There is a standard way of telling the history of architecture and food. It begins with the human decision to cultivate, to store, to distribute, to consume, and ends with the building that decision produced. In this version of events, food is the occasion and architecture is the response.
But what if the story runs differently? What if the tomato built Almería? What if the cod redesigned the North Atlantic? What if the soybean is, at this moment, constructing a port in Santos and demolishing a forest in the Cerrado simultaneously, and the architect has simply not been told? These are descriptions of processes already complete, or well underway, that have produced some of the most spatially consequential contemporary landscapes. Much of the built environment is shaped by the pressures, metabolisms, and territorial ambitions of what we eat. Architecture, in this, is often less a project than a consequence, and the discipline has been telling its own story from the wrong end.
Few commissions allow architects to focus on non-human users, and fewer still involve horses. While domestic pets like cats and dogs are common muses, the particular needs of horses present a unique challenge when designing stables. Since the horses, who are the stable's primary inhabitants, cannot articulate their needs, design relies on the rigorous requirements dictated by human caretakers, requiring a balance between streamlined human operations and maximized horse comfort and safety. Architects often seem to address this through three core principles: Equine Comfort & Well-being, Contextual Materiality, and Operational Efficiency. Thus, the resulting layouts are characterized by rigorous zoning that clearly separates the programs into residential (stalls), service (tack, storage, wash, feed), and training spaces (arenas, walkers). The designs also address visual well-being: Horses are social animals, so they strategically position stables to promote sightlines between animals and to the exterior, often employing louvered or open-frame systems. Furthermore, lighting is kept diffuse using materials such as translucent panels to prevent sharp, stress-inducing shadows in arenas. Similarly, circulation paths are designed for the safe, efficient movement of both people and animals.
Tourism in Portugal began to develop in the late 1950s, initially centered on key destinations such as the Algarve coast, Lisbon, and the religious hub of Fátima. This focus made tourism largely a coastal activity. However, rapid growth and overburdened infrastructure in these areas led to saturation and a crisis in the sector. To address this, efforts were made to promote alternative destinations, appealing to a new wave of tourists looking for more sustainable, authentic, and locally immersive experiences.
Cobe has revealed the design for Museum Wegner in Tønder, Denmark, a new cultural institution dedicated to the life and work of renowned Danish designer Hans J. Wegner. The museum will be located at Hestholm, a historicfarm dating back to 1445, and will combine the adaptive reuse of existing structures with a contemporaryextension. Selected as the project architect in February 2024 following a competitive interview process, Cobe is now moving the design toward realization with strong local and national support.
The architect's role has traditionally been relatively well-defined: design a building, direct the project, coordinate logistics, and guide construction through to completion. As specialised fields have proliferated, together with a rapidly changing social economy, the practice of architecture has diversified, opening multiple paths for how architects can contribute to society.
Since the 1980s, one of the most consistent shifts may have been the separation between the "design architect" and the "architect of record." Where a single office once carried a project from concept to completion, internationalisation—alongside cross-border work, licensure regimes, procurement models, and liability structures—has encouraged a split. Design teams increasingly set the conceptual and schematic direction, then hand over the design development to local record architects for technical detailing, approvals, and site execution. The model has clear advantages—sharper expertise, efficiency, and often profitability (or services offered at reduced fees)—but it also segments the profession and can distance authorship from delivery.
What, then, might the next shift be, and what new synergies could redefine the architect's role? How should architects adapt to the changing professional climate? One promising trajectory is a turn from singular, permanent objects toward ongoing placemaking—iterative, context-specific programmes that prototype, test, and refine spatial ideas in public. Rather than producing one large, iconic work that fixes a site for decades, this model privileges cycles of making, use, evaluation, and adjustment at the community scale.
The farm-to-table movement represents a profound shift in how food is grown, distributed, and consumed. Rooted in sustainability and the support of local economies, it prioritizes fresh, locally sourced ingredients and fosters direct relationships between producers and consumers. While the concept focuses on food, the spaces where these connections occur are equally important in shaping the experience, highlighting the critical role of architecture.
