Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. Photo by Alessio Maffeis, via Unsplash
Everything built through human physical and intellectual labor carries meaning. It is within physical matter that we find the remains of ancient civilizations, and through these records, we understand their characteristics, the technologies involved, and their social organization. Cities and major urban centers hold layers upon layers of events recorded in their streets, buildings, plazas, and parks. Often, depending on the development of the place, this evidence is gradually erased, disregarded, and altered.
Architecture begins as an encounter with gravity. It is the ancient act of placing weight upon the earth, of persuading matter to stand, hold, and shelter. Within this fundamental condition of heaviness, however, lies a quieter possibility: density itself can generate a sense of lightness—a perceptual condition in which the body, fully convinced of matter's weight, begins to experience space as suspension.
Much of contemporary architecture has pursued lightness through reduction: thinner structures, smoother surfaces, increasingly seamless transitions between interior and exterior. Here, lightness is equated with disappearance, as if gravity could be overcome by withdrawing material presence. Yet there exists another register in which lightness is not the result of absence, but of intensification. It emerges when material presence becomes so precise, so fully asserted, that it begins to alter perception itself—when mass remains heavy, but no longer behaves as simply inert.
Architecture has traditionally been described as a discipline concerned with space, form, and material presence. Yet this understanding becomes increasingly limited when confronted with the conditions that shape contemporary construction. Buildings no longer emerge from a stable relationship between site, program, and material. Instead, they are produced within a dense web of technological systems that operate across territorial, ecological, and temporal scales. Energy networks, data infrastructures, extraction processes, and global logistics shape architecture as decisively as climate or urban context.
Seen from this angle, architecture is less a discrete object than a moment within a larger technical field. Supply chains, data systems, automated maintenance, and energy grids do not sit "behind" the built environment. In a certain way, they influence what can be built, what is affordable, how buildings perform over time, and what kinds of waste they produce. When architecture is assessed primarily through form, it risks overlooking the systems that condition its production and afterlife.
Beneath the visible surface of cities lies an invisible architecture. Subways, tunnels, water systems, data cables, and bunkers form a dense network that sustains urban life while remaining largely unseen. The ground beneath our feet is not a void but a complex territory that holds the infrastructures, memories, and anxieties of our age. In recent years, as land becomes scarce and climate pressures intensify, architects and urbanists have turned their gaze downward, rediscovering the subterranean as both a physical and conceptual frontier. To design underground is to engage with the unseen mechanisms that shape the world above.
The subterranean has long been a site where architecture intersects with politics, technology, and belief. From the catacombs of Rome to the industrial subways of modernity, descent has symbolized both protection and exposure. Twentieth-century urbanism transformed this gesture into a system: metros, shelters, and utilities redefined the city section as an instrument of governance. Beneath the promise of efficiency and progress, the underground absorbed the anxieties of an era of war, surveillance, and collapse. Its evolution reveals not only how societies build, but also how they fear.
Today, the ground has become the new frontier of urban expansion and ecological adaptation. As digital infrastructures, energy systems, and climatic buffers migrate below grade, architecture confronts a space both technical and metaphysical — essential yet marginal, invisible yet decisive. To think in sections rather than in plan is to recognise that contemporary cities no longer exist solely in their skylines but also in their depths. The challenge for architecture is not only to occupy that space, but to render it legible, to turn the unseen into knowledge, and the hidden into a new terrain of design.
In much of China, concrete remains the dominant construction material. Despite growing concerns over its environmental impact, concrete continues to align with the priorities of many developers and clients—it is fast, cost-effective, and highly durable. As a result, most building types in China still rely heavily on concrete. This reliance is further reinforced by China's position as the world's largest producer of Portland cement. A deeply entrenched supply chain, rooted in raw material manufacturing and economic infrastructure, ensures that concrete remains the default choice in the construction industry.
Yet historically, Chinese architecture was built upon a rich tradition of timber construction. The Forbidden City is a prime example: not only is it emblematic of China's architectural heritage, but it also remains one of the largest and best-preserved collections of ancient wooden structures in the world. This legacy prompts an important question: does timber construction have a meaningful future in China's contemporary building industry?
As the year culminates, it's once again time for the ArchDaily team of curators to reflect on the best-performing projects of 2025 and consider what readers were most interested in. Through this diverse overview, we assess the cross-continental similarities and differences in trends and construction development. This year brought us many grand cultural and public spaces by Lina Ghotmeh, BIG, Zaha Hadid Architects, DnA, and Serie Architects, who populated events like Expo Osaka and the Venice Biennale, as well as a surprising number of museums and public or landscape works in China and the rest of the Asian continent. However, while these were sought-after projects, the leading works remained, unsurprisingly, residential projects.
More specifically, the houses that were most viewed on the ArchDaily global site were concrete houses that bore considerable injections of greenery and landscape focus. They propose layouts highlighting voids and double heights, as well as inner courtyards or large openings to the exterior. While some references did suggest traditional or vernacular elements, modernist revivals were still predominant. Material trends are much more tame, with a recurrence of raw concrete use, as wood and stone were common accent elements. Still, the more interesting thing about the works this year is the efforts brought by architects in situating and setting the projects within their surroundings, bringing special attention to landscape and how projects merged with nature.
Quarries can be seen as indelible abandoned scars of human resource extraction. Man-made spaces, perceived as voids, and material gain, have fundamentally shaped our accelerating built environment. All the while, the earth stands still as a silent witness. For decades, these open-pit mines have been viewed as a necessary consequence of consumerism and urban growth, their raw, imposing forms a testament to the large-scale extraction of materials essential for building our cities. However, a global architectural movement is now emerging to engage with these existing forms, transforming these subtractive spaces into sites of innovation, collaboration, and renewed purpose.
The contemporary bookstore is a paradoxical space. It is commercial, but rarely commercialized; public, but often privately owned; small in scale, but expansive in impact. As adjacent architectural typologies evolve under the pressures of digital consumption, economic precarity, and changing social habits, the bookstore has not dimensioned, but adapted to the twenty first century. It is not a site for private or institutional literary exchange, but a spatial hybrid that accommodates ritual, rest, performance, and socialization.
Few countries showcase living history like China. From the iconic Forbidden City to diverse landscapes and building styles, China has a rich cultural and architectural legacy. As the world’s largest construction market, the country continues to invest in new projects. At the same time, this rapid urbanization and accelerated development is juxtaposed with ancient building sites intertwined with layers of history and collective memory.
Today, reusing and adapting existing spatial resources is regarded around the world as an important contribution to sustainable development, and new challenges are thus also emerging at the margins of classic building tasks due to the changing assessments regarding whether to preserve or demolish. Xu Tiantian’s projects in the quarries of Jinyun combine aspects of landscape planning, interior design, artistic installations, and social planning with an economic revitalization of the rural area. In this way, a ruined and exploited landscape becomes a sign of departure with which a new sustainable coexistence can be linked to a narrative about the history of the location.
The immensity of China leads to the diversity of customs and climatic conditions. Each area has its own unique materials, construction methods, and climate adaptation measures. The regional characteristics of Chinese architecture are generally preserved in rural buildings. But we cannot overlook how contemporary technology may considerably improve the living and use conditions of rural buildings. What is the best way to create a balance between classic or inherent technology and new ones? How would the construction of rural architecture provide inspiration for the development of Chinese architectural cultural symbols?
2022 Pritzker Architecture Prize winner Diébédo Francis Kéré reported the great solutions of Burkina Faso. Kéré insists to build comfortable buildings at a reasonable price; to make users happy and inspire them to dream of a better life. The pride of the local culture is reinforced by the use of local materials and traditional techniques. And then Kéré‘s works in other countries show cultural emblems of Burkina Faso, which are the consequence of his own cultural accumulation.
Bamboo is a very resistant, versatile, and sustainable natural building material, which can be used to build structures and decorative elements. This article explores its diverse applications in a selection of projects for public spaces.
