The architecture firm Settanta7 has begun the construction of Bosco della Musica, a new campus for the Conservatorio Giuseppe Verdi in Milan. The site is located in Rogoredo, a former industrial area in the southeastern part of the city, currently under scrutiny due to incidents of violence and public safety concerns. The area is therefore the focus of development initiatives by the Italian Ministry of Transport and Infrastructure, including the competition for this project, which was awarded to Settanta7 in 2022. The firm is responsible for the design and is overseeing the coordination of all disciplines as lead consultant for the construction of the entire project: a broader urban regeneration program that includes the redevelopment of the 17,400 sqm site and the adaptive reuse of the "Ex Chimici" industrial building, alongside the construction of four new buildings, three dedicated to educational activities and one intended for student housing.
In South China, there is occasionally an urban myth—especially across Hong Kong, Shenzhen, and Guangzhou—about choosing a home that avoids western light. Over decades, the west-facing sun has proven to be a particularly difficult condition to live with: its low angle in the afternoon, its aggressive heat gain (especially in summer), and the way it penetrates deep into interiors. With global warming and longer, hotter seasons, that much-romanticized "afternoon glow" is increasingly experienced less as romance and more as glare, heat, and fatigue. Although this wisdom circulates as a community-driven rule of thumb, it carries an undeniable architectural clarity about building orientations: avoiding western light is not only about thermal comfort, but also about avoiding the sharpest, most intrusive form of direct illumination—light that strikes at the most unforgiving angle, washing surfaces, flattening depth, and turning rooms into high-contrast fields of discomfort.
As housing shortages and affordability challenges intensify across global cities, this week's architectural discourse centers on how design, policy, and adaptive strategies intersect to shape the future of urban living. Initiatives range from grassroots movements and legislative reforms aimed at expanding access to housing to innovative models that rethink ownership, development, and community engagement. At the same time, architects are reimagining existing structures and districts, transforming underused offices, historic landmarks, and unfinished buildings into mixed-use, culturally significant, or publicly accessible spaces. Across scales, these stories illustrate how architecture negotiates scarcity, value, and social priorities, demonstrating its capacity not only to produce new buildings but also to recalibrate urban environments in ways that balance heritage, sustainability, and human experience.
Abuja was named the capital city of Nigeria on December 12, 1991. Located in the central Federal Capital Territory (FCT), it replaced the most populous coastal city of Lagos in a process of structural reform aimed at national integration and more balanced regional development. Like other capital relocations, Nigeria's capital was moved for strategic reasons to transform Abuja into the country's new administrative center, often referred to as "the center of unity." It was envisioned as a planned city based on a master plan developed by the United States-based consortium International Planning Associates (IPA). More than three decades later, a new master plan titled "City Walk" has been developed by MAG International Links Limited and designed by Benoy as a mixed-use district integrating hotels, offices, residential, retail, cultural, educational, and healthcare facilities, alongside a 450-meter tower and a 13,000-seat indoor arena across 250 hectares.
Amid the rapid build-out of data centres and AI economies across the Greater Bay Area—and alongside the celebration of AI as a tool and "author," as featured in 2025 Hong Kong–Shenzhen Bi-City Biennale of Urbanism\Architecture (Hong Kong)—a parallel question becomes unavoidable: how do the planning and construction of AI infrastructure actually begin to shape everyday life? Many of the facilities already built remain intentionally distant from daily experience. The "cloud" may be marketed as immaterial, but its architecture is profoundly physical: high-power, high-heat, service-heavy environments that are often sited in remote or low-density areas to take advantage of lower land costs and to minimize friction with nearby communities. Security and risk management further reinforce this logic. Data centres hold sensitive, privileged information—corporate assets, legal records, government and institutional data—and remoteness becomes part of their operating model, keeping the infrastructures of AI both spatially and socially out of sight.
This week has been marked by the deliberate, rampant, and unjust destruction of war in Southeast Asia. As one of the most damaging manifestations of human abuse of power, we have witnessed the destruction of places that hold memories and sustain culture, as well as the loss and irreparable harm to the human lives that lend them their identity. With the expectation of offering brighter and more constructive scenarios in the future, we present, in contrast to this reality, a scenario of progress in the gender gap that characterizes architecture and its paths forward, a group of landmark projects of public and community interest moving forward from Türkiye to Mexico, and three major multimodal transport infrastructure projects improving the way we circulate and inhabit public space in Europe and the United States.
On March 5, 2026, Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM) revealed images of a new landmark project in Kazakhstan, in Central Asia. The project consists of two towers, the "Iconic Complex," and a master plan for the area, the "Gateway District." The complex is located in Alatau, a new city along the Almaty–Qonaev highway planned to become an international investment hub. A strategic project for the country, the city's master plan extends through 2050, with the first phase of major infrastructure projects scheduled for completion by 2030. Within this context, SOM's design is expected to serve as the city's economic and administrative nucleus, establishing the central business district of Alatau City and setting a benchmark for future investment projects in the area.
For centuries, large-scale infrastructure operated in the background. Ports, power plants, and energy facilities were positioned at the edges of cities, designed primarily for efficiency, and rarely considered part of civic life. Their function was indispensable, yet their architectural presence remained secondary. These structures supported urban growth and global exchange while maintaining a spatial distance from everyday urban experience.
Today, this condition is gradually shifting. As global trade intensifies and energy systems expand in complexity, the buildings that coordinate and house these networks are becoming more visible within the urban landscape. Rather than remaining neutral containers for technical operations, they begin to assert spatial identity. Infrastructure is no longer only operational; it is increasingly institutional, symbolic, and urban. The architecture that supports these systems now participates in how cities project themselves.
As artificial intelligence continues to disrupt sectors of the economy and reshape entire industries, institutions and individuals alike are bracing—and rapidly adapting—to the changes that machines seem to hold over our heads. Yet the more precise pressure is not simply AI altering the way people work and live, but the business models and investment logics of the companies developing these systems: the concentration of capital, the new requirements for compute, the race for compartmentalized talent, and the infrastructural footprint needed to sustain it. In the Greater Bay Area—anchored by Guangzhou, Shenzhen, and Hong Kong—this dynamic is especially pronounced. Government-led initiatives are actively accelerating the industry's growth, with policy and planning mechanisms beginning to translate an ostensibly intangible field into physical form: zoning updates, earmarked land, and the emergence of AI-oriented building types, from research laboratories to large-scale data centers.
Architecture this week reflects the intersections of legacy, authorship, and social responsibility, as practices navigate questions of identity, recognition, and public engagement. Legal rulings, major competition shortlists, and large-scale urban proposals illustrate how architecture continues to operate across cultural, institutional, and environmental arenas. From sustainability-driven landmarks and transformative waterfront developments to iconic commercial towers, projects demonstrate approaches to ecological strategies and public programming. At the same time, global observances such as World Hearing Day highlight how spatial design shapes inclusion and accessibility, reminding the profession that the built environment can influence participation, learning, and well-being for diverse communities.
Urban masterplans remain an exploratory ground for unbuilt speculation, offering insight into how cities might recalibrate mobility, ecology, and collective life in response to accelerating environmental and social pressures. In this Unbuilt edition, submitted by the ArchDaily community, the selected projects bring together a range of large-scale proposals that examine urban centers, waterfront districts, infrastructural corridors, and cultural landscapes as spatial frameworks for reconnection and resilience. Rather than treating the masterplan as a rigid blueprint, these projects approach urbanism as an adaptive system shaped by climate, topography, infrastructure, and public space.
Across varied geographies, from Northern European town centers and Mediterranean coastal districts to Central Asian polycentric hubs and Gulf megacities, the proposals explore diverse architectural and urban strategies. They range from park-led civic transformations built over highway tunnels to elevated pedestrian networks above active transport systems, mixed-use blocks structured by historic planning logics, marina developments integrating environmental stewardship, and research-driven models for equitable landscape urbanization.
In the first days after birth, the bee remains inside the nest, cleaning cells and being fed by other workers. Over time, it begins organizing pollen stores, regulating the hive's temperature, and guarding the entrance. Only in the final weeks of its life does it leave the shelter to fly. It is in the moment of flight that its trajectory begins to intersect with architecture and the city. In search of nectar, it moves across a territory shaped not only by its spatial memory and the availability of flowers, but by the way we construct the built environment. Each movement becomes a negotiation with urban space: impermeable surfaces that disrupt natural cycles, air currents intensified between buildings, vegetation-free voids, scattered green fragments between lots, and technical rooftops.
Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games- Athletes Village (HARUMI FLAG). Image via Wikimedia Commons CC 2.0
With the Milano–Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics underway, it is worth looking back at how the Olympic Village has evolved from a purely functional solution into a strategic urban project. From improvised housing compounds to key pieces of urban regeneration, Olympic Villages have repeatedly functioned as large-scale experiments in how parts of the city can be built within a short period of time.
Designed under intense time pressure and for a highly specific population, these environments reveal shifting ideas about housing, collective life, and the urban legacy of mega-events. Across different editions, the Olympic Village reflects broader ways in which events, housing, and cities intersect under conditions of urgency.
When Hong Kong's architectural story is told, it is often reduced to a handful of icons. Many people most readily name I.M. Pei—Pritzker Prize laureate and architect of the Bank of China Tower in Central (1990), as well as global works such as the Le Grand Louvre in Paris and the Miho Museum in Shiga. Looking elsewhere, one also encounters a long lineage of British and international architects whose imprints have shaped the city's institutional skyline: from Ron Phillips' civic works—most notably the former Murray Building (1969), now The Murray Hotel, and Hong Kong City Hall (1962)—to Norman Foster's infrastructural and corporate monuments, including the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation (HSBC) Tower (1986) and Hong Kong International Airport (1998), and, more recently, Zaha Hadid Architects' The Henderson (2024).
Yet within the same period as Pei and Foster, local architects were also producing buildings of enduring significance—works that carried the legacies of Bauhaus, but translated them into a language distinctly calibrated to Hong Kong's climate, density, and civic life. These projects may not always read as commercially prominent icons, yet they often register a sharper sense of social responsibility and public agenda. Among the most important figures in this lineage is the late architect Tao Ho, whose work and public role formed a quieter—but no less foundational—strand in Hong Kong's modern architectural heritage.
