Articles by Diogo Borges Ferreira

Stretching along the Atlantic coast at the southern tip of Florida, Miami is often introduced through postcard views of beaches, palm trees, and glass towers facing the water. Yet, behind this familiar image lies a city shaped by migration, tourism, and real estate cycles, where architecture has repeatedly been used to project new identities and reinvent the urban landscape. From early resort hotels and the Art Deco façades of South Beach to experimental high-rises and cultural institutions on the bay, the built environment offers a way to read how Miami negotiates climate, economy, and everyday life.

In a world facing ecological exhaustion and spatial saturation, the act of building has come to represent both creation and consumption. For decades, architectural progress was measured by the new: new materials, new technologies, new monuments of ambition. Yet today, the discipline is increasingly shaped by another form of intelligence, one that values what already exists. Architects are learning that doing less can mean designing more, and this shift marks the emergence of what might be called an architecture of restraint: a practice defined by care, maintenance, and the deliberate choice not to build.

Amid the orderly grid of the Giardini della Biennale, the Swiss Pavilion appears almost reticent. Its low white volumes, completed in 1952 by Bruno Giacometti, seem to withdraw from the surrounding display of national pride. The building embodies a form of modernism that resists monumentality, where precision and restraint replace spectacle, and architecture becomes less an object than a framework for encounter.

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.

Women have played a pivotal role in the evolution of landscape architecture, overcoming the constraints of a male-dominated profession to introduce groundbreaking ideas and fresh perspectives. From early pioneers to contemporary leaders, their work has reshaped how we interact with public and private spaces, intertwining aesthetics, functionality, and sustainability in innovative ways.

Architectural grafting, a concept recently popularized by Jeanne Gang in The Art of Architectural Grafting, presents a transformative approach to urban regeneration and sustainability. Drawing inspiration from botanical and horticultural practices — where new growth is added to existing plants for enhanced resilience — this architectural method integrates new structures with existing ones, allowing them to coexist and adapt. Rather than pursuing demolition, grafting prioritizes adaptation, extending the life of buildings while safeguarding their cultural and historical significance.

At the turn of the millennium, the world was gripped by the looming threat of the Y2K bug, a potential failure of computerized systems that could disrupt everything from banking to aviation. As midnight approached on December 31, 1999, people withdrew their savings, major corporations issued warnings, and governments scrambled to prevent public hysteria. But as the sun rose on January 1, 2000, the feared bug had no material impact, and the crisis faded as quickly as it had emerged. However, this era left its mark in unexpected places — particularly in architecture. Amid the anxiety surrounding digital technology, one of the most iconic concert halls of our time, Casa da Música in Porto, was born. Designed by OMA (Office for Metropolitan Architecture), its origins can be traced to a much smaller project: the Y2K House. What began as an exploration of private domesticity during the digital scare evolved into a grand public structure — an architectural transition from home to a performance hall.

For centuries, models have been central to architectural design, providing architects with a tangible way to explore ideas, test concepts, and communicate their vision. From the Renaissance to Modernism, models have been instrumental in the construction and reflection processes, offering insights into form, proportion, and spatial relationships. However, in today’s digital age, where 3D models and Virtual Reality (VR) have become powerful and efficient tools, the question arises: Are physical models still relevant in contemporary architecture?

Valencia, one of Spain’s most vibrant cities, boasts a rich architectural history that mirrors its cultural and historical evolution. Founded by the Romans in 138 BC, the city has been shaped by successive waves of influence, from the Visigoths and Moors to the Christian reconquest in the 13th century. Each period left a distinct architectural imprint, giving Valencia a unique blend of Gothic, Baroque, and Renaissance structures alongside modern interventions. Among the city’s most prominent historic landmarks is the La Longa de la Seda, a UNESCO World Heritage site, which exemplifies late Gothic civic architecture, alongside the majestic Valencia Cathedral, where Romanesque, Gothic, and Baroque elements intertwine, illustrating the city’s layered past.

Architecture has long been understood as a powerful tool for shaping the physical environment and social dynamics within it. However, its potential to foster social equity is often overlooked. Empathy-driven design invites architects to approach their work not only as creators of space but as facilitators of human connection and community well-being. This approach centers on understanding people’s lived experiences, struggles, and aspirations — particularly marginalized communities — and responding to their needs through thoughtful, inclusive architecture. It goes beyond aesthetics and functionality, instead focusing on creating spaces fostering dignity, accessibility, and social equity. By prioritizing empathy, architects can design environments that uplift communities, address disparities, and create inclusive spaces that promote positive societal change in a tangible, human-centered way.