Symbols have always traveled through architecture. They appear in carved stone, woven textiles, painted ceilings and walls, door hardware, and everyday objects, carrying the beliefs, rituals, and histories of the cultures that first created them. Across contemporary interiors, designers continue this dialogue with place by revisiting historical symbols and translating them through new materials, manufacturing techniques, and architectural forms.
What transforms a space of living into a home? Beyond ownership or shelter, a home is tied to a quieter sense of certainty: the feeling that one can retreat, rest, and momentarily step away from the world's unpredictability. Homes are where routines accumulate, memories settle into spaces and objects, and where personal identity takes physical form through occupation and everyday rituals. Yet this sense of belonging depends on another condition that often goes unnoticed until disrupted: security. To feel "at home" implies a condition of comfort and stability. When domestic environments fail to provide this, spaces designed for rest become sources of unease, subtly affecting routines and well-being.
The original promise of BIM (Building Information Modeling) went far beyond the three-dimensional representation of a building. Its ambition was to turn the model into a coordinated information structure, in which geometry, components, systems, and data remained connected as the project evolved. Changes to one element could be reflected across corresponding plans, sections, elevations, and quantities; clashes between different disciplines could be identified before construction; and information associated with building components could follow the project through different stages of its life cycle.
What narratives do materials carry, and how can the visible "traces" of artisans engage in a dialogue with manufacturing processes and industrialization? Between design and construction, the act of thinking through making can become a guiding principle for a design philosophy. Combining wood, industrial materials, and reused objects, Atelier CRAFT's approach is rooted in reversible architecture, guided by its manifesto: "Transform design through making." Based in Saint-Ouen, Paris, the practice explores the relationships between humans and materials, the act of making, and manufacturing processes.
Building a city from scratch is no easy task. It never has been, and it never will be. The very idea of creating something that would otherwise develop and grow gradually demands resources, organization, and, above all, labor. This was the case in 1958, when Brazil's Central Plateau became one of the largest construction sites of the 20th century for the building of Brasília. Tens of thousands of candangos (migrants coming predominantly from northeastern Brazil, many without prior technical training) arrived to build an entire capital in just over three years, under then-president Juscelino Kubitschek's motto of achieving "fifty years of progress in five." Oscar Niemeyer's architecture and Lúcio Costa's plan would not have been possible without the assumption that enough workers were available and willing to endure low wages and extremely harsh conditions to transform concrete and curves into a national symbol.
Selecting wood for outdoor applications involves more than appearance alone. Durability, stability, versatility and sustainability all influence how a material performs over time. Understanding these factors can help architects, builders and homeowners choose the right wood for exterior projects.
Architects are trained to choose materials, compare their properties, and decide how they should be used. Some practices are taking on a different task: developing the material itself.
On Spain's Costa Brava, the little-known brutalist housing block Les Feixes, in L'Estartit, becomes the main stage of "Caçador de Geometries" (Geometry Hunter), a short film produced by Simon and directed by filmmaker Matilda Vidal de Llobatera. Its premiere marks the launch of the sixth edition of the Living Places – Simon Architecture Prize, the only award that uses video to explain architecture from the perspective of those who inhabit it. Curated by Fundació Mies van der Rohe since 2016, it is now open and, coinciding with its tenth anniversary, it joins the program of Barcelona 2026, World Capital of Architecture.
The ceiling is one of the largest continuous surfaces in a space, yet why is it rarely the first architectural element people notice? Often perceived as the plane that conceals structure and building services, it quietly recedes into the background while facades, materials, structural systems, and furniture define a building's architectural identity. Yet few architectural elements influence the experience of a space as consistently as this one. The ceiling shapes how sound travels, how light is reflected, how air moves through a room, and ultimately how architecture is experienced, bringing together technical performance and architectural expression through a single continuous surface.
How can we transport ourselves to natural environments when we find ourselves in entirely urban contexts? The materiality of spaces is one of the factors that determines the atmosphere we inhabit. In this regard, the incorporation of natural materials in interior architecture can help introduce textures, colors, and qualities inherent to nature into our daily spaces. In this article, we explore the specific use of cork as a resource in interior design and the different ways it can transform the experience of a space. Cork is the bark of the cork oak, a tree species that, when harvested without harming the tree, can be transformed into a material suitable for multiple applications in architecture and design.
Industrial buildings are often expected to prioritize efficiency, production, and technical performance above all else. As a result, architectural quality is frequently treated as secondary to functional requirements. Advances in material systems, however, allow industrial facilities to balance both, creating buildings that respond to climate, improve working conditions, and establish a distinctive architectural identity.
Craftsmanship carries the traces of those who shaped it, revealing how materials respond to different techniques and even offering clues about the tools used to create them. Within the architectural experience, however, craftsmanship can be expressed not only through materials and structures but also through space itself. Seeking to deepen and learn from the connections between design and execution, amass studio has explored the translation of informal, everyday construction methods into spatial systems across several of its projects. By integrating mechanisms, materials, structures, and furniture, the studio creates new spatial narratives in which the dialogue between the handcrafted and the industrial becomes mutually reinforcing. Beyond craftsmanship itself, then, why not make visible the processes that bring it into being?
For years, advances in architectural visualization have been measured by image quality. Physically accurate lighting, sophisticated material systems, and real-time rendering have made photorealistic imagery an industry expectation. Yet architectural practice has evolved in a different direction.
When Francis Kéré set out to build a school in his home village of Gando, Burkina Faso, he chose clay, a material his own community associated with scarcity, not architecture. To prove it could hold, he built test bricks and submerged one in water for five days before showing his neighbors it hadn't failed. Then he trained the villagers themselves to raise the walls, rather than bringing in a construction crew from the city. More than 200 people from Gando have since worked as builders because of that choice. The school carries something a materials list alone cannot: the trace of the hands that will go on living in the village long after the scaffolding came down.
An architecture degree provides the foundations of the discipline, but the transition into professional practice often extends well beyond the classroom. Building experience, developing a portfolio, and navigating the realities of architectural offices are challenges that many graduates face in their first years of practice.
Beyond the structural grids lies a layer of design that dictates how a room feels the moment someone crosses the threshold. Recorded live at Milan Design Week 2026 in partnership with INDX|GLOBAL, the final episode of the Room For Dreams podcast covers the unseen atmospheric energy that gives architecture its emotional weight.
The White Bay Power Station precinct and Glebe Island, two key sites in one of the last major redevelopment sites on Sydney's inner harbour, are the focus of a new international design competition launched by the New South Wales Government. The open, two-stage Bays West International Design Competition seeks a design-led Urban Framework that will guide the transformation of the precinct into a new waterfront neighbourhood.
Central America's nations occupy a narrow land bridge between Mexico and Colombia, but they were not born as separate countries. They emerged from a single entity: the Federal Republic of Central America in 1823. That federation collapsed, yet the ideal of a unified region never fully died. In 1951, the governments signed the Charter of San Salvador, creating ODECA, the Organization of Central American States. Four decades later, the 1991 Protocol of Tegucigalpa replaced it with SICA, the Central American Integration System, the framework guiding regional cooperation today. Within this integration process, the Central American Bank for Economic Integration (BCIE) was founded in 1960 by Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua, establishing its headquarters in Tegucigalpa. On the surface, it is a conventional late-20th-century office complex, but look closer at its façade, and the building becomes an argument about identity. One written in pink quarry stone from the very hills that surround the Honduran capital.