Mishing traditional bamboo house, Majuli . Photo by Rumi Borah. License Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
Across India's varied geographies, from coastal backwaters to desert fortress cities, architecture evolved with a deep, instinctive connection to climate. These were not isolated craft traditions but complete ecological systems in which material cycles, thermal comfort, and community knowledge were interdependent. As COP30 turns global attention toward the links between heritage and climate resilience, India's vernacular practices appear less as historical artifacts and more as climate technologies refined over centuries.
For monuments worthy of sustained admiration, conservation practices have been selectively mobilized to reinforce their prestige and secure their place at the center of heritage narratives. Structures whose vernacular ought to be passed down miss the discerning eye of the experts. Rowhouses, shopfronts, and neighborhood structures that form the fabric of our cities are often left to deteriorate beyond repair. Much more is lost, apart from aesthetics.
In the low-lying deltas of Bangladesh, water defines both life and loss. Every year, millions are forced to rebuild after floods wash away their homes, crops, and livelihoods. In these precarious territories, the act of building has become an act of resilience. It is here that Khudi Bari emerges as a modest yet radical proposal. Designed by Marina Tabassum Architects, the project provides a lightweight, modular, and affordable dwelling for communities displaced by climate change. Recognized as one of the winners of the 2025 Aga Khan Award for Architecture, it represents a form of architecture that empowers rather than imposes.
Vernacular architecture is often referred to as harboring lessons for creating low-energy buildings and the fight against climate change. Yet, as weather patterns are changing, there are cases where traditional building techniques are themselves becoming at risk. As well as changes in temperature, different regions have faced becoming wetter or drier, experiencing increased risk of droughts, flooding, storms, and changes to local flora. The painted houses of Tiébélé in Burkina Faso, recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, are one example.
This week's architectural developments highlighted how design operates as a form of social and culturalinfrastructure, linking care, community, and context across scales. From London's reinterpretation of the almshouse model to the transformation of urban gateways in Phnom Penh and Tirana, architecture reflected a shared interest in spaces that foster connection and adaptability. Parallel to these urban and infrastructural works, new cultural projects in Paris and Hanoi explored how museums and performance spaces can renew public institutions through material experimentation and spatial flexibility.
Foster + Partners has completed the Techo International Airport in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, marking a new chapter in the nation's vision for sustainable growth and improved regional connectivity. Situated 20 kilometers south of the city center, the airport's terminal building spans 235,500 square meters and forms the centerpiece of a 24-square-kilometer master plan. Drawing inspiration from Cambodia's vernacular architecture and tropical landscape, the design integrates cultural references and environmental responsiveness to create a contemporary yet contextually rooted gateway for internationaltravel. The first phase, including the head house and northern pier, opened to the public in 2025, while the southern pier is scheduled for completion by 2030.
Today, on the first Monday of October, we celebrate World Architecture Day. This year, the International Union of Architects (UIA) has set the theme "Design for Strength," a powerful call to action that resonates deeply with the UN's focus on urban crisis response. In a world facing unprecedented environmental and social disruptions, this theme challenges us to move beyond temporary fixes. It asks: How can our buildings and cities not only withstand shocks but also foster equity, continuity, and resilience?
While the concept of strength in architecture can easily evoke images of reinforced concrete and steel, a more profound interpretation is emerging, one that defines strength not as mere rigidity, but as a holistic capacity to endure and adapt. This includes many facets, from ecological resilience and stewardship to long-lasting concepts of social resilience or the long-lasting conservation of existing urban structures, all contributing to a built environment more able to respond to the multitude of crises faced by cities worldwide.
The Ukrainian pavilion at the 19th International Architecture Exhibition – La Biennale di Venezia explores the intersection of traditional building methods and improvised construction during wartime crises. Under the title "DAKH (ДАХ): Vernacular Hardcore", the exhibition refers to the concept of the roof ("dakh" in Ukrainian) as a primary shelter in architecture, examining the roofs of an "architecture without architects" both in the country's constructive tradition and in the contemporary reality of aerial vigilance over its national territory. Curated by Bögdana Kosmina, Michał Murawski, and Kateryna Rusetska, the Ukrainian display consists of a six-element exhibition at the Arsenale's Sale d'Armi and an accompanying nomadic program titled Planetary Hardcore.
While Hong Kong is widely celebrated for its iconic harbor view, glittering skyline, and fast-paced urban lifestyle, its origins tell a different story—one deeply rooted in its relationship with water. Before transforming into a dense, vertical metropolis, Hong Kong's architectural identity was closely tied to its maritime context. Today, the city is often associated with slender, glass-clad towers that symbolize modernity. While visually striking in their pursuit of height and form, many of these buildings appear disconnected from their immediate environment, often overlooking natural site conditions, ecological responsiveness, and contextual sensitivity.
Historically, however, this was not the case. Hong Kong's earliest built environments—rural fishing villages in areas like Tai O, Aberdeen, and Shau Kei Wan—emerged through organic, community-driven spatial practices that engaged closely with their surroundings. These coastal and riverside settlements developed architectural systems tailored to the marine environment and to the rhythms of fishing life. Villages were sited around water, and construction strategies were adapted to fluctuating tides, terrain, and social use.
At a time of ecological collapse and rising food insecurity, architecture is increasingly called upon to engage not only with landscapes but with the systems that sustain and regenerate them. Among these systems, agriculture occupies a paradoxical role, as both a leading contributor to environmental degradation and a potential agent of ecological recovery. Industrial farming has depleted soils, fragmented habitats, and driven climate change through monocultures, fossil-fuel dependency, and territorial standardization. In response, agroecology has emerged as a counter-practice rooted in biodiversity, local knowledge, and the cyclical rhythms of nature. It reframes farming not as extraction, but as regeneration of ecosystems, communities, and the soil itself.
This reframing opens space for architecture to contribute meaningfully. To align with agroecology is not only to support food production, but to engage with the broader cultural, spatial, and ecological conditions that sustain it. It implies designing with seasonal variation, supporting shared use, and building in ways that respect both the land and those who work it. Architecture becomes more than enclosure — it becomes a mediator of cultivation, reciprocity, and coexistence.
As climate uncertainty and ecosystem changes reshape design priorities, architecture plays an increasingly active role in these discussions, rather than merely observing. Within this perspective, the idea of making a "re" encourages a conscious step back to rethink, reconnect, and realign the relationship between buildings and their environments. This approach, central to regenerative architecture, extends beyond specific technologies or scales, encompassing everything from master plans that aim to re-naturalize cities to national pavilions that combine art and science.
What is the way forward? On the one hand, many current discussions emphasize technology; on the other, there are approaches that, rather than being in opposition, complement one another and broaden the range of possibilities, drawing on tradition, ancestral knowledge, and a profound understanding of the environment. Among these perspectives, the work of Rudolf Steiner and the anthroposophical movement, developed in the early 20th century, offers a vision and insights that connect architecture with ecological rhythms, materials, and community life.
Vernacular architecture often utilizes locally sourced materials and construction practices honed over centuries. This approach raises questions about its potential relevance for contemporary design challenges. The prevalence of high-rise developments globally, often relying on sealed envelopes and mechanical climate control, contrasts with historical architectural practices. Traditionally, regional architectures emerged from local communities, fostering distinct cultural identities and integrating passive systems for ventilation, cooling, and heating, often utilizing natural elements. The Hanok, traditional Korean houses, serve as a case study. Beyond their current role in tourism, they are also an example of how vernacular knowledge can provide passive climate-response strategies that align with the current principles of creating environmentally friendly buildings.
The Kingdom of Morocco's exhibition at the 19th International Architecture Exhibition – La Biennale di Venezia highlights Moroccan earth architecture and traditional construction techniques. The exhibition, titled Materiae Palimpsest, was curated by architects Khalil Morad El Ghilali and El Mehdi Belyasmine. In an exploration that blends ancient techniques with digital technologies, the exhibit features textile works by architect and artist Soumyia Jalal, along with holograms of artisans and tactile installations. The narrative presents earth as a renewable resource and sustainable material, and earth construction as a key to both preserving architectural heritage and addressing contemporary ecological and social challenges. Materiae Palimpsest offers an invitation to rethink architecture's current relationship with building materials, opening the way to locally rooted construction methods.
At the Bruder Klaus Field Chapel, designed by Peter Zumthor, the construction process involved the direct participation of residents from the small Swiss village of Mechernich. Using an internal formwork made of vertically placed wooden logs, concrete was prepared in small batches and poured manually, day after day, forming layers marked by subtle variations in the mix and application. At the end of the process, the wooden structure was reduced to ashes, leaving the chapel's interior impregnated with traces of fire and revealing a dark, tactile surface. The result was a quiet and deeply meaningful space, where collective action, time, and material transformation became part of the architecture. Centered on locally available resources and manual techniques, this construction method highlights how the choice of materials and building system can shape the experience of a space, reveal the time invested, and embed the culture of a place into the very matter of architecture. In doing so, it offers an example of how construction itself can become a regenerative act, restoring meaning, connecting communities, and honoring material cycles.
One notable example is Tai Hang, among the earlier settlements established by the Hakka people in Hong Kong. Originally located along a water channel that flowed from the nearby mountains to the sea, the area was once a vital washing site for villagers—hence its name, which literally means "Big Drainage." Before extensive land reclamation, Tai Hang sat quite close to the shoreline. Today, it lies nearly 700 meters inland.
Henning Larsen, in collaboration with Kampala-based Siimi Design Studio, has revealed the design for a new modular campus for El Cambio Academy, a youth football and education institution located in Masaka, Uganda. The project is being developed using rammed earth construction, with bricks produced on site from locally excavated soil. Currently under construction, the first phase includes a boys' dormitory and is expected to be completed by summer 2025. The 1,280-square-meter campus is designed to accommodate 60 children between the ages of 9 and 16, providing facilities for both academic education and athletic training.
