Artificial Intelligence (AI) is an emerging reality for the architectural discipline. Our work over the past three years has been to demonstrate AI’s relevance for architecture. Among many aspects, AI fundamentally opens up access to a new approach to formal experiments through the concept of ‘latent space’. We believe this concept represents a radical improvement in generating architectural forms, and comes at a time when cities are pressurised by the burning challenges they face: ecology, urban densification, the rapid mutation of modes of living, etc. In return, architecture is charged to come up with new typologies, able to handle these pressing concerns. AI invites us to reinvest in formal research in order to design the habitat of tomorrow.

In contemporary Chinese architectural culture, Hua Li’s work stands out as a phenomenon. His architecture demonstrates little in the way of formalistic eccentricities, cultural symbolism, or indeed the ‘Chineseness’ that some others seek to pursue. Instead, what interests the architect is, most of all, the quality of material, construction, space, and place [1].

In the summer of 1945, Ernö Goldfinger produced a twenty-sheet exhibition entitled ‘Planning Your Neighbourhood’ (PYN) for the Army Bureau of Current Affairs (ABCA) [1]. It shows how Goldfinger continued to promote a vision of modern architecture that had evolved in the 1930s, by adapting it to planning for postwar urban reconstruction. The reach of PYN went beyond that of a public exhibition because of its role in Army education; for the majority of its audience it wasn’t a matter of choice – the sheets were brought to them. This article examines the strategies he adopted to communicate the validity of modernism in Britain. It will show how wartime circumstances provided Goldfinger with a remarkable opportunity to present modern architecture to a mass audience.

The work and thought of the Basque sculptor Jorge Oteiza (b. Orio, 1908 – d. San Sebastian, 2003) is an omnipresent reference point in the historiography of modern Spanish architecture. Since the Jorge Oteiza Museum Foundation was opened shortly after his death, a great number of studies have been published about him, mainly in Spanish and Basque. Oteiza’s artistic career was closely connected to the postwar Spanish architectural scene. During the 1950s, he participated in numerous projects and architecture competitions and published his work in specialised journals and magazines in the field. Spain was at that time under the regime of General Franco and, as a consequence of the Civil War (1936–9), the country was suffering an economic crisis that affected culture, art, and architecture.

Once a prosperous manufacturing town, Geelong in Victoria, Australia is undergoing a process of deindustrialisation and, in turn, redefining its identity to better retain viability in a globalised world. For instance, the town bid to host a Guggenheim museum on its Eastern Beach shore at the turn of the millennium, and has recently become a UNESCO City of Design (2017). Like so many declining regional industrial towns, Geelong has been undercut by the new economic forces, and has sought a new identity in cultural economies. The ‘Vacant Geelong’ project, which began at Deakin University in 2015 and is ongoing, evolved as a response to vacant industrial architecture in Geelong. Major industries including Ford (vehicles), Alcoa (aluminium), timber sawmills, wool mills, Pilkington Glass, cement works, and the oil refinery once defined the town and its history as an industrial architectural landscape.1 Major industries transformed the architectural and cultural terrain. Despite these cycles of transformation and erasure, and counter to a progressive and chronological approach to change, the ‘Vacant Geelong’ project explored this vacancy of industrial operation, yet presence of industrial architecture. Through inscriptions – artworks, design projects, creative research, installations, texts – it addressed those material realities that did not leave, the industrial structures – silos, ducts, chimneys, warehouses – that give Geelong its continuing industrial architectural character.

In the case of conventional public housing, urban planners and policymakers design the layout of a housing project in a specific location and then estimate how many households can afford a home. This housing policy has been pursued as a legitimate solution for housing low- and middle-income households where the houses are individually financed by bank loans or mortgages raised by the occupants. John Turner criticised conventional housing solutions by affirming that ‘developing governments take the perspective of the elite and act as if the process of low-income houses were the same as in high-income countries and the same as for the small upper-middle class of their own countries’.1 Bruce Ferguson and Jesus Navarrete extend this argument with their critique of distributing finished houses to low-income populations and then requiring long-term payments, which are harmful to the beneficiaries. They note that ‘governments think of housing as complete units built by developers that households must purchase with a long-term loan rather than as a progressive process’.2

For months we have been locked out of Junkspace. So, who’s complaining? Confined to domestic spaces, #stayhome has given many of us a forced opportunity to rethink the type of spaces that are not only functional and useful, but that make us feel comfortable. Our own residential arena may have felt restrictive and even – for some – oppressive at times, but who would say that they truly missed their daily passage through the endlessly stale air of check-in desks, departure gates, and duty frees at the airport; the epic journeys through low ceiling corridors and passageways of railway terminals and subway stations; and the blinding hallucinatory proliferation of brands and franchises in malls…?