Even before any drawing or formal decision, the place now occupied by Praça do Mercado in Parque Realengo, Rio de Janeiro, already pulsed with movement. Improvised stalls, informal gatherings, music, children running, and adults gathered beneath temporary shelters composed a vibrant landscape, sketching an ephemeral architecture.
It is within this context that the work developed by Juliana Ayako—one of the winners of the ArchDaily 2025 Next Practices Awards—together with Carlos Zebulun, Helena Meirelles, Larissa Monteiro, Rodrigo Messina, Francisco Rivas, emerged. The project management, urban planning, and landscape design were carried out by Ecomimesis Soluções Ecológicas, winner of the public competition organized by the Municipality of Rio de Janeiro in 2023.
"My only concern is that my work must have a positive impact on the communities in which it is embedded," states Francis Kéré in his book Francis Kéré: Building Stories. His own life story, the context in which he was raised, and the experiences he has lived through all shape his approach to architecture. It is a commitment that extends to people and the places they call home—one that values materiality, collective learning, and the exchange of knowledge. Discovering the stories behind projects such as Primary School in Gando and Naaba Belem Goumma Secondary School inspires reflection on how to design spaces that truly serve humanity.
Francis Kéré's story begins in a village in sub-Saharan Africa and extends across many places. Gando was the setting of his first education, where he absorbed the essence and principles that later shaped the core values of his career alongside influences from other cultures. The structure of Gando is formed by different families who organize themselves, according to established customs, within courtyards scattered across the savanna. Growing up in this remote village in the Burkina Faso savanna fosters a strong sense of community, made tangible by the understanding that each resident of every courtyard is part of the life of the whole.
Even the most distracted passerby is captured by the monumental presence of this structure in Valencia’s established Benimaclet neighborhood. Before it, any attempt at rational apprehension quickly dissolves. Its constructive logic seems to escape comprehension as the space unfolds through tensions and deviations, where nothing is immediately given. Between masses of concrete and the insurgent force of vegetation, an almost choreographic play of planes, angles, and rotations emerges. In the vertigo of this encounter, one realizes that the building was not made to be understood, but to be experienced.
Belo Monte Dam and Hydropower Plant Construction in Brazil. Image by burakyalcin, via Shutterstock
Some of the most significant transformations of South American landscapes have been produced not by cities, but by large infrastructures built to extract and distribute natural resources. Mining operations, energy systems, and transport networks have connected remote landscapes to broader economic structures while transforming rural territories and urban settlements throughout the continent. These infrastructures do not simply occupy space; they reorganize it. They have not only supported economic growth but also reconfigured territories in ways that continue to generate political, environmental, and social debate across the continent. From this perspective, territories can be understood not as fixed geographic areas but as socio-ecological systems shaped by cultural, environmental, and political relations, a point emphasized by anthropologist Arturo Escobar in his work on territorial thinking in Latin America.
This week began with the World Day of Social Justice, foregrounding urgent questions of labor rights, spatial equity, and resource governance, and framing architecture as both a product of and a response to the social systems that shape access to land, housing, and opportunity. The announcement of the 15 winning projects of the 2026 ArchDaily Building of the Year Awards highlighted a global cross-section of built works recognized for their architectural quality, innovation, and social impact, offering a snapshot of contemporary practice across scales and geographies. This week's news prompts a broader reflection on architecture's civic responsibility, with heritage and community-building through cultural architecture emerging as central themes. Housing, meanwhile, anchors another critical strand of the discussion with three highlighted initiatives: a manifesto reframing housing not as a market commodity but as a civic right and collective project grounded in care; a large-scale waterfront regeneration masterplan responding to regional housing demand through coastal transformation; and a timber residential project that explores the potential of wood in medium-density housing.
To celebrate the Architectural Heritage Fund's 50th anniversary, we have put together 50 Years of Reimagining Heritage, which tells the story of the difference heritage reuse can make in people's lives and in communities. Across the year, our exhibition will travel to each part of the UK, with openings in Belfast, Glasgow, Cardiff and London. We hope by showcasing these extraordinary stories to inspire more people to get involved in saving local historic buildings to improve places, empower people, and secure a sustainable future for built heritage. For opening dates in each location, see Coming Up below.
Coastal development in major cities has long been a terrain of opportunity and contention—shaped at once by the pursuit of capital (premium views, scarce land, and the promise of reclamation), by civic demands for public access and collective waterfront life, and by contemporary aspirations for sustainability and place-defining urban identity. Precisely because these agendas rarely align, extracting the full potential of waterfront sites is never straightforward.
Yet in New York City and Hong Kong, we can trace each city's ambitions—despite differing strategies, priorities, and political logics—through a set of keystone projects that anchor their coastlines. Read together, these projects reveal not only what each city chooses to value, but also what it is willing to trade off in order to build at the edge.
A long table can sit almost anywhere and still do the same work. It can stretch beneath a market canopy, run along a school dining hall, or occupy the center of a shared living room, and it immediately changes the room's temperature.
That is why the long table is less an object than a spatial instrument. It does not guarantee a connection, and it rarely looks "inclusive" by default. Instead, it sets conditions: a shared edge, a common rhythm of arrival, a field of mutual visibility, or a rule that turns eating into a scene with others. Food studies describe this practice as commensality, the act of eating together and the social order it can create, reinforce, or contest. But what matters here is not a specific dimension or the table's function, but the way a long surface holds difference, conversation, and silence; intimacy and distance; the decision to join and the right to hesitate.
This article is part of our new Opinion section, a format for argument-driven essays on critical questions shaping our field.
Traditionally, a museum visit is a calendared occasion with a clearly scripted sequence. Arrival is ceremonially marked—by grand stairs or thresholds, by ticketing and information desks, by an audio guide and a concise institutional preface about mission and history. That deliberate "special occasion" quality extends from how museums were long conceived: deliberately exceptional, tightly curated, and organized around a specific narrative arc. In this model, the museum assumes an authoritative voice—its knowledge deep, vetted, and to be respected rather than contested—while architecture and choreography reinforce a rather singular way of entering, learning, and remembering.
Unlike most popular sports, the origin of basketball has a precise year and creator: it was invented in 1891 in the United States by Canadian physical education instructor James Naismith as an indoor sport for athletes at Springfield College during the winter, after the end of the football season. The sport quickly expanded beyond U.S. borders, being included in the Olympic Games in 1936 and achieving international popularity after the Second World War. As basketball became more widespread, it also left the controlled environment of gymnasiums and began occupying a wide range of locations: playgrounds, public plazas, school courtyards, driveways, and backyard patios became informal courts for play and community life, reinforcing the role of physical activity as a catalyst for social interaction and neighborhood regeneration.
Sunset panorama of a large residential gated community (Aparna’s Elixir) viewed from Khajaguda hills, India. Photo by iMahesh. License Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
You learn how to behave long before you arrive home. At the gate, you slow down and wait. You are watched, then waved through. A badge is checked, a barrier lifts, a camera blinks. Nothing dramatic happens, and that is precisely the point. The most consequential work of gated communities is not done by their walls, but by the choreography of entry that quietly teaches residents what to expect, whom to trust, and where they belong.
Courtesy of [applied] Foreign Affairs, Institute of Architecture, University of Applied Arts Vienna
Long before architecture took the form of walls, roofs, or cities, it gathered people around fire. The simple fire pit was one of humanity's earliest spatial devices: a place for warmth, food, storytelling, and ritual. Around it, space took shape through proximity rather than enclosure, through shared presence rather than prescribed use. The fire organized bodies in a circle, fostered alliances, and turned survival into collective life. Today, this ancestral logic persists: architecture has the potential of bringing people together not by commanding how they gather, but by creating the conditions that make togetherness possible.
This month, ArchDaily explores Coming Together and the Making of Place, a topic that examines architecture as a framework for inclusion, care, and belonging. The theme aligns with the first edition of the ArchDaily Student Project Awards, which approach care from a collective perspective by focusing on spaces that nurture better ways of living together. Looking beyond iconic gathering spaces, the coverage considers everyday environments, from food markets, communal tables, and neighborhood plazas to third spaces, domestic settings, and digital or hybrid environments of remote togetherness. Rather than treating togetherness as a fixed program, it asks how spatial design can support openness, diversity, and collective life without enforcing uniform ways of gathering.
Public space is often understood as belonging to no one in particular, collectively accessible yet institutionally maintained, yet a growing number of initiatives are challenging this assumption by testing shared management and distributed ownership models. In Paris, Adoptez un banc introduces a sponsorship-based approach, allowing individuals and groups to support temporarily and symbolically claim responsibility for historic public furniture without compromising its collective use. Elsewhere in the city, community gardens operating under the Main Verte framework demonstrate a self-managed model, in which public and private landowners retain ownership while delegating day-to-day control to citizen associations for food production and shared use. In New York, Common Corner represents a third pathway, based on institutional collaboration and participatory design, where public agencies, nonprofits, designers, and residents co-produce public space within a public housing context. Taken together, these three cases suggest that care, authorship, and responsibility can be distributed across citizens and institutions, producing more resilient, locally grounded urban environments.
The exhibition Coming Together: Reimagining America's Downtowns, held at Washington, D.C.'s National Building Museum, explores the transformations underway in the United States' downtowns and the ways communities have organized to shape alternative urban scenarios. Curated by Uwe S. Brandes, Professor at Georgetown University, and designed by Reddymade and MGMT., it is the first of three major exhibitions within the Museum's Future Cities initiative, an interdisciplinary project examining the city as a hub, catalyst, essential building block, and reflection of society. Coming Together features examples from more than 60 U.S. cities, both large and small, highlighting lessons learned and opportunities embraced in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic as communities adapt to lasting changes in work, housing, mobility, entertainment, and recreation. The exhibition is currently open to the public and will remain on view through Fall 2026.
India's built environment has, in recent years, gained visibility through a growing number of transformative architectural and infrastructure projects. Cities and towns scale faster each year, despite looming concerns around climate and economic volatility. The nation has shown resilience in balancing rapid urbanization with resource constraints; this is no small feat. India's architectural practices rarely rely on novelty alone; they are built on systems that have existed for centuries. Through ArchDaily's Building for Billions, recurring stories have highlighted the social intelligence and adaptive capacity embedded in these practices, revealing an architecture that operates less as isolated form and more as infrastructure.
Collective housing remains one of the most active areas for unbuilt architectural exploration, revealing how architects are rethinking domestic life, density, and shared living across different cultural and environmental contexts. In this curated Unbuilt edition, submitted by the ArchDaily community, the selected proposals investigate new forms of dwelling that span mobile units, vertical developments, adaptive reuse, and landscape-driven residential clusters. Rather than treating housing as a purely functional container, these projects position it as a social and spatial framework that shapes everyday life, community ties, and long-term urban resilience.
Across varied geographies, from Tirana and Athens to Monterrey, Chaloos, Roatán, Bhola, and the DRC, these proposals explore multiple approaches to collective living: transforming industrial shells into residential structures, extending existing masterplans through landscape integration, reimagining verticality in dense urban centers, and developing modular prototypes that can adapt to changing climates or patterns of mobility. Some projects prioritize ecological strategies and local materials, while others test new models for accessibility, community well-being, or incremental urban growth. Together, they reflect a broad spectrum of architectural responses to contemporary housing pressures.
What does optimism feel like in cities that can no longer rely on perfection as their ultimate ambition? Across the world, urban environments bear the weight of overlapping pressures: climate volatility, spatial inequality, political fragmentation, public distrust, and chronic infrastructural disinvestment. These realities render the idea of an ideal city increasingly detached from lived experience. Yet the hope for building better systems persists. While utopian visions may seem like an escape from the growing complexities of the modern world, the greater challenge for contemporary city-making is to confront those complexities rather than avoid them.
