Due to popular demand, we are briefly reopening applications for the ArchDaily Student Ambassador Program 2026/2027.
ArchDaily started inside a university, with two architecture students who believed that architectural knowledge should travel further than it did. Eighteen years later, that conviction hasn't changed — but the insights, the tools, and the opportunities have grown. We are launching the Student Ambassador Program to give the next generation of architects a direct role in bridging their university and the global architectural conversation.
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https://www.archdaily.com/1038256/open-call-for-expert-contributors-at-archdailyArchDaily Team
Due to high demand, we are temporarily reopening applications for the ArchDaily Student Ambassador Program 2026/2027.
ArchDaily was born within a university, founded by two architecture students who believed that architectural knowledge should circulate more freely. Eighteen years later, this conviction remains unchanged—but our insights, tools, and opportunities have grown. We launched the Student Ambassador Program to give the next generation of architects a direct role in connecting their universities to the global architectural conversation.
By popular demand, we are briefly reopening applications for the ArchDaily Student Ambassador Program 2026/2027.
ArchDaily began on campus, founded by two architecture students who believed that architectural and design ideas should be accessible to everyone, spreading further and wider. Eighteen years later, while our tools have advanced, our horizons broadened, and our opportunities expanded, our core mission remains unchanged. ArchDaily is now officially launching the Student Ambassador Program, empowering the next generation of architects to play a direct role in connecting their campuses with the global architectural dialogue.
Due to high demand, we are briefly reopening applications for the ArchDaily Student Ambassador Program 2026/2027.
ArchDaily was founded within a university, started by two architecture students who believed that architectural knowledge should reach further than it did at the time. Eighteen years later, that conviction remains unchanged—but the perspectives, tools, and opportunities have grown. We launched the Student Ambassador Programto give the next generation of architects a direct role in connecting their universities with the global architectural conversation.
"I want to start by thanking architecture itself." With these words, Chilean architect Smiljan Radić, the 55th laureate of the Pritzker Architecture Prize, opened his acceptance speech in Mexico City. Reflecting on what he calls "distractions," he thanked the many encounters that have accompanied him throughout his life and practice: from art, cities, materials, structures, and compositions to landscapes, poetry, nature, forms, stories, and memories. He spoke about what, within them, provoked him and the marks they left on his architectural imagination.
From the black light in Chandigarh and the interior of San Salvatore in Rialto, to the heaps of stone on the Croatian island of Brač; from the fallen columns of the Temple of Poseidon and the abandoned shires scattered across Chile, to People Meet in Architecture, Kazuyo Sejima's 2010 Venice Architecture Biennale, the traveling Chilean circus, and the silence of the water within the cisterns of Hagia Sophia, his speech unfolded as a tribute to moments, encounters, and distractions. A collage of memories and impressions that, together, shaped the architect he became.
"The story of architecture is not wrong," argued Lesley Lokko in her introduction to the Venice Architecture Biennale 2023, "but it is incomplete." For most of the 20th century, architectural history spoke in one tongue: a singular, dominant narrative centered on a handful of movements, names, and cities, whose reach and influence appeared universal precisely because alternative voices were rendered inaudible. Design movements, however, rarely traveled intact across borders. They were frequently absorbed, resisted, reinterpreted, and transformed depending on geography, politics, economy, climate, and available materials. What arrived in one place as doctrine became, somewhere else, something entirely different.
This month, ArchDaily explores 20th Century Design in Flux: A Global Reinterpretation of Architectural History, a topic that traces the century's design languages not as a single canon but as a constellation of evolving, intersecting, and continually reinvented trajectories. The theme challenges the assumption that regional and non-Western architectures were merely derivative — positioning them instead as sites of active reinterpretation, where global ideas were filtered through local materials, climates, labor, and cultural practices to produce something entirely distinct.
Remediation areas. Image Courtesy of Ezequiel Lopez, Maria Victoria Echegaray, and Agustina Durandez
When people think of Argentina, they often picture landmarks like the Obelisk of Buenos Aires. Yet the country spans over 2,780,400 km², making it one of the largest in South America and home to a wide range of landscapes and realities that frequently go unnoticed. In fact, the province of Jujuy in northern Argentina lies within the Lithium Triangle: a high-altitude region shared with Bolivia and Chile that contains roughly 54% of the world's lithium reserves. Within this territory sits the Olaroz Salt Flat, a site where today two competing dynamics converge: the expansion of industrial lithium extraction and the preservation of ancestral culture and lands inhabited by Kolla and Atacama communities, creating a clash of high-capacity industrial extraction and traditional, low-impact agrarian practices.
In light of this problem, one of the winning teams of the ArchDaily Student Project Awards, made up of Ezequiel Lopez, Maria Victoria Echegaray, and Agustina Durandez, decided to look into the issue. This was done as part of their thesis project for the Bachelor's in Architecture program at the National University of Córdoba. Their work stems from an interest in engaging with territories that remain peripheral to architectural discourse, using the thesis as an opportunity for sustained, in-depth research. This allowed them to formulate informed design responses grounded in both territorial and socio-economic realities. Rejecting the binary between extraction and preservation, the project approaches the territory as a system where both can coexist through spatial and technical mediation.
Architecture has long been drawn upward. In Air and Dreams, Gaston Bachelard writes about an imagination shaped by movement; by the urge to rise, to drift, to escape the pull of the ground. Air, for him, invites imagination to distort, to invent, to go beyond what is given rather than simply reproduce it. In that sense, lightness is not only a physical condition, but a feeling: a desire to transcend the weight of the earth and move toward something less tangible. This impulse can be traced across architecture's enduring attempts to lift itself, from pilotis and long spans to suspended systems and tensile membranes. To build lightly, then, is not only a technical ambition, but also a cultural one – a way of reaching toward the sky.
Today, this pursuit of lightness takes on renewed urgency. As environmental concerns, climate risks, and technological advancements reshape the built environment, building lightly is no longer only an aesthetic or structural ambition; it is increasingly framed as an ecological and ethical imperative.
Courtesy of Tom Welsh for The Pritzker Architecture Prize
Chilean architect Smiljan Radić Clarke has been announced as the laureate of the 2026 Pritzker Architecture Prize, regarded as one of the highest honors in the field of architecture. The award recognizes Radić for a body of work that explores architecture through material experimentation, spatial perception, and a careful engagement with landscape and context. Born in Santiago, Chile, where he continues to live and work, Radić leads the practice Smiljan Radić Clarke, established in 1995. As the second Chilean to receive the prize, after Alejandro Aravena in 2016, he joins a distinguished list of previous laureates, including Liu Jiakun in 2025, Riken Yamamoto in 2024, David Chipperfield in 2023, and Diébédo Francis Kéré in 2022.
Radić's architecture operates within a territory where the phenomenological experience of space precedes explanation. His buildings often appear quiet, elemental, and resistant to easy verbal interpretation, encouraging visitors to experience them through movement, atmosphere, and perception rather than through formal expression.
Smiljan Radić Clarke, the 2026 Pritzker Prize winner, is a contemporary Chilean architect known for his experimental approach to design, with a practice that balances the elemental with the intimate, the monumental with the fragile. Over the course of more than three decades, Radić has developed an architecture that resists repetition and conventional stylistic categorization, favoring instead deeply site-specific, materially attuned, and culturally reflective interventions.
His work negotiates between permanence and impermanence, memory and imagination, creating buildings that are as much about human experience and emotion as they are about structure and form. Across residences, cultural institutions, and temporary installations, Radić's architecture foregrounds the interplay between context, materials, and the subtle gestures that shape how spaces are inhabited and perceived.
The 2026 Pritzker Price Award has been awarded this year to the Chilean architect of Croatian descent, Smiljan Radić Clarke. Born in Santiago, Chile, in 1965, his practice evokes a geography of extremes, shaped by the tectonic tension between the staggering weight of the Andes and the seismic instability of the territory. After graduating from the Pontifical Catholic University of Chile and pursuing further studies in aesthetics in Venice, Smiljan Radić Clarke established his base in Santiago. From there, he has developed one of the most singular visions in contemporary architecture. His work privileges the intensity of the moment through a fragile architecture. Within it, the building operates as a temporary and tactile refuge that places the spectator in a state of aesthetic uncertainty, oscillating between ancestral ruin and avant-garde artefact.
How heavy is a house? In his 1965 essay A Home Is Not a House, Reyner Banham observed that modern American dwellings were becoming structurally lighter while growing heavier in mechanical services, such as plumbing, wiring, heating, and cooling. The true weight of architecture, he argued, was no longer in walls and roofs, but in the energy-intensive systems that sustained comfort.
Decades later, the question was updated at the 7th Lisbon Architecture Triennale. Curators Ann-Sofi Rönnskog and John Palmesino asked: How heavy is a city? The scale shifted from the domestic interior to the territory. The technosphere, materialized in the estimated 30 trillion tons of human-made matter on Earth, reframes the discussion entirely. Cities, data centers, oil fields, logistics hubs, satellites, cables, and waste streams form a planetary system in which architecture is neither object nor backdrop, but participant.
"We know we are not born to die," often said Brazilian architect Paulo Mendes da Rocha. "We are born to continue." In architecture, this idea of continuity lies at the heart of heritage, not as a static inheritance, but as something that endures, transforms, and is constantly reinterpreted. Yet what continues, and what is allowed to disappear, is never neutral. Decisions about preservation are shaped by power, memory, and value, raising a fundamental question for contemporary practice: who defines what is worth carrying forward, and for whom?
The past year marked a defining moment in ArchDaily's evolution: a year of recalibration, intention, and renewed editorial purpose.
In an increasingly fast-moving and saturated media landscape, we took the opportunity to ask the fundamental questions: What does architectural media need to be today? What responsibilities do we carry as a global platform? And how can we contribute meaningfully to a profession navigating social, environmental, and cultural transformation?
And by engaging deeply with these reflections, we stepped fully into our role, bringing greater definition to who ArchDaily is and how it operates.
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.
