There is an ancestral gesture in shaping earth. Long before architecture was established as a discipline, clay was already being molded by hand and transformed by fire, turning raw matter into domestic utensils and cultural objects. Within the history of this craft, ceramic factories mark the transition from manual knowledge to serial production, expanding its scale without entirely severing its material origins. Scattered across different territories, these structures record the relationship between technique, landscape, and time. Over the decades, however, many of them lost their original function, replaced by more technological processes or absorbed by the urban development around them, entering an intermediate state between permanence and obsolescence.
What do lightweight materials bring to public space with an ethical, ecological, and non-extractive design principle? Various textile textures offer a point of entry, being closer to the body than heavy conventional structural materials. Through its flexibility and responsiveness, it enables a form of soft enclosure rather than a fixed boundary in architectural space. Responding to minimal environmental stimuli, the fabric brings continuous movements into space. When layered or assembled, it produces gradations of density, depth, and enclosure, while recent innovative fabrication technologies extend the possibilities of its form and structural durability.
At a time of ecological emergency, architecture cannot be separated from the extractive systems on which it depends. As the technosphere expands, linking material flows, energy consumption, and digital infrastructures, design becomes increasingly entangled in these processes. How can design practice intervene in anthropocentric systems and transform the architectural process and aesthetics through an investigation of material intelligence? More broadly, how does architecture engage with the agency and intelligence of non-human entities to rebalance the environmental burden?
Costa Rica is a small country in Central America, internationally renowned for its tourism, biodiversity, and tropical climate. Given this context, tropical design strategies for hotel design are often more studied, but residential cabin projects can represent a more surgical approach to understanding the landscape. Often situated in remote forest or jungle locations, these cabins, apart from the common tropical design strategies, have to prioritize long-term durability and low-maintenance costs, particularly in regions where access for repairs is logistically difficult. This necessitates a design philosophy that favors both structural and climatic resilience.
Hospitality-driven programs, specifically coffee shops and social hubs, are partly defined by their role as "third places": social anchors that bridge the gap between private and public life. Unlike residential or commercial office programs that require rigid partitioning for privacy and utility, they rely on expansive, open-plan environments. This allows for an architectural strategy of minimal intervention, allowing the structural envelope to remain intact. By avoiding the subdivision of space, architects maintain uninterrupted sightlines to original masonry, timber frames, or decorative ceilings, ensuring the building's historical narrative remains the protagonist. Simultaneously, the commercial activity provides the necessary maintenance and public engagement to ensure the site's continued existence.
In the coastal and jungle regions of Costa Rica, high humidity and intense solar radiation dictate an architectural strategy centered on permeability rather than enclosure. Unlike the airtight envelopes required in cold climates to retain heat, Costa Rican architecture uses the building envelope as a climatic filter to maximize air exchange. The primary mechanism for managing these thermal gradients seems to be the oversized roof overhang. By extending the roof plane significantly beyond the floor plate, architects create a permanent buffer of deep shade that reduces solar gain and lowers the ambient temperature before air enters the structure. This strategy, combined with permeable or non-existent walls, allows for constant airflow. This is a critical technical requirement for humidity control and the prevention of material degradation through mold and rot.
In the mountainous regions of Vietnam, the borderlands of Thailand, and the rugged Western Ghats of India, building school projects remains a challenge defined by logistics. In areas where infrastructure and industrial supply chains are limited or distant, transporting each kilogram of material can significantly increase costs and logistical complexity. During 2025, several school projects in rural contexts in Asia showed how the architect's role often shifted from a designer of form to a strategist of procurement. The primary challenge was not merely aesthetic but a matter of durability: using locally available materials and protecting them from monsoon rains, high-velocity winds, and sometimes seismic instability.
In Vietnam, the tube house has almost become a vernacular form in densely populated cities like Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. This typology originated from ancient façade taxes and as a strategic response to urban land scarcity and optimization of street frontage for commerce. Their traditional structure typically relies on the front façade for daylight and ventilation. People living there often face the challenge of designing in a space defined by the deep plots, limited street frontage, and close neighboring buildings, restricting natural light and airflow. To counter this fundamental lack of perimeter exposure, Vietnamese architects usually employ several strategies oriented towards internal environmental manipulation. This curated collection explores tube houses under 100 m2, where their small size increased the need for absolute spatial economy and the verticalization of function, which directly influenced design decisions across all projects.
In cities across the world, the relics of industrial production have become the laboratories of a new urban condition. Warehouses, power plants, and shipyards, once symbols of labor and progress, now stand as vast empty shells, waiting to be reimagined. Rather than erasing these structures, architects are finding creative ways to adapt them to contemporary needs, transforming spaces of manufacture into spaces of culture, education, and community life.
Living by the beach has long been a defining aspiration—drawn by the promise of tempered nature, privacy, and immediate access to the water. Historically, beach houses tended to be rustic and pared back: partly because servicing remote sites and delivering materials was difficult, and partly because their charm lay in being closer to the elements—simpler, rougher, more direct.
Across South America, architecture is increasingly being understood as a collective act. Rather than imposing external views, many studios and designers are building with and for communities, learning from their local practices, materials, and ways of inhabiting. These projects are repositioning the architect's role from an author to a facilitator, transforming design into a participatory process that centers collaboration, care, and mutual respect.
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.
https://www.archdaily.com/1034406/beyond-manufactured-landscapes-quarries-as-sites-for-interdisciplinary-collaborationHadir Al Koshta
Transcending their role as mere infrastructure, bridges have long served as powerful architectural statements. This expressive potential is now being explored with renewed vigor across South-East Asia, where a growing number of architects are re-evaluating traditional materials. By championing wood and bamboo, these designers are creating distinctive structures that integrate local craftsmanship with contemporary needs, resulting in landmarks that are both functional and deeply rooted in their landscape.
Italy's rich history, evident in its monuments and cities, has created a unique context for architectural renovation. Italian architects often embrace this heritage by engaging in a dialogue between old and new, rather than aiming for a complete transformation. This approach intentionally avoids an imitative style, instead using contemporary materials like steel, glass, and new wood to frame and highlight the existing historic stone and brickwork. This juxtaposition turns the original materials from simple structural elements into featured decorative and narrative ones. The result is a layered experience where the history of the space remains visible, ensuring it is preserved rather than erased by the renovation.
A good design should be adapted to the user's needs, and participatory design aims to reduce the distance between architects and those for whom the project is made. In this sense, projects for children that welcome them as central actors in the design process demonstrate how the potential of active listening and co-designing is reflected in spaces adapted to a smaller scale and to an audience in a phase of intense learning.
Contemporary Mexican market architecture frequently draws inspiration from its pre-Hispanic precedents. The Tlatelolco Market in ancient Tenochtitlan, for example, featured a large, stone-paved open square with designated "streets", which were divided into sections for specific goods, serving as a significant gathering point for social and economic exchange. Similarly, the tradition of the Tianguis, an ephemeral market typology within the broader Mesoamerican tradition, also arranged stalls in aisles within a public plaza, reflecting organizational principles seen in Tlatelolco. These historical models established a base for the tradition of marketplaces in Mexico and the countries in Central America, where they merge public space and structured layouts for commerce. Today, even though many of Mexico's commercial spaces, notably Mexico City's Central de Abasto and other markets such as the Jamaica, Merced, and San Juan Markets, have taken on a stationary approach to serving their communities, tianguis maintain their foothold in Mexican society.
