In February of this year, construction will begin on the renovation of Plaza de España in Madrid. The project is a collaborative effort by design firms Guadiana and Porras La Casta Arquitectos, led by architects Lorenzo Fernández-Ordóñez and Fernando Porras-Isla.

The project, known as Welcome Mother Nature, seeks to create a large green area in the city center, recovering its long-lost identity as a "plaza," which had been reduced to a transit space. The proposal emphasizes the definition of a plaza as a "social place of expression, gathering, and freedom." The project's main priority is to create a space where "it is easy to build shared civic experiences," while creating a new lung for a city that constantly lives under a cloud of pollution and smog.

Few names fit the label of “cult writer” as perfectly as Raymond Queneau, who boasts a fanatical following of near-militant devotees of the cause: literature as a very serious game. From the outset, and even upon the most cursory reading, Exercises in Style, written by the French author in 1949, is radically different from conventional literature. The book positions itself—or pretends to—in a kind of no-man's-land between literary theory and practice, giving the impression of having been crafted based on the chapters of a style manual. Queneau rejects any preconceived schema that might have grouped the “exercises” by theme, gradual complexity, or simple alphabetical order. He does not even work from a single baseline text. At times, he opts for a purely mechanical game of textual transformation to produce a sense of sheer nonsense.

It is no wonder that this seven-decade-old book still feels revolutionary and remains an essential manual in literary programs. What Queneau showed us then—that playful, mocking creative freedom—remains difficult to match today. For this reason, such an exercise in variation, of refusing to set limits on the imagination, is and must be compatible with the craft of architectural model-making. What Queneau demonstrated, starting with an unremarkable text and transforming it 99 times, is precisely what any architect should attempt to translate into their model-making. It is the art of variation and accumulation—“difference and repetition,” as Gilles Deleuze would say. It means working 99 times on the same idea, watching it transform until, at some point, we are able to recognize its ultimate synthesis.

Cities are shapeless, changing realities that expand unpredictably, driven by socio-urban and socio-economic trends. But can we anticipate these growth trends? Here is a tool that allows users to analyze road networks and calculate the percentage of streets oriented in any given direction relative to the north. 

Juan Navarro Baldeweg liked to imagine his work within a dreamlike room, where the outlines of his buildings are silhouetted against a horizon of visual vanishing points, with the spectator positioned at their center of convergence. He aspired, moreover, for his exhibitions to be cumulative rather than retrospective—inviting the viewer to wander and trace connections between his works, linking them like elements of a single expressive medium or distinct formal gestures.

In contrast to the rigidity of classicist attitudes and the modern synthesis of artistic languages, Navarro Baldeweg—unbeknownst to many—champions the simultaneous cultivation of diverse, sometimes opposing disciplines and distinct arts. This fluid movement, free of preferences or boundaries across the broad spectrum of artistic practices, foreshadowed approaches that are widespread today, such as nomadism and the poetics of the "in-between." This nomadism does not stem from opportunism, but from a creative impulse, a restless eye, a trained gaze—in short, the work of a total artist.

The Government of Catalonia, having finalized its approval of the modification to the Metropolitan General Plan, has approved a new measure requiring 30% of housing in new residential developments and major building renovations in Barcelona to be allocated for social housing.

This regulatory change is backed by the 2007 Law on the Right to Housing, which already allowed for affordable housing allocations within the urban fabric. Under this framework, the Catalan Minister of Territory and Sustainability, Damià Calvet, and the Mayor of Barcelona, Ada Colau, explained that the Urban Planning Subcommission has amended an additional provision detailing the transition period for implementing this new rule.

The family of José Antonio Coderch [1913-1984] has handed over the Catalan architect's significant archive to the Reina Sofía Museum in Madrid. With this acquisition, the renowned Madrid museum seeks to follow the path forged by other contemporary art institutions, such as the MoMA in New York or the Pompidou in Paris. Because these institutions already feature dedicated architecture departments, the Reina Sofía aims to expand its own holdings, incorporating both architectural movements and the individual professionals who shaped the art of building. This initiative has been promoted for several years under the leadership of the museum's director, Manuel Borja-Villel.

The archive, which was stored in a utility room at the home of one of Coderch's children, consists of 9,800 documents organized across 875 folders and dating from 1941 to 1978. It includes plans and sketches of his architectural projects; designs, photographs, and negatives of his works, alongside family photos; professional correspondence; invoices and receipts for each project; as well as magazines, books, publications, and scale models; portraits of the architect, several of his numerous awards, and personal belongings. 

The social housing model currently seems like a utopia in Spain—ruled by developers and real estate firms, and mired in national policies that fail—and have always failed—to address the housing problem.

Over the years, the idea has been promoted that renting a home is almost a crime, throwing away money that could otherwise go toward purchasing property. Welcome to the wonderful world of real estate speculation. Driven by exorbitant rents set by real estate agencies or landlords with absolutely no state or provincial regulation to control them, the system itself pushes the population to take out mortgages and participate in private development. While over 50% of housing in Spain was rented back in the 1950s, those figures are a far cry from the progressive decline that brings us to the present day: nearly 80% of current housing is owner-occupied, while rentals have shrunk to just 20%.

Architecture does not illustrate or imitate ideas born from philosophy, literature, painting, or any other form of artistic representation; rather, it constitutes a mode of thought in its own right: architectural thought. This way of thinking and making requires its own tools as the only means of translating these ideas into something concrete, something real, capable of communicating on its own. One of these tools—perhaps the most indispensable—is drawing.

Human beings are “seeing machines.” Except for those who lack this faculty, our eyes are our greatest generator of information. The brain then interprets these images accordingly… We must not confuse "looking" with the act of "seeing" something. Looking, an automatic and passive response, must become the act of seeing—of processing all those bits of information into something concrete and tangible. Sherlock Holmes observed an earlobe to deduce kinship; Proust, the hem of a dress or the nape of a neck to understand a woman profoundly… Where is the sign hidden? How do we know, in any image—whether verbal, visual, or auditory—which is the signifying part and which is the neutral, empty background, the noise to be discarded?

While our eyes capture and absorb this information, and our brain processes and translates it, it is photography—more specifically, our camera—that manages to retain it, freezing it in a photograph so that once our eyes have stopped looking, they can begin to see. As Le Corbusier simply put it, “one must see what one looks at.”

Building your own home. This is perhaps one of the greatest aspirations for many people—not only architects, but anyone who wants to see the vision of their dream home come to life. Others, however, approach it from a perspective more focused on legacy: sentiments like “my great-grandfather built this house” serve as their driving force. It is about preserving memory in the form of a building.

Nevertheless, one must consider the challenges of being your own developer, of not relying on a real estate agency. It is a difficult path. Consequently, many people abandon this dream to avoid the complications, ultimately opting to buy an apartment or a house. 

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What is the difference between sustainable architecture and bioclimatic architecture? Both terms are frequently used within the profession, though their underlying principles were discovered centuries ago (referring to the vernacular tradition of architecture) and the terms themselves were derived from the concept of “sustainable development,” first proposed by Norwegian Prime Minister Gro Brundtland at the 42nd session of the United Nations in 1987:

“Development is sustainable when it meets the needs of the present generation without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs”

But what is the difference between the two? They are highly similar concepts, varying only according to the intentions of the architect using them. To clarify: terms like sustainable architecture, green architecture, eco-architecture, or environmentally conscious architecture are often used by architects attempting to reflect a basic climatic awareness in their work, but whose actual “gestures” have little impact on energy efficiency. Their primary focus often ends up being to make the building appear “eco-friendly” through a green facade or a green roof. In most cases, these designs lack a real climatic foundation. By contrast, the second term, bioclimatic architecture (without any qualifiers), bases its entire raison d'être on the climate. The building's final appearance is secondary, as all design decisions stem from a preliminary study of the climate—treating it as a fundamental tool—and aim to understand and leverage it.

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What are the exact dimensions of the Royal Palace of Madrid? How many rooms does it have? How many doors and windows? These questions stem from a need for definitive answers. This is exactly what Patrimonio Nacional—the Spanish state institution responsible for managing and preserving its historic buildings—set out to do: create an accurate 3D model of the palace to produce a unified digital record of the building's interior and exterior.

Using Leica Geosystems technology, an "almost millimeter-accurate" model of its interior spaces, facades, and roofs was created, mapping every corner of the building's two basements and six floors—totaling approximately 137,500 square meters of built area that required more than 2,500 scans.

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On Thursday, November 22, the jury convened by the Madrid City Council, in collaboration with the Colegio Oficial de Arquitectos de Madrid (COAM), announced the results of the rehabilitation project for the historic Beti-Jai Fronton in Madrid, Spain.

The competition opened for registration last June, receiving a total of 73 proposals for the intervention on the landmark building. The objective was to find the best proposal to reconcile the preservation of the building's heritage value—declared a Bien de Interés Cultural (Asset of Cultural Interest)—with the most appropriate technical solutions for its future use as a sports and cultural venue.

See the results below:

When discussing Le Corbusier, a portion of his work—especially the early villas designed in collaboration with Pierre Jeanneret—is often dubbed the “White Villas.” It is curious that this color, white, remains so closely associated with the architect, rather than him having a “blue” period like Picasso or a “gold” period like Klimt.

When and why was the term “White Villas” coined for Le Corbusier's work? Could the whiteness of his buildings have been misunderstood, much like Greek art? This notion of whiteness was highly useful for laying the foundations of Neoclassicism in its time, yet it is entirely removed from the rich palette of colors that graced those works during the Hellenic period.

Most architects tend to begin explaining their projects by pointing to the entrance. "You enter here," they usually say. As if nothing had happened or existed before entering. As if the user's life, or that of the building itself, began at that very threshold which many assume separates the exterior from the interior. A strange conception of time.

Enric Miralles made an interesting observation regarding this: it is not about entering, but about accessing—something that will also be marginalized later. We must assume that in architecture, accessing means "to enter a place or pass into it," as the dictionary explains. Yet we also find other, more compelling interpretations, such as "to gain access to a superior situation, condition, or degree; to attain it," which imbue the act of accessing with meaning and time.