—and temporal beauty—of neon has captivated audiences since the early 1900s. First shown commercially by French engineer Georges Claude at the 1910 Paris Motor Show, neon spread rapidly, achieving broad popularity in the United States from the 1920s through the 1950s. Mid-century America saw it everywhere: from the casinos of the Las Vegas Strip to roadside motor inns along Route 66 and the spectacle of Times Square. By the latter half of the century, however, many signs were scrapped or left to decay, and numerous municipalities restricted neon as visually garish or power-hungry—despite the technology's comparatively modest energy use. In the U.S., renewed interest in neon arguably didn't meaningfully return until the early 2000s.
In Hong Kong, by contrast, neon was embraced with unusual enthusiasm at a time when it began to lose popularity elsewhere. Even as installation slowed in recent decades—largely due to updated ordinances requiring removal of overhanging signs whose support structures failed to meet safety standards—the city's affinity for neon never fully disappeared.
Between the Andes, the coast, and the Amazon, Ecuador's architecture has evolved as a reflection of its layered geography, a place where climate, topography, and culture unite. Throughout the territory, architecture has been an act of adaptation: from vernacular traditions rooted in collective labor and local materials to the colonial and modernist influences that reshaped its cities. This diversity has produced distinct constructive systems, from bamboo and cane structures along the coast to earth and stone constructions in the Andes, forming an archive of adaptive design that continues to influence contemporary practice.
Yet in the past decade, Ecuadorian architecture has undergone a quiet but deep transformation. New academic programs and international references have encouraged a growing awareness of climate and social justice. Emerging architects are redefining practice through workshops, collective studios, and on-site experimentation that blurs the line between design and activism. No longer focused on architecture as an object, a new generation of architects is approaching design as a process. One focused on collaboration, sustainability, and cultural identity. Their questions have shifted the design language from what to build to with whom.
For the past couple of years, the project curators at ArchDaily have been revisiting architectural works they believe deserve a deeper look. Through an Instagram post called "Project Review", the curators describe what they consider to be the work's main attribute(s). Delving into the project's stories and the elements that make them truly inspiring, they underline what might otherwise be overlooked initiatives and study them closely, with attention to locality and context. The result is an array of diverse works, often from rural or suburban areas that have a public function or historic significance.
While a couple of houses are listed, the majority of the reviews veer towards cultural centers, libraries, workspaces, or commercial settings. Another thing to note is the fact that many of these works ended up coming in from Asia, with a few key projects from rural China. The picks are quite diverse in materiality and design language; however, they all suggest innovative architectural solutions and captivating narratives.
