Palacio do congreso Nacional Brasilia. Image via Wikimedia Commons (Public Domain)
A different social order is easier to imagine when it sits far from the one that already exists. In Latin America, that distance has often been territorial. Parts of the region have repeatedly been treated as places where another world could begin. These places were never empty.
For architects, this idea has a familiar starting point: the plan. Seen from above, a territory can look like a clean sheet, ready for an axis or a grid. At eye level, the same ground is already full of people and the paths they use.
Architecture across Latin America this month reflects an ongoing conversation around inhabitation, cultural heritage, and the ways architecture can connect contemporary life with existing places and knowledge. From the Buenos Aires International Architecture Biennial and initiatives addressing traditional building practices and archaeological heritage to new cultural infrastructure and housing projects in Argentina, Ecuador, and Peru, recent developments highlight different approaches to working with local contexts. Across the region, questions of memory, community, landscape, and material practice continue to shape both architectural projects and broader discussions around how cities and territories are inhabited.
A campaign led by Red Lima Milenaria is seeking UNESCO recognition for pre-colonial sites in the Peruvian capital. Today, more than 600 archaeological sites remain in Lima, a metropolis of 11 million people. The citizens' campaign seeks to improve conservation conditions and public awareness of the sites that resisted European colonization by promoting the nomination of a selection of structures for inscription on UNESCO's World Heritage List. The public campaign was recently launched to gather citizen support and establish partnerships with organizations working in heritage and related fields, in order to prepare the framework for a formal nomination to be submitted by the Peruvian state. The initiative coincides with reconstruction movements in the continent responding to socioeconomic inequality and structural historical injustices, raising questions about the very definition of heritage.
Casa Sobre el Arroyo, Amancio Williams. Image via World Monuments Fund
What happens to a house when the life it was designed for ends? In Casa sobre el Arroyo, the answer developed gradually as the building changed use, ownership, and condition over nearly eight decades. Even as these conditions changed, the structure, circulation, and relationship to the site remained central to how the house was understood and, eventually, restored.
Designed by Amancio Williams and Delfina Gálvez Bunge de Williams beginning in 1943 for Amancio's father, Alberto Williams, Casa sobre el Arroyo grew directly from the conditions of its site in Mar del Plata, Argentina. Rather than treating the Las Chacras stream as something to work around, the project uses it to organize the house itself. A reinforced concrete arch crosses the water and lifts the living spaces above it, turning the stream into part of the experience of moving through and inhabiting the house.
Filippo Brunelleschi and the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore, completed in 1436 in the Italian city of Florence, represent an important chapter in the history of architecture, often associated with the growing distance between drawing and building. This separation, gradually consolidated over time, finds a decisive turning point in the Renaissance. Drawing becomes an instrument for anticipating and asserting authority over construction. The building site, once a space for invention and decision-making, came to be understood primarily as a place of execution.
Over the following centuries, this distance becomes increasingly pronounced, particularly with modern construction. Industrialization, technical specialization, and corporate organization fragment the building process into increasingly distinct stages. Those who design rarely build; those who build do not always participate in decision-making; those who finance, manage, and inhabit occupy positions that are even further removed from one another. The efficiency of this model made it possible to build at scale, but it also concentrated knowledge and decision-making power in the hands of certain agents.
This article is part of our new Opinion section, a format for argument-driven essays on critical questions shaping our field.
For centuries, most of the world has looked at itself through a 16th-century instrument of spatial representation. On September 4, the United Nations General Assembly voted to change that, adopting a resolution that asks governments, schools, media organizations, and technology companies to retire the Mercator projection wherever the relative size of countries actually matters, in favor of equal-area alternatives like the 2018 Equal Earth projection. The vote passed 164 to 1. The United States was the sole vote against.
Quipu by Gonzalez Moix Arquitectura. Featured in the Biennial's Central exhibition. Image Courtesy of Bienal Internacional de Arquitectura de Buenos Aires
The Buenos Aires International Architecture Biennial marks 40 years of history this year, across 20 editions. As one of the most important architecture gatherings in Latin America, it will celebrate this anniversary with an edition featuring around 100 architecture firms, 15 exhibitions, 50 conferences, 40 international guests, and representatives from more than 55 cities worldwide, in a free, open program running for five weeks. From September 22 and throughout October, as part of Buenos Aires' Design and Architecture Month, conferences will be held, exhibitions will open, installations will be inaugurated, and activities will take place at specific points around the city. Under the theme HABITAR (INHABIT), the Biennial will also host a six-day forum with 2026 Pritzker Prize winner Smiljan Radić, culminating in the presentation of this edition's awards.
Generally, it is specialist professionals who hold the decision-making power—be they historians, museologists, architects, or geographers. But on what basis are these decisions made? Can the complexity of history fit into a checklist? Or, even more fundamentally, on which version of history are these decisions being based?
In the 1970s, Cuba faced a severe nationwide housing shortage due to population growth, rural-to-urban migration, and the degradation of existing housing stock. The government's answer was a system that pulled ordinary workers off their regular jobs and put them on building sites instead. This program, known as the Microbrigadas (microbrigades), reshaped entire districts of Havana, where they combined collective self-construction and state-backed technical knowledge, which left a mark on the urban grid of its capital city that persists until today.
Architecture across Latin America this month reflects an ongoing negotiation between environmental challenges, cultural heritage, and changing approaches to public and professional life. From Colombia's earthquake and its impact on historic architecture to new cultural projects in Argentina and environmentally responsive design in Ecuador and Medellín, recent developments highlight how architecture continues to respond to both regional conditions and broader global challenges. Questions of heritage and infrastructure also remained prominent, as UNESCO raised concerns over the impacts of the Tren Maya on Mexico's Calakmul World Heritage site, while new initiatives in Chile and Costa Rica explored ecological design and sustainable practice. The month's stories point to a regional architectural landscape shaped by resilience, adaptation, and the relationship between built environments and their wider social and natural contexts.
The Pyramid of Tirana opened as a museum to Enver Hoxha in October 1988, three years after his death and three years before the regime collapsed. In the decades that followed, it served as a radio station, a conference venue, a nightclub, and a base for NATO during the Kosovo war. In 2023, MVRDV reopened it as a park and technology school, adding steps to the façades so that the building could be walked over. The inauguration was timed to the Western Balkans Summit on 16 October, a date that some critics pointed out was Hoxha's birthday. Two projects of national self-definition, thirty-five years apart and built on opposite political premises, have used the same structure.
Architectural prototypes are often used to test decisions before construction begins. But in some practices, prototyping begins while those decisions are still taking shape. Moving an idea from drawing into matter introduces questions that depend on making itself: how a material can be cut or joined, how much a piece weighs, how an assembly comes together, whether parts can be reused, or even what form the project should take.
TAKK, salazarsequeromedina, and Ensamble Studio each make physical experimentation part of their design process, but they ask different things of it. For TAKK, prototypes help test how materials and components come together as a construction system. For salazarsequeromedina, models and built systems remain open to dismantling, recombination, and later uses. Ensamble Studio uses physical experiments to generate geometry and construction knowledge that can move into engineering and full-scale building. What distinguishes these approaches is not simply that they prototype, but what each practice expects to learn through the prototype.
Argentina's vast territory reveals multiple ways of building shaped by its geographic, climatic, and cultural diversity. When designing single-family homes in Córdoba, Mendoza, Santa Fe, and Buenos Aires, numerous young Argentine architecture firms respond to distinct material, landscape, and cultural conditions by working with the resources, construction systems, and crafts available in each area. The house becomes a means of interpreting its context, engaging with local traditions, and incorporating new approaches to architectural production.
As the setting for everyday life, the house is part of an ongoing experience, acting as a complex and subtle organism that responds not only to its inhabitants' way of life but also to the landscapes in which it is situated. After presenting different perspectives and definitions by figures such as Le Corbusier, Ernesto Rogers, and Lewis Mumford, Argentine architect Eduardo Sacriste emphasizes in his book Qué es la casa its role as a reflection of the past, sharing the present and illuminating the future.
Founded in Quito in 2017 by Martín Real and Florencia Sobrero, Taller General works across housing, rehabilitation, exhibitions, and community projects. What ties them together is less a type of building than a way of building: architects, builders, craftspeople, students, organizations, and communities move in and out of the process, and each project takes shape from whatever is already there.
This approach grew from direct experience with construction. Before Taller General was formally established, Real and Sobrero became involved with Actuemos Ecuador, one of the civil society initiatives formed in response to the earthquake that affected Ecuador's coast in 2016. Working within the realities of building connected architectural decisions to materials, budgets, available labor, and local knowledge, this established a relationship with construction that has remained central to the practice.
In 2021, the IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics) released a survey regarding the number of cultural and social facilities in Brazil's cities. The findings were alarming: only 29.6% of Brazilian municipalities had cultural and social facilities such as museums, while theaters and concert halls were present in only 23.3% of cities. This overview speaks volumes about the scarcity of such spaces in Brazilian cities. In this context, when a women's cooperative in Maranhão or a volunteer group in Bahia decides to build their own cultural and community facility, the gesture not only fills a material gap but reclaims, on their own initiative, a right that should be guaranteed by public policy.
Prefabricated Building Viña del Mar by ELEMENTAL. Image Courtesy of ELEMENTAL
Displacement is usually understood through movement: the moment people are forced to move from one place to another. Yet from an architectural perspective, that movement is only the beginning of what comes next. A house may need to be rebuilt, an entire community relocated, or everyday life reestablished somewhere completely new. What is lost through displacement is not always something architecture can simply replace.
This question is particularly relevant in Latin America, where displacement has shaped communities under different circumstances and at different scales. What happens afterward depends on why people were forced to move, whether they can return, and what remains of the places they inhabited. Some communities rebuild within familiar surroundings. Others must establish everyday life somewhere new. These differences shape what architecture is being asked to do.
Museo Nacional del Ecuador (MuNA) by SANAA, Estudio A0, Caá Porá Arquitectura, Jerome Haferd Studio, Taller Capital Landscape. Image Courtesy of Jerome Haferd Studio
Architecture across Latin America this month reflects a growing emphasis on adaptation, whether responding to environmental risks, rethinking cultural institutions, or extending the life of existing buildings. Recent developments reveal a regional conversation shaped by resilience, heritage, and public space, where architecture is increasingly understood as part of broader urban, social, and environmental systems. From the aftermath of major earthquakes in Venezuela to the debate surrounding Ecuador's future National Museum, the month's stories highlight how design is intertwined with questions of identity, civic life, and long-term sustainability.
