Every act of building begins with the transformation of raw materials, energy, and land, and this inevitably entails environmental impact. This encompasses all the changes a process triggers in the natural world: from resource extraction to pollutant emissions, from energy consumption to biodiversity loss. Measuring this is complex, as it spans multiple dimensions. Carbon has emerged as the common metric, translating these effects into greenhouse gas emissions (CO₂ equivalent) directly linked to global warming. This standardization has made it omnipresent and comparable across materials, systems, and sectors. Reducing carbon emissions, therefore, means addressing the root of global warming, which is a particularly urgent task in the construction industry, responsible for about 39% of global emissions. In response to this challenge, MVRDV NEXT, the innovation and digital tools division of the Dutch architectural firm, launched CarbonSpace, a free, open platform that brings carbon accounting to the architect's desk, right at the napkin sketch stage.

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Architecture goes beyond its fundamental function of defining spaces and providing protection; it shapes the user experience, influencing sensations of comfort, spaciousness, and well-being. Among the many elements that make up a building, openings play a crucial role in connecting the interior and exterior, balancing privacy with transparency, and allowing the entry of natural light and ventilation. In particular, natural light transforms environments, defines atmospheres, and enhances architectural details, making spaces more dynamic and inviting.

In an era of digital precision, AI automation, and mass reproducibility, the value of the human craftmanship is being reimagined rather than lost. It's in this intersection between machine logic and material intuition that Dornbracht, the German manufacturer renowned for sculptural fittings, launches The Rock, the debut piece of its new Atelier Editions.

Inspired by the primal force of natural stone, The Rock is a faucet handle that is a tactile, expressive object that restores individuality and sensuality to the contemporary bathroom and kitchen landscape. Revisiting the iconic MEM series, the design introduces a bold, organically shaped handle, milled from solid metal with artisanal hand-finishing. Each piece becomes a singular creation, where industrial precision meets the intimacy of craft.

Sound, when emitted by a source — whether a person or a piece of equipment — propagates in all directions through space, being reflected, absorbed, transmitted, or diffracted as it encounters surfaces and objects. As a result, every environment has its own acoustic quality, often difficult to perceive without a trained ear or eyes. But sound shapes architecture in subtle yet profound ways, directly influencing how we concentrate in an office, how students engage in a classroom, how patients recover in a hospital, or how an audience connects in a performance hall. Despite its decisive role, acoustics often remain in the background of design discussions, overshadowed by visual and structural considerations.

In Plato's allegory of the cave, light symbolizes knowledge: it is what guides the human being out of the shadows of ignorance and toward truth. In many religions, light is also associated with divinity, as a manifestation of the sacred. Over time, light ceased to be merely a symbol of reason and became an instrument of sensitivity, a living material capable of shaping atmospheres, influencing perception, and revealing meaning.

Light is masterfully used in the quiet spaces of Tadao Ando, for example, where it seeps in like a sacred substance between concrete walls. In Alvar Aalto's buildings, it is delicately modulated to converse with the Nordic sky. In James Turrell's immersive installations, it becomes body, color, and experience. But light also manifests in the most ordinary gestures: in every precisely oriented window, or every shadow carefully drawn to reveal what is not immediately visible. Like a conductor before the score and the orchestra, the architect can compose with light accentuating volumes, softening boundaries, and giving rhythm and intensity to the spaces we inhabit.

Spain combines cultural diversity and a long constructive tradition that is directly reflected in its architecture. The country is home to influential schools, a consistent body of theoretical production, an active generation of architects, and a well-established construction industry with strong capabilities in innovation, standardization, and export. Contemporary Spanish architecture is marked by a plurality of approaches and by the articulation between material tradition, technology, and performance.

In this context, materials play a central role in the conception, expression, and functionality of buildings. Steel, glass, brick, stone, and wood remain essential inputs in architectural practice, but their role goes far beyond raw matter. Once industrially processed, these materials unfold into a wide range of products and systems such as technical panels, ventilated façades, structural components, extruded cladding, and brise-soleil systems.

Stones hold time. Some are formed by the sudden solidification of magma, like basalt, whose dense structure and dark color result from rapid cooling at the surface. Others, such as granite, are born slowly in deep magmatic chambers, where gradual cooling allows the growth of visible crystals, creating unique patterns and colors. There are also sedimentary rocks, formed by the compaction of mineral and organic debris over millions of years, with tones that reflect their chemical composition and the environment in which they were deposited. Transforming this geological diversity into a single continuous surface, terrazzo is a cementitious or mineral composite in which fragments of marble, granite, quartz, basalt, and other lithologies are embedded in a binding matrix, then polished to reveal the structure and luster of each particle. Unlike a homogeneous surface, terrazzo acts as a mineralogical showcase, where each aggregate retains its identity while contributing to a coherent whole, which can become a floor, wall cladding, or even furnitures.

In Jacques Tati's Mon Oncle (1958), architecture itself becomes a character: sliding doors, an automatic fountain, gates that emit mechanical sounds, devices that both enchant and frustrate the inhabitants. The comedy arises precisely from the fact that these seemingly trivial systems silently shape everyday life. More than six decades later, the observation seems prophetic. In contemporary buildings, countless systems work autonomously and discreetly, going unnoticed when they function well. Among them, automatic doors, traditionally seen as secondary elements, are emerging as part of a new "invisible infrastructure": connected, efficient, and intelligent systems that support comfort, sustainability, and operational resilience.

The capsule wardrobe concept, popularized in the 1970s by Susie Faux, proposes an exercise in synthesis: a compact set of versatile pieces, capable of combining in countless ways to suit different occasions. In visual culture, there are a few metaphors for this: in cartoons like Doug Funnie or Dexter's Laboratory, opening the closet revealed rows of identical clothes, ready to simplify life (and, in the case of animators, the work). In the real world, figures like Steve Jobs turned this logic into a method, adopting a daily uniform to eliminate the small but recurring decision of "what to wear?", freeing up time and energy for more important matters.

For others, however, this would be far from a burden. Choosing what to wear is a pleasurable moment, capable of setting the tone for the day and influencing one's mood. In this sense, the wardrobe is also an extension of identity, a space where practical and symbolic choices meet. Unsurprisingly, expressions like "coming out of the closet" or "skeleton in the closet" are deeply rooted in language, revealing the cultural dimension of this element of the home. In contemporary interior design, this notion has gained new layers: the wardrobe can define the character of a space, guide circulation, influence perception, and even shape the atmosphere of an environment.

Surfing is, without a doubt, one of the most visually striking and fascinating sports. A fluid choreography that combines strength and delicacy, like a dance on the waves, gathers enthusiasts across the world's oceans. Yet, behind this image of freedom and connection with nature, the sport also carries contradictions. It is a symbol of outdoor life and respect for the ocean, but on the other hand, it is marked by territorial disputes over waves and by an environmental footprint that rarely receives the same attention given to its aesthetics. In times of climate crisis, this paradox becomes even more evident. Surfing depends directly on the health of marine ecosystems, the very ones most affected by pollution and global warming. This tension has been pushing a new generation of shapers, architects, and material designers to seek alternatives, from plant-based and recycled foams to the reuse of industrial waste, in order to reconnect the sport with its ecological dimension.

Work and learning environments have undergone profound transformations in recent decades. In offices, cubicles and compartmentalized rooms have given way to open, collaborative layouts. In schools and universities, traditional classrooms with rigid layouts, blackboards, and rows of desks have been replaced by more dynamic, flexible, and interactive spaces. In both contexts, the goal was to encourage integration, creativity, and constant exchange. But this openness has also introduced new challenges: increased distractions, sensory overload, and the difficulty of finding moments of focus or introspection. The more we remove barriers in favor of fluidity and collaboration, the more essential it becomes to provide moments of quiet, intimacy, and sensory balance for those who need to self-regulate. The challenge is both spatial and psychological, raising a fundamental question for architecture: how can we support connection and withdrawal, activity and silence, at the same time?

Two students sit one desk apart. One excels in science. The other struggles. One receives praise, the other criticism. One gains confidence, the other slowly loses it. It's easy to assume the difference comes down to effort, parenting, or natural ability. But what if the real factor was the classroom itself? Imagine the student who fell behind sat at a desk flooded with glare from poorly placed windows every single day. With fixed homeroom seating, they couldn't move. Over time, that small but constant distraction turned into disengagement, and disengagement eroded their confidence. A chain reaction triggered not by effort, but by design.

The Design-Build model is an increasingly attractive project delivery method, offering benefits such as enhanced control, reduced risks, cost efficiencies, and quicker completion times. Central to this approach is teamwork and collaboration, contrasting sharply with the traditional method of separate design and fixed-price bidding by contractors. Design-Build naturally motivates all participants to seek ways to boost productivity and quality, ensuring fairness and transparency in costs.