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.
Architecture is increasingly asked to do less, not more. In environments shaped by constant movement, noise, and expectation, spaces that allow people to stay, pause, and be present have become both rarer and more necessary. Many public and semi-public places are designed to keep people moving, consuming, or reacting, leaving little room for lingering, observation, or simply being without a reason.
In response, a growing body of work is shifting attention away from activation and toward presence. Rather than asking users to interact or participate, these spaces create conditions that support staying. Comfort, continuity, and openness allow people to remain without pressure or obligation, making presence a spatial quality rather than an activity.
Unlike most popular sports, the origin of basketball has a precise year and creator: it was invented in 1891 in the United States by Canadian physical education instructor James Naismith as an indoor sport for athletes at Springfield College during the winter, after the end of the football season. The sport quickly expanded beyond U.S. borders, being included in the Olympic Games in 1936 and achieving international popularity after the Second World War. As basketball became more widespread, it also left the controlled environment of gymnasiums and began occupying a wide range of locations: playgrounds, public plazas, school courtyards, driveways, and backyard patios became informal courts for play and community life, reinforcing the role of physical activity as a catalyst for social interaction and neighborhood regeneration.
Beneath the visible surface of cities lies an invisible architecture. Subways, tunnels, water systems, data cables, and bunkers form a dense network that sustains urban life while remaining largely unseen. The ground beneath our feet is not a void but a complex territory that holds the infrastructures, memories, and anxieties of our age. In recent years, as land becomes scarce and climate pressures intensify, architects and urbanists have turned their gaze downward, rediscovering the subterranean as both a physical and conceptual frontier. To design underground is to engage with the unseen mechanisms that shape the world above.
The subterranean has long been a site where architecture intersects with politics, technology, and belief. From the catacombs of Rome to the industrial subways of modernity, descent has symbolized both protection and exposure. Twentieth-century urbanism transformed this gesture into a system: metros, shelters, and utilities redefined the city section as an instrument of governance. Beneath the promise of efficiency and progress, the underground absorbed the anxieties of an era of war, surveillance, and collapse. Its evolution reveals not only how societies build, but also how they fear.
Today, the ground has become the new frontier of urban expansion and ecological adaptation. As digital infrastructures, energy systems, and climatic buffers migrate below grade, architecture confronts a space both technical and metaphysical — essential yet marginal, invisible yet decisive. To think in sections rather than in plan is to recognise that contemporary cities no longer exist solely in their skylines but also in their depths. The challenge for architecture is not only to occupy that space, but to render it legible, to turn the unseen into knowledge, and the hidden into a new terrain of design.
Malabo served as the capital city of Equatorial Guinea from the country's independence from Spain on October 12, 1968, until January 2, 2026, when a decree issued by President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo officially transferred the capital to Ciudad de la Paz ("City of Peace"), located in Djibloho Province. Obiang formalized the move as part of a long-planned territorial reorganization. While the former capital remains an important economic center on Bioko Island, Ciudad de la Paz was conceived as a planned capital on Africa's mainland. The initiative to relocate the capital dates back to 2008, with construction beginning in 2011. The new capital, also referred to as Djibloho, after the province, or Oyala, has been framed by the government as a decentralization effort aimed at improving national accessibility.
Every year brings new ideas, projects, and shifts in architectural culture, but it also marks the loss of voices that have shaped the discipline across decades. Architecture moves forward, but it also advances through absence. When figures who helped articulate its language and its ambitions disappear, they leave behind more than completed works or influential texts. Their absence becomes a threshold, a moment in which the discipline pauses to understand what remains, what evolves, and what continues to guide us. These moments of loss remind us that architecture is a long, collective construction, carried not only by those shaping the present but also by those whose visions continue to orient how we think about cities and landscapes.
The architects and thinkers we lost in 2025 came from remarkably different worlds, yet the questions that shaped their work often intersected. Some approached the city through identity, symbolism, and historical continuity, seeking to ground the built environment in cultural memory. Others interpreted it through engineering precision, ecological systems, or radical experimentation, expanding what architecture could be and how it could be experienced. Their work spans contexts as diverse as postwar Britain, rapidly urbanizing China, Central European avant-gardes, and the evolving cultural institutions of Berlin and New York. Together, they form a spectrum of responses that defined, and continue to define, architectural culture over the last half-century, revealing the multiplicity of ways in which architecture can engage with society, technology, and the environment.
Specificity has re-emerged as a central language in architectural discourse. In an increasingly globalized field, where projects often follow familiar models regardless of context, architects are now turning toward approaches rooted in the particularities of each site. This renewed attention to context reflects broader social, climatic, and political pressures: cities are facing extreme heat, ecological challenges, shifting demographics, and new forms of collective life that demand responses grounded in their immediate conditions.
Situated architecture describes this shift. It refers to design approaches in which form, program, and materiality emerge from the specific environment that produces them: its microclimates, cultural structures, and everyday rituals. Rather than beginning with universal templates, these practices start with observation, prototyping, and direct engagement with local dynamics. This logic is visible in the climatic and material experiments of TAKK in Spain, such as Portable Garden and 10k House, which operate as lightweight prototypes tuned to thermal and ecological gradients; in Studio Ossidiana's Art Pavilion M, shaped by layered soils and ecological cycles in the Netherlands; in Izaskun Chinchilla's reinterpretations of vernacular objects and her later experiments with 100 Sillas and 3 Salones Urbanos; in the narrative-driven domestic spaces explored by Common Accounts; and in Raumlabor's urban interventions that respond directly to the specificities of post-industrial Berlin.
The future of cities has long been defined by intelligence: networks of sensors, data, and engineered systems. From traffic-flow algorithms to climate dashboards, the smart city promised to make urban life optimized, measurable, and predictable. Yet amid this technological abundance, something essential feels absent: sensitivity. Cities are becoming increasingly equipped to process information but less able to perceive atmosphere, emotion, or care.
As recent global debates on urban innovation reveal, the next challenge is not about adding more devices but cultivating new forms of awareness. A sensitive city listens to its climate, adapts to its inhabitants, and responds to the subtle rhythms of the environment. In this shift from computation to perception, architecture and urban design are rediscovering intelligence as a form of empathy.
Architecture has entered a pivotal moment. As cities continue to grow under the weight of climatic and social pressures, the materials and systems that shape them are being redefined. Artificial intelligence and robotics, once used to accelerate construction processes, are now being rethought as tools for cultivation. Printed structures that grow, breathe, and decay. Cultivation, in this context, refers to designing with biological materials, where growth and decay are active parameters, merging digital precision with ecological intelligence. This evolution shows the shift from efficiency to empathy, where architecture becomes an agent of active repair. The introduction of mycelium and other natural materials into 3D printing presents a new paradigm in architecture: the logic of the living. A place where computation and fabrication meet biological adaptability.
AI and robotics, once associated with industrial efficiency, are now opening new ways of designing. Early examples, such as ICON's 3D-printed housing prototypes, focused on speed and automation but offered little response to their surroundings. Newer projects, such as the MycoMuseum at the 2025 Venice Architecture Biennale, reinterpret these tools through a biological lens. Instead of shaping concrete, they cultivate living materials, marking a shift from pure optimization toward regeneration.
For over a century and a half, corporations have periodically taken on the role of city builders. Neighborhoods or even entire settlements that exist at the intersection of commerce and civic life, "company towns" are recurring urban types. The corporate city has long reshaped itself to match the spirit of each era, whether through the pastoral idealism of industrial England or the cinematic optimism of mid-century America. In its latest guise, the mixed-income campus district, architecture becomes a language of belonging, branding, and quiet persuasion.
Urban policymakers and developers increasingly brand projects as temporary, piloting pop-up parks, art installations, and interim structures across global cities. Initiatives are often framed as experimental interventions that activate vacant sites. In practice, however, they frequently serve as provisional strategies to manage underutilized land until more profitable forms of development materialize. The temporary label functions as urban camouflage, obscuring permanent agendas behind provisional rhetoric.
An architecture degree may provide a vast curriculum, but many of the skills needed for a project lie outside the discipline. This is especially true for urban-scale projects. They demand expertise in areas like traffic studies, structural calculations, landscape design, and technical installation forecasting. These are often seen as "complementary" but are, in fact, fundamental to the overall design.
In a country like Portugal, with a relatively small but geographically diverse territory, the challenge of connecting different parts of the territory – whether to cross a river or link one level of a city to another – is a constant one. Its largest metropolitan areas, such as Lisbon and Porto, share a rugged geography of steep valleys and hills. These features led to the development of elevators and funiculars, like the Santa Justa Lift and the Bica Funicular in Lisbon, and the Guindais Funicular in Porto. Today, besides improving urban mobility, they have become tourist landmarks.
Houhai Hybrid Campus design. Render. Image Courtesy of Büro Ole Scheeren
The international firm Büro Ole Scheeren has unveiled images of the Houhai Hybrid Campus, a new urban complex in Shenzhen's Houhai district. The development is situated in a strategic area within the original Shenzhen Special Economic Zone (SEZ), bridging the city's commercial center and its bayfront. The release of the Hybrid Campus images coincided with the 45th anniversary of Shenzhen's designation as a Special Economic Zone, a milestone marking the city's transformation from a fishing village into a global innovation hub. Currently under construction, the Hybrid Campus integrates work, living, culture, commerce, leisure, recreation, and nature into a unified urban complex, scheduled to open in late 2026.
The Ministry of Spatial Planning, Urbanism and State Property of Montenegro has announced the results of the international competition for the new Museum District and Park of Arts & Culture in Podgorica. The winning proposal, led by Milan- and London-based practice a-fact architecture factory in collaboration with LAND, Maffeis Engineering, and Charcoalblue, was selected from 48 entries by an international jury. The project envisions a new cultural district consolidating three institutions, the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Natural History Museum, and the House of Architecture, within a landscape that reconnects the city to the Morača River.
BIG, artist Doug Aitken Workshop, NIRAS, Volcano, and RWDI have won a competition to redesign three public spaces surrounding major music venues in Ørestad, Copenhagen. The initiative, titled Byens Scene ("The City's Stage"), aims to revitalize the areas around DR Koncerthuset, Bella Arena, and Royal Arena, transforming them into an interconnected landscape for everyday use and public performances.
The Sharjah Architecture Triennial has announced the theme for its upcoming edition: Architecture Otherwise: Building Civic Infrastructure for Collective Futures. Scheduled for November 2026, the event will unfold across the city and the Emirate of Sharjah, UAE, through site-specific installations, exhibitions, performances, workshops, and public programs. Positioned as a platform for architectural and urban exploration across West Asia, South Asia, and the African continent, the Triennial will combine practical and theoretical approaches to contemporary urban life. Conceived by its curators, Vyjayanthi Rao and Tau Tavengwa, SAT03 aims to explore how architecture can shape collective life in regions undergoing rapid urban transformation. Consequently, selected participants will take part in month-long residencies, embedding their work within the social and cultural fabric of Sharjah.
