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.
In response to today's environmental, political, economic, and social challenges, material experimentation in architecture invites us to recognize the importance of researching and analyzing the properties of construction elements, and to understand the role of spatial design and its immediate surroundings. While various textiles, plastics, and even waste from different sources are being recycled and given a new life, the debate around the use of salt as a building material encourages the development of more sustainable practices to reduce the industry’s impact on the environment, as well as to explore the renewed life of discarded minerals and mining waste for implementation in architecture.
In India, brick as a construction material holds memory, meaning, and modernity. From the aligned fired bricks of the Indus Valley Civilization to the intricate brick jaalis that decorate homes, public buildings, and landmarks, the material's legacy is deeply embedded within the subcontinent's architectural identity. Yet no one has shaped the narrative of brick in modern Indian architecture more eloquently than Laurie Baker.
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?
What does a change in use and/or scale in buildings imply? How can a church or chapel be transformed into a home? While the architecture of many contemporary sacred spaces shows a remarkable capacity for adaptation and evolution, the creative boundaries of many professionals extend beyond their conception as structures of spirituality or worship. Globally, the conversion of large churches and small chapels into private residences reveals a wide field for intervention and exploration, one that can preserve, restore, adapt, and/or renew the character of spaces originally conceived for other uses and scales, which for various reasons have been abandoned, become obsolete, or now require transformation.
In the productivity-driven dynamics of contemporary cities, playful interventions in public spaces offer an innovative way to reclaim urban environments. These interventions encourage new ways of thinking and acting, temporarily breaking the monotony of everyday life and redefining the concept of play. Once confined to childhood and separate from daily activities, play has begun to intertwine with routine paths, becoming an integral part of urban life even outside traditional leisure times. In this way, reintroducing the swing—the most iconic children's toy—becomes particularly significant. As a symbol of childhood, pleasure, and joy, the swing contrasts sharply with the rigid appropriations of most public spaces, inviting a more relaxed and playful engagement with the urban environment. On June 11th, the UN International Day of Play reminds us of the benefits of incorporating diverse activities into urban spaces, for both children and adults, fostering community, creativity, and well-being.
In recent years, architecture has increasingly embraced adaptability, flexibility, and responsiveness as core design principles. This evolution reflects a shift from traditional notions of static, permanent structures to dynamic environments that can adjust to changing needs and conditions. Central to this transformation is the concept of "soft architecture", which leverages pliable materials and innovative systems to create spaces that are functional, sustainable, and user-centric. Soft architecture takes shape through membranes that breathe, façades that move, structures that inflate or fold, and surfaces that bend rather than break. It involves designing for transformation — not only in how a building performs environmentally, but also in how it can accommodate shifting functions, user interactions, or temporary occupations. This approach to building challenges traditional notions of durability and control, proposing instead a more responsive and open-ended architecture. It reflects a growing awareness that buildings, like the societies they serve, must be able to evolve.
Søren Pihlmann is the curator of the Danish Pavilion at the 2025 Venice Architecture Biennale. The exhibition, commissioned by the Danish Architecture Center, is titled Build of Site, and focuses on exploring sustainable architectural practices through the lens of reuse and resourcefulness. Pihlmann's proposal transforms the existing Danish Pavilion, located within a historic building complex in the Biennale's Giardini, into an active exhibition space for material experimentation. The installation highlights techniques that incorporate recycled and bio-based elements. The Pavilion offers visitors the opportunity to observe ongoing experimental processes, witnessing how building resources are creatively reimagined for new uses. In this on-site interview, ArchDaily editors spoke with the curator about the ideas behind the project and the challenges its execution represents.
As artificial intelligence (AI) becomes increasingly embedded in society, it's essential to pause and reflect on the foundations that sustain it—and the dimensions to which it extends. At the heart of AI's learning are datasets, whose structure and content shape how these systems interpret and respond to the world. This reliance creates a deep interdependence—one that not only informs AI's capabilities but also defines its potential blind spots. In light of this, we must ask: What forms of understanding might this process exclude, especially those not easily captured in digital form?
How do pavilions emerge in architecture? What role do they play in urban spaces? Beyond the multiple interpretations that exist around the world, the pavilion, as an architectural principle and typology, tends toward extroversion, often associated with a centrifugal nature and visual openness toward the horizon, which is linked to its origins as a tent offering shelter from the elements. Pavilions are usually identified as isolated and independent structures that can promote lateral openings in the urban space, panoramic or introspective views, technological reflections, and material experiments that are recognizable from the outside or once inside.
There is a renewed interest in how food is produced and how its creation affects the well-being of both the land and the communities it supports. A similar shift is occurring in architecture, where material culture is emerging as the backbone of design innovation. LEVER Architecture exemplifies this movement with its pioneering "forest-to-frame" model, an approach that reimagines architecture not as an extractive process, but as a regenerative force with positive impacts that extend well beyond the boundaries of any individual building site.
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.
Humid environments present some of the most complex challenges in architectural design. From the tropical monsoon season of Southeast Asia to the equatorial heat of Central Africa, these environments demand solutions that account for intense moisture, high temperatures, and the constant battle against mold, decay, and stagnation. Yet, for centuries, communities in these regions have developed architectural techniques that do not fight against humidity but instead work with it, leveraging local materials, climate-responsive design, and passive cooling techniques to create sustainable and livable spaces. By considering atmosphere as a sensory and climatic phenomenon, architects will craft spaces that are not only evocative but also responsive, adaptive, and sustainable.
On a slope, along the banks of a river, among trees, or on an expansive hillside, each territory serves as a living testament to its local traditions. Through its architecture, the experimentation, appreciation, and use of certain materials, construction techniques, local crafts, and site-specific tools aim to preserve stories and pass on the discoveries and learnings that have shaped many of the practices still used in construction today. In Chile, the language of wooden shingles evokes a reflection rooted in history and an understanding of relationships, timelines, and life networks.
Much before humans constructed their first permanent shelters, they discovered the protective power of animal hides as a barrier against harsh environmental conditions. This fundamental principle of building with flexible materials finds influence in the architecture of today, despite the lack of strong precedents that have been lost to time. Textiles served as humanity's first architectural elements, predating ancient construction methods like stone masonry. The relationship between textiles and shelter would go on to shape the entire history of architecture, from prehistoric settlements to modern skyscrapers. What lessons might these ancient origins of architecture hold for future advancements in building design?
Maria Lisogorskaya and Kaye Song of Assemble: Atelier LUMA 2023 Lot 8 Le Magasin Electrique Photo @ Joseph Halligan. Image Courtesy of Bauhaus Earth
Maria Lisogorskaya and Kaye Song from the London-based collective Assemble, along with Lviv-based architects Anna Pomazanna and Mykhailo Shevchenko, have been announced as the 2025 Experimental Fellows at Bauhaus Earth. Selected from 120 submissions, their projects are set to explore earth as a material in contemporary architecture. The annual Bauhaus Earth Fellowship program was established in 2022 by architect Prof. Regine Leibinger. It aims to support diverse projects that explore new modes of practice across various geographies, that can contribute to ecological and social resilience. Fellows receive financial support, mentorship, and access to a network encouraging collaboration among architects, manufacturers, and local stakeholders.
However, despite their enclosed design appearing to be an obstacle for new uses, recent decades have seen initiatives that embrace and repurpose these structures. These projects integrate silos into the urban environment, emphasizing their significance as part of the local collective memory.
