This time, we are presenting a new series of 8 videos from the same channel focused on plumbing—an interesting resource for brushing up on your knowledge of pipe installation and maintenance.
Arquitectas. Maestras del espacio [Architects. Masters of Space] is a recent series from Encuentro. Over the course of two months, the weekly episodes built an engaging audiovisual catalog of the historical work of eight Argentine architects.
The second installment of this architecture series is once again presented by actor Rafael Spregelburd, who reminds us of the importance of highlighting the lesser-known creators behind the country's celebrated architectural projects.
Recently released, 'La obra secreta' (The Secret Work) is an Argentine feature film directed by artist Graciela Taquini that—recalling 'El Hombre de al Lado' (The Man Next Door)—once again addresses one of the country's most renowned architectural projects: the Casa Curutchet, a work in the city of La Plata resulting from the meeting of Pedro Curutchet, Amancio Williams, and Le Corbusier.
The footage is part of Chiloé, a series by Glaciar Films directed by Diego Breit and David Guzmán. The five-episode series documents the island's architectural identity and its key figures: architects, carpenters, artisans, and inhabitants.
Chiloé is a production by Glaciar Films which, directed by Diego Breit and David Guzmán, offers five episodes presenting the island's architectural identity and its key figures. Architects, carpenters, craftspeople, and residents weave together a narrative that explores the island's construction history and how it faces imminent change and the adoption of modern patterns.
In this instance, Glaciar Films has made three video clips featuring interviews with key figures in Chiloé architecture available to ArchDaily readers. In the first chapter, Jonás Retamal—an architect from the University of Chile who has lived on the island for 15 years—discusses traditional materiality and the adoption of modern patterns in local production methods.
In FOMM, architect Manuel Mosquera captures the construction phase of a residence in Argentina designed by architects Mathias Klotz and Edgardo Minond.
This black-and-white photography book offers a new perspective, rescuing the small stories and practices inherent in the process while capturing its unique atmosphere and details. Simultaneously, it highlights a range of records and observations that invite us to reflect on the procedures, timelines, and considerations of construction.
Across different climates and building cultures, many contemporary projects are working with local ways of building in new ways. Earth walls, bamboo structures, shaded thresholds, and collective construction processes are being reconsidered not as references, but as tools for the conditions architecture is facing now and will continue to face.
In these projects, vernacular knowledge appears through practical decisions: how to cool a building without machines, how to build with what is nearby, how to make a structure easier to repair, and how to keep construction knowledge within the community that will use it. The conditions making this knowledge necessary are not coming. They are already here.
An informal vendor selling balloons along La Séptima in the Plaza de Bolívar. "Bogota, Colombia" by szeke is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0
This article is the winning entry of the Epistle Writing Prize 2025, an annual competition dedicated to recognizing outstanding writing on design, architecture, and the environment.
It's wet season, but this morning's downpour does little to deter the rhythm along La Carrera Séptima. Cyclists and pedestrians weave past ambulatory vendors with carts of avocados, ginger sweets, and phone cases. Toy cars, lightbulbs, and hand-beaded jewelry glisten with raindrops, arranged neatly on tarps that demarcate vendors' territories. Police officers approach a recycler gathering bottles; a tourist bargains for a jacket; two women find each other in the middle of the road, embracing as their coats grow heavy with rain.
La Séptima, or Bogotá's Seventh Avenue, is the most emblematic road in Bogotá, traversed by more than two million people every day. Along this single road — part marketplace, part protest route, part transportation hub — Bogotá's history unfolds. For nearly a year, I traced its rhythms as a pedestrian, commuter, inhabitant, and researcher. In all these moments and their historical incarnations, one image endured: the road is a living body. It is imagined as Bogotá's backbone, its vital artery, its heart. It bleeds, bears scars, and demands care.
Most of Europe's future housing already exists, yet renovation continues to happen too slowly to address climate, housing, health and resource challenges at the scale required. Re:Living explores how renovation can move from isolated projects to a scalable approach for transforming existing buildings. At the heart of the initiative is a new research project, The Housing We Need for the Future We Want, which examines how better use of the existing building stock can unlock new opportunities for architects, cities and communities.
The project developed by CRA-Carlo Ratti Associati, Park Associati, Politecnica Building for Humans, Openfabric, DOTDOTDOT, Studio Mattioli, and Eckersley O'Callaghan has been selected to design the new Main Hospital and Children's Hospital in Brescia, Italy. The international competition mandate was to redevelop an existing hospital, preserving and extending a radial plan conceived by engineer Angelo Bordoni in the early twentieth century. The existing healthcare complex, Spedali Civili di Brescia, follows a hexagonal masterplan and radial layout that informs the new design for the premises. The geometry is reinterpreted to update the campus for future models of care, drawing a new CareRing around it that connects people, nature, and healthcare through the principles of One Health, the idea that human health, environmental health, and social wellbeing are inseparable.
Mexico City. Image by Eduardo Enriquez, via Unsplash
Mexico City is a sprawling metropolis of layered temporalities, where architecture operates as a continuous negotiation between deep-seated history and intense urban mutation. Built over the aquatic traces of Tenochtitlan, the city's fabric is an ongoing dialogue between eras: the monumental scale of the Pre-Hispanic Templo Mayor and the Viceroyalty architecture of the Catedral Metropolitana coexist with the modern and contemporary impulses that define its skyline. This dense juxtaposition creates a unique urban canvas where sacred geography, colonial imposition, and 20th-century ambition intersect.
The mid-century marked a definitive era of experimentation, forging a Mexican Modernism that masterfully synthesized international structural rationalism with local identity and materiality. This synthesis is epitomized by the sweeping, plastic integration of art and architecture at the Ciudad Universitaria, the structural poetry of Félix Candela's hyper-parabolic shells, and the raw, monumental brutalism of Teodoro González de León and Abraham Zabludovsky. Parallel to this, the intimate, introspective mastery of Luis Barragán and Juan O'Gorman redefined domestic space, experimenting with light, vernacular color, and tectonic honesty to create spaces of profound spatial stillness.
An experiential rebellion takes center stage in the fourth episode of the Room For Dreams podcast, hitting directly at the heart of today's screen-deep, image-obsessed design culture. Recorded live at Milan Design Week 2026 in cooperation with INDX|GLOBAL, host Claire Broadka sits down with four Indian architectural voices — Indrajit Kembhavi, Manish Gulati, Sanjay Singh, and Sidhartha Talwar — to explore a critical question: have we sacrificed the soul of architecture for the sake of a picture-perfect Instagram post?
Recent events highlighted the many ways architecture responds to changing environmental, social, and cultural conditions. Major earthquakes in Venezuela, Japan, and Northern California renewed attention to the role of planning, infrastructure, and building practices in shaping resilience to natural hazards. As these questions continue to inform the built environment, the opening of the 2026 UIA World Congress of Architects in Barcelona brought together practitioners and researchers to discuss climate, housing, public space, and the future of the profession. Recent project announcements, preservation initiatives, completed works, and new design tools further reflected the range of approaches shaping architectural practice today, from heritage conservation and adaptive reuse to environmental performance and long-term planning.
A monument is usually the most conservative building a state will commission. It is expected to stabilize memory, to make history legible, and to give public form to a shared narrative. Eastern Europe's twentieth century produced an entire body of work from the Baltic to the Balkans that resisted precisely those expectations, challenging the conventional relationship between monument, memory, and representation. Commonly grouped under the name spomeniks, these architectural exercises are perhaps the best-known examples of a much broader landscape of memorial architecture that emerged across the region. These were societies emerging from occupation, civil conflict, or revolution, and none of them possessed a single symbolic language capable of accommodating the complexity of their histories. Rather than searching for new heroes or new icons, many architects and artists turned to space itself as the medium through which remembrance could be constructed.
These monuments occupy an unusual position between sculpture and architecture. At one scale, they read as deliberate abstract compositions arranged with the clarity of a drawing by Kandinsky. At another, they seem less resolved, as if testing the limits of a spatial language still in formation. Their forms often appear caught between certainty and experimentation, the same monument readable as a controlled geometric object and as an open-ended search for how collective memory might inhabit space. But these readings coexist and give many of these works their enduring ambiguity.
One of the defining qualities of contemporary interiors is flexibility. Offices, education facilities, hotels, and cultural venues need to be adaptable. They require spaces that can expand, divide, open, and close according to different activities, without sacrificing comfort, or accoustics. How a space is subdivided, then, is no longer a secondary decision, but a central component of architectural performance.
Every twelve years, the banks of the Ganges at Prayagraj become one of the largest cities on Earth — and then disappear. The Maha Kumbh Mela draws over 400 million pilgrims across six weeks, requiring the construction of a full urban infrastructure: pontoon bridges, field hospitals, kilometers of temporary roads, a grid of tent cities visible from space. When the festival ends, it is dismantled entirely. No gathering in human history produces a more complete architecture of movement; built for arrival, engineered for transience, and designed to leave no permanent trace. The Kumbh Mela is exceptional in scale, but not in condition: movement has become a defining spatial problem of the century.
This month, ArchDaily explores Architectures of Movement: Land, Borders, and the Politics of Belonging, a theme that examines how mobility reshapes architecture's relationship to territory, ownership, and identity. The topic does not treat movement as a crisis to be managed, but as a fundamental lens through which to reconsider what buildings, cities, and borders actually do: who they accommodate, who they exclude, and what they make permanent.
A building material rarely begins where architecture encounters it. By the time concrete reaches a construction site, its limestone has already been quarried, processed, and transformed. Timber arrives long after the forest. Glass appears detached from the sand from which it was made. By the time materials enter construction, much of the landscape and industry that produced them has already disappeared from view.
In 1743, a small cabin suspended by ropes was installed in a courtyard of the Palace of Versailles for the private use of King Louis XV. Manually operated by servants hidden from view, the so-called "flying chair" allowed movement between floors without stairs, and unknowingly introduced one of the central questions of modern architecture: how to move people vertically in a way that is efficient, safe, and integrated into the building.
The mechanization of this principle, with the introduction of a safety elevator in the early 1850s, paved the way for an unprecedented urban transformation. Without the elevator, the skyscrapers of Chicago and New York in the 1880s would have been unfeasible not because of structural limitations, but because of access. The elevator made it possible to build higher, and it also defined the logic of how these buildings would operate, where their cores would be placed, how their lobbies would be organized, and who could reach which spaces.
Dallas City Hall, Texas. Image via World Monuments Fund
On the occasion of the 250th anniversary of the United States' Declaration of Independence, the World Monuments Fund has announced a new list of ten heritage places representing the country's history. The special initiative, titled "Irreplaceable America," recognizes historic places across the country whose preservation is considered "essential to the richness and complexity of American history," spotlighting urgent preservation needs. From the oldest botanical garden in the country to I.M. Pei's modernist Dallas City Hall, the selected sites bear witness to Indigenous heritage, artistic experimentation, and public health, colonial, and Black history.
