Articles

Architecture carries a strong archetype, one in which its purpose seems larger than the discipline itself. Embellished by a poetic image, its practitioners embody the symbol of great inventors who conceive space and establish new ways of living in society. It is undoubtedly an alluring trade, and one that certainly shapes the daily life of any culture. Yet it is increasingly marked by illusion and disappointment in a market that seems to gradually distance itself from theory and close itself off in niches of its own creation. Under ever-growing competition that fails to yield a significant improvement in the quality of what is produced, working in architecture gradually translates into frustration and insecurity.

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The orthogonal grid is the manifestation of a principle of order, a condition reinforced by the repetition of elements that express the structural rationality embedded in an aesthetic system. There is also a sense of freedom celebrated by decoupling structure from walls which, combined with pragmatic efficiency, keeps structural grids a constant presence in buildings of various scales both in Brazil and around the world.

In technical terms, structural grids are composed of linear elements—specifically beams—situated on a single plane to form a mesh capable of resisting structural loads. Typically, they feature regular spacing crossing at right angles, with dimensions that vary depending on the material used.

The year 2020 brought with it a whirlwind of challenges, calling many aspects of daily life into question. Marked by the pandemic, we all had to reinvent ourselves in some way to weather this unprecedented moment. It was no different for the city. COVID-19, like other infectious diseases (the Black Death, the Spanish flu, etc.), laid bare the relationship between its spread and urbanization. This is an easy analysis to make when data shows that the spread of the virus has been far greater in large urban centers.

In this regard, the health crisis has sparked discussions about the urbanization model to which our cities are subjected—a model of dispersed sprawl that prioritizes automobile mobility. Wilson Ribeiro dos Santos, a professor at the Faculty of Architecture and Urbanism at PUC-Campinas, in an article co-authored with Sidney Piocchi Bernardini and Gabriela Celani, states that this urbanization model—where commerce and services are concentrated in the city center, while strictly residential areas and gated communities are located on the periphery—ended up accelerating the spread of the virus. This is because people from all parts of the city must travel daily to the same central area to work, study, visit the doctor, shop, and so on.

Promoting homeownership as an investment strategy is a risky proposition. No financial advisor would recommend taking on debt to put such a large portion of your savings into a single financial asset, whatever it may be, as it represents a major concentration of risk.

Worse still, this risk is not random: it falls most heavily on low-income buyers, who receive worse financing terms and whose neighborhoods are systematically more likely to have lower or even declining home values, leading to devastating consequences for the racial wealth gap.

Cities are changing in many ways—some, fortunately, for the better. More Brazilians have come to see the bicycle as the best choice for urban mobility, and 67% of people would swap their cars or motorcycles for cleaner transit alternatives. While public perception of air quality is discouraging, awareness of climate change has grown, and 92% of people want electric buses in their cities.

TEIA re(p)resents the city of São Paulo through a comic book narrative. The characters were developed as protagonists based on an empirical selection of twelve neighborhoods key to the city's history, whose residents served as the foundation for the character archetypes in the script. The graphic novel format provided the ideal medium to develop a language that allows for spatial thinking about the urban context and the observation of human relationships within this created and illustrated universe, highlighting its role as a communicative medium. Beyond experiencing and understanding the neighborhoods, the project aimed to explore the notion of belonging. The in situ experience in the neighborhoods and spontaneous conversations with residents—who served as references for the protagonists—allowed the narrative to reflect on the difference between being (of a place) and existing (in a place) in Brazil's most populous and diverse metropolis.

Shortly before taking office in January 2020, Mayor Claudia López committed to redesigning a major arterial road in Bogotá, aiming to transform it into a green corridor for active and sustainable mobility. To do so, the mayor also pledged to promote a planning process with broad public participation—a rather daunting task in a city of nine million people.

Known since the 16th century as Calle Real, Avenida Séptima is widely considered Bogotá's most important thoroughfare, stretching 23 kilometers and traversing the city's eastern zone. It is perhaps the only road that runs through every income bracket in the municipality, from the poorest to the very wealthy. It is also the most hotly debated space in the Colombian capital.

In a past life, I completed a master's degree in semiotics, where I learned to pay attention to the words we choose. For example, open any book on Brazilian architecture and you will find subtitles that help organize our built environment chronologically: Indigenous Architecture, Colonial Brazilian Architecture, Imperial Brazilian Architecture, Brazilian Modern Architecture, Contemporary Architecture in Brazil. Notice the subtle difference: the word *Brazil*, which names this land, appears in every post-colonial period, but is absent from the one representing the original way of building in this place. 

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In recent years, public agencies, architects, and urban planners worldwide have increasingly debated the future of cities, reflecting on the directions contemporary urban planning must take to address a complex web of urban and social challenges. However, one question continues to dominate professional discourse: how can we create spaces capable of improving quality of life and health in the public realm without relying on large-scale infrastructure projects?

In response, several movements have emerged, attempting to implement simple actions that foster the development of “new” public spaces to meet the immediate demand for high-quality urban environments. These initiatives suggest that future cities will become increasingly inviting, championing a closer relationship between pedestrians and the street. Examples of these interventions include the implementation of parklets; the temporary closure of avenues to vehicular traffic, opening them to pedestrians and turning them into open areas like temporary urban parks; the installation and expansion of bike lanes; urban vertical gardens; and pocket parks.

To live in the city and to experience the city is to be open to any and every event. Within a single day, we pass through different places and spatialities, with distinct compositions and tempos. No day is like another, as we are in constant motion, facing a random combination of events that affect both objects and subjects—shaping the spaces we traverse and the perceptions we experience. In light of this reflection, a discussion emerges on the effects of architecture and urbanism beyond the visual realm, linked to the individual's sense of belonging to space and based on urban form and dynamics. How can we grasp the effects of the object on the subject and vice versa? What is the materialized reading of the city as a reflection of societal actions?

As an overwhelmingly hegemonic field in which cisgender white men have historically held, and continue to hold, the majority of prestigious positions—from the leadership of major firms to international accolades like the Pritzker Prize—architectural practice has traditionally rendered invisible the careers and professional experiences of many women architects.

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The period between the 16th century and the early 19th century in Brazil, known as Colonial Brazil, began when the Portuguese invaded Brazilian territory and imposed the colonization process. In architecture and urbanism, this process established a series of standards that, over the centuries, shaped the country's architecture and cities.

With the arrival of the Portuguese, the first settler installations emerged in Brazilian territory, characterized primarily by their precariousness and inability to defend against other invaders. Following the Portuguese Crown's decision to divide the land into hereditary captaincies administered by donatary captains, villages and urban settlements began to emerge. 

Cities are constantly changing. When guided by biased or outdated premises, changes to urban spaces tend to imprint these mistakes onto the territory. However, when guided by a shared vision that prioritizes safety and active mobility, these interventions can guide the transformation of the city into a more democratic, welcoming, walkable, and safe place. The new São Paulo Urban Design and Road Works Manual points toward exactly this kind of city.

As previously explained in an earlier article, the concept of modulation in architecture refers to adapting a design to a defined module, whether based on a specific baseline measurement or the dimensions of a given building material.

Closely linked to this concept, yet grounded in other definitions, modular construction relies on the study and planning of transportable prefabricated modules assembled on-site. Consequently, these structures are typically completed faster and more efficiently than traditional ones.

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Urban resilience was put to the test as the pandemic swept quickly and drastically through cities. Limiting movement, contact, and access to public spaces was the most effective strategy for containing the virus. However, the city's infrastructure, compounded by a lack of emergency public policies, proved far from resilient. This vulnerability was exposed as a large portion of the population was forced to continue commuting long distances on public transit to work in essential services, and as the physical and mental health of residents suffered from a lack of access to safe spaces for physical activity—underscoring the city's precarious supply of public spaces.

In 1979, Rosalind Krauss published her classic article Sculpture in the Expanded Field in the journal October, in which she identifies a certain fraying of boundaries in the field of sculpture, “showing how the meaning of a cultural term can be extended to include almost anything” [1]. The critique, specifically directed at artistic work produced between the 1960s and 1970s, was used 26 years later, in 2005, as the foundation for the publication of Architecture’s Expanded Field by Anthony Vidler.

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Anyone working as an urban planner or interested in urban issues has undoubtedly heard—extensively—about the "Smart Cities" movement. The premise is that there is nothing in cities that the use of data (especially "big data") or technology cannot solve. This has led to a series of claims about how we can address challenges as complex as housing, traffic, and inequality simply by creating more elaborate models based on big data or deploying new forms of technology.

Two months and eleven days after the start of 2020, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared Covid-19 a pandemic. To contain the spreading threat, citizens and authorities had to devise collective strategies and alter their behavior. This battle between virus and humanity also called into question the very existence and preservation of one of humanity's most important creations: cities.

As the symbol of an environment defined by casual encounters among different people and diverse experiences, those governing urban areas were challenged to convince—and, in some cases, force—their populations to stay home as the primary measure to contain transmission.