The Southbank Centre is a cultural complex in London built between 1963 and 1968 and widely regarded as a representative example of British Brutalism. Today, the site hosts a wide range of events, including visual arts, theatre, dance, classical and contemporary music, literature, poetry, and debate. The building was designed by a team from the Architects' Department of the London County Council, led by architect Norman Engleback. It became a controversial example of modern architecture following its opening in October 1967, when engineers voted Queen Elizabeth Hall "the supreme ugly" in a poll of new buildings, and the Daily Mail referred to it as "Britain's ugliest building." Fifty-nine years later, on February 10, 2026, the complex was granted Grade II listed status by the UK government's Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS), following a 35-year campaign advocating for its protection as modern architectural heritage.
Perched above the cliffs of Crimea, the Druzhba Thermal Sanatorium appears less as a building than as a landed spacecraft. Its circular forms, suspended decks, and spiraling ramps evoke a scene from Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris (1972), where architecture and psychology merge into a single landscape. Built between 1978 and 1985 by Igor Vasilevsky, the complex was conceived as a thermal resort for workers of the oil industry, part of the Soviet Union's extensive network of sanatoria dedicated to health and recreation.
Beyond its function as a place of recovery, Druzhba, meaning "friendship", embodied a broader political and aesthetic ambition. It sought to merge technological prowess with the restorative ideals of socialist modernity, translating collective well-being into concrete form. Rising from a steep coastal slope overlooking the Black Sea, its massive structure defies gravity, supported by a central concrete core from which radial wings extend like the blades of an enormous gear. Seen from a distance, it feels simultaneously mechanical and organic, a hybrid of infrastructure and landscape.
As Syria is emerging from over a decade of conflict at the time of writing, it is an opportunity to rediscover its architectural gems. Just to the north of the country's principal port city of Latakia is a Modernist creation that is the Center for Marine Research. Its pyramidal structure is situated on a prominent headland surrounded by sea on three sides. To the east is a bay with hotels and beaches while to the north and west is the open Mediterranean Sea reaching Turkey and Cyprus beyond. Despite its importance both as a research institution and as a piece of architecture, it lies abandoned and isolated today.
The City of London Corporation has formally approved the delivery plan for the renewal of the Barbican Centre, confirming a £191 million investment to support the first five-year phase of a long-term transformation programme. Approved in December 2025, the decision secures funding for major repairs, infrastructure upgrades, and public space improvements across the Grade II-listed complex. Subject to planning permission, major construction is scheduled to begin in 2027, with completion of this phase targeted for 2030, ahead of the Barbican's 50th anniversary. To facilitate the works, most programmes within the Centre will pause for approximately one year between June 2028 and June 2029, while preparatory upgrades, including essential works to the Barbican Theatre, are set to begin in early 2026.
Modernism has a long history in Morocco. Being close to Europe and under French Protectorate rule, it kept pace with architectural developments in the movement. Its relative peace after the Second World War further strengthened its role as some European architects sought a hub for new ideas. Architects in independent Morocco adopted Modernism as they were tasked to build the infrastructure of a new nation. The architect Jean-François Zevaco, born in Morocco to French parents, practiced across these formative periods, developing his own expressive version of modern architecture.
Since August 2025, debate has intensified in Dallas, United States, over the future of one of its modern landmarks: I.M. Pei & Partners' Dallas City Hall. This month, the Dallas City Council will continue weighing whether to repair, sell, or demolish the 47-year-old building, following growing concerns over long-deferred maintenance and the need for major investment. In late October, council members began public listening sessions and committee meetings to gather resident input. Preservationists and some council members urged a full study of repair options and historic landmarking, while others emphasized fiscal and operational concerns.
Supporters of preservation stress the building's civic and architectural significance, while those advocating for demolition point to high maintenance costs and the redevelopment potential of the centrally located site. A petition to "Save Dallas City Hall," calling on council members to halt demolition plans and commission a transparent renovation study, remains open for signatures. Meanwhile, the mayor has said he wants to review all the facts before taking a position on whether the city should relocate or invest in repairs. The case adds to the growing list of modernist icons worldwide facing uncertain futures, sparking broader cultural debates about civic heritage and public infrastructure.
On the Other Side of Languish exhibition by Reginald Sylvester II. Debut exhibition of the Limbo Museum in Ghana, West Africa. Image Courtesy of Limbo Museum
The Limbo Museum is a new institution dedicated to architecture, art, and design based in Ghana, West Africa. The museum challenges the concept of the ruin, operating from a formerly abandoned Brutalist estate that currently conveys the image of an unfinished building. The project was founded by Limbo Accra, a spatial design and research-based practice established in 2018 by Dominique Petit-Frère and Emil Grip, dedicated to "unlocking the potential of unfinished buildings across West Africa and beyond." On October 31, 2025, the museum opened its first public exhibition, On the Other Side of Languish by Reginald Sylvester II, developed through the institution's visiting artist residency program.
What if the best kind of play isn't the safest? For decades, cities have built playgrounds to be clean, colorful, and easy to supervise. Yet these spaces—designed more for adult peace of mind than for children's curiosity—often strip away what makes play truly transformative: risk, unpredictability, and self-direction. Rising safety standards, shrinking public space, and the commercialization of play equipment have only further narrowed the possibilities for children's independent exploration. From a junkyard in 1940s Copenhagen to the concrete landscapes of postwar Amsterdam, a handful of architects, planners, and activists have challenged the idea that play must be neat and controlled. Their unconventional playgrounds—made of loose parts, raw materials, and abstract forms—gave children the freedom to build, demolish, explore, and get dirty.
Strada Brutalissima. Pavilion of the Republic of North Macedonia at the 19th Venice Architecture Biennale, 2025. Image Courtesy of Blagoja Bajkovski
The Republic of North MacedoniaPavilion at the 19th Venice Architecture Biennale is dedicated to the Brutalist architecture of its capital city, Skopje. This architectural movement has given the city a distinctive identity following the earthquake that struck in 1963. According to pavilion curator, architect Blagoja Bajkovski, in the aftermath of the disaster, Skopje embraced Brutalism from a variety of sources. One of the most prominent of these was Kenzo Tange's reconstruction plan, developed after an international competition organized by the United Nations in 1965. The exhibition, titled Strada Brutalissima, recounts this identity, the events that shaped it, and the buildings that continue to represent it through a series of architectural models. Inspired by the 1980 Venice Architecture Biennale's Strada Novissima, the project reinterprets the concept of a curated "street," this time centered on Skopje's Brutalist heritage.
Yale Art + Architecture Building. Image Courtesy of gwathmey siegel & associates architects
By the mid-nineteenth century, American universities began to distinguish architecture from civil engineering and the applied sciences formally. Architecture was emerging as a discipline defined by both technical competence and conceptual inquiry, spatial imagination, and cultural agency. As this disciplinary identity evolved in the postwar decades, its built expression coalesced into the emerging architectural language of Brutalism.
Born in the post-war period in the United Kingdom, the Brutalism movement was first met with skepticism but has found a new appreciation in the last decade, capturing the imagination of new designers fascinated with the interplay between striking geometric shapes and the exposed raw materials in which they are rendered. From Britain, the movement spread throughout Europe, Southeast Asia, and Africa, gathering different variations influenced by the cultural and socio-economic status of each area. In this article, we delve into the particularities that define Italy's contribution to the Brutalist movement, exploring the style through the lens of Roberto Conte and Stefano Perego. The two photographers have also published a photographic essay on the subject, taking the form of a book titled "Brutalist Italy: Concrete Architecture from the Alps to the Mediterranean Sea".
When designing a space—whether at the scale of interiors, architecture, or infrastructure—materiality is a central concern. Beyond aesthetics, materials determine how a project functions, ages, and endures. Some architects—such as Wang Shu and Kengo Kuma—have built their practices on a deep sensitivity to the potential and limits of materials. But even in the most pragmatic sense, the question arises: What lasts? What doesn't? And how do materials change over time? Naturally, materials shape atmosphere and appearance—qualities that often matter most to clients. Yet increasingly, the discourse around materiality has shifted from structural substance to surface treatment. When did we start focusing more on "decorating" our spaces by layering one material over another, rather than relying on the inherent beauty and performance of the building fabric itself?
The twentieth century marked a definitive shift in the realm of architecture, as the Modernist movement broke from traditional building styles and encouraged experimentation and innovation. With the help of new materials and technologies, these times represent a crucial moment in the history of architecture as both cities and building styles evolved at an unprecedented rate. The structures that stand testament to this day are, however, nearing the age of a hundred years old. Their stark design features are not always embraced by the public, while the functionalist principles often hinder the adaptability of their interior spaces. Given that they also often occupy central positions within the city, there is increasing pressure to demolish these structures and redevelop the area in its entirety.
Brutalist architecture in the United States is a monument to collective postwar optimism and reassurance that the city and federal governments are in authority. Conceived as an embodiment of strength and efficiency, Brutalist structures were quickly adopted for the architectural language of civic and governmental institutions in the mid-to-late twentieth century in the United States. Towering monoliths of raw concrete rose across the nation, projecting an image of institutional permanence while simultaneously provoking debate over their social and psychological impact.
Architecture competitions have long been a means for nations to shape their identity, cultural landscapes, and built environment. They provide a platform for international architects to contribute to national projects, often reflecting broader ambitions of modernization and global recognition. In 1976, Bahrain launched potentially the first major architectural competition—a call for designs for a National Cultural Centre, bringing some of the world's leading architects into the Gulf's emerging architectural discourse. Though the winning design by Timo Penttilä was never built, the competition remains a key moment in Bahrain's history, illustrating the challenges of translating external visions into local realities.
In the heart of Cairo, amid its historic landmarks and evolving urban fabric, a distinct modernist architectural movement took shape in the 1950s and 60s. It reflected the city's response to rapid political, economic, and social changes. When it arrived, modernism in Cairo was not just an imported style but a "pragmatic response to the needs of a growing city." Architects focused on functionality, efficiency, and adapting designs to the local climate and cultural context. Following the 1952 revolution, Egypt underwent significant transformations under President Gamal Abdel Nasser's leadership. In fact, the government sought to build a new national identity that reflected progress and the nation's self-sufficiency. Architecture played a crucial role in this effort, with a strong focus on modernization and development. The state invested in large-scale projects to accommodate the needs of a rapidly growing population and expanding industries. This period marked a shift from colonial-era influences toward a search for a distinct architectural identity that aligned with the political and social aspirations of the time.
