Severe late-August wildfires across northern Algeria have brought residential areas, agricultural lands, and critical transport corridors directly into the path of rapidly spreading flames. The destruction across Jijel, Béjaïa, and Tizi Ouzou claimed at least 12 lives and forced the emergency closure of major national highways. The latest outbreak follows a summer of repeated fires across the country, with authorities recorded nearly 2,000 fires nationwide in July, while fires in the northeastern province of Annaba at the end of the month forced more than 100 people to leave their homes and damaged nearly 150 houses. The current fires have again brought residential areas, roads and other infrastructure into the path of rapidly spreading flames. Forest fires occur regularly in northern Algeria during the summer, with increasingly frequent drought and periods of intense heat contributing to more severe fire conditions.
In the 1970s, Cuba faced a severe nationwide housing shortage due to population growth, rural-to-urban migration, and the degradation of existing housing stock. The government's answer was a system that pulled ordinary workers off their regular jobs and put them on building sites instead. This program, known as the Microbrigadas (microbrigades), reshaped entire districts of Havana, where they combined collective self-construction and state-backed technical knowledge, which left a mark on the urban grid of its capital city that persists until today.
Against a backdrop of climate change, inflation, and armed conflict, the global energy system is undergoing change and facing scrutiny. As stated by the United Nations, buildings must be heated, lit, and electrified through clean, accessible, affordable, sustainable, and reliable power sources. Architecture and urban planning can contribute both to expanding energy access and to exploring different forms of storage. The Toronto-based startup Civic Grid designs and builds energy storage systems with the aim of changing the relationship communities have with the electrical power behind everyday life. Their first architectural battery was designed as public architecture by architects Jack Self and Josh Harskamp with industrial designer Max Fine. The prototype is the evolution of a deployable energy system developed with Lisbon Civil Defence for the Lisbon Architecture Triennale 2025, still in operation, and is paired with a scale model.
August 2023; An aerial perspective captures the sprawling scale of the horizontal construction sequence as the structure begins taking its organic shape across the site.. Image Courtesy of Clark Construction
The recently opened David Geffen Galleries at LACMA are the result of more than a decade of effort across many fronts: the city, the county, the public, the architect, the engineers, the general contractor, and the many builders involved in translating an ambitious and visionary design into built form. The project has also been subject to unusually intense scrutiny, with responses ranging from admiration for its meticulous construction and architectural ambition to criticism of its scale, cost, concrete mass, and engineering complexity in earthquake-prone Los Angeles. Whatever one's position, the building remains an exceptionally sophisticated case study in how architecture is negotiated through construction.
This conversation approaches the David Geffen Galleries from the perspective of Clark Construction, the general contractor responsible for helping bring Peter Zumthor's design to completion. Carlos Gonzalez, Group President at Clark Construction, oversaw the construction process and shared with ArchDaily some of the technical, material, and logistical challenges behind the building. These range from its monolithic concrete structure and extensive post-tensioning system to the 56 seismic isolators that allow the building to move during an earthquake; from unpredictable ground conditions near the La Brea Tar Pits to the fabrication of solid bronze mullions and the integration of mechanical systems within the building's double-deck concrete structure.
"Map the New World" is the motto of Project PLATEAU, led by Japan's Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism (MLIT), to develop and expand access to 3D models representing the diversity of cities across the country. Japan comprises a total of 744 cities, including 14 with populations exceeding one million, 190 with between 100,000 and one million inhabitants, and 540 with populations between 10,000 and 100,000. To date, 3D models of more than 250 cities have been made available as open data through the country's public G-Spatial Information Center, and can also be accessed via an online browser viewer. According to public authorities, the project aims to strengthen urban resilience by providing society with new tools to address local challenges. This involves not only urban space modeling but also collaboration with local governments, private companies, and technology communities. The project also includes a digital reconstruction of the recently closed Osaka World Expo site.
Hudson's Detroit mixed-used development. Aerial view.. Image Courtesy of Bedrock
Urban planning is often confused with adjacent disciplines: urban design, environmental policy, civic strategy, local politics, or data analytics. Moreover, the overlap in training and responsibilities between planning and urban practices makes the field difficult to define clearly. In practice, it is often easier to recognize the consequences of bad planning than to articulate the outcomes of good planning. When planning is working well for residents, it should disappear altogether. It should remove friction from daily life so that people would not think to credit a discipline at all. At its core, urban planning is the relationship people have with their environments, and when that relationship is functioning, the mechanics of housing, transportation, affordability, access, and inclusion should feel ordinary and expected.
An informal vendor selling balloons along La Séptima in the Plaza de Bolívar. "Bogota, Colombia" by szeke is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0
This article is the winning entry of the Epistle Writing Prize 2025, an annual competition dedicated to recognizing outstanding writing on design, architecture, and the environment.
It's wet season, but this morning's downpour does little to deter the rhythm along La Carrera Séptima. Cyclists and pedestrians weave past ambulatory vendors with carts of avocados, ginger sweets, and phone cases. Toy cars, lightbulbs, and hand-beaded jewelry glisten with raindrops, arranged neatly on tarps that demarcate vendors' territories. Police officers approach a recycler gathering bottles; a tourist bargains for a jacket; two women find each other in the middle of the road, embracing as their coats grow heavy with rain.
La Séptima, or Bogotá's Seventh Avenue, is the most emblematic road in Bogotá, traversed by more than two million people every day. Along this single road — part marketplace, part protest route, part transportation hub — Bogotá's history unfolds. For nearly a year, I traced its rhythms as a pedestrian, commuter, inhabitant, and researcher. In all these moments and their historical incarnations, one image endured: the road is a living body. It is imagined as Bogotá's backbone, its vital artery, its heart. It bleeds, bears scars, and demands care.
The New York City local government is one of the largest of its kind, with hundreds of city agencies and elected offices. The Mayor, city agencies, the city council, the comptroller, the public advocate, the borough presidents, and community boards organize to provide services and improve the quality of life in the biggest city in the United States and a primary tourist destination. Like other metropolises in the world, urban developers and authorities in New York are facing common challenges: the atmospheric effects and permanent consequences of the climate crisis, the saturation of transport systems, the lack of housing units, and barriers to accessing adequate housing. During June, the New York City mayor's office announcements addressed traffic and mobility, sports events, immigration, and extreme heat. In recent months, a series of policies have been announced to address a larger problem: ensuring access to housing for a greater number of people through government action.
Every three years, the International Union of Architects' (UIA) World Congress lands in a different city, under a different theme set years in advance. A quick mapping of these host cities reveals a deliberate pattern: throughout the decades, the UIA has purposefully chosen a wide range of venues across all continents, rendering each edition a snapshot of what mattered in that specific place, at that exact moment. The result of this geographic rotation has been a diverse kaleidoscope of conversations, analyzing the profession from countless angles and adapting it to changing times. But 2026 is different; this time the UIA is repeating a host city for the first time: Barcelona, under the theme "Becoming. Architectures for a planet in transition".
Bread & Heart Festival 2026. Image Courtesy of Bread & Heart Festival
Something has been happening in Tirana that the architectural world has not quite found the language for. In the space of a few years, a city of less than a million people in one of Europe's least-known countries has become the site of an extraordinary concentration of architectural ambition — a place where offices that rarely work in the same city, let alone the same decade, are building simultaneously, and where the questions that preoccupy contemporary architecture seem to arrive with an unusual urgency.
The second edition of the Bread & Heart Festival, held in Tirana from June 3 to 5, brought together more than two hundred architects, urban planners, developers, and professionals from across Europe, the Americas, Asia and beyond to discuss "Landscapes of Abundance", a theme organized around the curatorial premise of moving from portrait to landscape, from the individual building to the territory as a whole. The room it assembled would be difficult to replicate anywhere else in the architectural calendar: Francis Kéré, Jeanne Gang, Sumayya Vally, Pierre de Meuron, Bjarke Ingels, Reinier de Graaf, Stefano Boeri, Kersten Geers, Benedetta Tagliabue, Ma Yansong, among them.
Who has the right to the city? Henri Lefebvre's writings question the structures that control urban space and, instead, put the citizens at the center of decision-making. His ideas have influenced the way architecture and urban design are practiced, bringing about community participation and co-design. These have been some of the most prominent themes at Utopian Hours 2026, the festival of city-making, the first part of which was held in the Dutch city of Rotterdam to mark its tenth anniversary edition.
Copenhagen, Denmark. Image Courtesy of Lindsay Martin via Unsplash
Copenhagen is long famous as the global capital of human-scale design and livability. Today, the city has widened its focus and is an active space where mid-century Scandinavian modernism meets the modern demands of climate adaptability, material circularity, radical conservation, and neighborhood density. During the first-ever Copenhagen Architecture Biennial, in 2025, the city transformed into a global platform for dialogue under the theme "Slow Down," exploring how architecture can respond to global pressures by rethinking the pace of change. And this year's 13th edition of the 3daysofdesign Festival will explore the theme of "Make This Moment Matter", encouraging the global design community to step away from digital noise and mass production to focus on the present.
The conversion of disused religious temples through cultural programs constitutes one of the most compelling adaptive reuse strategies in contemporary urban planning. This functional compatibility seems to be rooted in the specific characteristics of churches: their central naves offer large-scale, clear floor plans and monumental cross-sections that easily accommodate the volumetric requirements of museums, theaters, or community hubs. Furthermore, the acoustic properties inherent to their vaulted ceilings, combined with intentional natural lighting filtered through stained glass windows or domes, create the spatial conditions for activities ranging from the performing arts to the exhibition of cultural artifacts. By assuming a public and cultural role, these buildings not only avoid demolition or physical abandonment but also preserve their status as urban and identity landmarks within the city fabric, revitalizing their immediate surroundings without altering their historical significance.
In Hong Kong, where architecture is often driven by real estate logic, infrastructure, and accelerated development, the space for bodily-scaled civic experimentation can be surprisingly narrow. This is where Design Trust has become distinctive. As a grant-making and project-enabling platform, it supports spatial interventions that sit between architecture, research, and public programming—work that is often too modest, collective, or uncertain to fit conventional client–architect pipelines.
At the center of this work is Marisa Yiu, whose leadership positions Design Trust as both an enabler and a cultural actor. Through initiatives such as Micro-Parks Hong Kong, alongside exhibitions and public programs, the organization treats discourse and prototyping as forms of spatial agency, linking designers, communities, institutions, and policy conversations while foregrounding questions of stewardship, maintenance, and the "afterlife" of public space.