Guangzhou Yunxi Botanical Garden / AECOM + Architectural Design & Research Institute of SCUT + Guangzhou Landscape Architectural Design & Research Institute . Image Courtesy of AECOM
Aulets Arquitectura en Corto invites you to the Espacio Arquia in Madrid (c/ Tutor, 16) on Thursday, September 17, at 7:00 PM for the screening of the short film Amarar. The title refers to a traditional Mallorcan technique of treating wood by immersing it in water to increase its durability. This term has become the name of a sustainable design project that transforms native pine trees into contemporary furniture of high artisanal value. In collaboration with the University of the Balearic Islands, the project also researches the use of this wood in construction. The initiative is led by Francisco Cifuentes and Sebastián Martorell, founding partners of the Palma de Mallorca-based firm Aulets Arquitectes. "We have a vast forest mass on the islands," explains Cifuentes, "but 95% of the forests are abandoned. At the same time, we are importing 70,000 tons of wood for construction. Architects must build with materials that can regenerate local ecosystems. A change in the model is necessary." Directed by Marc Hierro, the short film presents several solutions proposed by Aulets Arquitectes and other project collaborators to promote responsible forest management and utilize wood as a durable, recyclable material with full traceability. Following the screening, a discussion will feature Francisco Cifuentes, Sebastián Martorell, and Albert Cuchí, author of the article "Construir el territorio," recently published in the El Croquis monograph dedicated to the architectural work of Aulets Arquitectes. "What Aulets pursues," asserts Cuchí, "is the recovery of the territory as the authentic field of action for architecture, maintaining an appropriate relationship with resources, ensuring the renewability of extraction processes, and weaving construction together with other social activities to build an ecological society."
Examining the evolution of dwelling throughout history reveals that concepts of space, time, identity, and home extend far beyond architecture itself. From the early twentieth century to the present, human development has been shaped by accelerating economic, social, cultural, and technological transformations. Advances in information and communication technologies have fostered a world of constant connectivity, a phenomenon that can, at times, disconnect individuals from the physical spaces they inhabit. Amid an ever-growing flow of stimuli, interactions, and digital platforms, shared living across multiple architectural scales and programs presents both a challenge and an opportunity to reconnect people with their surroundings through design strategies that support the freedom of movement and flexibility demanded by contemporary life.
Public space is often understood as belonging to no one in particular, collectively accessible yet institutionally maintained, yet a growing number of initiatives are challenging this assumption by testing shared management and distributed ownership models. In Paris, Adoptez un banc introduces a sponsorship-based approach, allowing individuals and groups to support temporarily and symbolically claim responsibility for historic public furniture without compromising its collective use. Elsewhere in the city, community gardens operating under the Main Verte framework demonstrate a self-managed model, in which public and private landowners retain ownership while delegating day-to-day control to citizen associations for food production and shared use. In New York, Common Corner represents a third pathway, based on institutional collaboration and participatory design, where public agencies, nonprofits, designers, and residents co-produce public space within a public housing context. Taken together, these three cases suggest that care, authorship, and responsibility can be distributed across citizens and institutions, producing more resilient, locally grounded urban environments.
Who has the right to the city? Henri Lefebvre's writings question the structures that control urban space and, instead, put the citizens at the center of decision-making. His ideas have influenced the way architecture and urban design are practiced, bringing about community participation and co-design. These have been some of the most prominent themes at Utopian Hours 2026, the festival of city-making, the first part of which was held in the Dutch city of Rotterdam to mark its tenth anniversary edition.
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.
"My only concern is that my work must have a positive impact on the communities in which it is embedded," states Francis Kéré in his book Francis Kéré: Building Stories. His own life story, the context in which he was raised, and the experiences he has lived through all shape his approach to architecture. It is a commitment that extends to people and the places they call home—one that values materiality, collective learning, and the exchange of knowledge. Discovering the stories behind projects such as Primary School in Gando and Naaba Belem Goumma Secondary School inspires reflection on how to design spaces that truly serve humanity.
Francis Kéré's story begins in a village in sub-Saharan Africa and extends across many places. Gando was the setting of his first education, where he absorbed the essence and principles that later shaped the core values of his career alongside influences from other cultures. The structure of Gando is formed by different families who organize themselves, according to established customs, within courtyards scattered across the savanna. Growing up in this remote village in the Burkina Faso savanna fosters a strong sense of community, made tangible by the understanding that each resident of every courtyard is part of the life of the whole.
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.
Belo Monte Dam and Hydropower Plant Construction in Brazil. Image by burakyalcin, via Shutterstock
Some of the most significant transformations of South American landscapes have been produced not by cities, but by large infrastructures built to extract and distribute natural resources. Mining operations, energy systems, and transport networks have connected remote landscapes to broader economic structures while transforming rural territories and urban settlements throughout the continent. These infrastructures do not simply occupy space; they reorganize it. They have not only supported economic growth but also reconfigured territories in ways that continue to generate political, environmental, and social debate across the continent. From this perspective, territories can be understood not as fixed geographic areas but as socio-ecological systems shaped by cultural, environmental, and political relations, a point emphasized by anthropologist Arturo Escobar in his work on territorial thinking in Latin America.
This week began with the World Day of Social Justice, foregrounding urgent questions of labor rights, spatial equity, and resource governance, and framing architecture as both a product of and a response to the social systems that shape access to land, housing, and opportunity. The announcement of the 15 winning projects of the 2026 ArchDaily Building of the Year Awards highlighted a global cross-section of built works recognized for their architectural quality, innovation, and social impact, offering a snapshot of contemporary practice across scales and geographies. This week's news prompts a broader reflection on architecture's civic responsibility, with heritage and community-building through cultural architecture emerging as central themes. Housing, meanwhile, anchors another critical strand of the discussion with three highlighted initiatives: a manifesto reframing housing not as a market commodity but as a civic right and collective project grounded in care; a large-scale waterfront regeneration masterplan responding to regional housing demand through coastal transformation; and a timber residential project that explores the potential of wood in medium-density housing.
To celebrate the Architectural Heritage Fund's 50th anniversary, we have put together 50 Years of Reimagining Heritage, which tells the story of the difference heritage reuse can make in people's lives and in communities. Across the year, our exhibition will travel to each part of the UK, with openings in Belfast, Glasgow, Cardiff and London. We hope by showcasing these extraordinary stories to inspire more people to get involved in saving local historic buildings to improve places, empower people, and secure a sustainable future for built heritage. For opening dates in each location, see Coming Up below.
Coastal development in major cities has long been a terrain of opportunity and contention—shaped at once by the pursuit of capital (premium views, scarce land, and the promise of reclamation), by civic demands for public access and collective waterfront life, and by contemporary aspirations for sustainability and place-defining urban identity. Precisely because these agendas rarely align, extracting the full potential of waterfront sites is never straightforward.
Yet in New York City and Hong Kong, we can trace each city's ambitions—despite differing strategies, priorities, and political logics—through a set of keystone projects that anchor their coastlines. Read together, these projects reveal not only what each city chooses to value, but also what it is willing to trade off in order to build at the edge.
A long table can sit almost anywhere and still do the same work. It can stretch beneath a market canopy, run along a school dining hall, or occupy the center of a shared living room, and it immediately changes the room's temperature.
That is why the long table is less an object than a spatial instrument. It does not guarantee a connection, and it rarely looks "inclusive" by default. Instead, it sets conditions: a shared edge, a common rhythm of arrival, a field of mutual visibility, or a rule that turns eating into a scene with others. Food studies describe this practice as commensality, the act of eating together and the social order it can create, reinforce, or contest. But what matters here is not a specific dimension or the table's function, but the way a long surface holds difference, conversation, and silence; intimacy and distance; the decision to join and the right to hesitate.
This article is part of our new Opinion section, a format for argument-driven essays on critical questions shaping our field.
Traditionally, a museum visit is a calendared occasion with a clearly scripted sequence. Arrival is ceremonially marked—by grand stairs or thresholds, by ticketing and information desks, by an audio guide and a concise institutional preface about mission and history. That deliberate "special occasion" quality extends from how museums were long conceived: deliberately exceptional, tightly curated, and organized around a specific narrative arc. In this model, the museum assumes an authoritative voice—its knowledge deep, vetted, and to be respected rather than contested—while architecture and choreography reinforce a rather singular way of entering, learning, and remembering.
Unlike most popular sports, the origin of basketball has a precise year and creator: it was invented in 1891 in the United States by Canadian physical education instructor James Naismith as an indoor sport for athletes at Springfield College during the winter, after the end of the football season. The sport quickly expanded beyond U.S. borders, being included in the Olympic Games in 1936 and achieving international popularity after the Second World War. As basketball became more widespread, it also left the controlled environment of gymnasiums and began occupying a wide range of locations: playgrounds, public plazas, school courtyards, driveways, and backyard patios became informal courts for play and community life, reinforcing the role of physical activity as a catalyst for social interaction and neighborhood regeneration.
Sunset panorama of a large residential gated community (Aparna’s Elixir) viewed from Khajaguda hills, India. Photo by iMahesh. License Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
You learn how to behave long before you arrive home. At the gate, you slow down and wait. You are watched, then waved through. A badge is checked, a barrier lifts, a camera blinks. Nothing dramatic happens, and that is precisely the point. The most consequential work of gated communities is not done by their walls, but by the choreography of entry that quietly teaches residents what to expect, whom to trust, and where they belong.
