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.
From the field of architecture and construction, the concept of material reuse is closely tied to circular economy and the reduction of carbon footprints, paving the way toward a more sustainable and responsible future. By incorporating recycling practices, recovery, restoration, and/or the reuse of demolition materials, resource efficiency along with the reduction of energy consumption makes it feasible to experiment with techniques, applications, and new materials that honor the memory of spaces while also bringing new life to both interiors and exteriors.
Red clay roof tiles appear in many architectural traditions around the world, despite the cultures being geographically or historically distant. However, this isn't necessarily surprising. Clay is an abundant and accessible building material worldwide, with some studies and other sources suggesting it comprises approximately 10-13% of the Earth's soils. Red tiles, in particular, are often a product of the local soil's mineral content and the firing process. Their widespread use across unrelated regions is less about shared cultural influence and more about material logic: clay is cheap, durable, and easy to work with using simple tools and techniques. In Vietnam, for example, there is a unique and visible tradition of clay tile use that dates back centuries. Regions like Vinh Long, nicknamed the "kingdom of red ceramics", have an abundance of this material, supporting a long history of tile-making. In some parts of Vietnam, these tiles are known as Yin-Yang tiles, due to the concave and convex shape in which they are formed during production.
Facing an interconnected planetary climate crisis, biodiversity loss, and resource depletion, regenerative design emerges as a pathway toward building resilient and ecologically attuned rural futures. At the intersection of architecture, agriculture, and local ecosystems, new models of resilient, self-sufficient agricultural practices are emerging. These projects are not grand industrial systems but small-scale, precise, and deeply contextual architectural interventions that create spaces that foster sustainable cultivation while respecting environmental rhythms, local materials, and community knowledge.
Seeking to create a fluid dialogue between architecture and its surrounding landscape, the study of topography embodies an awareness and exploration of the use of materials, self-sufficient strategies, low-maintenance solutions, and landscape designs that integrate into the natural environment and minimize the environmental impact of projects. Beyond recording variations in elevation, sun orientation, prevailing winds, or drainage slopes of the terrain, several architects in Argentina demonstrate a strong interest in developing architectural solutions capable of adapting to natural geographies and restoring the bond between nature and the human being.
Amid coasts, rivers, lakes, and mountain ranges, Spain’s natural environment encompasses a wide variety of climates, topographies, and vegetation species. Aiming to raise global awareness of the impact of construction on the environment and the importance of addressing climate change through new ways of creating architecture, several architectural practices and research teams are exploring the design of cabins or small-scale lodging prototypes. While capable of integrating harmoniously with their surrounding natural context, they also demonstrate strategies for self-sufficiency, resource utilization, and space maximization, as well as broad applications of innovative technologies and material solutions adapted to each region.
Aerial view of Beta Building in Honduras. Image Courtesy of Taller ACÁ
Understanding the temperature gradient in a building is essential in cold or temperate climates, where airtight enclosures and continuous insulation are used to prevent heat loss. However, this approach is not suitable for tropical areas like Central America, where the climate is marked by a consistent alternation between wet and dry seasons rather than four distinct ones. Factors such as proximity to the sea, elevation, and local topography influence microclimates across short distances, but high humidity remains a common challenge. Sealed, airtight walls with no ventilation can quickly become breeding grounds for mold, making the thermal strategies of temperate climates problematic. In response, local designers have developed alternative approaches that embrace, rather than resist, the outdoor environment, allowing airflow and evaporation to manage interior comfort.
In most situations, architects navigate a complex web of construction codes, airspace regulations, and numerous other rules that dictate the form and execution of a project. However, cultural architecture often presents a unique opportunity for more daring and expressive designs. These projects frequently garner support from local governments, unlocking possibilities for formal explorations that might otherwise remain unrealized. In this regard, cultural architecture serves a dual purpose: enriching the community and establishing iconic landmarks that define the identity of their city or region. This ambition has certainly manifested in Taiwan. Situated in the heart of East Asia, this island nation boasts a remarkable array of formal explorations by both international and Taiwanese architects.
Throughout their relatively recent history, museums have evolved to condense particular aspects of a culture and present them in a coherent and unified manner. This makes the connection between the architecture and the exhibit a crucial matter, as the architect is tasked with designing not only the framework and background of the exhibited arts or artifacts but also taking charge of the journey undertaken by the visitor, harmonizing the cultural gain with the lived spatial experience of walking the exhibition halls. However, not all museums have been purposely built for this task.
