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Brick stands as one of the defining materials of Latin American architectural culture. The diversity and versatility of this masonry unit have led to a wide array of uses and applications. Whether chosen for economic or aesthetic reasons, exposed brick—left unfinished and without exterior cladding—is widely used across the region's designs, showcasing the rich textures and tones inherent to the material.

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As it does every year, Arquitectura Viva has dedicated its AV Monografías yearbook 'Spain 2018' to the finest buildings completed over the last twelve months: a selection of 24 works offering an overview of the country's most recent architecture, showcasing its characteristic high quality despite the crisis that still affects the sector.

This double issue opens with a compelling essay by Luis Fernández-Galiano, who reviews the major milestones in the world of architecture over the past year. Amid a backdrop of natural disasters and political upheavals that marked a year in which Spain celebrated a Pritzker, a work by Piano, and the arrival of the Foster Foundation, Fernández-Galiano invites us to reflect on territories of risk:

Territories of Risk
By Luis Fernández-Galiano

Spanish photographer Fernando Alda explores the construction of the Pacific Center building in Panama, designed by local firm Ventura Arquitectos, in his most recent photo essay. Titled "An Aesthetics of Disappearance," Alda's work was exhibited in the Panamanian firm's pavilion during the inaugural Expo Modii 2018 in Panama City.

Scaffolding, energy dissipators, shoring, electrical installations, and safety netting define the temporary spaces that make up this photo essay. These compositions center on spaces rendered invisible while awaiting the real spaces. "In Pacific Center," writes architect Silvia Escamilla, "he freezes this temporal lapse and the ephemeral elements that inhabit it, those that go unnoticed by us, granting them a new aesthetic value."

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The Official Association of Architects of Madrid has awarded the 2018 COAM First Prize ‘ex aequo’ to the renovation of Sala Equis, designed by architects Lorenzo and Luis Gil (Plantea Estudio), to Espacio SOLO by Juan Herreros and Jens Richter, and to the book Oiza by Javier Vellés.

Regarding Sala Equis, the jury highlighted that the renovation of the former Duque de Alba cinema “equips the available space with contemporary uses, materials, and furniture, balanced with the memory of the existing structure,” and emphasized that it “encompasses the traditional movie theater alongside other activities surrounding this main function.”

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The publisher Arquitectura Viva recently released the monograph 'España 2018'. As it has every year since 1993, the AV Monographs Yearbook brings together, in a double volume, the best buildings completed in Spain over the past twelve months: a selection of 24 projects that provide an overview of the country's most recent architecture, taking stock of its characteristically high quality despite the crisis still affecting the sector.

In temperate and cold climates, architecture typically begins with a defensive gesture. The building envelope is a sealed boundary designed to resist the exterior environment through insulation, vapor barriers, and mechanical control. In cold countries like Canada, where winter temperatures can plunge well below freezing, airtightness is not a luxury. In this context, buildings must resist the exterior environment entirely to maintain interior comfort. However, in Central America, a region spanning from Belize to Panama, architectural logic shifts from exclusion to negotiation. In this region, the envelope is not a wall of defense but a specialized filter.

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As climate variability intensifies, extreme storms are becoming more frequent in some regions while water scarcity deepens in others. Architects are increasingly pressed to reconsider how buildings engage with rainfall as an environmental force and a design resource. How can architecture move beyond shedding the excess water to actively collect, store, and reuse it? What would it mean to treat rainwater as a material that shapes resilient and meaningful spaces?

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Architecture has always played a key role in providing shelter and protection for human beings. In prehistoric times, we sought refuge in caves, taking advantage of rock structures for protection against the natural elements and predators. Over time, shelters began to be made from materials found in nature, such as branches, leaves, and animal skins, evolving into more permanent and complex homes, with walls made of stone, bricks or wood, roofs to protect against rain and sun, and doors to control access. As we developed more advanced building skills, we used materials such as wood, stone, and clay and architecture evolved significantly, with the construction of temples, palaces, and fortifications that provided not only shelter but also symbolized power, status, and cultural identity. Even so, our buildings can continue to be seen as shells that protect us from the outside world. 

From the massive stones of Greek temples to glazed skyscrapers, we work with a range of possibilities and thicknesses to separate what we consider internal and external. This article seeks to explore this diversity of thicknesses in architecture, from simple materials to complex construction techniques, highlighting how this variation not only provides protection but also influences our perception and interaction with the built environment.

All architecture is grounded in the earth. This pliant, resilient raw material is the origin of extruded ceramic tiles—clay transformed from its natural state into an architectural solution without relinquishing any of its authenticity. Exagres' work is rooted in this natural material, carefully transforming the clay with skillful precision and guiding it on this journey rather than forcing it.

We walk on "flat" ground every day and rarely think twice—but how flat is it, really? In the city, curbs are chamfered, sidewalks pitch toward grates, and roadways are crowned to shed water into shallow gutters. In suburbs and on unpaved paths, irregular terrain is the norm. Inside buildings, by contrast, we pursue near-perfect horizontality—structural frames, slabs, and finishes are all disciplined to create level walking surfaces in the name of safety and accessibility. Yet flatness is inherently at odds with water. A closer look reveals a quiet repertoire of accommodations: slight falls at entries, thresholds raised a few millimeters, wet areas with barely perceptible pitches. The floor is read as flat, but it is in fact carefully tuned—micro-topographies masquerading as plane—to manage water without calling attention to themselves.

What are the common ways architects "keep things flat" while actually managing water—the perennial enemy of buildings? A useful way to look at it is by zooming into three recurring conditions: exterior or roof decking, bathrooms and other wet rooms, and exterior ground planes. Each relies on a slightly different toolkit—pedestal systems over sloped waterproofing, micro-gradients to floor traps, hidden perimeter drains, split slopes—to maintain the illusion of a seamless, level surface. Studying these situations side by side reveals just how much design effort goes into reconciling perceptual flatness with the messy reality.

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