The term "rede" in Portuguese traditionally conveys the idea of an interweaving of wires. In a contemporary context, it takes on a broader meaning related to connection, collaboration, and integration, whether among ideas, people, or processes. Not coincidentally, these are the core principles of Rede Arquitetos, a collaborative architecture studio founded in 2011 in Fortaleza, Ceará, by architects Bruno Perdigão, Epifanio Almeida, Igor Ribeiro, and Bruno Braga. Presently, the team is led by Braga, Luiz Cattony, and João Torquato, with their main approach emphasizing collective work and valuing encounters over the domination of ideas as a strategy for achieving the best solutions.
UN Headquarters in New York. Photo by the blowup, via Unsplash
In 1945, the declaration of the end of World War II brought a wave of euphoria to the streets, and optimism permeated the atmosphere with the promise of brighter days. Inspired by this newfound hope, the United Nations Organization (UN) was established in the same year. The vibrant city of New York was chosen as the headquarters location, and an international team of carefully selected and invited architects was tasked with conceiving the project.
For this ambitious and truly international project, eleven renowned architects were brought together from various corners of the world. These architects, often known for their inflated egos, a common trait in their profession, were accustomed to exercising full control over their architectural designs and even their respective countries. They had to coexist in the same space and collaborate on a single project. The successful collaboration on this project would be a compelling demonstration of the possibility of achieving world peace.
Home is not just a physical structure defined by its materials and spatial characteristics. It is the result of everyday habits, routines, and fond memories blending into the very essence of the place through its walls, textures, and aromas. This is why a true home cannot be instantly created; it demands time, and a sense of continuity, as it reflects the ongoing adaptation of both the family and the individual within that space.
In 2019, as the world was on the brink of facing one of the most significant pandemics in recent history, Ailton Krenak, a Brazilian indigenous leader, environmentalist, and philosopher, published a book titled Ideas to Postpone the End of the World. This brief booklet, comprising slightly more than 80 pages, came into circulation at a critical juncture, providing both reassurance and a cautionary message to humanity during a time when it observed the rapid evolution of history.
Imagination and policy development go hand in hand. Before we can create policies that bring about a desirable future, we must first envision what that future looks like, which is particularly significant in Architecture because we see the future as an integral part of the design process. This familiarity with envisioning the future carries a responsibility for us to create guidelines and regulations that can either support or obstruct the direction our planet takes.
In this moment of climate change, resulting from centuries of irresponsible practices, the idea of the future has been invaded by fear, an alert that would determine the survival of our existence. Architecture, along with other disciplines, has begun to channel efforts toward reexamining, reconceptualizing, and reformulating its practices toward the future we need to achieve. Beyond statistics and projections, the approach of architecture in relation to climate action brings to light numerous concepts, among them, the need for a historical review for the creation of this future.
The research project that impressed the jury aims to explore the impact of highly successful informal settlement improvement initiatives implemented in various Latin American countries. Its primary objective is to uncover valuable design insights related to social and environmental sustainability. The research is founded on the recognition that Latin America is the most urbanized region globally, with approximately 80% of its population residing in cities. Nevertheless, nearly 15% of this urban population resides in informal settlements marked by inadequate infrastructure and a diminished quality of life. Various improvement programs have been implemented, and the active involvement of citizens has been a crucial factor in enhancing their effectiveness.
If you follow BIG, you have probably already seen Bjarke Ingels talk about hedonistic sustainability and how this concept permeates the most daring projects of the Danish office.
However, sexism doesn't end there. In addition to the discrimination experienced in professional contexts, one can observe the objectification of women in architectural images and concepts.
It is no secret that gender issues permeate our entire social and systemic organization, directly reflecting the duality of "feminine and masculine roles" and their mechanisms of gender oppression. Architecture and urbanism are no exception. Over the centuries, cities and their buildings have been maintained and transformed to prioritize the demands of a very specific user profile. This structure obviously overlooks other identities and forms of appropriation—namely, actual demand in all its diversity of social class, gender, race, age, and sexual orientation. These plans and designs are disguised under a "neutral" conception, yet they actually reproduce the perspective of a middle-class white man.
After years of dominance, orthogonal lines and right angles are giving way to organic designs and rounded shapes within interior design projects. This profound shift in formal language has led to the infiltration of gentle curves and amorphous volumes into design pieces, furniture, and decorative elements, a transformation that's becoming increasingly evident. Some argue that this change may be indirectly linked to the growing interest in sustainability and the pursuit of strategies that reconnect people with nature, as seen in the consistent presence of biophilia across projects of various scales. The period of social isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic further heightened this inclination, prompting individuals to devise ways to incorporate nature into their living spaces, thereby enhancing well-being in day-to-day life.
The year was 1969. Lina Bo Bardi wandered through the São Paulo neighborhood of Bixiga, which at the time resembled a war zone. The clearings and piles of rubble were the result of a violent urbanization cutting through the region in the shape of São Paulo's East-West expressway complex.
Against this backdrop, Lina collected personal objects found in the debris, picking up "the most sordid items," as Zé Celso, director and creator of Teatro Oficina, stated in an interview. There was a clear reason for this undertaking: to compose the set for the play In the Jungle of Cities (Na selva das cidades), designed by the architect herself. In it, a stage shaped like a boxing ring was fashioned from the rubble of the demolitions taking place around the theater. The play was divided into 11 rounds, in each of which an institution is destroyed until the ring itself is demolished. At the end, the actors remove even the theater floor to reach the bare earth.
Increasingly, the concept of social sustainability has become a central theme in contemporary architecture discussions as users' subjective and non-static needs become paramount in the design process. Social sustainability in architecture aims to design and construct buildings and urban spaces that promote well-being, inclusion, and community cohesion. It focuses on creating environments that enable positive human interactions, support diverse needs, and improve the overall quality of life for people who inhabit and use these spaces. Socially sustainable architecture considers the social, cultural, economic, and health aspects of a community to address societal challenges and provide long-term benefits to residents.
Sanjaynagar Slum Redevelopment Project - Technical team meeting with members of the Slum Committee. Image Courtesy of Community Design Agency
The era when Le Corbusier's Modulor—the perfect man—was the only one “allowed” to occupy our cities and architecture is long gone. Decades ago, it became clear that environments were being designed as ideological representations that failed to reflect actual demand and its rich diversity of social class, gender, race, age group, and sexual orientation, among other factors. Planning and design were often disguised as “neutral” concepts, while in reality they reproduced the perspective of a middle-class white man. Ultimately, the time has come for the city to move past this flawed assumption of universal appropriation and instead materialize in its spaces the specific needs of every citizen.
Urban blocks can be defined as the space within the street pattern of a city that is subdivided into land lots for the construction of buildings. This morphological element has been shaped according to the current views on urban design and its expectations over the centuries. It may consist of a single building structure or an area with several buildings that vary in size, detached structures surrounded by nature, or intricate labyrinths. Regardless of the composition, an urban block is the basic unit of a city's urban fabric and plays an important role in mediating between the public and private spheres.
Barcelona Pavilion. @ Flickr Renato Saboya. Used under Creative Commons
The idea of integration between art and architecture dates back to the very origin of the discipline, however, it took on a new meaning and social purpose during the Avant-Garde movement of the early twentieth century, becoming one of the most defining characteristics of Modernism. This close relationship is evident in the works of some of the greatest modern architects, such as Mies van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, and Oscar Niemeyer, to name a few.
According to recent research, the global fashion industry generates around $2.4 trillion annually. This staggering figure, unfortunately, is matched by its waste statistics. It is estimated that every second, the equivalent of a garbage truck full of textile scraps is burned or sent to landfills. Considering that fabrics like polyester, which is widely used in garment manufacturing, take an average of 200 years to decompose, the catastrophic future of this model is easily foreseeable. Alarming news consistently highlights this issue, such as the images of the immense secondhand clothing graveyard in the Atacama Desert released a few years ago, or reports that famous British luxury brand Burberry incinerated £28.6 million worth of unsold clothing, accessories, and perfume last year to protect its brand, claiming the carbon emissions were offset, making the action "environmentally sustainable."
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.
Perus Portland Cement Factory. Image by Humberto do Lago Müller, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Nearly one hundred thousand square meters make up the site of one of Brazil's most important industrial heritage landmarks. Opened in 1926 by a Canadian group, the Perus Portland Cement Factory in São Paulo was crucial to the region's growth, leaving a legacy that goes far beyond its architectural remains.
