Frankfurt is often recognised for its distinctive skyline, a rare feature in European cities. Towering glass skyscrapers mark its role as a global financial hub, yet beneath this vertical image lies a city layered with centuries of history, destruction, and reconstruction. From medieval timber-framed houses to post-war modernism and contemporary high-rises, Frankfurt has consistently reinvented itself through architecture, producing a built environment where different periods coexist in dialogue.
The city's transformation accelerated after World War II, when much of its historic core was destroyed and planners sought to balance rapid economic growth with the need for cultural reconstruction. Landmarks such as the Römerberg square were meticulously rebuilt, while modernist interventions and infrastructural projects introduced new scales and languages. More recently, projects by internationally renowned offices have reshaped the riverfront and business districts, adding architectural icons that express Frankfurt's global role.
Cobe has revealed the design for Museum Wegner in Tønder, Denmark, a new cultural institution dedicated to the life and work of renowned Danish designer Hans J. Wegner. The museum will be located at Hestholm, a historicfarm dating back to 1445, and will combine the adaptive reuse of existing structures with a contemporaryextension. Selected as the project architect in February 2024 following a competitive interview process, Cobe is now moving the design toward realization with strong local and national support.
This week in architecture, global recognitions and new unveilings underscored the field's growing commitment to climate awareness, cultural continuity, and adaptive reuse. From Expo 2025 Osaka's closing ceremonies to international award announcements, the focus turned to architects and designers redefining the relationship between place, material, and community. Alongside these recognitions, major new projects, from Dubai to California, illustrated how design continues to evolve across scales: shaping cities, preserving heritage, and addressing urgent global challenges through context-driven architecture.
In an era of people-centered urban planning, 15-minute cities, “eyes on the street,” and active public spaces, parking garages are often seen as the antithesis of contemporary urban ideals. But that was not always the case. If today they challenge architects and planners to reinvent them in pursuit of more sustainable mobility and more human cities, in the past they stood as witnesses to a radical transformation in how we move, inhabit, and perceive urban space. Once symbols of modernity, parking garages embodied the height of an age when the automobile was seen as a driving force of progress. This shift in meaning reveals them as much more than utilitarian structures — they are powerful reflections of the evolution of urbanism, technology, and social habits over the past two centuries.
Bahrain's architectural participations in the international exhibitions have gained increasing global recognition, marked most recently by major awards at Expo 2025 Osaka and the Venice Architecture Biennale. These milestones reflect a broader trajectory in which the country's design culture, rooted in climatic intelligence and cultural continuity, has become a prominent voice in international conversations on context-driven architecture.
This growing visibility builds upon a deep architectural lineage. Bahrain's identity has long been shaped by its position as a maritime crossroads of the Arabian Gulf, where the legacy of pearling settlements and the compact urban fabric of Muharraq and Manama reveal a dialogue between local traditions and global exchange. Today, that dialogue evolves through practices that merge preservation with experimentation, translating heritage into a contemporary architectural language that is both place-specific and forward-looking.
Ciudad Cayalá, a privately developed, mixed-use community on the outskirts of Guatemala City, is often described as a "theme park" of white lime-washed walls, red tiles, and cobbled plazas. A closer examination, however, reveals a more complex urban narrative. Its significance, however, lies in its capacity to create a safe and well-managed public space, proposing a modern reinterpretation of historic urban principles that mark the region's architectural and urban heritage. Behind the Antigua-style façades lies an urban experiment: a modern re-engagement with architectural elements like arcades, courtyards, and open plazas, which propose a privately-managed public space as a solution to urban challenges in the region.
Like the famous Russian Matryoshka doll, opening a package often feels like uncovering endless layers. Inside a cardboard box, there might be molded Styrofoam, then several plastic air pillows, and finally, individual plastic wrapping around each piece. Even a small product can leave behind a trail of plastic waste far larger than its size. Now imagine this logic applied to a construction site where every component, every delivery of materials, often arrives wrapped in multiple layers of protection. What already seems excessive in retail becomes monumental when repeated daily on large construction projects.
Open architectural competitions have long been regarded as gateways for new ideas. They level the playing field by proposing a single call, a clear set of rules, and an evaluation based on the quality of the work, conducted anonymously. For organizers, like cities, institutions, or companies, they represent a way to gather relevant proposals in a transparent public forum, backed by a competent jury. Unsurprisingly, competitions have marked decisive moments in the history of the discipline, such as the Centre Pompidou competition in Paris, which brought Renzo Piano and Richard Rogers to prominence with their "inside-out building," or the one for Brazil's new capital, won by Lúcio Costa with the Pilot Plan that synthesized the city into two intersecting axes, interpreted as either an airplane or a cross.
So, why do competitions still matter in architecture today? Beyond their historic role in shaping iconic projects, they continue to serve as testing grounds for fresh ideas, talent, and innovation. In the following sections, we explore competitions from three angles: the motivations that keep architects returning to them, the reasons organizers continue to launch them, and a practical playbook of strategies to help you approach your next competition with clarity and purpose.
Monday, October 13th, marked the conclusion of Expo Osaka 2025. The exhibition gathered representatives from 165 countries and international organizations and welcomed around 28 million visitors to Yumeshima, a reclaimed site in Osaka Bay. The site was reimagined through a masterplan and bounded by a Guinness World Record-breaking wooden circular structure, both designed by Sou Fujimoto Architects. Over 184 days, participants were able to visit the self-built, modular, and shared pavilions, national exhibitions, and public activities organized under the overarching theme "Designing Future Society for Our Lives." During its six-month run, the Expo set out to explore three pivotal subthemes, Saving Lives, Empowering Lives, and Connecting Lives, as an invitation to bring together new perspectives for our built and social ecosystem.
Peace of mind is essential when selecting tapware for a commercial project. As a global leader in premium architectural fixtures and fittings, ABI Interiors is committed to delivering sustainable, design-led solutions that meet architects' practical and creative needs across commercial, residential, and large-scale developments.
When Archigram published their fanatical vision for pneumatic cities and walking megastructures in the 1960s, they seemed to be designing buildings. Beneath the surface, the avant-gardeists were pushing culture through radical alternatives to lifestyles and forms of organizing in the city. Laboratories found themselves between the lines of copy on Domus or Casabella magazines, propositions doubling as blueprints for the civilizations to come. From Gropius's Bauhaus in 1919 to Arcosanti's desert experiments in the 1970s, architecture operated as a form of cultural prophecy. Built form was the argument. The drawing was the vision. Today, we live in a world that remarkably resembles what the starchitects of the 1900s imagined - modular construction, interconnected digital cities, and automated systems. Yet contemporary architecture rarely proposes culture with the same totalizing confidence.
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1st Prize Winner: Our Light. Image Courtesy of Buildner
Buildner has announced the results of its fourth annual Hospice - Home for the Terminally Ill international architecture ideas competition. This global call for ideas continues to explore how architecture can support end-of-life care with empathy, dignity, and contextual sensitivity. The competition invited architects and designers to move beyond clinical requirements and envision spaces that offer emotional warmth, social connection, and a profound sense of place.
The Créateurs Design Awards (CDA) announced Xu Tiantian, Founder and Principal Architect of DnA_Design and Architecture, as the recipient of the 2026 edition of Le Prix Charlotte Perriand. The award celebrates architects whose work embodies innovation, social responsibility, and a deep engagement with community and place. The architect was recognized for her transformative work bridging urban and rural communities through innovative design interventions. Her approach to architecture was acknowledged as a tool for cultural preservation and rural revitalization, making her an exemplary recipient of this honor, previously awarded to prominent architects such as Frida Escobedo, Jeanne Gang, Kazuyo Sejima, and Ryue Nishizawa.
Olivia Poston's architectural perspective is deeply rooted in her upbringing amid the post-industrial landscapes of Tennessee's foothills, where she developed an early fascination with the complex relationship between urban environments and ecology. This formative experience shaped her view of architecture not just as building, but as a lens to explore social, cultural, and environmental systems in flux. Olivia's work bridges research, writing, and editorial practice, focusing on how cities across diverse climates evolve and adapt in response to increasing environmental challenges.
She is particularly drawn to collaborative design strategies that integrate insights from architects, planners, and engineers to foster resilience and equity within the built environment. Her editorial approach prioritizes projects that engage critically with climate risk while maintaining a sense of optimism and possibility. She values content that offers both reflection and practical pathways forward, serving as a platform to highlight innovative responses to the pressing demands of sustainability.
Architecture—one of the few cultural artifacts made to be publicly lived with, preserved, and often capable of standing for centuries—contributes significantly to the cultural identity of places and people. Historically, buildings have expressed institutional attitudes, influence, and power; they are clear demonstrations of culture. Yet longevity complicates preservation: when a structure is rebuilt, repaired, or entirely reassembled, in what sense is it still the same building?
There's the classic Ship of Theseus puzzle from Plutarch. if a ship's planks are replaced one by one over time, is it still the same ship? Thomas Hobbes adds a twist—if the original planks are reassembled elsewhere, which ship is "the original"? The paradox tests what grounds identity: material fabric, continuous use and history, or shared recognition. In architecture and conservation, it reframes preservation as a choice among keeping matter, maintaining form and function, or sustaining the stories and practices that give a place meaning.
The island of Taiwan presents a varied natural and topographical context, characterized by a land area of 36,197 square kilometers and a high population density of 644 people per square kilometer. Its geological location, situated on the edges of the Eurasian and Philippine Sea plates, has resulted in a predominantly mountainous and rugged topography. While this forces the majority of the 23 million residents to inhabit large urban centers on the western coastal plains, the island maintains an active agricultural sector, with approximately 22% of its land allocated to farming.
Historically—like other cultural forms—architecture has been documented, shared, and promoted primarily through print. Books, journals, and magazines carried the discipline's arguments and images, and because architectural practice relies so heavily on visual communication, printed journals created a bridge between academic publications and commercial magazines. Through the postwar decades, beautifully produced volumes curated a collective point of view, signaling what the field broadly considered discussion-worthy or exemplary.
Across major cultural centers, a handful of publications shaped this discourse: Their perspectives were typically sophisticated, professional, and carefully edited—distilling an unruly global output into a small constellation of remarkable projects. The system arguably privileged certain practices and geographies, but it also amplified architecture for wider audiences. Buildings began to lodge in public imagination; cultural travel—journeys taken expressly to experience architecture—moved from rarity toward ritual.
The habit of sitting at the table and sharing a specific moment with other people has been present for centuries in the most diverse cultures. The Greek Symposium, Roman Convivium, Medieval Feasts and Banquets, and Parisian Salons are just a few examples of how this custom was historically built and has been relevant in social and political negotiations, intellectual discussions, and philosophical debates.
Commensality often serves as a ritual for bonding, negotiation, and celebrating important events. In many Spanish-speaking cultures, the stretch of time after the meal when the entire family stays seated and talks is so present that there is a word for it: sobremesa — literally translated as "upon the table" (though in Spanish it more accurately means "dessert" or "after-meal conversation"). But, despite often being associated with sharing a meal, the table can be considered a flexible platform open to many possibilities for appropriation and interaction.
While a book or piece of music can be easily set aside if it doesn't capture our interest, architecture is different. A building endures for decades, and it shapes the landscape and influences the lives of its occupants for years to come. This permanence brings with it a unique set of challenges: architects must design spaces that impact collective life, often under tight deadlines, limited budgets, and significant pressure. In addition to navigating complex regulations and coordinating construction, architects face the misconception that design is simple, or that anyone could do it. The constant balancing act between quality, cost, and speed often leads to sacrifices — whether in time, health, or the integrity of the project itself. This cycle not only wears down the profession but diminishes society's understanding of the true value of design.
The well-known "good, fast, and cheap" triangle is rarely resolved without the architect sacrificing their own time, health, or even the quality of the project. Repeated for decades, this equation fuels a cycle of wear that not only undermines the profession but also depreciates the value of design in society, even diminishing the role of such a beautiful and important discipline.
Dutch artist Madelon Vriesendorp has been named the recipient of the 2025 Soane Medal, becoming the first UK-based female artist to receive the award since its launch in 2017. A co-founder of Office for Metropolitan Architecture (OMA), Vriesendorp is widely recognized for her surrealist and humorous visual language that has shaped how modern and postmodernarchitecture is represented and understood. Her work, which blends playfulness with critical thought, has provided architecture with vivid, memorable imagery that continues to influence generations of architects.
Hudson's Detroit mixed-used development. Aerial view. Image Courtesy of Bedrock
Detroit-based Bedrock development group has announced the completion of the first phase of its Hudson's Detroit mixed-use project in the city center. The project was first unveiled in 2017, when the company presented plans for a 1.2-million-square-foot development designed by SHoP Architects to be built on one of downtown Detroit's long-abandoned sites, formerly occupied by the J.L. Hudson's Department Store. Once the tallest department store in the world and a central gathering place for the city throughout much of the 20th century, the site has now been reimagined as a contemporary urban destination. After nearly a decade of planning and construction, Hudson's Detroit aims to bring new activity and public space to a location emblematic of the city's commercial and cultural past.
