Living Room Collective uses live cyanobacteria within 3D printed biostructures to capture carbon dioxide from air in the Canada Pavilion at the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025. Named Picoplanktonics, the exhibition commissioned by The Canada Council for the Arts is on view from May 10th to November 26th, 2025. designboom speaks with Living Room Collective’s lead and biodesigner Andrea Shin Ling about the project. In our interview, she says that architecture often uses the term ‘regenerative design’ when referring to circular or upcycled material systems. ‘In Picoplanktonics, we are talking about the biological definition of regeneration, which means the literal ability to regenerate or renew from damaged or dead parts,’ she tells designboom.

The research team has merged two ancient metabolic processes for Picoplanktonics: photosynthesis and biocementation. For the former, they turn to cyanobacteria, one of the oldest groups of bacterial organisms on the planet. ‘Cyanobacteria are among the first photosynthetic organisms and are believed to be responsible for the Great Oxygenation Event, where 2.4 billion years ago, the atmosphere transformed from a high CO2 environment to a high O2 environment because of photosynthesis,’ Andrea Shin Ling explains. They can also produce biocementation, or the process of capturing carbon dioxide from air and turning it into solid minerals, like carbonates. Because of this, the resulting minerals act like ‘cement’ and can store the carbon permanently, keeping it out of the atmosphere.

all images courtesy of The Living Room Collective | photos by Valentina Mori, unless stated otherwise

Infusing the bacteria during the printing stage

Before bringing them to Venice, Andrea Shin Ling and the Living Room Collective fabricated the 3D printed biostructures at ETH Zürich’s laboratory. The biodesigner shares with us that when they make these structures, they already infuse the living cyanobacteria during the printing stage instead of later on. Then, they need to let the bacteria grow and take care of them so they can grow. This means they have to provide enough light, warmth, and humidity so that they can proliferate and slowly harden the prints.

‘The idea is that the bacteria cooperate in a human-initiated fabrication process and, with our care, can continue and finish that process (in this case, hardening the printed structures they live in),’ says Andrea Shin Ling. She adds that for the 3D printed biostructure with live cyanobacteria in Venice, favorable conditions mean warm sunlight, high humidity, and access to salt water. ‘These are conditions that are common in Venice and achievable in the Canada Pavilion, which informed our design process,’ the biodesigner explains to designboom.

Living Room Collective uses live cyanobacteria within 3D printed biostructures to capture carbon dioxide from air

Microorganisms that can repair themselves to a healthy state

In Picoplanktonics, the Living Room Collective works with bacteria as the living component of their material system. It has the ability to grow and die within the 3D printed biostructures, as shown in Venice, and the colony can restore itself under favorable conditions after periods of decline. Andrea Shin Ling says, however, that the process isn’t necessarily consistent since it depends on the environmental conditions at a particular point in time.

‘So, for instance, a bioprint might dry out if the air is too dry that week, and many of the bacteria die. But because the system is regenerative, the bacteria population has the potential to restore itself when favorable conditions return and then continue their carbon sequestration work,’ she shares with designboom.

these biostructures are inside the Canada Pavilion at the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025

During their research process, the group has also had samples where the bacteria have gotten ‘sick’, worn out, or where they looked like they were over-oxidized. With some care, the live cyanobacteria were able to repair themselves back to a healthy state. This is what Andrea Shin Ling means when she describes regenerative design. It looks more into the potential of biological material systems that are dynamic and restorative.

‘But their responsivity can also create situations that we don’t want. So much of the project is then trying to understand what is causing these situations and monitoring conditions so that we can respond accordingly,’ the biodesigner adds. Visitors to the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025 can see the research process and progress of Picoplanktonics firsthand inside the Canada Pavilion. It remains on-site from May 10th to November 26th, 2025.

the research group takes care of the bacteria throughout the exhibition to maintain their healthy state

the bacteria need warm sunlight, high humidity, and access to salt water to thrive

the research group already infuses the living cyanobacteria during the printing stage | image © designboom

the bacteria harden the printed structures they live in | image © designboom

the research team has used ancient metabolic processes for Picoplanktonics | image © designboom

the cyanobacteria can also produce biocementation, or the process of capturing carbon dioxide from air

Living Room Collective’s lead And biodesigner Andrea Shin Ling

the exhibition is on view until November 26th, 2025

project info:

name: Picoplanktonics | @picoplanktonics

group: The Living Room Collective

team: Andrea Shin Ling Nicholas Hoban, Vincent Hui, Clayton Lee

commission by: The Canada Council for the Arts | @canada.council

event: Venice Architecture Biennale 2025 | @labiennale

location: Calle Giazzo, 30122 Venice, Italy

dates: May 10th to November 26th, 2025

research and development: Andrea Shin Ling, Yo-Cheng Jerry Lee, Nijat Mahamaliyev, Hamid Peiro, Dalia Dranseike, Yifan Cui, Pok Yin Victor Leung, Barrak Darweesh

photography: Valentina Mori | @_valentinamori_

production

eth zurich: Huang Su, Wenqian Yang, Che-Wei Lin, Sukhdevsinh Parmar; Tobias Hartmann, Michael Lyrenmann, Luca Petrus, Jonathan Leu, Philippe Fleischmann, Oliver Zgraggen, Paul Fischlin, Mario Hebing, Franklin Füchslin; Hao Wu, Nicola Piccioli-Cappelli, Roberto Innocenti, Sigurd Rinde, Börte Emiroglu, Stéphane Bernhard, Carlo Pasini, Apoorv Singh, Paul Jaeggi; Mario Guala, Isabella Longoni;

toronto metropolitan university: Venessa Chan, Minh Ton, Daniel Wolinski, Marko Jovanovic, Santino D’Angelo Rozas, Rachel Kim, Alexandra Waxman, Richard McCulloch, Stephen Waldman, Tina Smith, Andrea Skyers, Randy Ragan, Emma Grant, Shira Gellman, Mariska Espinet, Suzanne Porter, Stacey Park, Amanda Wood, Lisa Landrum, Dorothy Johns, Cedric Ortiz

university of toronto: Daniel Lewycky, Philipp Cop

visualisation: Adrian Yu, Nazanin Kazemi, Ariel Weiss

structural advisors: Andrea Menardo, Kam-Ming Mark Tam

graphic design: Shannon Lin

website: Sigurd Rinde, Shannon Lin

local project logistics: Tamara Andruszkiewicz

project advisors: ETH Zurich, Benjamin Dillenburger, Mark Tibbitt

support: Canada Council, Digital Building Technologies, Institute of Technology & Architecture, D-ARCH, ETH Zurich, Department of Architectural Science, Toronto Metropolitan University, John H. Daniels Faculty of Architecture, Landscape and Design, University of Toronto, Royal Architectural Institute of Canada; Advanced Engineering with Living Materials (ALIVE) Initiative, ETH Zurich; Additive Tectonics GmbH; ABB Switzerland; Vestacon Limited and NEUF Architect(e)s

The post 3D printed biostructures with live bacteria capture carbon dioxide from air at venice biennale appeared first on designboom | architecture & design magazine.

MVRDV’s Winy Maas sits down with designboom to discuss the making of the kinetic Sombra Pavilion and the 3D printed Biotopia installation at the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025. Before the exhibition’s public opening on May 9th 2025, the Dutch architect, and the M of MVRDV together with Jacob van Rijs and Nathalie de Vries, explained the making and thinking behind the SOMBRA pavilion and the Biotopia installation. ‘It’s nice that the pavilion is not solar. In this case, it’s only the air pressure. What we use is our knowledge of the sun. We work a lot on shadow and light, and create and research complex solar programs. For Biotopia, I imagine a fully recyclable, biological world that combines all the properties we need: energy, oxygen, animals, shelter, light, flexibility, and changeability,’ the architect tells designboom during the interview.

One project uses physics to create shade without electricity, while the other imagines a future where buildings grow like living organisms. The SOMBRA pavilion – designed by a team led by MVRDV founding partner Jacob van Rijs – is at the European Cultural Centre’s Giardini Marinaressa, part of the Time Space Existence show. The Biotopia installation is at the Arsenale, part of the main exhibition curated by Carlo Ratti. Both of them are on view until November 2025. For the pavilion, built in collaboration with with Metadecor, Airshade, and Alumet, the structure turns reused beams into large arches, supported by metal ribs. This frame holds triangular panels fitted with perforated metal screens. The pavilion operates without electricity or motors. It relies on physics: when direct sunlight heats small air canisters located within the structure’s ribs, the air pressure inside increases. This pressure inflates small airbags attached to the panels. As an airbag inflates, it contracts, pulling its corresponding panel closed to create shade. When the sun moves and the canisters cool, the pressure decreases, and the panels reopen.

portrait of Winy Maas | image © designboom

Progress to building a biotopic world

Heading to the Arsenale of the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025, Winy Maas and his think tank The Why Factory collaborate with visual artist Federico Díaz to sculpt and present BIOTOPIA. The installation is in two parts. First, the 3D printed sculpture made of polymer. The second is an accompanying film documenting the Dutch architect’s research and how he imagines biotopia will be, which brims with self-sustaining systems. The kind of future here makes biology the foundation for all design. It reimagines cities as forests and architecture as something that grows like a tree. The core concept is a global Sponge, or a type of dynamic biomatter architecture. This Sponge would perform functions like cooling the air, filtering water, and generating energy, all while adapting like a living thing.

The sculptural installation with Federico Díaz, called Propagative Structures, gives physical form to the idea of living matter, of architecture built from living organisms. The work emerges from research into biomimicry, or a field of design that takes inspiration from natural systems. The installation’s forms draw on the structure of mangrove root networks, a suggestion of a future where habitats are not built but cultivated like plants. In our interview with the architect, Winy Maas discusses the future of urbanism, our progress to a biotopic world, the use of computational designs and algorithms in architecture, and what lies ahead for MVRDV, to name a few.

all images courtesy of MVRDV | photos by Federico Vespignani, unless stated otherwise

Interview with Winy MaAs at Venice Architecture Biennale 2025

Designboom (DB): It’s wonderful to see you here in Venice, Winy. We saw the Sombra Pavilion in the garden on our way here. We also read that it’s kinetic?

Winy Maas (WM): It’s a kinetic structure, yes. It doesn’t need energy. Air pressure is generated by a heat difference within the structure itself. That helps to close or open panels, cooling the building at certain corners or not. That, of course, depends on the sun. It’s good to see it in the afternoon too because they placed it next to a tree, so it stands out. The film will be made in the coming months, so we can see the functioning of this air-driven structure. It’s nice that it’s not solar. In this case, it’s only the air pressure. 

What we use is our knowledge of the sun. We work a lot on shadow and light. We create and research complex solar programs. After that, we can start working on the solar panel industry. Sun Rock, for example, which is our project in Taipei for the Taipower Electricity company, is a building covered with solar panels. It’s an example of how we use the sun. It’s a nice project too, and I love it. 

the project uses physics to create shade without electricity

DB: So, the Sombra Pavilion is one project of MVRDV here at the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025. In the Arsenale, you have another titled Biotopia under The Why Factory, which is the think tank and research institute that you lead. Here, it comes in two parts. The first a 3D printed model with the visual artist Federico Diaz that explores the idea of living matter in continuous transformation. The other is a movie that documents and visualizes this future. First off, how do you see a biotopic world?

WM: Biotopia is a dream. Imagine a fully recyclable, biological world that combines all the properties we need: energy, oxygen, animals, shelter, light, flexibility, and changeability. There’s a huge list of properties we demand from our materials and surroundings. Biotopia philosophizes and speculates on the idea that if we create a material or combination of materials that can facilitate these needs precisely when desired by humans, nature, or animals, that will lead to a city you can’t yet imagine. I’m pursuing a few things with my Utopia concept. 

First, I’m trying to paint a sketch. The seven-minute accompanying film visitors see needs improvement, so it will progress over time, to the next step. Second, I’m creating a timeline sequence of materials, an interesting research project I’ll publish in a book. This timeline will detail all the properties we need, measured in time per second, for an average population density. That’s a crucial part. We calculate what we can do with current materials and what’s possible if certain material innovations occur. 

the pavilion is at the European Cultural Centre’s Giardini Marinaressa | photo by Jaap Heemskerk

WM (continued): There are three epochs in these steps, with the current epoch of innovation per technology, like improved 3D printing. The entire MVRDV group is part of this research. A lot is already happening; we have old materials and new materials emerging. We see this more and more, with layers of wood combined with glue, like glulam and CLT. We also have more types of sandwich constructions. Materials are becoming collaborative.  But what if this collaboration becomes more intense?

Materials could help provide light, others energy, and perhaps they could even move. That’s what this timeline aims to explore, too: what kind of collaborations are needed. We’ll depict these in the final timeline, the Blend, where everything is so interactive and active. It could lead to a completely different type of architecture or urbanism. Finally, we’re developing prototypes. These are diverse. One is 3D printing, aiming to move beyond current prefabrication methods. While prefab is fine, 3D printing offers more flexibility.

the structure turns reused beams into large arches, supported by metal ribs | photo by Jaap Heemskerk

DB: We were told that the sculptural installation at the Arsenale was supposed to be made of living organisms instead of 3D printed from polymer. 

WM: Yes, and I’m still completely open to it, but that’ll most likely be after the Venice Architecture Biennale 2025. There’s this dream of using 3D printing that involves two components, or three elements, that are not currently part of 3D printing. The first is what we call the material bank. Carlo Ratti adopted this idea, which involved a machine design where you have various materials. You feed these materials into the 3D printer, which could have multiple nozzles – one for concrete, one for stone, one for glass, one for steel, one for minerals, and one for wood. 

This allows you to select the desired material as you print, changing nozzles along the printing line. This is part of the design. The second component is the printer itself, which is a mixed printer and an ‘un-printer.’ This allows materials to be changed and adapted. To achieve this, an analyzer scans the surface, determines its composition, and then initiates a destruction operation. This process varies depending on the material. For example, 100% glass is easy to break and can be burned in two steps. 

when direct sunlight heats small air canisters, the air pressure inside increases | photo by Jaap Heemskerk

WM (continued): You remove the material, burn it, and the burner sends it to the material bank, from which it can be returned to the printer. This applies to all types of materials. So, we have the mixer, the printer, the ‘un-printer,’ and the material bank. The final component is the monitor, where you design and input data. This input isn’t just for design; it’s also a control mechanism. During printing, you need to monitor the process to prevent cracking. 

This can involve adding more water because the printing material is like a pudding that needs to be as fluid as possible for adhesion. Adding more water helps with the drying period, and you can also use other polymers. I can provide the diagram, but I should patent it first. This is the dream, so far. There’ll also be these robots that would be there to help construct these. I also have a sequence of mycelium tests that I want to do with the school in Jakarta.

the frame holds triangular panels fitted with perforated metal screens | photo by Jaap Heemskerk

DB: That was our follow-up question: the use of biomaterials. It seems that you’ve already used them in your recent projects. In line with this, you’ve also had a talk discussing computational design and algorithms in architecture and design. In what ways have you and MVRDV adopted them into your workflow?

WM: We have our specialties as an office and research group. I cannot do everything, so we need to collaborate extensively. I’m proficient in scripting; our office was one of the first to adopt it, and now our department excels in it. Our team is well-trained in computation and computer science, which I believe is a significant asset. We are skilled in space design, like any architect, and we are also strong in visualization.

DB: What do you think is our progress towards a biotopic world?

WM: There’s a wide range of research I’m trying to gather and collect. We have the example of 3D printing and mycelium. I’m also looking into the lignification of lignin from trees to accelerate this process in the farming industry. This would make the material more fluid, more like willow. I’m also incredibly interested in the electrical changeability of materials, like electrical rubber, for instance. In short, it’s a long process, but the beauty of it is fantastic.

view of the Biotopia installation at the Arsenale | all exhibition photos by Celestia Studio

DB: Are there other materials you want to work or experiment with? What’s next for you?

WM: I like the lignin and the washing-stone technology. This is a new technique we’re developing with Eindhoven. You add a layer of stone, which washes away, and then it assembles into soil. So, it’s essentially accelerating soil creation through erosion and its distribution. This helps plants grow, especially in shadowy areas. We’ve already applied this concept in Dubai for a new pavilion. 

Let’s go back to what you said before we started the interview. We’re sitting in a park, and you asked if I have a relationship with nature. My background already explains it, and I think our architecture is involved in that, meaning nature. I think we make it possible to reconnect people with nature. I like your question about what’s next because that’s the topic of the book we’re making. My lectures are always about what’s next, and they include slides. There are many subjects. I can dream about utopia as a kind of end result, if that’s possible. 

Then, I also have to study mobility. I need to consider when I move and what makes sense, so we’re doing a new study on velocity with different industries. We’re checking how the city would look with a certain kind of mobility: if I walk only, or if I have horses, or if I have three types of mobility. I also want to add properties to drones. It’s not about sending packages, which we can already do. We have a drone skycar in Shenzhen, and surveying is another use. But you can also construct. So I ask my collaborators and clients, ‘What can I do if I want to build a house in the sky?’ Just as a hypothesis. We’ll see.

the installation comes with an accompanying film documenting the building of Biotopia

the first part of the installation is the 3D printed sculpture made of polymer

Winy Maas and his think tank The Why Factory collaborate with visual artist Federico Díaz for the sculpture

the installations are on view in Venice until November 2025

project info:

architect: Winy Maas

firm: MVRDV | @mvrdv

Biotopia

lead architect: Winy Maas

think tank: The Why Factory

artist: Federico Díaz | @federico_diaz_hands

location: Arsenale

event: Venice Architecture Biennale 2025

dates: May 10th to November 23rd, 2025

photography: Celestia Studio, The Why Factory | @celestiastudio

SOMBRA Pavilion

lead architect: Jacob van Rijs

collaboration: Metadecor, Airshade Technologies, MVRDV, Alumet, Van Rossum Raadgevend Ingenieurs, Arup, Kersten Europe, the AMOLF Institute | @metadecor, @airshadetechnologies, @mvrdv, @alumet_nl, @vanrossumbv, @arupgroup 

exhibition: Time Space Existence

location: Giardini Marinaressa

address: Riva dei Sette Martiri, 30122 Venice, Italy

photography: Federico Vespignani, Jaap Heemskerk | @federico_vespignani

The post MVRDV’s winy maas on kinetic sombra pavilion and biotopia installation at venice biennale appeared first on designboom | architecture & design magazine.

Situated in central Athens, Aristides Dallas Architects operates as a bridge between the raw landscapes of the Greek islands and the dense urban fabric of the city. Founded in 2014 on the island of Tinos, the studio laid its conceptual foundation there, but it was through its subsequent expansion in Athens that it evolved into a design powerhouse working across various scales, from Pnoes hotel, to Lap Pool House residence. Each project materializes through a unique approach that balances between a deep contextual sensitivity and the bold geometrical forms the studio is known for. ‘A building should feel like an extension of its surroundings rather than a foreign object placed on top of it,’ founder Aristides Dallas tells designboom as he welcomes us into his multi-level studio in the heart of Exarcheia.

Dallas embraces the contrasts between the studio’s dual presence in Athens and Tinos, drawing inspiration from wild Cycladic terrains as much as from the layered, ever-evolving history of the capital.‘Having one foot in each world constantly shifts my perspective,’ he explains. ‘The city is about negotiating with the built environment, while the islands are about negotiating with nature itself.’ It’s this fluidity between the two that defines the architectural approach of his firm, one that is deeply rooted in place yet unafraid of contemporary expression. Read on as we take a deep dive into the world of Aristides Dallas Architects, the studio’s design philosophy, creative process, and what lies ahead for the firm.

Villa V in Corfu | rendering © Katerina Iakovaki, image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects | read more about the project here

inspiration through observation

Aristides Dallas Architects is driven by the ambition to contribute meaningfully to the evolution of contemporary Greek architecture. Structured as a multidisciplinary team, the firm brings together engineers, material scientists, interior designers, stylists, and artists to create projects that are both technically and conceptually rigorous. For Aristides Dallas, inspiration often comes from the unfiltered elements of a place rather than existing architecture. ‘When I walk through Tinos, I see rocks scattered in the fields, stones that have been shaped by time and weather, and I think—how would it be if this became a building?’ he shares with designboom. One evening, while passing through the Tinos port, he noticed large concrete blocks stacked along the waterfront. That moment sparked a concept for a residential project in Crete. ‘You find ideas everywhere—sometimes in the wildness of nature, other times in the built environment.’

This constant oscillation between city and landscape pushes the firm’s design ethos forward. ‘It’s not about copying nature—it’s about understanding its principles and translating them into architecture,’ he reflects. ‘The structured city demands engagement with history and context, while the islands challenge you to respond to the natural terrain. The balance between the two is what makes our work unique.’ 

The Lap Pool House | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects | read more about the project here

interview WITH FOUNDER Aristides Dallas

designboom (DB): Can you tell us more about your background, and when did you found Aristides Dallas Architects? How has the studio evolved since then?

Aristeides Dallas (AD): Architecture has been a central force in my life since my early years. Even during my studies, I was deeply committed to developing a personal voice in architecture, participating in international competitions and working long hours to support myself. I wasn’t waiting for the right moment to appear, I was actively shaping it. My creative foundation was laid during that demanding period, long before I ever opened an office. What later followed was the natural outcome of persistence and vision.

When I decided to establish AD Architects, it was not a matter of convenience—it was a matter of integrity. I moved to the island of Tinos in 2014, where I launched the practice with a clear direction: to undertake only projects I truly believed in. This deliberate selectiveness attracted clients from abroad, who recognized value in our approach. Our first design project, VOLAX, opened the way, followed soon by projects in Mykonos, particularly in the hospitality sector. But the true expansion began with our move to Athens in 2018. Casa Leone, our first project in the city, felt symbolically placed, as it happened to be on Tinos Street in Agia Paraskevi. Since then, we’ve grown steadily and now operate a fully integrated studio in Exarcheia, Athens. This is where our team, our processes, and our reach evolved on a national scale.

wood finishes complement the black and white tones | image by Mariana Bisti

DB: The studio has offices in both Athens and Tinos. How do these locations influence your work and creative process?

AD: Having a presence in both Athens and Tinos is a significant advantage, as it constantly shifts my references and sources of inspiration. Spending part of the year immersed in the Cycladic landscape completely changes my perspective. The contrast between Athens and Tinos is literally a creative engine. In the city, I engage with dense urban fabric, layered history, and evolving cultural expectations. On the islands, I’m in constant dialogue with nature, topography, and silence. It’s not about preferring one over the other, but about allowing each context to inform the other. This dual lens lets us approach each project without clichés. Athens sharpens our logic, while the islands refine our intuition. When walking through Tinos, the raw beauty of rocks, light, and wind patterns often spark abstract ideas that later return to the city as spatial strategies.

I remember one night, walking home from the office past the port, where large concrete blocks were stacked. That moment sparked the concept for a project in Crete. For me, inspiration often comes from the raw landscape, from the unfiltered elements of a place rather than its existing architecture. When designing in urban Athens, we must engage with the built environment, but on the islands, the only real context is nature. This duality, the structured city and the wild landscape, keeps our work dynamic.

displaying architecture books and models on warm wooden shelving | image by Kirill Samarits

DB: Given your high focus on residential and hospitality projects, can you tell us more about your philosophy on ‘living’ and ‘dwelling’, and how it shapes your designs?

AD: Designing a home is both one of the simplest and most complex challenges. Every client comes in with a strong vision of how their house should be. In some ways, it’s even more challenging than designing a hotel—hotels follow clear functional guidelines, while homes are deeply personal. Each house we design must be entirely unique because every person is different. This means we are constantly reinventing the wheel. Some clients say, ‘I have a lot of experience with houses, I’ve lived in them all my life.’ And they’re not wrong; they understand what makes them feel comfortable.

I often liken it to acting—slipping into character, understanding the emotional world of the person who will inhabit the space. It’s less about ‘solving a brief’ and more about narrating a life. Homes are always personal. Hotels, by contrast, operate with clarity of function—but we try to inject narrative even there. Designing in architecture is deeply psychological. It requires empathy, curiosity, and the ability to suspend one’s own habits to fully embody someone else’s experience. This is why I believe architecture isn’t just about creating forms, it’s about crafting experiences.

A Touch of New | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects | read more about the project here

DB: Your projects are often characterized by distinct geometric forms, clear and bold material choices, and yet, somehow, a very organic and harmonious coexistence with their surrounding landscape. Where do you draw inspiration from when it comes to forms and shapes? How do you balance organic integration with bold geometry? What materials do you prefer to work with, and how do they contribute to the identity of your buildings?

AD: We always begin with the site. We study how light travels, how winds circulate, how the terrain flows. Every project begins with such an in-depth study of the landscape. Each location provides different clues that guide our design. Balancing bold geometry with organic integration comes down to three key elements: materials, scale, and placement. If a form is too assertive, we tune it back—not to hide it, but to ground it. Choosing materials that reflect the surrounding colors and textures also plays a crucial role. Throughout our projects we’ve found inspiration in everything from cracked mud to volcanic movement or even the momentary architecture of sand towers built by children.

For instance, in the project Tectonic Lodging, we were inspired by the way dried mud cracks, leading us to design a building that feels as if the earth has fractured open to create space. In Santorini, for the Monolithic Village hotel we studied how sand towers form when children play on the beach, which inspired us to experiment with a single material wrapping the entire structure. The inspiration came by observing the way volcanic lava spreads and used that to inform a monolithic design with a singular material palette. It’s not about replicating nature. It’s about understanding its principles, trying to read it, like a language, and interpret it into space.

Pnoes | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects | read more about the project here

DB: Is there a unifying element, or series of elements, that define the identity of Aristides Dallas Architects?

AD: I don’t subscribe to a fixed architectural style that applies across different projects. Instead, our approach is about continuously rediscovering architecture through the unique demands of each site, program, and client. What ties our projects together is not a specific aesthetic but the process—how we engage with context, materials, and form. Each project is a synthesis of landscape, place, and people.

We analyze the topography, local history, climate, and how people will interact with the space. Some projects are inspired by the way wind carves rock formations, while others take clues from historical building techniques or the natural flow of movement. Rather than imposing a predefined aesthetic, we allow the site and its constraints to shape the form. The goal is not to create buildings that are immediately recognizable but to design architecture that feels inevitable, as if it has always belonged to the landscape. We ask: what makes sense here? What forms arise naturally from this place, not despite it? 

We aim for an architecture that feels like it belongs, as if it emerged rather than was placed. In that sense, our philosophy is to use architecture as a social instrument to shape places with empathy, clarity, and care. We believe that buildings must serve people first—and in doing so, they reveal their most honest beauty.

The Lap Pool House | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects

DB: Given the special conditions and unique character of the places you are often designing for, do you engage in collaborations with local craftspeople to bring your projects to fruition? How important is collaboration for you, both within and outside of the studio?

AD: Absolutely. Collaboration is fundamental—not just within our office but throughout the entire construction process. Our studio brings together architects, engineers, material researchers, designers, and stylists. But just as importantly, we engage deeply with local craftspeople. We see artisanal knowledge as a living layer in our architecture. Whether it’s stone masonry, woodworking, or metal detailing, these collaborations enrich the project with depth and soul. We work closely with artisans skilled in traditional techniques, ensuring that each project respects and evolves from local craftsmanship.

Working with craftspeople who are truly passionate about their craft makes all the difference. A skilled artisan doesn’t just execute a design—they refine it, paying attention to every detail.

Terra Fracta | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects | read more about the project here

DB: Can you walk us through the typical design process at Aristides Dallas Architects—from initial concept to final execution?

AD: Our process starts long before we draw the first line. We begin with immersive research: mapping the site, reading its wind flows, light patterns, emblematic views and orientation. But more than that, we try to decode its personality, what it wants to become. From there, we move to strategic modeling—combining 3D digital tools with physical maquettes—to simulate not only the form, but the atmosphere of the project. We always integrate topography, vegetation, and even human movement into these early simulations.

Materiality is never an afterthought. It is tested, not just imagined—sometimes through full-scale mockups built on-site, other times through live material boards that evolve with the design. What defines our process is not only technical rigor, but also emotional clarity: every choice must feel inevitable. It’s a collaborative exercise across disciplines—our architects, engineers, interior stylists, and external makers all contribute from the very first sketches.

Cubic Hotel | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects

DB: What is one of the most challenging projects you’ve undertaken, and what lessons did you learn from it?

AD: A client once requested a ‘wow’ factor. At first, we leaned into that direction pursuing a dramatic design, but as the process evolved, midway through, we stepped back and asked ourselves: Is this the right kind of ‘wow’ for this place? This reflection led us to completely rethink the project, ultimately shifting toward a simpler design that was more in tune with the landscape. We realized that the ‘wow’ had to come from silence, not spectacle. We revised everything, choosing a design that revealed itself slowly through shadows, weight, and tactility. The lesson was clear, the most powerful architecture doesn’t demand attention; it blends in, revealing itself gradually and harmonizing with its surroundings.

The Cliffhanger | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects

DB: If you could design a dream project with no constraints—site, budget, or regulations—what would it be, and why?

AD: I would love to design an entire village or community from scratch—a place where architecture doesn’t just shape individual buildings, but the relationships between them. Streets, courtyards, thresholds, voids, shared moments of shade or openness. That, to me, is the purest form of architecture: creating the framework for how people live together. And doing so in a way that feels timeless, rooted, and yet forward-looking. In some ways, we are already working in that direction—especially through our latest hospitality projects, where we apply these principles across multiple structures and collective environments. At the same time, our ambition is to expand our work internationally. We see design not as a regional dialect, but as a universal language—one that can adapt to different geographies, cultures, and needs without losing depth or specificity. Our method is adaptable as well as our values are transferrable.

We’ve already worked on projects in Cyprus, and we’re actively seeking opportunities to extend this dialogue across borders. We’re open to partnering with international clients and teams who are looking for context-sensitive architecture rooted in material intelligence, spatial storytelling, and strong conceptual clarity. No matter the scale or location, our deeper ambition remains the same: to create spaces that feel inevitable, necessary, and deeply human.

Tectonic Lodging in Rhodes, Greece | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects

DB: Aside from residential and hospitality spaces, are there other typologies—such as cultural, public, or commercial projects—that you would be interested in undertaking?

AD: Our team is eager to take on projects that engage with collective memory, civic function, and social gathering—whether that’s a cultural center, a public plaza, or an educational facility. These programs are a natural extension of our values: they require sensitivity to both place and people. In Greece, public tenders are often structured in ways that make access difficult for local studios. But we are committed to overcoming those limitations—through partnerships, collaborations, or design competitions that open up space for meaningful impact.

Our approach is not bound to a specific typology. Whether it’s residential, public, or cultural, we apply the same intensity of research, contextual understanding, and formal clarity. We’re always seeking projects that challenge us to rethink conventions and expand the possibilities of what architecture can do.

VOLAX | image courtesy of Aristides Dallas Architects | read more about the project here

DB: What are you working on at the moment? Any exciting plans for the future you can share with us?

AD: Right now, we’re working on several hospitality and residential projects across Greece, including some delicate renovations and hybrid programs that challenge the boundaries between private and shared space. But more importantly, we feel that the studio is entering a phase of redefinition. We want to experiment further, expand our typological scope, and establish creative collaborations abroad. This is not just about scaling up—it’s about deepening our architectural language and applying it to new contexts.

Over the past few years, our work has quietly traveled—through exhibitions, award selections, and word of mouth—reaching audiences beyond Greece. These moments of recognition remind us that architecture has the power to speak many languages, as long as it listens first. They continue to affirm what we believe at our core: Architecture, when grounded in place but open in spirit, can resonate across cultures—wherever it is built. We remain committed to designing with clarity, empathy, and depth—wherever a project takes us. Because in the end, architecture is less about where it starts, and more about how far it can resonate.

Aristides Dallas in his studio | image by Teramok

the Athens-based Aristides Dallas Architects team | image by Kirill Samarits

project info: 

architect: Aristides Dallas Architects | @aristidesdallasarchitects
studio location: Exarcheia, Athens, Greece

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Opening to the public on June 6th and on view through October 26th, the 2025 Serpentine Pavilion by Marina Tabassum Architects is now complete in London’s Kensington Gardens. Marking the 25th anniversary of the Serpentine’s architectural program, the pavilion, titled A Capsule in Time, explores themes of impermanence, tactility, and light through a modular, timber-built structure designed to move, adapt, and ultimately disappear. Ahead of the opening, Marina Tabassum discusses with designboom the ideas that shaped this year’s design.‘The pavilion is called A Capsule in Time for many reasons,’ Tabassum tells us during our interview. ‘One is that I find the connection between architecture and time quite intriguing (…) pavilions have a temporality, which is not about time but about a moment—to embrace and enjoy it.’

Aligned with Serpentine South’s historic bell tower, the elongated north-south structure is composed of four translucent capsules that dapple the space with shifting light. Tabassum draws inspiration from the hydrologic landscapes of Bangladesh, where ‘land constantly moves—it’s a situation where sand beds form, water takes the land away, and then it recreates it.’ This ephemerality is echoed in the building’s material choices. The architect works entirely in wood for the first time, not only for its dry-construction potential and future reuse, but also for its local availability. ‘We haven’t worked entirely with wood before because wood is not a material in Bangladesh as such… but here, it made sense,’ she explains.

Serpentine Pavilion 2025 A Capsule in Time, designed by Marina Tabassum, Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA). exterior view. © Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA) | image by Iwan Baan, courtesy of Serpentine

inside ‘a capsule in time’, knowledge can be shared freely

A kinetic capsule embedded within the Serpentine Pavilion structure allows parts of the pavilion to shift and expand for public programming. ‘It’s a movable part of the structure that can shift and connect with another section to create a larger, covered space. That’s where the kinetic element comes in.’ Marina Tabassum notes. At the heart of the pavilion stands a ginkgo tree—a resilient species dating back to the Jurassic Period. ‘That tree gives life to the whole pavilion,’ the architect shares with designboom. ‘Even though it’s within a park and surrounded by nature, having a tree inside the pavilion really changes the atmosphere.’

Tabassum also sees the pavilion as a place of quiet resistance, an antidote to rising global censorship. Bookshelves built into the capsules host a curated selection of texts in Bengali literature, poetry, ecology, and identity. ‘Some of them are by writers whose works have been banned in Bangladesh,’ she reveals during our discussion. ‘In a time when many books are being banned and education is being questioned (…) the very notion of knowledge feels under threat. So it felt important to bring that idea of books and knowledge into the pavilion—a space where knowledge can be shared freely.’ Continue reading to explore our full conversation with Marina Tabassum, this year’s Serpentine Pavilion architect.

marking the 25th anniversary of the Serpentine’s architectural program | image by Iwan Baan, courtesy of Serpentine

interview with Marina Tabassum 

designboom (DB): The Pavilion is called A Capsule in Time. What does that mean to you? What kind of histories, moments, or personal elements were you hoping to capture in this structure?

Marina Tabassum (MT):  The pavilion is called A Capsule in Time for many reasons. One is that I find the connection between architecture and time quite intriguing. We started architecture as a discipline with the notion that it would last forever. It’s almost like a continuity—when you’re not there, your architecture remains. So it continues through time. Timelessness has also been a way of looking into architecture—how you can make your buildings timeless, which is about defying time. At the same time, pavilions have a temporality, which is not about time but about a moment—to embrace and enjoy it. In the case of the Serpentine, it’s there for a five-month period—nice summer days, a beautiful sunny day like today—and then it’s gone. But it has a presence in the virtual realm, which is our new reality.

Where I come from, in Bangladesh, we have this notion of land as temporal. Land constantly moves—it’s a hydrologic situation where sand beds form, water takes the land away, and then it recreates it. So this idea of land being eroded and re-emerging also carries temporality. Architecture is associated with that, because people keep moving their houses from one place to another. I also bring in my way of practice. I come from a place defined by temporality, but I’ve always been very interested in light. A nice summer day in London can be really beautiful. That light can be celebrated if we create a space that lets it through. Light is an important element in this design. It also connects to pavilion structures in Bangladesh—ones we create for weddings or religious occasions, called shamiyanas. These shamiyana structures are made of cloth and bring in beautiful light. Bringing that sense, that atmosphere, into this space was also very important to me.

exploring themes of impermanence, tactility, and light | image by Iwan Baan, courtesy of Serpentine

DB: The translucent facade creates a play of light and shadow. What was the process behind achieving that dappled effect? Was it intentional from the start, or something that evolved along the way?

MT: The decision to bring in this very sort of translucent light into the space was intentional. That was one of the design intents. From the very beginning, that’s what we wanted for that space. But achieving that effect was a process. Initially, we were thinking of using jute and laminated jute; we looked into it and did some research.

But jute is a material that is not fire-rated, so it would not be allowed in the pavilion.

Then we had to look for something we could source locally here in London. So we settled for polycarbonate sheet with a translucent film on it. That actually helped us bring in the quality of light that we wanted. The building is maybe initiated in the Serpentine in Kensington Gardens, but it has an afterlife. That means there will be a continuity of this building in another location. So it will be used again—it won’t go into a landfill. That’s why we opted for a material of that nature.

Tabassum draws inspiration from the landscapes of Bangladesh | image by Iwan Baan, courtesy of Serpentine

DB: And what about working with wood for the first time entirely? What drew you to this material for the pavilion and how did it shape your approach?

MT: We haven’t worked entirely with wood before because wood is not a material in Bangladesh as such. The reason we used this material is because it’s something we could source locally here. And that’s one of our practice’s ethos—we like to source materials locally, where there’s also local knowledge of building. So using wood for the structure made more sense.

It’s also a dry construction. As you can imagine, it’s only here for a short period of time. That was another reason we chose a wooden structure, it can be dismantled and taken to a different location later on.

Serpentine 2025 Pavilion A Capsule in Time, designed by Marina Tabassum, Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA), design render, interior view | rendering © Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA), courtesy Serpentine

DB: The pavilion also features a kinetic element that moves and transforms the space. What inspired that idea? Were there any technical or design challenges in making it work?

MT: Not really. No, not in that sense. There was a budget challenge, but that’s always the case—nothing unusual. The main idea was to create a capsule-like form—sort of a half capsule—but we wanted it to feel more connected to the natural surroundings of the park. That’s why you see these openings or cuts in the structure: they’re designed to bring in elements of nature and create a balance between inside and outside.

The Serpentine Pavilion also serves a practical purpose. It hosts various events throughout the summer, so it was important to design a space that could accommodate around 200 people—even in rainy weather. That’s where the kinetic element comes in. It’s a movable part of the structure that can shift and connect with another section to create a larger, covered space. This allows the pavilion to expand when needed and provide shelter for bigger gatherings. So the kinetic feature had a functional reason behind it, but it also became an exciting design element—because no one had done something like that before in the Serpentine Pavilion. It adds a new and interesting layer to the experience.

the architect works entirely in wood for the first time | rendering © Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA), courtesy Serpentine

DB: You’ve built the pavilion around a ginkgo tree, which feels like a really meaningful choice. What led you to center the tree in the design, and how does that reflect your approach to climate-responsive architecture?

MT: Well, you know, the tree—I think that tree gives life to the whole pavilion. Otherwise, it’s a very archaic structural form. But the moment we brought in the tree, it transformed the space. Even though it’s within a park and surrounded by nature, having a tree inside the pavilion really changes the atmosphere. It brings life, and it gives the space a more intimate scale. That became one of the essential elements of the entire design. We really wanted to incorporate nature—not just to serve people, but to create a space that also celebrates nature. We were thoughtful about what kind of tree it should be. The idea was that once the pavilion is dismantled, the tree would be replanted somewhere in the park so it can continue to live.

We needed a tree that was strong and rugged, something that could withstand being transported and replanted. At the same time, it needed to be compatible with the plant community already in the park. So we looked for something that could meet all of those needs—but also something beautiful and light, that would sit harmoniously inside the pavilion. That’s how we chose the ginkgo tree. It has a beautiful, fan-shaped leaf—very sculptural, which I really loved. And towards the end of the season, in September or October, the leaves turn this beautiful yellow. So we’ll hopefully see that transformation as the pavilion nears its end. It’s poetic in a way—sustainability and poetry coming together in one gesture.

the structure allows parts of the pavilion to shift and expand | rendering © Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA), courtesy Serpentine

DB: In times of rising censorship, you’ve spoken about knowledge-sharing. How does the pavilion become a tool for resistance, if at all?

MT: Well, knowledge sharing is an important part of our practice—especially wherever we build. In the houses we’re building now, we try to work closely with the community. We share building knowledge with people so they’re able to eventually build on their own. That’s a core part of our approach. And the way we wanted to bring that idea of knowledge sharing into the pavilion was by introducing a small library alongside the café. We’re bringing in a range of books—different kinds of books.

Some of them are by writers whose works have been banned in Bangladesh. So you’ll see some of those there too. The idea is that, in a time when many books are being banned and education is being questioned or restructured in different parts of the world, the very notion of knowledge feels under threat. So it felt important to bring that idea of books and knowledge into the pavilion—a space where knowledge can be shared freely. We also want it to be a space for dialogue, where people can come together and, despite all our differences, celebrate our uniqueness.

Marina Tabassum portrait | image © Asif Salman

project info: 

name: A Capsule in Time
architect: Marina Tabassum, Marina Tabassum Architects (MTA) | @marinatabassum
location: Serpentine South, Kensington Gardens, London, UK

event: Serpentine Pavilion | @serpentineuk
dates: June 6th – October 26th 2025

The post marina tabassum on designing the 2025 serpentine pavilion as it opens in london appeared first on designboom | architecture & design magazine.

Lagos-based architecture practice Oshinowo Studio brings ‘Alternative Urbanism: self-organising markets of Lagos‘ to the 19th International Architecture Exhibition of the Venice Biennale, spotlighting three of the city’s most dynamic informal markets—Ladipo, Computer Village, and Katangua. Invited by curator Carlo Ratti to respond to his circular economy manifesto, the studio explores how these systems repurpose waste from the global north into valuable goods, offering a powerful model of embedded circularity. ‘These markets don’t work just as places of commerce and exchange,’ notes founder Tosin Oshinowo in an exclusive interview with designboom. ‘What is fascinating is the factory-like process that occurs when a source material is re-appropriated and adapted through different sectors in these markets,’ she tells us. Through immersive film, photography, data visualisations, and recycled denim maps crafted in Katangua, the exhibition reframes Lagos’s markets as complex infrastructures of ingenuity, shaped by scarcity and sustained by collective intelligence.

Rejecting voyeuristic representations of African spaces, the installation at the Arsenale avoids still images of deprivation and instead offers a technical view into the working mechanics of these markets. ‘It was important that the narrative be optimistic; after all, I live and work in Lagos,’ Oshinowo says. ‘I do not see what happens here as backwards or deprived; I see this as fascinating, innovative, and the other extreme of global capitalism,’ she adds. With her team’s mapping, video documentation, and textile production done within Katangua, the pavilion elevates local material knowledge to an international stage. In doing so, it delivers a clear message to Biennale visitors.‘The biggest lesson and shift in perspective I hope to share and inspire with this global audience is that we all can do more with less,’ Tosin Oshinowo suggests.

Alternative Urbanism: self-organising markets of Lagos at the Arsenale | image by Paul Raftery

Oshinowo Studio offers a blueprint for adaptive urban futures

Ladipo Market deals in second-hand car parts; Computer Village in used electronics; and Katangua in recycled fashion. While their contents differ, their shared value lies in how they extend the life of consumer goods through a communal network of reuse, repair, and resale. ‘These specialist markets emerge across the city in white and brown-fill sites, residential zones, and defunct industrial parks,’ Tosin Oshinowo shares with designboom. ‘Through a collective intelligence, the city operates at a sophisticated level outside of orthodox methodologies and functions at scale without the expected industrialized infrastructure.’ Her exhibition doesn’t romanticize the struggle but rather reframes Lagos’s informal urban systems as prototypes for sustainable cities—systems built from adaptation, making them increasingly relevant in a time of global resource scarcity.

As Oshinowo explains, these spaces represent ‘a glimpse into an urban condition without imperialism, colonialism, and modernism imposed on the continent.’ Far from being symbols of deprivation, the markets are framed as energetic ecosystems shaped by ‘bottom-up structures and soft-power systems.’ Located in areas ranging from residential zones to defunct industrial parks, each market illustrates the kind of grassroots adaptability often excluded from conventional urban planning. With Nigeria’s currency devalued by 700% since 2005 and most of the population living on under $2 a day, these markets respond with a resilience that blends necessity with aspiration. ‘The majority of Africa is urbanized but not industrialized,’ the Lagos-based architect explains. ‘This situation creates an urban condition that is alternative to conventional expectations of progress and development.’ Read on for our full interview with Tosin Oshinowo.

the studio explores how these systems repurpose waste | image by Paul Raftery

interview with Tosin Oshinowo

designboom (DB): Alternative Urbanism is a powerful title—how does it reflect your view of Lagos’s informal markets, and in what ways do they challenge conventional models of urban planning and sustainability?

Tosin Oshinowo (TO): The title is impactful; however, it simply states a reality that occurs as parallel development with the rest of the world. The majority of Africa is urbanized but not industrialized, and this situation creates an urban condition that is alternative to conventional expectations of progress and development. This research project uses the informal market as an entry point to understand this condition. Lagos is a heightened example of this condition because of its critical mass—the city has 0.3% of Nigeria’s surface area and 10% of its population, 26.4 million. With insufficient industrialized infrastructure, it is challenging to manage the city structurally. This density allows us to observe this condition in concentration. These markets happen when bottom-up structures and soft-power systems come to the foreground.

Rem Koolhaas’ research in the late 1990s and early 2000s observed that the urban condition in Lagos defied orthodox planning methodologies. Here, I suggest that instead of defying these methodologies, what we observe in the city condition reverts to an evolution from tradition. It could be considered a glimpse into an urban condition without imperialism, colonialism, and modernism imposed on the continent. The informal African market is the most unadulterated urban artifact of our city’s developmental framework. It is the fabric of the commons, a shared space everyone contributes to and shares in its benefits. The markets operate in a capitalist model and outside of it. The markets have evolved from pre-colonial times to their present state in the post-colonial African city. Holding more than just places of commerce and exchange, but also of divine importance. In Yorùbá culture from southwest Nigeria, the market holds divine significance in mythology as it is seen as the point of final departure for the soul from the earth (ilé) as it rightfully returns to the heavens (òrun).

recycled denim maps crafted in Katangua | image by Paul Raftery

DB: Carlo Ratti’s circular economy manifesto set the tone for this year’s Biennale. How did it resonate with your existing observations of Lagos, and what discoveries emerged from your research into these self-organizing markets?

TO: When I first read Carlo Ratti’s manifesto, I was excited that this research resonated with the theme and perfect timing. There is nothing more euphoric than realizing that you are part of a change movement. Circularity has been a long-standing practice in regions that deal with austerity. It is encouraging that there is a growing understanding globally that we all need to embody this methodology. When I started the research on the markets, it was initially out of an interest to understand how global south cities function at scale with inadequate infrastructure.

As I developed this narrative, I observed how sophisticated the system of markets and circularity is embedded into commerce and city life. I observed that due to Nigeria’s challenged economic condition and the reality of desires to live in modernity, capital-intensive consumer products are outside of the immediate reach of the average Nigerian consumer, with the Nigerian Naira devalued by 700% since 2005. These markets don’t work just as places of commerce and exchange. Several specialist markets sell second-hand products considered redundant from the global north. What is fascinating is the factory-like process that occurs when a source material is re-appropriated and adapted through different sectors in these markets. These markets effectively take waste from the global north and extend product life while producing less carbon.

the exhibition reframes Lagos’s markets as complex infrastructures of ingenuity | image by Andrea Avezzù

DB: Ladipo, Computer Village, and Katangua each represent a different kind of circular ingenuity. Why these three, and what do they collectively reveal about resilience and resourcefulness in urban Nigeria?

TO: So far, the research has documented 80+ specialist markets, as the convergence of like-for-like across the city’s urban fabric has been fascinating. I selected these three markets for the exhibition because their content deals with circularity. Like all markets, they deal with consumer goods, but these three represent staples of modernity. And the opportunity for people in these regions to afford capital-intensive consumer goods like cars, electronics, and clothes. Where does the hyperconsumerist global north dispose of its waste? Today, two-thirds of Nigerians live on less than $2 a day. These conditions create the fertile ground to harbor this kind of circularity not seen before structural adjustment programs imposed on the global south from the mid-1980s and early 1990s.

the installation offers a technical view into the working mechanics of these markets | image by Andrea Avezzù

DB: Your pavilion merges data, video, and recycled textiles to evoke the atmosphere of the markets. How did you navigate the challenge of capturing their energy and complexity within the formal setting of the Arsenale?

TO: It was challenging, particularly because I was mindful not to share this as a narrative of deprivation, which can easily come across by using still images from Africa. It was important that the narrative be optimistic; after all, I live and work in Lagos. I do not see what happens here as backwards or deprived; I see this as fascinating, innovative, and the other extreme of global capitalism.

The essence of the immersive film of the market captured a narrative of intense activity and optimism. It was a great privilege for the team to have access to film and photograph these spaces, and we do not take for granted the immense trust we have been given. It was also important that this did not become just an immersive film; we wanted to ensure that we showed a technical prowess to document the urban condition of these markets, which we showed through a series of mappings taken of each market and its surrounding urban fabric. The medium we used to show these was heat-transfer graphics placed in recycled denim patchwork, all produced in the Katangua market. Coupled with pause moments captured through photography, it created a visual language that was intriguing and enigmatic in its context.

immersive film, photography and data visualisations shape the exhibition | image by Paul Raftery

DB: The notion of ‘communal intelligence’ underpins your curatorial narrative. How do these markets embody that idea, and what lessons might formal design systems draw from it?

TO: The specialist markets in Lagos are informal; the state does not plan them, and they have emerged due to specific conducive political, social, and economic conditions. These markets as individual nodes have clear governing and management structures. Still, observing from the macro level, it’s fascinating to see that through a collective intelligence, the city operates at a sophisticated level outside of orthodox methodologies and functions at scale without the expected industrialized infrastructure. It is outside of conventional ways of thinking about the modern city, which tends to be the top-down result of the collective few. These specialist markets emerge across the city in white and brown-fill sites, residential zones, and defunct industrial parks. These markets resonate with the theme of communal intelligence, highlighting the system that speaks to an alternative urbanism, which contributes sparingly to our global carbon challenge in their operation and an optimistic conversation on circularity.

Katangua Market overview | image by Andrew Esiebo

DB: With a global audience in Venice, what shifts in perception about African cities—especially Lagos—do you hope this exhibition might provoke or inspire?

TO: The world can learn a lot from African cities. This region, which is the least industrialized yet urbanized, contributes the least to global carbon emissions while suffering some of the most severe damage. The biggest lesson and shift in perspective I hope to share and inspire with this global audience is that we all can do more with less.

market stall at Computer Village | image by Nengi Nelson

project info:

name: Alternative Urbanism: self-organising markets of Lagos

architect – curator: Lagos-based | @oshinowo.studio

founder & lead curator: Tosin Oshinowo | @tosin.oshinowo

location: Arsenale, Venice, Italy

program: Venice Architecture Biennale | @labiennale

dates: May 10th — November 23rd, 2025

photographers: Paul Raftery | @paulrafterystudio, Andrea Avezzù | @ave_zz, Andrew Esiebo | @andrewesiebo, Nengi Nelson | @nenginelson1, Taran Wilkhu | @taranwilkhu, Amanda Iheme | @amandaiheme, Olarenwaju Ali | @olanrewaju_v

The post ‘we all can do more with less’: oshinowo studio brings lagos’ markets to the venice biennale appeared first on designboom | architecture & design magazine.

designboom joins designer Thomas Heatherwick and Longchamp CEO Jean Cassegrain inside the newly renovated Longchamp flagship, La Maison Unique, in New York. Ahead of the public opening, the duo reflects on their long-standing collaboration and presents the store’s intimate new interiors, nearly two decades after the building’s first transformation. The flagship was originally unveiled in 2006 as La Maison Unique. At that time, it marked one of Heatherwick Studio’s earliest works and has since remained a New York destination for design lovers with its ribbon-like staircase.

‘With this new space, we let loose a bit,‘ Heatherwick notes. ‘Now it has a sense of randomness which I’ve come to appreciate.’ Today, the renewed interiors offer an atmosphere that feels at once familiar and transformed. It is attuned to a different cultural rhythm, but is grounded in the same spirit of invention.

images courtesy Longchamp

a partnership which started with a bag

The partnership between Heatherwick Studio and Longchamp began not with a building in New York, but with a bag. ‘This project started back to front,’ Heatherwick recalls. ‘We’d made a bag built entirely of zip.’ The unlikely origin speaks to the designer‘s fascination with scale and material, a thread that carries through from product design, to architecture, to urban planning. Originally, the design of La Maison Unique faced an immediate dilemma — a compressed street-level footprint and an expansive upper floor. ‘We had to lure people upward,’ Heatherwick tells designboom. ‘That became the problem to solve.’ The result is a sweeping sculptural staircase, a ribbon-like hillside that cuts through the building and functions as both a circulation system and an interior landscape.

In its current iteration, this now-iconic staircase returns updated in the brand‘s Energy Green, further referencing the gently climbing hillside which it mimics. ‘We’re not retail designers,’ Heatherwick says. ‘Our passion is making places that connect with people’s emotions.’ His approach here is at once about the display and the journey.

Heatherwick’s Longchamp flagship reopens with renewed interiors nearly two decades after its 2006 debut

towards intimacy and randomness

Material gestures guide the experience throughout. Industrial columns are wrapped in carpeting which swells into swirling green rugs, an inversion of the expected. ‘Carpets want to be flat,’ Heatherwick reminds us. ‘So we wanted to do the opposite.’ The team worked with heritage French textile maker Lelièvre to wrap these structural elements in a tactile softness so that they blur the line between structure and furniture. In transforming an industrial space into a living room, Heatherwick Studio embraces these obstacles with a playful solution.

The second floor is curated with vintage mid-century pieces — croissant-shaped sofas, Gio Ponti tables, and Danish bar stools. Some furnishings were designed by Heatherwick’s team, while others were sourced to align with Longchamp’s postwar beginnings. ‘It’s a reference to the beginnings of our brand,‘ says Cassegrain. ‘And to the idea that retail doesn’t need to be rigid. The looseness makes it feel more like a home.’ Interspersed among the furniture are archival Longchamp objects, each bringing another layer of history and handcraft.

the new design retains the signature ribbon staircase, now in Energy Green to draw visitors upward

For Longchamp CEO Jean Cassegrain, the updated New York flagship, La Maison Unique, reflects how retail itself has changed over two decades. ‘We used to think in terms of efficiency,’ he explains. ‘Now we think in terms of comfort.’ The renewed space embraces this shift. The laminated logic no longer informs every decision. Instead, interiors open toward plush seating and vintage design objects. ‘We give more space to the customer,’ Cassegrain explained. ‘We want them to feel welcomed, and to linger.’ There is a sense that the store has transitioned from a dramatic display case to welcoming salon.

While many of Heatherwick Studio’s spatial ideas remain from the original 2006 intervention, the renovation of Longchamp’s New York flagship marks a tonal departure. ‘We were more rigid back then,’ said Heatherwick. ‘Everything followed a north-south logic. Now we’ve let go a little. There’s a softness, an ad-hocness.’ This evolution is intentional. Even the light now reaches deeper into the space, thanks to newly opened sightlines across the facade. Instead of controlling every gesture, the design now welcomes imperfections and interactions.

interiors blend structure with furniture and shelving that emerge from the floor and ceiling

carpeted columns created with French textile maker Lelièvre soften the industrial building

vintage furniture and archival objects reference Longchamp’s midcentury origins

the renewed space prioritizes comfort and emotional connection over efficiency

welcoming new interiors encourage lingering and social interaction

project info:

name: La Maison Unique

architecture: Heatherwick Studio | @officialheatherwickstudio

brand: Longchamp | @longchamp

location: 132 Spring Street, New York, NY

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At the 2025 Venice Architecture Biennale, Uzbekistan turns towards one of the lesser known icons of its modernist heritage: the Sun Institute of Material Science, better recognized as the Heliocomplex. As the protagonist of the nation’s pavilion, titled A Matter of Radiance, the structure’s underlying dualities and ambiguities are embraced and reconstructed by Ekaterina Golovatyuk and Giacomo Cantoni of GRACE to reflect on its potential as a center for sustainable innovation and cultural inquiry.

The pavilion has been commissioned by Gayane Umerova, Chairperson of the Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation (ACDF) and builds on the long-term research project, Tashkent Modernism XX/XXI, which they launched in 2021. Since then, the architects, guided by ACDF, have been working to document and preserve 24 modernist structures across the city, one of which is the Heliocomplex located just a few hours away in Parkent. In conversation with designboom, Golovatyuk and Cantoni share that across this initiative, the Heliocomplex built in 1987 was the one that best responded to Carlo Ratti’s curatorial theme for the biennale, Intelligens: Natural. Artificial. Collective. As a site conceived to harness solar energy at extreme temperatures for material testing, now evolving to further this scientific research with an embedded social layer, its identity is not fixed. The Heliocomplex, they note, also stands out for its several spatial and conceptual contradictions — monumental yet fragile, futuristic yet obsolete, scientific yet mystical. The pavilion thus interrogates this enduring ambiguity: ‘We decided to decline the conventional narrative of preservation and instead intersect it with one of sustainability. The Heliocomplex allowed us to speak about both,’ Golovatyuk tells designboom. The pavilion thus presents a dual narrative through fragments of objects from the site, or envisioned for it, that reflects on the Heliocomplex’s role in Uzbekistan’s recent modernist legacy.

image by Gerda Studio, courtesy of ACDF

grace studio reconsiders dualities of the heliocomplex

Situated near Tashkent, the vast structure is one of the last infrastructures built before the collapse of the Soviet Union, designed for scientific experimentation. Today, it stands largely underutilized as one of only two large-scale solar furnaces still in existence globally, yet, for the Milan-based practice GRACE, it remains a powerful symbol of scientific and architectural research that ACDF seeks to revitalize. Although the furnace was operational for just five years, it continued to host scientific work in shifting capacities well into the post-Soviet period, and its monumental scale, typical of late Soviet infrastructural ambition, along with the socio-political background of the time, rendered it both functionally redundant and open to reinvention. The curators take this unresolved quality as a productive tension for the Uzbekistan Pavilion, proposing that the building’s vast, sculptural form and multiple layers is what allows it to adapt to new purposes and meanings over time.

To stage this conversation, the architects have broken the Heliocomplex down into fragments, from scientific relics, and architectural reconstructions to new artistic commissions, that each extend the building’s meaning in a different direction. These include solar reflectors, structural components, and a working solar cooker placed at the pavilion’s entrance.‘One example is a table installation by Esther Sheynfeld who presents this kind of debris of research, putting together pieces that found application, and others that didn’t,’ Ekaterina Golovatyuk tells us. ‘We also brought in a small heliostat, just one-fifth the size of those in Parkent. This one is a newer-generation prototype, and after the Biennale, it will return to Parkent where it can help upgrade the outdated 1980s-era technology. In that sense, the exhibition is also about enabling the site’s future development.’ While some of these objects have been slightly modified, their recontextualization reveals latent meanings, functions, and imaginaries embedded in the original site. Through a sparse but evocative spatial arrangement, the exhibition also poses an embodied reflection on energy, technology, and the narratives we construct around infrastructure and heritage. Read our full conversation below.

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

interview with grace studio

designboom (DB): Please introduce your journey into this project. How did you come to focus on this particular structure from Tashkent’s modernist heritage, and what drew you to the Heliocomplex as the pavilion’s protagonist?

Giacomo Cantoni (GC): Everything stemmed from a wider research initiative called Tashkent Modernism, about the city’s modernist architectural heritage. This project led us to identify 20 buildings that were later listed as national monuments. Among them, the solar furnace stood out because it aligned most closely with the curatorial statement by Carlo Ratti for this year’s Biennale.

Ekaterina Golovatyuk (EG): We decided to decline the conventional narrative of preservation and instead intersect it with one of sustainability. The Heliocomplex allowed us to speak about both. Preservation is not always sustainable, per se, so we were interested in embracing that ambiguity. We wanted to define sustainability in a more subtle, complex way, than just talking about simply harnessing solar energy.

image by Gerda Studio, courtesy of ACDF

DB: How does the curation frame these ambiguities and dualities?

EG: We’re not just leaving it open-ended, but we’re embracing the ambiguity as a value in itself. This isn’t unique to the Heliocomplex — all technology is ambivalent, and all technology is a result of social, political, and economic decisions. It’s never absolute or neutral, so this space opens up conversations around this. We explore this by deconstructing the Heliocomplex into a number of fragments. Some parts speak to its scientific values, while others reflect the more triumphant or less successful moments of its existence.

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

DB: Can you walk us through some of the works in the pavilion that capture these different dimensions of the Heliocomplex — its scientific, symbolic, and architectural layers?

EG: One example is a table installation by Esther Sheynfeld who presents this kind of debris of research, putting together pieces that found application, and others that didn’t. We also brought in a small heliostat prototype, just one-fifth the size of those in Parkent. It helps us speak about the humongous scale of the Heliocomplex, and after the Biennale, it will return to Parkent where it can help upgrade the outdated 1980s-era technology. In that sense, the exhibition is also about enabling the site’s future development. Then there’s the architectural component represented by a one-to-one scale model of the original lab building’s facade, which had been dismantled due to obsolescence. Using original drawings and with support from Italian structural engineers, we reconstructed and optimized it for the pavilion.

 image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

The Heliocomplex itself featured four sculptural works, so we also included a Soviet-era chandelier by Latvian artist Irena Lipiene that reflects the tradition of monumental art in Soviet scientific projects. It is called Parade of Planets, a rare astronomical event when seven planets align. In a way, we see it as a latent declaration of the Soviet Union’s space conquest ambitions. Then we brought in the original model from the late 1970s, which was used to convince government officials to support the construction of the Heliocomplex. And finally, we included a painting depicting the authors of the original project. It shows the human presence behind it all.

GC: And these benches which we are sitting on, they’re also found on-site in Parkent. It’s interesting because the infrastructure was originally restricted and not open to the public, yet the benches are also typical of public space. Including them was a way to reflect on that shift.

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

DB: Alongside these architectural and scientific elements, how did the new commissions contribute to deepening or reframing the narrative around the Heliocomplex?

EG: Each of the three artists we invited tried to give a more poetic, cultural reading of the Heliocomplex. Mohideen Rizkiyev worked with scientists to create a 40-centimeter ceramic plate which is the same size as the solar furnace’s focal point, and it is an installation for meditation. Azamat Abbasov created a video installation that tries to bind all the pavilion’s different elements into one narrative, and he tries to connect them using the only thing we don’t really see — light.

Many of the original elements are also being reactivated with new meanings in a contemporary context. The Heliocomplex is being reinterpreted from just a scientific monument to a hub for sustainability, which wasn’t part of its original identity. It’s also become an educational infrastructure with a public dimension, so we’re trying to communicate that layered complexity in the pavilion.

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

DB: Although you speak of these elements as ‘fragments’, they come together to evoke all these interconnected aspects of the building’s identity. How did you approach the spatial arrangement of the pavilion?

EG: Giacomo and I have long been preoccupied with the theme of preservation, and even in our exhibition design, we care deeply about how context interacts with the work. We never want to erase that or dominate the space. At the Arsenale, we wanted to keep the space very open, letting in natural light, so that the existing architecture would interact with the objects we brought in. That context adds richness and complexity to what’s on display.

image by Gerda Studio, courtesy of ACDF

DB: In terms of context, then, the historic industrial language of the Arsenale contrasts quite sharply with the modernist expressions of the Heliocomplex. Does that juxtaposition creates new layers of meaning, or does it function more like a scenography?

EG: It’s an interesting parallel that adds another narrative layer, I think. The Arsenale was once a piece of utilitarian infrastructure, and in a way, so was the Heliocomplex, though from a very different era and for a very different purpose. Also, it’s always a challenge to curate an architectural exhibition, especially because of scale. Unlike art, when you’re displaying the object itself, here you’re evoking something that’s absent.

GC: That’s why we brought in original elements or built new ones at a one-to-one scale. We deliberately stretched the installation across the pavilion to evoke the scale and presence of the actual Heliocomplex.

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

DB: You mentioned the heliostat prototype will return to Parkent. Were all the new works and reconstructions conceived with a post-Biennale application in mind?

EG: Yes, we designed the pavilion so that nothing would go to waste. Everything either came from Uzbekistan and will be returned, or was created here to be used there afterward.

The stands that support the commissioned works, for example, are actually mirror-testing tripods used by scientists. We also plan to reinstalled the facade mock-up at the actual site to persuade authorities to restore the original architecture. The heliostat model is fully functional and will be used for future scientific research, and, actually, we also see it as an opportunity to create collaborations between European and Uzbekistan researchers.

Even the bench, the only object that might not return, is made from an organic concrete alternative using rice husk. It can be dismantled and returned to the landscape. And since rice is a key part of Uzbek culture and agriculture, maybe this can stimulate new types of construction typologies that are both sustainable and culturally embedded. The Biennale is a great platform where such connections can take place.

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

image by Gerda Studio, courtesy of ACDF

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

image by Luca Capuano, courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia

image by Gerda Studio, courtesy of ACDF

project info:

name: A Matter of Radiance 

curator: GRACE | @grace.office

architects: Giacomo Cantoni, Ekaterina Golovatyuk

location: Uzbekistan Pavilion, Arsenale, Venice, Italy

commissioner: Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation (ACDF)

program: Venice Architecture Biennale | @labiennale

dates: May 10th — November 23rd, 2025

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The Dutch Pavilion at the 2025 Venice Architecture Biennale, commissioned by Nieuwe Instituut, reimagines the typology of national representation as an experimental sports bar. Curated by art historian Amanda Pinatih and driven by the radical sports-based research of designer Gabriel Fontana, SIDELINED: A Space to Rethink Togetherness uses the universal language of sport to challenge social norms and binary thinking. Transformed by artists Koos Breen and Jeannette Slütter into a hexagonal field of fluid interaction, the pavilion becomes a speculative arena, where identity, belonging, and power dynamics are up for play. Fontana’s alternative games, Multiform, Fluid Field, and Anonymous Allyship, reject traditional team structures, uniforms, and rules, turning competition into collaboration.

‘Drawing on Sara Ahmed’s theory of queer phenomenology, we have intentionally queered this space – transforming it into a sports bar that serves as a model for new modes of togetherness,’ Amanda Pinatih tells designboom in an exclusive interview. ‘This is a welcoming space where fluidity and experimentation can lead to a sense of empowerment for visitors. At our sports bar, sports is a tool for bridging diverse communities.’ Players wear shifting jerseys, compete without defined teams, and interact in fields that morph in real time. The goal? Not victory—but connection. ‘By deconstructing the spaces, uniforms, and tools of sport, we can question the conservative values that these elements reproduce and challenge their role in shaping identity,’ explains Gabriel Fontana. ‘Rather than seeing design as merely functional in sports, we will explore how it can be used to radically rethink the values and norms we want to promote on and off the field.’ Amanda Pinatih and Gabriel Fontana explain their approach in depth—keep reading for the full conversation.

all images by Cristiano Corte, unless stated otherwise

queering the rules of play inside a sports bar

Set inside a sports bar filled with queer gym memorabilia, unconventional foosball tables, and screen recordings from Venice’s Stadio Pier Luigi Penzo, the pavilion challenges how we socialize, cheer, and identify with others.

‘We see the sports bar as a place where people can feel welcome or not. As a site of both social production and identity formation, sports bars unite diverse communities around shared experiences, fostering a sense of belonging,’ explains curator Amanda Pinatih. ‘They bridge social gaps by bringing together a wide variety of people, cutting across social, economic, and cultural divides.’ With contributions from artists like Luca Soudant and Alice Wong, the exhibition becomes a living archive of voices, sports bar owners, architects, and community builders, offering a nuanced take on what inclusive design can mean.

Responding to the Biennale’s 2025 theme Intelligens, SIDELINED proposes that architecture isn’t just about buildings—it’s about behavior. ‘Rather than positioning queerness solely as an identity, I treat it as a method—one that challenges norms and creates space for different ways of being, relating, and cooperating,’ designer Gabriel Fontana shares with designboom. ‘These games remove fixed roles and visible groupings, disrupting the standard logics of competition and hierarchy.’ As cheers echo through this queered bar, the Netherlands Pavilion proves that even the most familiar arenas—like sport—can become experimental grounds for empathy, solidarity, and social transformation. Dive into our full interview to hear how architecture meets activism on the field.

the Netherlands Pavilion hosts the electric buzz of a reimagined sports bar | image by Temet.studio

interview with gabriel fontana and amanda pinatih

designboom (DB): What inspired you to frame the pavilion as a queered sports bar, and how does this unconventional setting challenge or expand conventional notions of community and belonging?

Amanda Pinatih (AP): Sport is a universal language. It’s deeply relatable, emotionally charged, and widely accessible. Regardless of your background, most people have some connection to sport, whether through education, participation, fandom, or cultural exposure. This makes it a powerful medium to engage diverse audiences. For the Biennale, Gabriel and I translated his research on sports and society into the field of architecture. While he already treats sport as an architectural system, we felt that the sports bar was an ideal socio-political space for exploring the social dynamics of sport and a great place to watch his alternative team sports Multiform, Fluid Field and Anonymous Allyship.

We see the sports bar as a place where people can feel welcome or not. As a site of both social production and identity formation, sports bars unite diverse communities around shared experiences, fostering a sense of belonging. They bridge social gaps by bringing together a wide variety of people, cutting across social, economic, and cultural divides.

However, this sense of belonging can come at the expense of promoting polarisation. Sports bars can indeed be seen as a microcosm of exclusionary dynamics, reflecting how group identities, rivalry, and opposition can lead to social division. This phenomenon is particularly visible during sporting events, where fans align themselves with specific teams, creating a sense of ‘us vs. them’ that mirrors broader societal polarisations, often encouraging strong in-group loyalty among supporters of the same team while simultaneously promoting out-group opposition to rival fans. By examining how sports bars facilitate interactions among diverse groups—while simultaneously fostering divisions—we can gain insights into the architectural and spatial strategies necessary for creating inclusive public spaces. 

curated by Amanda Pinatih and driven by the radical sports-based research of Gabriel Fontana

DB: ⁠Your games, Multiform, Anonymous Allyship, and Fluid Field, disrupt the traditional structures of competition. What specific social patterns were you aiming to unlearn or rebuild through these designs?

Gabriel Fontana (GF): Multiform reinvents sports as a form of queer pedagogy by challenging fixed categories and showing us how we can experience the world in a nonbinary way. Transformable uniforms are at the heart of Multiform, disrupting the traditional assumption of a stable team. These uniforms and a three-sided sports field function as tools for disorientation and reorientation, giving players a direct way of experiencing the impact of prevailing norms of identity, community and inclusion. By allowing players to take on fluid identities, Multiform challenges how we conceive of the ‘other’, opening up possibilities for new relations and connections.

Anonymous Allyship explores how belonging influences feelings, behaviour and performance in a group. The goal is to provide a tangible experience of both inclusion and exclusion, revealing the impact of social connection or alienation on individuals and society. In Anonymous Allyship, players come from different generations and communities without traditional visual cues to distinguish their teammates. Everyone wears the same jersey, creating an outside appearance of a single, unified team. However, hidden clues discreetly given players individually create a new dynamic. The first moments of play are filled with uncertainty: To whom do I pass the ball? Who are my teammates? By noticing and remembering how others attack or defend, the players start to understand which team they belong to. From there, patterns start to form.

Fluid Field challenges the binary standards that sporting fields place upon the body: male or female, adult or child, as able-bodied or experiencing limitations. In response, the game takes place on a playing area that is constantly changing shape and dimensions. Projected onto the ground, the pitch shrinks and grows into a myriad of shapes, challenging players’ ability to adapt to a situation in constant flux. The players thus find themselves taking part in a form of social choreography, questioning whether it’s the field that is shaping the players’ actions—or if it’s they who are pushing the space’s boundaries.

SIDELINED uses the universal language of sport to challenge social norms | image by Temet.studio

DB: The exhibition aligns closely with this year’s Biennale theme. How does SIDELINED propose alternative forms of collective intelligence through its spatial and social provocations?

AP: Designed by Koos Breen and Jeannette Slütter, our sports bar merges high culture with pop culture. Here you can watch Gabriel Fontana’s new games, relax and read our sports new paper or play a game of fluid foosball where you make up your own rules. It is a dynamic space where traditional boundaries, hierarchies, and cultural norms can be challenged and redefined. The exhibition gives visitors the chance to critically examine how sport as a system embeds ideologies of power into its very design.

Drawing on Sara Ahmed’s theory of queer phenomenology, we have intentionally queered this space – transforming it into a sports bar that serves as a model for new modes of togetherness. This is a welcoming space where fluidity and experimentation can lead to a sense of empowerment for visitors. At our sports bar, sports is a tool for bridging diverse communities.

Koos Breen and Jeannette Slüttert transform the space | image by Temet.studio

DB: ⁠Sports usually reinforce binaries: winner/loser, us/them, male/female. How do your designs queer these binaries, and what kinds of new interactions have emerged as a result?

GF: Sport, as it is traditionally designed, often enforces rigid binaries that shape not only gameplay, but also how people relate to each other and to themselves. With my new team sports, I aim to queer those underlying structures by introducing Fluidity, ambiguity, and multiplicity into the rules, uniforms, and playing fields.

Rather than positioning queerness solely as an identity, I treat it as a method—one that challenges norms and creates space for different ways of being, relating, and cooperating. These games remove fixed roles and visible groupings, disrupting the standard logics of competition and hierarchy.

One of the most powerful outcomes has been witnessing how participants gradually shift from trying to “win” to trying to make sense of each other. The uncertainty embedded in the games invites curiosity, negotiation, and care. In Anonymous Allyship, for instance, players can’t rely on visual cues to determine alliances—they must pay attention, observe, and build trust in new ways. These micro-shifts in behavior begin to reshape how people understand collaboration, belonging, and power.

a hexagonal field of fluid interaction

DB: In working with collaborators across design, art, and theory, what unexpected insights or creative tensions surfaced, and how did they shape the final outcome?

AP: Collaboration is at the heart of my practice, and curating the Dutch Pavilion this year was a deeply rewarding experience precisely because of the diversity of voices involved. Working with practitioners across design, art, and theory brought an incredible richness to the process—what emerged felt much more than the sum of its parts.

Rather than encountering friction, we experienced a kind of creative generosity. Each discipline came with its own language and way of seeing the world, and those differences led to unexpected resonances. One of the most surprising insights was how aligned we all were in wanting to dissolve the usual boundaries—between theory and practice, aesthetics and politics, individual authorship and collective expression.

The result, I believe, is a kind of gesamtkunstwerk—a total work of art in which spatial design, conceptual frameworks, and artistic interventions are fully interwoven.

a sports bar filled with queer gym memorabilia | image by Temet.studio

DB: ⁠⁠ The exhibition positions sport as a kind of spatial system. How does your design approach treat sports fields, jerseys, and tools as architectural elements?

GF: Architecture has always been more than just the arrangement of walls, roofs, and spaces. At its best, it’s a social tool—one that can deeply influence how people live together, how they interact, and how communities are formed or fractured. The built environment can either promote connection or enforce separation, depending on the values and intentions embedded in its design.

Sport is a designed system that shapes both physical and social interactions. Stadiums, jerseys, equipment, and even the field of play operate within a designed framework that influences not only the game but also how individuals interact with one another. Sport’s infrastructure encodes power dynamics and societal norms into its spaces and objects, often reinforcing a competitive, capitalist, and heteronormative division of society.

By deconstructing the spaces, uniforms, and tools of sport, we can question the conservative values that these elements reproduce and challenge their role in shaping identity. Rather than seeing design as merely functional in sports, we will explore how it can be used to radically rethink the values and norms we want to promote on and off the field.

the pavilion becomes a speculative arena, where identity, belonging, and power dynamics are up for play

DB: When space itself becomes the primary medium, rather than objects, how does this shift your curatorial approach, and what does it demand of audiences?

AP: When space becomes the primary medium, rather than objects, it fundamentally reshapes the curatorial approach. It’s no longer about selecting and placing, but about composing an experience—one that unfolds over time and through movement and collectivity. In the Dutch Pavilion, this shift allowed us to think of the project as an overall experience, where architecture, play and fluidity are all interdependent elements of a single immersive whole.

It demands a different kind of attentiveness from the audience. Instead of consuming a narrative or viewing a series of works, visitors are invited to inhabit, to linger, and to engage with ambiguity. The space doesn’t “tell” in a didactic way; it evokes and invites.

What I found especially rewarding was how this approach opened up new forms of accessibility—not necessarily through simplification, but through sensorial richness. It created multiple points of entry, allowing different publics to find their own way in. That, to me, is the real potential of working with space as medium: it decentralizes authorship and encourages a more open, embodied form of encounter.

Fontana’s alternative games turn competition into collaboration | image by Temet.studio

DB: ⁠⁠⁠What was your process for designing rules that invite fluidity rather than rigidity? And how do you deal with participants who still default to conventional play styles?

GF: The design of fluid rules begins with questioning the assumptions that are usually built into games—clear teams, fixed objectives, and strict roles. I start by identifying those fixed structures and then experimenting with ways to loosen them. This often means introducing ambiguity into the game mechanics: shifting team compositions, concealed alliances, or responsive playing fields. These strategies make the game feel unfamiliar at first, which creates space for new behaviors to emerge.

Of course, some participants initially revert to what they know—seeking competition, dominance, or clarity. I see this not as a problem, but as part of the process. These moments of friction often become points of reflection. When players confront their own expectations and struggle with uncertainty, they begin to ask deeper questions: What does it mean to play fairly? To be an ally? To be a team? To win?

By building games that center exploration over achievement, and connection over conquest, I try to create environments where transformation can occur—not through instruction, but through experience.

the pavilion challenges how we socialize, cheer, and identify with others

DB: In curating a national pavilion with such an inclusive agenda, how do you balance institutional responsibilities with radical curatorial experimentation?

AP: Balancing institutional responsibilities with radical curatorial experimentation is a dynamic tension, but one that I see as productive rather than limiting. From the outset, we approached the Dutch Pavilion not as a platform to represent a singular national narrative, but as a space to question and expand what a ‘national’ pavilion can be—whose voices it includes, how it operates, and what kinds of futures it can imagine. An inclusive agenda requires rethinking the structures of authorship, access, and engagement—often in ways that challenge institutional norms. But rather than seeing those constraints as obstacles, we treated them as parameters to work with creatively.

with contributions from artists, the exhibition becomes a living archive of voices

DB: ⁠⁠⁠Your work turns games into tools for social transformation. What do you hope architects and designers take away from experiencing SIDELINED?

GF: Design for togetherness requires reckoning with inequality. It’s not just about creating spaces to be together—it’s about ensuring everyone feels safe, seen, and valued in those spaces. Queerness disrupts binaries—public/private, inside/outside, formal/informal—and opens up possibilities for new kinds of togetherness.

This exhibition relates not only to social innovation and design, but also the evolving challenges in the sports industry. Today, many sports brands are being pushed to rethink traditional narratives around competition, gender, inclusion, and emotional wellbeing. Consumers—especially younger generations—are demanding more inclusive, values-driven experiences. The Pavilion of the Netherlands addresses these shifts directly by redesigning the very structure of sport as well as the values and norms it promotes. This perspective offers a fresh angle, especially as brands look to innovate in ways that are socially impactful and culturally relevant.

Amanda Pinatih and Gabriel Fontana | image by Elizar Veerman

recordings from Venice’s Stadio Pier Luigi Penzo appear on the sceens | image by Giovanni Pellegrini

project info:

name: SIDELINED: A Space to Rethink Togetherness
curator: Amanda Pinatih | @amandapinatih
main exhibitor: Gabriel Fontana | @gabriel_fontana__
commissioner: Nieuwe Instituut | @nieuweinstituut
pavilion design: Koos Breen | @koosbreen, Jeannette Slütter | @jeannetteslutter
venue: Dutch Pavilion, Giardini, Venice

program: Venice Architecture Biennale | @labiennale

dates: May 10th — November 23rd, 2025 
photographers: Temet.studio | @temet.studio, Cristiano Corte | @cricopix, Elizar Veerman | @elizarveerman, Giovanni Pellegrini, Giacomo Bianco | @g.i.a.c.o.m.o.b.i.a.n.c.o

The post an alternative sports bar within the dutch pavilion rethinks togetherness at venice biennale appeared first on designboom | architecture & design magazine.

The Republic of Azerbaijan makes its debut at the 19th edition of the Venice Architecture Biennale with a pavilion proposing a new architectural balance between nature, tradition, and innovation. Curated by Nigar Gardashkhanova, the exhibition titled Equilibrium. Patterns of Azerbaijan is a nuanced exploration of the country’s evolving built environment, bridging its cultural heritage with strategies for environmental and social resilience. This concept is anchored in Carlo Ratti’s broader call for an exploration of his theme, Intelligens. Natural. Artificial. Collective, while articulating its own approach through three key principles: Regenerate, Innovate, Preserve.

These notions of transformation through unity reinforce the team’s core belief in collective intelligence as the driving force behind Azerbaijan’s ongoing efforts to rebuild its cities, protect its natural landscapes, honor its heritage, and bring forth new ideas. In conversation with designboom, curator Nigar Gardashkhanova elaborates that this means recognizing that intelligence lies in not just contemporary tools and technologies, but also in tradition and the action and values of a nation’s communities. ‘It’s also in our shared wisdom,’ she tells us. ‘Every project in the Pavilion shows this: from Baku White City’s transformation to the rebuilding of the Zangilan Mosque, to the design of Victory Park. They are all examples of using knowledge, tradition, and innovation together to create a better future.’ Throughout the exhibition space, three key architectural case studies exemplify these ideas, from heritage monuments to new urban schemes, celebrating Azerbaijan’s rich past in parallel with its journey towards a greener and better connected contemporary landscape.

all images by Ugo Carmeni

Preserving Memory: Zangilan Mosque and the Spirit of Ajami

The section themed Preserve focuses on the values of continuity and care, setting the tone by introducing visitors to the richness of Azerbaijan’s history and culture — elements that, as curator Nigar Gardashkhanova notes, must be honored in order to meaningfully shape the future. ‘The Pavilion shows the beauty of Azerbaijan’s traditional architecture, like the Chalabi carpet design, the Zangilan Mosque, and the work of Ajami Nakhchivani,’ she explains.

These ideals converge most clearly in the work of architect Adalat Mammadov and his work with the Zangilan Mosque. A master of historical preservation and long-time contributor to Azerbaijan’s religious and civic heritage, Mammadov has led major restorations of some of the country’s most significant spiritual sites, including the Taza Pir Mosque in Baku from the early 1900s, the 8th-century Shamakhi Mosque — one of the oldest in the Caucasus — and the richly ornamented Imamzadeh Complex near Ganja. Across these works, his approach combines archaeological sensitivity with contemporary needs, particularly paying attention to preserving the natural landscape as much as possible, reinforcing the continuity of community life and spiritual expression.

Republic of Azerbaijan makes its debut at the 19th edition of the Venice Architecture Biennale

Regeneration efforts rooted in heritage: Baku White City

While the curation proudly looks to its past, it also challenges traditional narratives of architecture across Azerbaijan by showcasing new ways of building. The Baku White City Project, Azerbaijan’s largest urban redevelopment initiative led by the Azerbaijan Development Company, best exemplifies this ambition and falls under the pavilion’s next thematic pillar: Regenerate. Once home to the city’s heavily industrialized Black City, the area was damaged by oil refineries, smokestacks, and widespread environmental degradation as a byproduct of Azerbaijan’s role as a major oil exporter during the industrial era.

Today, that landscape is being transformed into a modern, mixed-use urban district, planned to host more than 120,000 residential and commercial units, over 240,000 workplaces, as well as cultural venues and public spaces all embedded within a sustainable urban framework prioritizing green infrastructure and community wellbeing.

A symbolic highlight of this regeneration effort is the Baku White City Bridge, exhibited in the Azerbaijan Pavilion as a 3D model. As an important infrastructure, it also holds implications of transition, presenting a physical and metaphorical link between the district’s polluted past and its cleaner, envisioned future.‘The pavilion shows how we can mix old and new — like turning the old Black City into the green, modern White City,’ Nigar Gardashkhanova tells designboom. ‘It tells a story of balance: keeping our traditions while also creating new, better spaces for the future.’

the section themed Preserve focuses on the richness of Azerbaijan’s history and culture

Innovating for a greener, better connected futures: Victory Park

In the pavilion’s Innovate section, the tone shifts from environmental restoration to civic pride, delving into the monuments that continue to define the many layers of the country’s identity. Through models and drawings, studio Simmetrico Architettura presents Victory Park, a public space in the capital city of Baku that commemorates Azerbaijan’s victory in the 2020 Second Karabakh War, anchored by a vast arch. These elements serve as enduring reminders of the nation’s resilience and solidarity in its history. The project also reinforces the recurring message that innovation does not need to reject tradition. Instead, it can serve as a way to honor collective memory and cultural identity, while offering new spatial experiences that speak to contemporary values such as resilience, access, and dignity.

Ahead, a special section of the pavilion also pays homage to Ajami Nakhchivani, the founder of the Nakhchivan School of Architecture, whose geometric mastery and ornamental innovations helped shape medieval architecture across the region. Celebrating his 900th anniversary under UNESCO’s jubilee program, the tribute connects present-day efforts to a deeper architectural lineage, reinforcing the idea that preservation involves extending tradition through living practice.

Adalat Mammadov led the restoration of the Zangilan Mosque

Equilibrium. Patterns of Azerbaijan on Balance and Belonging

For Azerbaijan’s first participation at the Venice Architecture Biennale, the curatorial team has chosen to present architecture as a cultural and moral statement that navigates between history and progress, local identity and global discourse. Equilibrium. Patterns of Azerbaijan articulates this through a simple yet resonant premise holding that the built environment is both a mirror and a map that can reflect a nation’s identity while helping to shape what it might become. ‘This is very important today because the world faces big problems like climate change and losing cultural heritage,’ Nigar Gardashkhanova tells designboom. ‘Our pavilion shows that sustainability is not just about nature — it’s also about protecting who we are and working together to build a better future.’

When asked what she hopes visitors will take away from the experience, the curator points to the idea of architecture as a bridge between responsibility and possibility. ‘We hope visitors leave feeling inspired by how Azerbaijan is building a future that respects both nature and culture,’ she says. ‘We want them to see that it’s possible to protect our history, take care of the environment, and still create new, modern spaces.’

Her words also speak to the emotional and ethical foundation of the pavilion that champions collective balance.‘We hope they remember the message of balance and collective intelligence — that by working together, we can regenerate, innovate, and preserve for the next generations. Most of all, we hope they carry the feeling that every small action matters in making a better, more sustainable world.’ 

part of the Baku White City Project, Azerbaijan’s largest urban redevelopment initiative

the Baku White City Bridge presents a physical and metaphorical link between the district’s past and future

Victory Park in Baku commemorates Azerbaijan’s victory in the 2020 Second Karabakh War

the 44-meter-high Victory Arch symbolizing a path to victory

the team believes in collective intelligence as the driving force behind Azerbaijan’s regeneration efforts

the pavilion opened beside Venice’s Arsenale on May 10th

project info:

name: Azerbaijan Pavilion — Equilibrium. Patterns of Azerbaijan

curator: Nigar Gardashkhanova

commissioner: Ambassador Rashad Aslanov

presented by: Heydar Aliyev Foundation, Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Azerbaijan

supported by: Embassy of the Republic of Azerbaijan to the Republic of Italy

program: Venice Architecture Biennale | @labiennale

dates: May 10th — November 23rd, 2025

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A new exhibition at the Nieuwe Instituut in Rotterdam, Ma Yansong: Architecture and Emotion, debuts alongside the long-anticipated opening of the MAD-designed Fenix Museum of Migration. During the exhibition’s opening, designboom spoke with Aric Chen, General and Artistic Director of the Nieuwe Instituut and curator of the show.

‘With the opening of Fenix here in Rotterdam, it was a great chance to finally do an exhibition together,’ Chen tells designboom. ‘Ma and I have had quite a number of conversations, both formally and informally. I always felt like we needed to continue it. I was always left wanting more.’ This exhibition continues that dialogue, assembling MAD’s early speculations and recent large-scale works into a spatial and emotional journey.

images © Ossip van Duivenbode (unless otherwise stated)

Tracing Origins in a Rapidly Changing China

The Rotterdam exhibition Ma Yansong: Architecture and Emotion begins by anchoring MAD’s origin story in the formative years of independent architectural practice in China. ‘There were no private architecture firms allowed until the 1990s,’ explains Aric Chen of the Nieuwe Instituut. ‘Ma is part of that second generation of Chinese architects. It’s really remarkable to see how quickly things took off.’

A central installation expands upon MAD’s 2008 publication MAD Dinner, a document of creative gatherings the founders held during China’s early 2000s building boom. These interdisciplinary salons gave rise to speculative urban visions — a Tiananmen Square reimagined as a park, an aquarium seen through the perspective of a fish — which now appear in model form, offering insight into the studio’s earliest attempts to reframe public space and identity.

MAD opens its first solo museum exhibition in over a decade at the Nieuwe Instituut in Rotterdam

ma yansong’s Fenix as Cultural Anchor

Among the most anticipated works on view is MAD’s design for the Fenix Museum of Migration, the newly opened museum in Rotterdam dedicated to global migration stories. Fenix features the Tornado, a swirling, double-helix stair that lifts visitors through the atrium of a historic warehouse to a rooftop observatory. The Tornado connects the ground to the sky, but also history to the present.

It’s MAD’s first cultural building in Europe, and its role is deeply symbolic, especially given the museum’s context in Katendrecht, once one of the first Chinatowns of continental Europe. The exhibition offers detailed insight into the design of Fenix as a built manifestation of MAD’s evolving interest in architecture as a vessel for memory.

the exhibition coincides with the completion of MAD’s nearby Fenix Museum of Migration

MAD’s longstanding engagement with shanshui — the classical Chinese worldview in which landscape, city, and spirit cohere — remains a thread throughout the show. ‘Shan Shui painting was a big influence on Ma for a certain point,’ Chen continues. ‘The studio has since moved on, but the relevance of that is still really important for understanding the firm’s work today.’

Rather than presenting shanshui as a metaphor or motif, the exhibition shows how the philosophy permeates form-making, whether in the land-integrated design of Quzhou Sports Park or in the undulating mass of the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art in Los Angeles.

Aric Chen curates the exhibition to reflect two decades of MAD’s emotionally-driven architecture

The exhibition’s title, Architecture and Emotion, invites viewers to consider architecture as more than a functional or aesthetic exercise. ‘Emotion is not something that we, here in this part of the world, are used to thinking about when we talk about architecture,’ says Chen. ‘But with MAD, emotions are very much connected with the idea of nature.’ The Nieuwe Instituut’s interest in climate resilience and spatial justice finds unexpected alignment in MAD’s emphasis on sensory experience and cultural memory, positioning the exhibition as a counterpoint to more techno-rational design narratives.

The selection of projects, Chen noted, leans toward recent and ongoing work, but also draws attention to the studio’s cross-cultural approach. ‘We always want to bring other cultural perspectives into the conversation,’ he says. ‘What Ma and MAD really do is provide that other schema or worldview for looking at space and how we experience it.’ From Beijing to Los Angeles, Paris to Rotterdam, MAD’s projects resist a singular national identity.

MAD’s early years are presented through models and materials from its 2008 publication MAD Dinner

emotion is presented as a primary design force linking people, nature, and space across cultures

Shan Shui philosophy continues to influence MAD’s organic and landscape-integrated architecture

projects like the Lucas Museum and One River North demonstrate MAD’s design language

project info:

name: Ma Yansong: Architecture & Emotion

museum: Nieuwe Instituut | @nieuweinstituut

architecture: MAD | @madarchitects

location: Rotterdam, The Netherlands

opening: May 16th, 2025

photography: © designboom, © Ossip van Duivenbode | @ossipvanduivenbode

The post ma yansong: architecture and emotion traces MAD’s creative journey at the nieuwe instituut appeared first on designboom | architecture & design magazine.