What if the best kind of play isn't the safest? For decades, cities have built playgrounds to be clean, colorful, and easy to supervise. Yet these spaces—designed more for adult peace of mind than for children's curiosity—often strip away what makes play truly transformative: risk, unpredictability, and self-direction. Rising safety standards, shrinking public space, and the commercialization of play equipment have only further narrowed the possibilities for children's independent exploration. From a junkyard in 1940s Copenhagen to the concrete landscapes of postwar Amsterdam, a handful of architects, planners, and activists have challenged the idea that play must be neat and controlled. Their unconventional playgrounds—made of loose parts, raw materials, and abstract forms—gave children the freedom to build, demolish, explore, and get dirty.
The Mid-Century Modernist movement was more than an aesthetic or material shift in the United States, as it was a response to a rapidly changing world. Emerging after World War II, this architectural revolution rejected ornate, traditional styles of the past in favor of clean lines, functional design, and incorporation of flashy materials like steel, glass, and concrete. Modernism was a break from tradition, focusing instead on simplicity, efficiency, and a vision for the future. It reflected the optimism of a nation rebuilding itself, where technology and innovation shaped everything from cityscapes to suburban homes.
Architecture is quintessentially a place-based practice. The amount of local knowledge required to design a building has meant that architects, even many of those with widely spread works, have had concentrations of built projects in individual cities. Giovanni "Gio" Ponti, born and raised in the Italian city of Milan, is one such architect. His projects outside Milan include the Denver Art Museum in the USA and the Villa Planchart in Caracas, Venezuela, as well as university buildings in Padua and Rome, and Taranto Cathedral. However, his works in his native city, such as the Pirelli Tower, best track the development of his architecture and his contribution to product design and publishing.
Through the post-war 20th century, the Global South saw much influence from foreign architects, often invited by local governments to bring their expertise and visionary thinking. Sought as a symbol of modernity, buildings designed by "starchitects" elevated the image of nations. Decades later, as local industries advance in capabilities, the desire for foreign talent continues to exist. Is this a natural result of globalization or is the continued presence of international architects in the Global South a persistent dependency?
Modernism in architecture emerged at the beginning of the twentieth century, fueled by advancements in science and engineering and a deliberate departure from historical styles. It championed a focus on social equity, urban development, efficiency, and functional design, marking a significant shift in architectural philosophy. Originating primarily in Europe and the United States, modernism captivated the global imagination with its innovative redefinition of space and architecture. Its spread to Asia was facilitated by cross-cultural exchanges—East Asian architects who studied under prominent modernists and European architects working in East Asia through international collaborations or colonial-era influences.
Upper Lawn's thoughtful interplay between the new and the existing is particularly compelling. Built on the remains of an 18th-century English farmhouse, the pavilion repurposes thick masonry walls from the original structure, incorporating elements such as the well, trees, and lawn into its design. Using prefabricated materials like timber, glass, and aluminum, the Smithsons constructed a light-filled space that harmonizes with its surroundings, embodying their principle of "as found architecture" — a concept rooted in honoring and adapting to preexisting conditions rather than imposing on them.
Kenzo Tange's 1960 Tokyo Bay Plan reflected the zeitgeist of a society enamored by rapid technological advancement and post-war optimism. Buckminster Fuller's 1959 dome concept over Manhattan was developed on a belief in humanity's ability to shape its environment on an unprecedented scale. All throughout the mid-20th century, utopian urban planning ideas sprouted in various parts of the world, driven by a unique combination of societal factors and psychological motivations.
While these visions were often marked by hope and ambition, they also reflected the broader economic growth and technological innovation of the time—factors that contributed to the bold fantasies of architects and urban designers eager to transform the urban landscape. Many saw an opportunity to redesign cities from the ground up, often bypassing the complexities of existing urban fabrics in favor of futuristic ideals. However, while these visions provoked forward-thinking practices, they often surprised the public and seemed distant or unattainable. How might these concepts have evolved if shaped by today's participatory planning, which prioritizes public engagement and community input?
On January 21, 1958, three women sat down as contestants for an episode of the popular television show "To Tell the Truth", a quiz game in which a panel tries to guess which of the three contestants is who they say they are by asking them a series of questions. The announcer reveals the true identity of the person is a registered architect, has so far designed a Hilton hotel, and is a married mother of four. Each of the women, dressed formally in pencil skirts and blouses, introduces themselves as Natalie De Blois. As the panelists reveal their lack of knowledge about architecture, only firing off questions about Frank Lloyd Wright, one asks "What is the name of the building that was torn down to build Union Carbide?" The real Natalie De Blois, at the time a senior designer at SOM, firmly answers, "Hotel Margery."
Architecture is one of the oldest recorded professions, dating back to ancient eras when builders designed historic huts and constructed some of the great wonders of the world. When we think about women who have been known as trailblazers of the industry, it's astonishing that we often talk about women who we may interact with in the workplace day to day, or who our mentors may have learned from. Natalie De Blois was a modern-day pioneer of women in the design workforce, and although her legacy began only seventy years ago, it has significantly changed the way that women can participate in the profession today.
The almost cliché image of the white picket fence has become synonymous with the ideals of the American Dream. Behind the fence, there is invariably a perfectly manicured lawn, a green carpet upon which life can unfold. This image and its associations are not, however, accidental. In her book, "Domesticity at War", Beatriz Colomina notices that, since the Second World War, the lawn has taken a central space in the imagination of the country, becoming first a in order to make space for diversity, both social and ecological. symbol of the stability of the homes soldiers were hoping to return to, offering a space where those at home could still perform duties for the nation, and, after the war, propagating the image of an idealized lifestyle, one maintained with hard work and dedication. In recent years, the lawn has emerged once again as a site of conflict, this time between those hoping to preserve this idealized image, and those seeking to break the uniformity in order to make space for diversity, both social and ecological.
Modernistlandscape architecture marked a radical shift from traditional garden designs, emphasizing simplicity, functionality, and a stronger connection between people and their environments. From the 1930s through the 1960s, this movement saw the emergence of visionary landscape architects who integrated form and function in ways that redefined outdoor spaces. Their designs responded to the rapidly evolving urban landscapes of the time, prioritizing usability and creating environments that could accommodate modern life. The enduring influence of these principles continues to shape contemporary practices, while also presenting unique challenges in preservation as these landscapes age.
Dating from the1940s, the air raid shelter in Hamburg’s St. Pauli district has been reimagined as a „green mountain,” with expansive gardens covering the top of the wartime structure. Known as the Hochbunker, translated as ‘high bunker,’ the location has undergone a substantial restoration and refurbishment process introducing restaurants, event spaces, and a hotel, together with a rooftop urban park. The bunker has opened to the public on July 5, 2025, with the purpose of reconnecting the community with the iconic structure and its complex history.
Restoration of Stirling Building | University of Cambridge. Image Courtesy of BDP
The University of Cambridge, in collaboration with BDP, has just unveiled plans to restore and rejuvenate the Grade II* listed History Faculty Building designed by James Stirling. This structure, home to the Seeley Library, is one of the renowned “Red Trilogy” buildings from the 1960s. Initially intended to showcase the significant library and “the act of reading,” the project is internationally celebrated as a landmark from the post-war architecture era. The revitalization project aims to enhance learning and working environments at the University’s Sidgwick site.
Powerhouse Company has revealed the design for the largest timber-built affordable housing complex in the Netherlands. “Valckensteyn” is a circular design featuring a 12-story timber structure and 82 homes. Situated within Pendrecht, a post-war neighborhood in Rotterdam, it sits on the site of a residential flat bearing the same name, demolished a decade ago. The timber structure seeks to be circular and sustainable in its design, creating a nature-inclusive environment that is accessible to all.
The design by heneghan peng architects, Dublin, with Ralph Appelbaum Associates, Berlin, was awarded 1st prize in the international competition for the replanning and expansion of the Old Tower of the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church. The competition’s purpose was to redesign the original West Tower, which was partially destroyed during a bombing by the Allied Forces in 1943, and return it to the tourist circuit as a war memorial and exhibition space.
Local governor Toyohito Ikeda of Takamatsu, in Japan, announced that the famous Kagawa Gymnasium will be demolished. Built between 1961 and 1964 by the Pritzker Prize winnerKenzo Tange, the structure is a landmark of the modernist post-war era in Japan. This news has sparked the creation of a petition in an effort to save this 47-year-old monument.
Today’s cities have been substantially reshaped to correspond with environmental and social needs or to reconstruct themselves after natural disasters or war. Whereas master plans and regulations take years, millions of people remain trapped in the crossfire and urgently need aid in their cities. With this pressing issue in mind, WZMH Architects developed a prefabricated- modular system for salvaging thousands of structures across Ukraine that have been partially or fully destroyed during the war. This system aims to integrate building technology into new buildings to create more sustainable communities.
Exterior view of l’Eau Vive hospital, Soisy-sur-Seine, France, 1960s. Image Courtesy of Archives of Nicole Sonolet, collection of Christine de Bremond d’Ars
What would it mean to design buildings that exceed the economic accountings of liberal biopolitics, that instead offer an entirely different rationale for supporting health? In the years that Michel Foucault conceptualized the term biopolitics, he was part of a constellation of researchers and architects who developed care praxes that defined the value of life and its maintenance through a desire-based calculus. The welfare state institutions of architect Nicole Sonolet in particular—mental hospitals, public housing complexes, and new village typologies built mainly in postwar France and postcolonialAlgeria from the 1950s to the 1980s—were designed not only to support but to center the needs of people often excluded from design processes. Sonolet’s mental health centers for residents of Paris’s 13th arrondissement, in particular, were key projects for discovering a design practice tied to the provision of care for its own sake.
