Begin by imagining a composition of mostly vertical elements. Between them, ovoid shapes float, intertwined. Condensing this (in)formal schizophrenia, there is a translucent cubic envelope sliced horizontally into six equal parts. An iconic Cartesian coordinate system contaminated by amorphous bubbles.
The search for the ideal city has always permeated human history, constituting a utopia pursued by rulers, artists, philosophers, and, in more recent history, by us, urban planners. Since the 19th century, various models of ideal cities have been proposed—and, at times, built—ranging from Howard's garden cities to mechanized, radial, and walking cities (like those of the Archigram group), to nomadic ones like Constant Nieuwenhuis's New Babylon, and modernist cities, among others.
The term ergonomics was first coined in 1857 by the Polish scholar Wojciech Jastrzębowski, deriving from the combination of the Greek words ergon (work) and nomos (laws or rules). Although initially associated with the physical comfort of workers, today the term applies to a wide range of activities, from sports to leisure. It represents a set of guidelines and procedures designed to ensure both physical and mental well-being during any given task.
Gardens have always been present in architectural compositions as testaments to the cultural moment, status, and religiosity of different peoples. In recent decades, however, this relationship between architecture and green spaces has grown stronger. This shift culminated in 2020 with a significant surge in the prominence of green environments, closely tied to the COVID-19 pandemic and the social isolation it brought about. In this light, the connection between home and garden has solidified—ranging from small potted plants in downtown apartments to lush landscaping projects in and around residences, representing, at various scales, the pursuit of reconnecting with nature.
Mixed-use buildings are urban devices characterized by a diversity of uses. Sharing an existence fraught with obstacles and setbacks, those that manage to get built endure as true survivors of a vigorous species that thrives in areas of opportunity, carving a path through real estate speculation.
An architect colleague of mine once mentioned that her firm had hired a new intern. He was a competent, dedicated student in the middle semesters of his architecture program. His hiring was primarily due to his strong skills in BIM (Building Information Modeling) software, with a portfolio filled with well-resolved, medium-scale projects.
You are likely familiar with the story of a man who received a divine command to build an ark to shelter his family and animals of every species, saving them from a great deluge. This flood narrative, known as the story of "Noah's Ark," is found not only in the Bible but also in the Quran and many other cultures—with the Sumerian "Epic of Ziusudra" being the oldest known flood myth, dating back to 2000 BCE. These examples show that the forces of nature, by taking center stage in religious teachings, were already recurring concerns that inspired both fear and respect in early civilizations.
Designated by the United Nations (UN), June 17 was established as the World Day to Combat Desertification and Drought, a date that serves to raise awareness about these phenomena while promoting initiatives to address them. Broadly speaking, desertification refers to the process of land degradation in arid regions, caused primarily by human activities and climatic variations. This phenomenon leads to the loss of vegetation cover, soil erosion, and reduced agricultural productivity, among other negative consequences. Drought, on the other hand, is a prolonged period of abnormally low rainfall resulting in water scarcity, which can have severe impacts on ecosystems, agriculture, and human livelihoods.
For some time now, it has become common to wonder where the things we consume come from. We check labels, seek out local producers, and investigate supply chains in an attempt to understand the impact of our habits, whether on our own health or on the planet.
In the field of architecture, however, this question remains relatively marginal. We often know who designed a building, its finishes, the manufacturer of its frames, the brand of its wall coverings, and even its energy performance, but we almost never ask where the tons of material that made its existence possible actually came from.
The land-water interface has always played a fundamental role in the formation and development of cities. From ancient commercial ports to today's multifunctional waterfronts, maritime and riverfront areas represent spaces of immense economic and social potential. Within this context, contemporary nautical complexes increasingly serve as strategic urban amenities capable of integrating diverse activities, fostering a reconnection between city and water, and revitalizing often underutilized landscapes.
In 2025, the global animal health market reached approximately 70 billion dollars, and this figure is projected to double by 2033. Behind this figure, however, lies a quiet transformation within the built environment, with veterinary hospitals serving as a prime example. This typology, which for decades occupied the backrooms of improvised clinics and pet shop annexes, has increasingly developed its own architectural language and identity. It represents the architectural consolidation of a bond that has lasted for over 15,000 years.
Between the 1950s and 1960s, two cities were built that would define the history of architecture and urbanism. Born of the same concept but separated by more than 14,000 kilometers, Brasília in Brazil and Chandigarh in India, steeped in modernist principles, were planned and built from scratch.
Emerging in a context of profound political and social transformations, where several countries sought to reshape their capitals as symbols of progress, both cities assumed a strategic role. Through their adopted architectural language, they reaffirmed ideological and identity narratives linked to state power.
These were cities created in the abstract, following a utopian vision. They were to be avant-garde cities, free from the deficiencies afflicting mid-20th-century urban centers, exemplifying aesthetic principles that would reflect progressive political ideologies and embrace new technologies—most notably the automobile.
However, this promise of the future ultimately generated significant challenges. These difficulties, of course, reflect the social and economic struggles of their respective countries, but they are also "seasoned" by a modernist vision that is highly contested today.
What happens when a city’s industrial past becomes the raw material for its future? In Copenhagen, Nordhavn transforms the old harbor into a living laboratory of sustainable urbanism, where warehouses and docks give way to independent districts, small islands, and canals that redefine what it means to inhabit the city.
Unlike many industrial programs traditionally concealed behind neutral facades and hermetic spaces, contemporary distilleries often showcase their production processes as an essential part of the architectural experience. The heat of the stills, the vapors of distillation, or the path of the raw materials cease to be mere technical operations, instead taking center stage within the space.
While they produce different beverages, the projects selected below share similar architectural challenges. All must organize industrial workflows, control specific temperature, ventilation, and storage conditions, and reconcile technical areas with visitor routes. At the same time, each distillery establishes its own response to its territory, revealing different ways of connecting production and landscape.
The architecture of cultural and community centers in rural areas around the world has become a rich field for experimentation, where tradition and innovation intersect. Rather than replicating standardized urban models, these projects embrace contemporary approaches tailored to local realities, blending bold design, sustainable technologies, and collaborative processes. Often developed in close partnership with local communities, they draw on regional materials and cultural symbols to create spaces that do more than host activities: they express a collective identity and a profound sense of belonging. By reimagining vernacular knowledge through a modern lens, these buildings support and inspire new ways of living in the countryside.
Before any drawing or formal decision, a space in constant motion was already pulsing where the Market Square at Realengo Park stands today in Rio de Janeiro. Improvised stalls, informal gatherings, music, children running, and adults gathered under makeshift shelters made up a living landscape, shaping an ephemeral architecture.
Within this context lies the work developed by Carlos Zebulun, Helena Meirelles, Larissa Monteiro, Rodrigo Messina, Francisco Rivas, and Juliana Ayako, one of the winners of the ArchDaily 2025 Next Practices Awards. Project management, urban planning, and landscape design were carried out by Ecomimesis Soluções Ecológicas, winners of the bidding process held by the City of Rio de Janeiro in 2023.
Even the most distracted passerby is captured by the monumental presence of this structure located in the established Valencian neighborhood of Benimaclet. Before it, any attempt at rational comprehension dissolves. The constructive logic seems to slip away as space unfolds in tensions and detours where nothing is immediately revealed. Between masses of concrete and the insurgency of vegetation, an almost choreographic play of planes, angles, and rotations emerges. In the vertigo of this encounter, one realizes that the building was not designed to be understood, but to be experienced.
There is an ancestral gesture in shaping the earth. Long before architecture was established as a discipline, clay was already shaped by human hands and transformed by fire, turning raw material into domestic utensils and cultural objects. In the history of this craft, ceramic factories marked the transition from manual craftsmanship to mass production, expanding their scale without entirely breaking from their material origins. Scattered across diverse territories, these structures record the relationship between technique, landscape, and time. Over the decades, however, many of them eventually lost their original function, replaced by more advanced technological processes or swallowed up by surrounding urban development, leaving them in an intermediate state between permanence and obsolescence.
_-08_09.09.2018-.jpg?1613043344 "Flick House / Delution. Image © Fernando Gomulya")
