Architectural professionals recognize how exterior design choices influence both perception and performance. A canopy is more than a functional overhang — it is a visual statement, a layer of environmental control, and a reflection of the project's overall design vision.
Windows have long held an ambivalent role in architecture, as they both define and enclose interiors while simultaneously creating a link to the outdoors. This dual function goes beyond simply meeting construction needs or providing daylight, directly influencing how occupants experience and engage with the views. The 20th century saw the introduction of materials such as steel, aluminum, and glass, which enabled different types of windows with thinner frames and expansive panes, enhancing transparency and reinforcing the visual connection with the surrounding setting.
What is architecture? For some, its traditional role is to bring together imagination, technical knowledge, and problem-solving, allowing architects to design and construct while balancing ideas with the means to realize them. From the stone and wood of early buildings to the steel and concrete of the 20th century, each era demanded not only an understanding of form but also of the properties and potential of the materials in use. This grasp of materials has always been a core part of the creative process, though its scope was limited by the know-how and technologies available.
Established in the UAE in 1989 by Chairman Brian Johnson and now led by Managing Director Jason Burnside, Godwin Austen Johnson draws on a British design lineage dating back to 1847 and has contributed to the development of the Middle East's built environment for over three decades. Its 110 multinational professionals, based in Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Sharjah, and the United Kingdom, work across disciplines, combining technical rigor, contextual analysis, and digital methodologies within a collaborative design process.
Innovation is at the core of architecture, expressed through new approaches to design, material experimentation, and, of course, ways of living. As a result, the conception of buildings and indoor spaces is constantly evolving. This evolution is especially evident in regions with a rich cultural heritage, such as Spain, where innovation reinterprets traditional ways of relating to space. This attentiveness to memory and daily life extends into interiors, where each intervention has the potential to actively reshape how people experience a space and open new possibilities for living and interaction.
Blending vernacular techniques with contemporary experimentation, Mexico's architectural landscape is shaped by a continuous dialogue between tradition, materiality, and modernity. As the fifth most biodiverse country in the world, Mexican architecture seeks to respond to its vast range of natural environments, climates, and cultural traditions, all within a territory marked by striking contrasts. Reflecting a visible duality, it can embody both exclusivity and act as a catalyst for social transformation.
Since its opening in 1987, Four Winds Field — home of the AA Minor League team South Bend Cubs — has undergone several transformations. In each of them, brick has remained a central architectural element, evoking tradition, permanence, and a distinct urban character. Now, with a major expansion underway, the stadium reaffirms this legacy while embracing innovative construction techniques, most notably, the integration of thin brick as a contemporary solution that honors the past without compromising technical performance.
With deep roots, sturdy trunks, and the ability to withstand extreme temperatures, date palms (Phoenix dactylifera) are among the species best adapted to the arid desert environment. It is no coincidence that in many local indigenous cultures they are known as the "tree of life," as their fruits, leaves, and trunks have provided food, shelter, and building materials for thousands of years. Without them, much of human settlement in desert regions would not have been possible. Today, widely cultivated across desert regions around the world, the species continues to sustain traditional agricultural practices, yet its potential can be further enhanced and expanded through the efforts of contemporary researchers.
In Plato's allegory of the cave, light symbolizes knowledge: it is what guides the human being out of the shadows of ignorance and toward truth. In many religions, light is also associated with divinity, as a manifestation of the sacred. Over time, light ceased to be merely a symbol of reason and became an instrument of sensitivity, a living material capable of shaping atmospheres, influencing perception, and revealing meaning.
Spain combines cultural diversity and a long constructive tradition that is directly reflected in its architecture. The country is home to influential schools, a consistent body of theoretical production, an active generation of architects, and a well-established construction industry with strong capabilities in innovation, standardization, and export. Contemporary Spanish architecture is marked by a plurality of approaches and by the articulation between material tradition, technology, and performance.
Stones hold time. Some are formed by the sudden solidification of magma, like basalt, whose dense structure and dark color result from rapid cooling at the surface. Others, such as granite, are born slowly in deep magmatic chambers, where gradual cooling allows the growth of visible crystals, creating unique patterns and colors. There are also sedimentary rocks, formed by the compaction of mineral and organic debris over millions of years, with tones that reflect their chemical composition and the environment in which they were deposited. Transforming this geological diversity into a single continuous surface, terrazzo is a cementitious or mineral composite in which fragments of marble, granite, quartz, basalt, and other lithologies are embedded in a binding matrix, then polished to reveal the structure and luster of each particle. Unlike a homogeneous surface, terrazzo acts as a mineralogical showcase, where each aggregate retains its identity while contributing to a coherent whole, which can become a floor, wall cladding, or even furnitures.
In Jacques Tati's Mon Oncle (1958), architecture itself becomes a character: sliding doors, an automatic fountain, gates that emit mechanical sounds, devices that both enchant and frustrate the inhabitants. The comedy arises precisely from the fact that these seemingly trivial systems silently shape everyday life. More than six decades later, the observation seems prophetic. In contemporary buildings, countless systems work autonomously and discreetly, going unnoticed when they function well. Among them, automatic doors, traditionally seen as secondary elements, are emerging as part of a new "invisible infrastructure": connected, efficient, and intelligent systems that support comfort, sustainability, and operational resilience.
The capsule wardrobe concept, popularized in the 1970s by Susie Faux, proposes an exercise in synthesis: a compact set of versatile pieces, capable of combining in countless ways to suit different occasions. In visual culture, there are a few metaphors for this: in cartoons like Doug Funnie or Dexter's Laboratory, opening the closet revealed rows of identical clothes, ready to simplify life (and, in the case of animators, the work). In the real world, figures like Steve Jobs turned this logic into a method, adopting a daily uniform to eliminate the small but recurring decision of "what to wear?", freeing up time and energy for more important matters.
Asking questions is the first step toward challenging what we take for granted and opening up new possibilities for planning and building. These questions, valuable in themselves, gain new strength when shared and examined through different perspectives. As they intersect with the experiences of professionals and brands, they weave together viewpoints that enrich the discussion. Design fairs and events around the world have become spaces where these conversations gain momentum, fostering connections and encouraging collaborative dynamics. In this landscape, Colombia has emerged as a hub, serving as a platform that promotes architecture and design across Latin America and the Caribbean while bringing the region's voice to the global stage.
Does architecture alone define how we inhabit a space? It's becoming increasingly clear that it does not. The objects within a space—particularly furniture and other design pieces—not only serve functional purposes but actively shape the spatial and human experience. As schools, homes, and offices evolve to accommodate new ways of working, living, and socializing, furniture accompanies these transitions, prompting conversations that extend beyond functionality and engage the corporeal dimension implied in its use.
Surfing is, without a doubt, one of the most visually striking and fascinating sports. A fluid choreography that combines strength and delicacy, like a dance on the waves, gathers enthusiasts across the world's oceans. Yet, behind this image of freedom and connection with nature, the sport also carries contradictions. It is a symbol of outdoor life and respect for the ocean, but on the other hand, it is marked by territorial disputes over waves and by an environmental footprint that rarely receives the same attention given to its aesthetics. In times of climate crisis, this paradox becomes even more evident. Surfing depends directly on the health of marine ecosystems, the very ones most affected by pollution and global warming. This tension has been pushing a new generation of shapers, architects, and material designers to seek alternatives, from plant-based and recycled foams to the reuse of industrial waste, in order to reconnect the sport with its ecological dimension.
Work and learning environments have undergone profound transformations in recent decades. In offices, cubicles and compartmentalized rooms have given way to open, collaborative layouts. In schools and universities, traditional classrooms with rigid layouts, blackboards, and rows of desks have been replaced by more dynamic, flexible, and interactive spaces. In both contexts, the goal was to encourage integration, creativity, and constant exchange. But this openness has also introduced new challenges: increased distractions, sensory overload, and the difficulty of finding moments of focus or introspection. The more we remove barriers in favor of fluidity and collaboration, the more essential it becomes to provide moments of quiet, intimacy, and sensory balance for those who need to self-regulate. The challenge is both spatial and psychological, raising a fundamental question for architecture: how can we support connection and withdrawal, activity and silence, at the same time?
The Design-Build model is an increasingly attractive project delivery method, offering benefits such as enhanced control, reduced risks, cost efficiencies, and quicker completion times. Central to this approach is teamwork and collaboration, contrasting sharply with the traditional method of separate design and fixed-price bidding by contractors. Design-Build naturally motivates all participants to seek ways to boost productivity and quality, ensuring fairness and transparency in costs.