Architectural schools usually leave lasting marks on their students, shaping their style and critical inquiry long after formal education has ended. For example, SCI-Arc, founded in 1972 and based in downtown Los Angeles, is an institution recognized for its culture of experimentation, critical investigation, and creative independence, building a reputation based on the idea that architecture should be understood as a field open to dialogue with art, technology, design, and contemporary culture. The diversity of trajectories of its alumni demonstrates how this environment can generate distinct professional approaches, but united by the same willingness to explore new possibilities.
As the technical requirements of building envelopes have evolved, fire performance has become a key criterion in the design of ventilated facades. Given this situation, analyses no longer focus solely on the individual reaction of materials, but also on the joint response of the entire building envelope under possible scenarios of external fire propagation.
For much of the twentieth century, architectural culture was shaped by the pursuit of lightness. Steel structures and curtain walls reduced the building envelope to a thin layer separating interior from exterior, while façades became smooth, continuous surfaces where windows were cut as precise openings within an abstract plane. But for centuries, buildings were conceived as bodies of mass; walls possessed depth, windows were recessed within thick masonry, and space was often experienced as something carved from the solidity of construction. In recent years, several contemporary projects appear to revisit this older spatial logic, reintroducing thickness as an architectural condition through deep openings, monolithic volumes, and heavy envelopes.
In an industry defined by engineering tolerances and performance certainty, interior finishing still relies on a process that introduces variability into every project. Even experienced applicators often depend on judgement-based mixing—estimating water ratios and adjusting by feel until the material appears workable. While skill reduces variability, it does not eliminate it. The result is inherent inconsistency that transfers directly onto the finished surface.
Architecture has always depended on systems of representation to make ideas visible before they exist. But where Filippo Brunelleschi's fifteenth-century linear perspective once organized space according to human perception, today's architects face an unprecedented saturation of imagery. AI generates atmospheres in seconds, and projects circulate continuously long before construction begins. But the abundance of images does not necessarily produce greater clarity and as architectural workflows become faster and more fragmented, visuals sometimes circulate detached from the decisions, constraints, and intentions that generated them. The real value of modern visualization is no longer just about rendering a final image—it is about how design and visual communication are understood collectively throughout the entire process.
Traditional building solutions tend to work well in their respective contexts, as they have withstood hundreds of years of testing and improvements, and use techniques and materials available locally. Although globalization and the democratization of access to technology have brought more comfort and new opportunities to humanity, it has also led to the homogenization of solutions in the construction sector and a dependence on global supply chains for construction materials and components. This has also caused a rupture in how knowledge is passed on to new generations and, eventually, the disappearance of traditions.
Buildner has announced the results of its competition, the Concrete Pavilion. Part of Buildner's Material Studies series, the competition invited architects and designers to explore the architectural potential of concrete through the design of an experimental pavilion. Participants were challenged to reconsider the material beyond its conventional use, investigating its spatial, structural, and sensory possibilities.
Western philosophical tradition has long placed culture in opposition to nature. This dual thinking has shaped the canon of the sciences and humanities, and architecture was not left aside. Under that logic, everything that is not human exists to be exploited by them and is named "natural resource". This extractivist mindset has shaped the development of many parts of the world in the last centuries, leaving deep—sometimes irreparable—marks on the planet. Nevertheless, other ways of living have always existed. From West-African religious practices based on animism to the herbal sciences of the masters of the Sacred Jurema in Brazil; from indigenous communities in India whose life rhythm mirrors the monsoons, to the Arctic's Inuits who can see dozens of shades of white: humans and nature bear no distinction, what exists is life.
Culinary Health Fund . Image Courtesy of Longboard
Before we rationally understand a space, we perceive it sensorially. Light, proportion, texture, color, and materiality all influence how the body interprets an environment, shaping whether it feels welcoming, cold, intimate, or impersonal. Visual and chromatic elements can directly affect the perception of depth, atmosphere, and scale within interiors, particularly in contemporary buildings characterized by large spans and continuous surfaces. Among the architectural elements that shape this experience, the ceiling may be one of the most underestimated, despite its profound influence on how space is perceived and inhabited.
Mass timber has shifted from an experimental niche to a central part of the contemporary debate surrounding sustainable construction. The combination of lower embodied carbon, prefabricated systems, and faster construction timelines has helped position solutions such as CLT (cross-laminated timber) and DLT (dowel-laminated timber) as viable alternatives to concrete and steel in residential buildings, offices, schools, and public facilities around the world. Added to this are the predictability of construction processes and the environmental qualities associated with wood, often linked to user comfort and spatial experience.
Workplace ergonomics have long been defined by stability: fixed postures, lumbar support, carefully calculated angles, and the relentless pursuit of the "correct" way to sit. Comfort was largely associated with maintaining a supported posture in chairs designed to reduce movement, align the spine, and sustain the body during long periods of sitting. Today, as contemporary workspaces become increasingly flexible and hybrid, questions are emerging around whether comfort is truly linked to static permanence, or rather to the possibility of movement itself.
Over the years, cinema architecture has continually reinvented itself. From cinematic experiences that engage multiple senses to material technologies that reinterpret the aesthetics of past eras, the concept of the movie theater has enabled the recovery, revitalization, and renewal of numerous obsolete, ruined, or even historically protected spaces. Just as the Majestic Cinema reflects an important community function in Zanzibar, Tanzania, many twentieth-century buildings have found in adaptive reuse an opportunity to restore and preserve cultures, memories, and traditions that remain meaningful to their communities.
House of Wine in Berneck. Image Courtesy of Faruk Pinjo + Carlos Martinez Architekten
Bi-folding doors flood a room with light, offering the spatial flexibility to establish a dialogue with the surroundings. The Woodline series by Solarlux integrates manufacturing quality and technical expertise with architectural freedom, providing transparent facade solutions for versatile, sustainable architecture. The natural surfaces further enhance the building envelope with a distinct tactile quality.
Learning something new is, biologically, a transformation of the brain. With each experience, neural connections are reorganized, creating and strengthening synapses. Far more than simply accumulating information, learning is about reconfiguring internal structures, a process that can reshape individuals and societies alike. The environment in which this takes place can cultivate curiosity, adaptability, and emotional resilience, thus supporting our next generation of leaders, or suppress those qualities, leading to withdrawal and isolation.
"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.
What defines the atmosphere of a home? Beyond material palettes and natural light, sound plays a defining role in how spaces are perceived and inhabited. The reverberation of footsteps across stone, the muted calm of a textile-lined room, or the way music carries through an open-plan interior all shape the sensory identity of domestic space. Architecture is experienced not only visually, but acoustically.
The figure of Tithonus in Greek mythology offers a reflection on the paradox of permanence. In pleading with Zeus for immortality, he forgot to request eternal youth, resulting in a life of endless aging. Over time, his body deteriorates, turning immortality itself into a burden. The narrative suggests a fundamental contradiction: permanence, when detached from the capacity for change, ceases to be a desirable quality. Instead of stability, it produces accumulated decay without adaptation.
Bolete Lounge BIO® by Andreu World x Patricia Urquiola. Image Courtesy of Andreu World
When walking into a large living space, a hotel lobby, or an open-plan workplace, the first thing that can be noticed is not what divides the space, but what holds it together. There are rarely clear boundaries, no obvious rooms, no strict partitions, yet the space still feels organized. Some areas invite a pause; others dictate movement; others foster community. The transitions are subtle, but legible.
