Some types of work only become visible when they are no longer done. They are discrete, repetitive, rarely celebrated, yet they quietly sustain the functioning of any operation. In architecture, this dimension rarely appears in the images that circulate. When we think about the discipline, we evoke seductive renderings, carefully lit perspectives, precise plans, drawings that promise possible or even utopian futures. Yet the layer that supports these formal gestures is not found in the image, but in specification, detailing, and documentation.
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Villa Tai. Image Courtesy of ARK Architects
The single-family house remains one of the most complex territories in contemporary architecture. At once intimate and technical, everyday and symbolic, it concentrates debates around comfort, sustainability, landscape, and ways of living, while also serving as an instrument for projecting the identity of its inhabitants. It is within this field that ARK Architects operates. Based in Marbella and Sotogrande, the studio's work, under the creative direction of co-founder Manuel Ruiz Moriche, develops from a direct relationship between architecture, natural light, and environmental context.
The role of heritage rehabilitation in the contemporary architectural landscape is shaped by a wide range of research, beliefs, memories, and efforts aimed at redefining and strengthening our built environment. When undertaking a transformation, renovation, or preservation project, architects can employ diverse strategies and tools to encourage a meaningful coexistence between what already exists and what is newly introduced. Together with three Madrid-based architecture practices—SOLAR, Pachón-Paredes, and BA-RRO—we set out to engage in conversation and explore their creative processes and ideals, recognizing the complexity and value of historic buildings as repositories of materials, structures, and construction techniques from other eras.
Building Design’s built-in daylight potential analysis helps architects guide schematic decisions about fenestration strategy while they’re designing. Image Courtesy of Autodesk
For many architects, schematic design is defined by a familiar tension. It is the phase of open-ended exploration—where multiple ideas are tested, challenged, and refined for clients to define a project's direction. In essence, it's where the design magic happens. The challenge is rarely a lack of ideas, but the effort required to test and evaluate those ideas properly under time-, resource-, and budget constraints. It is an especially acute challenge for architects as early design work must balance creativity with client needs and commercial feasibility.
From the large industrial roofs and galleries of the 19th century to the contemporary atriums of museums and public buildings, glass has been a recurring material in shaping large and monumental interior spaces. More than a technological or engineering solution, these horizontal glazed planes introduce a distinct luminous quality: light that comes from above. Unlike lateral daylight entering through façades, zenithal light is more evenly distributed, reduces harsh shadows, and lends spaces a sense of continuity and openness that is difficult to achieve otherwise.
Preserving historic buildings requires simultaneously addressing technical, environmental, and regulatory demands while maintaining the material, cultural, and symbolic continuity of what already exists. As the understanding consolidates that the most sustainable building is the one that is already standing, and that preservation also involves construction knowledge, material traditions, and the social fabrics from which they emerged, these same buildings are increasingly confronted with more rigorous contemporary parameters. Energy efficiency, safety, carbon emission reduction, and regulatory compliance have become unavoidable references, placing architecture before a central tension: how to update what already exists without breaking the continuity that sustains its heritage value.
Second Prize Winner + Buildner Student Award: Silent Equilibrium
Buildner is pleased to announce the results of its Architect's Chair Competition Edition 4, an annual international competition that invites architects and designers worldwide to submit designs for a signature chair. Following in the footsteps of iconic figures like Charles and Ray Eames, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Marcel Breuer, and Arne Jacobsen, participants are tasked with creating custom chairs that reflect their unique design philosophies and visions.
In the picture: F128 PA Black Ambiance Granite, U590 PM/TM Deep Blue, U705 PM/TM Angora Grey, U755 PM/TM Havanna Grey, H1708 ST17 Brighton Chestnut. Image Courtesy of EGGER
Designing an interior is, in many ways, an exercise in orchestration. Just as a conductor coordinates instruments, timbres, rhythms, and intensities to compose a coherent piece, the architect brings together materials, color, light, texture, and proportion to define the spatial quality and atmosphere of an environment. None of these decisions operates in isolation: the choice of a surface influences how light is reflected; a given material can shape how a room ages over time; color, in turn, directly affects the perception of scale.
What matters more: looking to the past or to the future? Recognizing established trajectories or fostering paths still under construction? Perhaps this is not a question with a single answer. Traditionally, architecture awards have operated as devices of consecration, recognizing completed works, established careers, and already tested solutions, most often through a retrospective lens. But what would happen if recognition ceased to be an end in itself and instead began to operate as a catalytic agent, investing less in what has already been done and more in what is still yet to unfold?
The Open Call for the next Experimental Fellowship, in partnership with material data platform revalu is now open. Experimental Foundation’s Spring Fellowship with revalu supports practice based research by emerging architectural practices with applied industry experience. The Fellowship is aimed at practitioners who seek to contribute to a transformative shift in the building sector. It is intended for architects collaborating with clients (developers, public or private) or industry partners who seek to implement regenerative, circular, and climate-conscious solutions in pilot projects, through innovative, systemic-analytical approaches.
With a focus on applied project planning and delivery processes, and the exchange and dissemination of
"In various regions of the planet, nature imposes adverse conditions on the human body. In these places, designing a building is almost like creating a garment: an artifact that protects and offers comfort. This challenge requires technological performance that must be combined with aesthetics. Making human beings feel good involves more than just meeting notions of comfort and safety; it's also a question of working with spaces in their symbolic and perceptual dimensions." This is the beginning of the description for the design of the Brazilian Antarctic Station in Antarctica, by Estúdio 41, located on the Keller Peninsula, where the surrounding sea freezes for around six to seven months of the year, where everything and everyone arrives by plane or ship and the nearest hardware store is days away. If designing a building in normal circumstances already presents numerous complexities, it's not hard to imagine the additional challenges when developing something in an extreme environment, such as locations with very high or low temperatures, or in places susceptible to corrosion, radiation, and more. In this article, we will explore the difficulties, the main solutions and the materials used in these contexts.
By operating with only five notes, the pentatonic scale establishes a stable and intuitive musical system in which structural clarity allows for variation without the risk of excessive dissonance. From this consolidated structure, which forms the basis of countless musical styles, especially popular music, the blues introduced a decisive inflection by incorporating additional notes into the scale. Without delving into excessive technicalities, these are subtle tonal deviations, small dissonances often associated with a more melancholic sound, known as blue notes. Played fleetingly rather than as emphatic accents, they briefly tension the system, adding expressiveness and depth while keeping the underlying structure intact.
When developing an architectural project, there are multiple possible points of departure. Some architects begin with volume, gradually carving form in dialogue with its context. Others start from the longitudinal section, while some organize the project around the functional layout of the plan. There is no right or wrong method, but rather distinct approaches that reflect different ways of thinking about and making architecture. Since the widespread adoption of solar panels and photovoltaic energy, however, a recurring pattern has emerged: these systems are almost always introduced later in the process, framed as technical optimizations or responses to regulatory and energy-efficiency requirements. As a result, they tend to be treated as secondary elements, often relegated to rooftops or less visible areas and detached from the architectural language of the building.
By shifting rotation away from traditional hinges and distributing weight vertically, pivot doors were developed to address a specific architectural challenge: how to move large, heavy door panels with precision, durability, and minimal visual interference. These systems allow doors to grow significantly in scale, weight, and material ambition, often blurring the line between door, wall, and architectural surface. Over time, this technical innovation has expanded the role of doors in architecture, allowing them to operate not only as points of access, but also as spatial thresholds, compositional devices, and expressive elements within the building envelope.
The pursuit of stronger, lighter, and more durable materials has guided architecture long before polymers or carbon fibers existed. One of the earliest large-scale examples of composite materials can be found in the Great Wall of China, where stone, clay bricks, and organic fibers such as reeds and willow branches were blended to create a resilient and lasting structure. These early techniques reveal a timeless intuition: distinct materials, when combined thoughtfully, produce properties unattainable by any single element. As the construction sector faces urgent ecological pressures, this intuition is being revisited through the lens of sustainability, with architects and engineers exploring bio-based, recycled, and hybrid composites designed not only for performance but also for circularity and environmental responsibility.
The potential of existing buildings to shape cities and communities in flux through reuse and adaptation is the key focus of HouseEurope! and their activism: addressing the pressing challenge across much of Europe, where it is often easier, cheaper, and faster to demolish buildings than to renovate. For decades, construction policies, industrial practices, and market systems have favored new development, often undervaluing the cultural, social, and environmental significance of existing structures. For their work advocating systemic change in architecture, HouseEurope! received the 2025 OBEL Award under the theme "Ready Made." In a conversation with ArchDaily, collective members of HouseEurope! Alina Kolar and Olaf Grawert discussed the organization's approach to architecture, policy, and collective action.
Which materials have taken center stage in the architectural discourse of 2025? Which projects have rediscovered new construction practices and methods through material innovation? While the future of building materials still appears uncertain, year after year, experimentation and research continue to reveal diverse practices, initiatives, and efforts dedicated to understanding their value and responsibility within the built environment. From agricultural waste that reduces carbon footprints to recycled plastics given new life, and living materials that engage with emerging technologies while reconnecting with nature, 2025 has highlighted and strengthened the role of architects as mediators between materials, disciplines, knowledge, and interests from diverse origins.
Founded by Senegalese architect Nzinga Mboup and French architect Nicolas Rondet, Worofila is a studio dedicated to bioclimatic and ecological architecture. Based in Dakar, Senegal, the firm explores the potential of vernacular materials like earth bricks and typha, applying modern techniques to create effective construction solutions. Their work addresses key issues of the environment, sustainability, and urbanization, merging traditional materials with innovative practices.
