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ARCHISONIC® Cotton MOSAIC and ARCHISONIC® Felt CIRC shaping spaces with sustainable elegance. Image Courtesy of Impact Acoustic
What defines a space first when entering: the sound or the visual impression? Architecture is often communicated through structure and surfaces, yet one of its most essential components moves unseen through the air: sound. It shapes how a space feels long before a wall or ceiling is noticed. Computational design brings these dimensions together, allowing architects and designers to create unique structures where acoustics and aesthetics inform one another rather than exist in parallel. By leveraging advanced algorithms, complex design processes transform into intuitive, accessible solutions that shape bespoke acoustic and visual highlights for every project. This approach combines parametric logic with material innovation, balancing efficiency, sustainability, and expressive design in equal measure.
Architectural space has long been framed by permanence: rooms for fixed functions, facades that clearly define where exterior ends and interior begins. Yet contemporary life is defined by overlap and transition: between work and living, interior and exterior, privacy and community. Spatial needs evolve continually, demanding architecture that can respond, adapt, and remain relevant over time.
In this context, adaptability has emerged not only as a design ambition but as a sustainable necessity. Buildings that adjust to shifting uses, evolving climates, or new forms of living extend their lifespan and reduce the need for demolition or extensive retrofits. Flexibility becomes a measure of resilience, allowing structures to remain vital across decades. But how can architecture respond to the evolving ways we inhabit and experience space?
Chimneys are among the most quietly persistent elements in architectural history. Yet their presence persists in nearly every cultural and climatic context, serving as a technical feature and a spatial, atmospheric, and symbolic device. It populates dense city skylines and anchors rural horizons alike, its vertical silhouette as ordinary as a window or a doorframe. This apparent ordinariness is deceptive. The chimney is one of the few architectural components that links the intimate scale of interior life with the expansive forces of the environment. For architects and designers, the necessity of the chimney presents a choice: to let it recede quietly into the building's functional fabric or to amplify it as a central, expressive element that shapes a project's identity.
Buildings must change faster than they were built to. Shifting tenant needs, tightening climate policies, and rising office vacancies expose the cost of static stock: waste, noise, downtime, and—in the worst case—stranded assets. The consequence is clear: buildings across typologies must be designed to adapt over time. The inaugural Adaptable Building Conference (ABC), taking place on January 22, 2026, at the Nieuwe Instituut in Rotterdam, brings the industry together to turn adaptability from principle into practice.
The Busan Slope Housing project by OMA addresses urban redevelopment on the steep hillsides of Busan, South Korea, drawing on the city's topographical complexity and historical settlement patterns. Developed in collaboration with the BusanArchitecture Festival and the Department of Housing and Architecture, the project explores strategies to rethink hillside neighborhoods while responding to both contemporaryhousing needs and the social and spatial legacies of these areas. Rather than replacing these areas with conventional high-rise estates, OMA envisions a flexible, context-responsive framework that integrates contemporaryhousing typologies with the site's inherited structure.
Behind facades lie vibrant lives, where the exterior melds with the interior, transforming neglected urban spaces into captivating residences. In cities around the world, architects, engineers and designers face the challenge of integrating new buildings into existing urban landscapes with limited space. Many architects are now embracing this concept, expanding their designs beyond conventional boundaries and transforming small city lots into layered and interconnected living spaces.
Whether for design competitions or architectural awards, buildings are often judged for what they offer–the programmed functions, the form, or the visual delight. In a minority of cases, it is the absence or the reduction of intervention that made a project successful. In 1971, a high-profile architectural competition in Paris was won by a proposal that only utilized half the available site, giving the rest as an urban space to the city. In London, a proposal to convert a disused power station with minimal additions, leaving large spaces untouched, won a design competition in 1994. The Stirling Prize, the UK's most prestigious architectural award, in 2017 was won by a proposal that was little more than an empty platform. These examples of cultural buildings from Northwestern Europe illustrate how the absence of intervention can provide more.
The Colombia Pavilion at the Expo Osaka 2025 adopts the theme "ICE CUBE," inspired by the scene in Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude where a young boy encounters ice for the first time. Translating this literary reference into built form, the pavilion presents a facade of translucent cubes set at varying angles, creating a sense of movement and articulation. Designed by MORF Inc., with Karim Chahal as Project Director and Ko Oono as Principal Architect, the exterior is composed of semi-transparent polycarbonate panels integrated with color-controlled lighting, allowing the facade to transform in appearance throughout the day and night.
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?
Osaka Expo 2025 Japan Pavilion / Nikken Sekkei. Image Courtesy of Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry
In certain parts of the world, construction is still dominated by wet systems—concrete, masonry, and cementitious materials that are poured, cured, and fixed in place. While this has long been considered the norm in some south-east Asia countries, such as Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia, and China, in most of these regions, they typically share a common trend where labor is relatively inexpensive. This serves as one of the reasons to make concrete more easily available, as one of the typical downside of concrete is its intensive labour cost - this further differentiates concrete as a cheaper and more efficient material system to be building out of.
However, not enough considerations in the region are given to the sustainability aspect when using these wet construction materials,often overlooking the significant drawbacks of its material lifecycle and the difficulty to recycle it without downcycling - making it one of the more unsustainable materials available to be built out of.
The Pavilion of China at the 19th International Architecture Exhibition - La Biennale di Venezia presents the exhibition CO-EXIST, curated by Ma Yansong, founder of MAD Architects, and organized by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism of the People's Republic of China at the Arsenale. Through ten works by twelve interdisciplinary groups, the pavilion examines how traditional Chinese philosophical thought can inform architectural responses in the age of advanced technology and artificial intelligence.
The bamboo scaffolding building typology—temporary, agile, and deeply rooted in tradition—particularly, the bamboo shed theatre building technique, is recognized as an item of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Hong Kong. As one walks through the city, especially in busy urban districts, it's nearly impossible not to encounter a bamboo scaffold within a five-minute radius. Bamboo scaffolding is arguably the most iconic construction material in Hong Kong, valued for its abundance, sustainability, flexibility, adaptability, and—most importantly—scalability. These qualities have contributed to its widespread use in temporary construction, from building maintenance and renovations to festival stages and sporting events.
However, this once-ubiquitous feature of the urban landscape may be slowly fading from view. A dwindling pool of skilled, younger workers—combined with evolving construction regulations—has contributed to its decline. On March 17, the Development Bureau announced plans to "drive a wider adoption of metal scaffolds in public building works." In practice, this means the Architectural Services Department (ArchSD) will soon require at least 50% of its capital works projects to utilize metal scaffolding. While not a formal ban, the policy signals what many see as the beginning of a gradual phase-out of bamboo scaffolding in public-sector construction.
Modernism emerged in the early 20th century as a revolutionary movement that rejected historical styles, prioritizing functionality, innovation, and rationality. Grounded in the promise of industrial progress, architects like Walter Gropius, Le Corbusier, and Ludwig Mies van der Rohe championed using new materials and construction methods, striving for a universal architectural language. Their work introduced radical ideas: open floor plans, expansive glazing for natural light, and pilotis that elevated structures, symbolizing a new architectural era. However, alongside its groundbreaking ideas, modernism's relationship with sustainability has sparked ongoing debates.
While modernist architects sought to address social and economic challenges through affordable housing and efficient design, their reliance on energy-intensive materials like concrete and steel created unintended environmental consequences. The large-scale industrialization celebrated by modernists often disregarded local climates and ecological systems, leading to inefficiencies. Yet, the principles of functionality and adaptability embedded in modernist architecture laid the groundwork for what we now recognize as sustainable practices. From Le Corbusier's rooftop gardens to Frank Lloyd Wright's integration of nature, the seeds of environmentally conscious design were undeniably present, albeit limited in their execution.
The concept of low-tech architecture recognizes the impact of carbon-intensive technologies and building practices and proposes an alternative: a rediscovery of practical, rational, locally adapted solutions that count on smart design strategies instead of energy-intensive devices to ensure a safe, comfortable living environment. Far from being a regressive approach, the term remains open to innovations but seeks to rebalance the industry's reliance on mechanization. It thus favors an architecture of fewer components, minimized dependence on high-tech solutions, and a preference for low-embodied carbon materials.
As communities grow more multicultural and increasingly diverse, these spaces serve as physical manifestations of religious inclusion, encouraging the acceptance of religious and ethnic minorities within multicultural landscapes. Their proliferation reflects a growing need for inclusive environments that cater to diverse spiritual needs while promoting interfaith understanding. However, designing and implementing these spaces presents complex challenges, often sparking debates about representation, neutrality, and the very nature of sacred space. These discussions underscore the delicate balance architects must strike in creating spaces that are both universally welcoming and spiritually meaningful.
Situated along the River Mur in the Lend district, the Kunsthaus challenges traditional architectural norms with its organic, free-flowing design. Rejecting orthogonal geometry, the museum seamlessly merges art, architecture, and public interaction, redefining the concept of a cultural institution. Its impact extends beyond aesthetics, sparking urban revitalization in a once-overlooked neighborhood, and bringing cultural vibrancy and economic activity.
