Annual Review 2024-2025

Amsterdam Academy of Architecture Annual Review 2024–2025 Architecture

RESEARCHING

Amsterdam Academy of Architecture Annual Review 2024–2025

DESIGNING FORWARD

Every academic year students tell a story. Not one singular narrative, but a layered composition of voices, ideas and experiments that together reflect the evolving identity of our community. This Annual Review is a collection of such narratives, from the lecture hall to the studio floor and from the first drawings to final reflections. Together they capture the momentum of a year in which urgency, resilience and transformation were recurring themes. One striking thread is the growing importance of transdisciplinarity and the awareness that spatial design cannot be practised in isolation. In various articles, we see the academy opening its doors to guest lecturers from beyond the traditional boundaries of design, to voices from activism, journalism and science. This openness is not merely additive; it transforms how students position themselves as designers and how the academy functions as a learning environment. From the reorganisation of projects to allow more space for critical discourse, to the revision of assessment tools to clarify learning goals, the academy continuously adapts to stay relevant. These educational reforms are echoed in the academy’s broader cultural shifts. The academy makes a conscious effort to make room for reflection and depth, for meaningful feedback and collective learning moments. Events like the graduation weekend reinforce the idea that education is a shared journey rather than a linear path to a diploma.

Yet this year’s contributions to the Annual Review also underscore the urgent questions that remain. What is the role of the architect, urbanist or landscape architect in the face of climate collapse, social fragmentation or technological acceleration? The presence of activism within the curriculum, the inclusion of narrative and research as equal to design, and the space made for imaginative speculation all suggest that the academy sees its task not just in educating professionals, but in equipping students to rethink what professionalism means.

One of the recurring concerns among students is the combination of an intensive workload and employment. The academy has taken several steps to alleviate this pressure, including an expansion of self-study weeks. In the 2024–2025 academic year, students now benefit from two two-week periods without scheduled classes (with an exception in the first year). These breaks are intended not only for recuperation, but also to encourage a greater sense of ownership and self-direction in the learning process. To reduce pressure in the second semester of the third year,

the practice module Design and Management has been moved to the second year. As a result, the Winter School is now attended only by firstyear students. Employment continues to be monitored closely and was the focus of this year’s employers’ meeting, a report of which is included in this Annual Review.

Looking ahead, the themes in this Annual Review challenge the academy to continue evolving. First, the emphasis on reflective, ethical and narrative competence alongside technical mastery must be sustained. The academy has to ensure that students not only acquire skills, but also develop critical judgement. Second, it remains essential to question for whom we are designing, and who is missing from the conversation. Finally, there is the matter of care for each other, for the world we inhabit and for the academy as an institution. The past year has shown how care can be operationalised in policy, pedagogy and programming. It has also shown that care is fragile: it demands constant attention and it must be embedded in structures, not just intentions. This Annual Review does not offer a fixed image of the academy. Instead, it offers glimpses, of students taking ownership of their learning, of guest teachers and staff harnessing their professionalism and of programmes adapting to new realities. These glimpses point to a dynamic and vibrant culture of making, reflecting and learning together.

This year’s edition of the Annual Review serves not only as a record of what was, but as a provocation for what could be. The academy is a place of continuous reinvention. In that spirit, we invite you to read these pages as a call to action: to remain curious, to stay critical and to keep designing futures that are as inclusive and imaginative as they are necessary.←

MADELEINE MAASKANT, DIRECTOR OF THE

Text

AMSTERDAM ACADEMY OF ARCHITECTURE

ESCAPING FROM MODERNISM

In collaboration with the architecture centre Arcam, the Academy of Architecture regularly organises One Lectures: public talks by peers aimed at stimulating professional discourse. On 20 February, landscape architect Dirk Sijmons gave a lecture titled Four Escape Routes from Modernism. Below is an edited version of that lecture. Through critical reflection on political, environmental and spatial realities, it challenges designers to reconsider their roles and responsibilities in a world facing a slow-motion catastrophe.

Text DIRK SIJMONS

These are troubling and confusing times. Our trusted navigation tools and maps no longer serve us: large waves are rolling in from all directions. We might be better off with one of those remarkable Pacific Ocean maps, where navigators discern the presence of islands by observing the shape and direction of the waves. These are maps designed for dynamic environments. My lecture is titled Four Escape Routes from Modernism. This title may raise questions: are there only four? Is there a preference among them? We’ll return to that later. My interest in escaping modernism began a few years ago when I developed a plan for the CBK art foundation in Zeeland, titled Pop Down, Melt Up, in the vicinity of the Borssele nuclear reactor. The insights we gained there were applied again a few years later. Last year, together with Herman Kossmann, Wouter van Stiphout and Michelle Provoost, I was invited by the International Architecture Biennale Rotterdam (IABR) to present the findings of twelve students from ten different countries of the Independent School for the City. Our focus was the Rotterdam area, imagined at 2.5 degrees Celsius warmer than today. We were asked to create the exit of the IABR, both literally and figuratively. We produced a billboard with a ticker tape reading: ‘When do we stop pretending all this is going to end well?’ That became our key phrase. A world that is 2.5 degrees warmer is not one we would still recognise. Many people fail to realise that 2.5 degrees of warming is already catastrophic, and this is the current projection for the end of this century.

The billboard featured three wheels of history turning at different speeds: the wheel of politics, the wheel of temperature and the wheel of planetary boundaries. At the vernissage, people asked me: ‘Are you a pessimist?’ Citing the American author Eugene Thacker, I replied: ‘On my better days, I am a pessimist.’1 Of course, I’m not truly pessimistic. I see myself more as a realist. As designers, if we are to be realistic, we must reflect on our worldview and our professional stance. Are we part of the problem, or part of the solution? This self-reflection is deeply tied to the enduring influence of modernism in our thinking. Like many of my generation, I was steeped in modernism. As a child, I devoured science fiction books filled with optimism about the future. Modernism is deeply ingrained in our Western mindset.

To the architects in the room: I’m not speaking of modernism as an architectural style. That is merely one of many expressions of modernist thinking, which has its roots in the Enlightenment. Let us instead consider modernism as a mindset. Modernism regards nature and its resources as unchanging givens. It envisions society progressing towards emancipation. Humanity, in this view, is strong enough to cast off the shackles of nature. The core values of modernist thought are freedom and detachment from the natural environment. Politicians and designers articulate their ideals in malleable, utopian terms.

Modernism is omnipresent. Consider the Icon of the Seas, a cruise ship that began service last year. It is astonishing: one of the largest cruise ships in the world, essentially a floating theme park with twenty decks and over five thousand passengers. From a sustainability perspective, it is hailed as a major breakthrough, as it runs on liquefied natural gas rather than heavy fuel oil. This is a perfect example of the illusion that sustainability will save us. But taking hedonistic cruises makes us part of the problem, not the solution.

Another example is The Line, a 170-km-long linear city under construction in Saudi Arabia, designed to house nine million people. Marketed as ‘the next best thing in sustainability’, it claims to produce ‘no carbon emissions’. That might be true – though likely not – if one disregards the vast amounts of CO2 embedded in its construction. Modernism, it seems, is still very much alive and has relocated to the desert. The Line bears a striking resemblance to Le Corbusier’s 1933 Plan Obus for Algiers. It is equally megalomaniacal. Whether it will ever be completed remains to be seen, but its ambition is modernism in its purest form.

Here in the Netherlands, we too are capable of such grandiose schemes. There are proposals for a massive sea defence and hydroelectric plant in the North Sea, intended to safeguard the entire province of Zeeland. The concept involves using wind energy to pump seawater up over 30 metres into a reservoir, releasing it later to generate large amounts of electricity. On paper, it’s an ingenious solution for temporary energy storage. A win-win situation. However, the collateral damage would be the destruction of the estuaries between the islands: a premeditated murder of the delta’s estuarine character.

These three examples illustrate how modernism remains very much alive. I will now take a closer look at the three wheels of history on our IABR billboard: the wheel of politics, the wheel of temperature and the wheel of planetary boundaries. I will address them one by one, although they are interconnected. The first is the wheel of politics. One might ask: ‘Why are we, specialists in the built environment, discussing politics?’ There are several valid reasons for doing so. One is the observation that in every authoritarian regime, there are direct links between the political leader, the economic elite and the building and real estate sector. This is also true in democratic countries such as the Netherlands, albeit less overtly. In countries like Russia and – more recently – the United States, these connections are out in the open. The president of the United States is a real estate tycoon whose political agenda is traditionalist, nativist, nationalist and profoundly anti-modernist. Is this cause for concern? Undoubtedly. Consider the early signs of digital book burning. One of the first acts of the new US president was the removal of all references to climate change from the websites of federal agencies. That was just the beginning. Scientists have expressed fears that vital data may also be erased from federal servers. This is a clear example of absolute denialism. A counterreaction may arise in time, but the current situation is alarming. Some believe the Netherlands is immune to such developments. We often say: ‘The Netherlands lags fifty years behind the United States.’ But our current administration’s political agenda shows striking similarities. Here too, the prevailing agenda is decidedly anti-modernist. →

Now to the wheel of temperature. Each year brings new record high monthly temperatures. This is a direct result of the vast amounts of greenhouse gases we emit. In a span of four to five hundred years, we are burning the biomass that took the Earth approximately 500 million years to produce. These emissions include not only CO2, but also methane and other gases. There is simply too much heat in the system. Numerous mitigation efforts are underway – the installation of solar panels being one example – but one particular indicator on the Earth’s dashboard deserves special attention: the Earth’s energy imbalance. This refers to the difference between the energy the Earth receives from the sun and the amount it radiates back into space. It currently stands at 1.64 watts per square metre. That may sound negligible (equivalent to a small LED light on every square metre of the planet), but when aggregated, it equals the heat output of one million small nuclear bombs exploding every day. There is too much heat trapped into the system. This is the driver of climate change. Its consequences include extreme weather events such as the Palisades Fire in Los Angeles earlier this year. Wildfires triggered by severe drought were driven by hurricane-force Santa Ana winds. Architects were relieved when the fire stopped just short of Case Study House No. 8, the Eames House designed for John Entenza, the editor and publisher of Arts & Architecture magazine.

These kinds of weather events also intensify stationary low-pressure systems, resulting in prolonged and severe rainstorms due to their absorption of warm sea water. The resulting floods have become a common occurrence in recent years: in Germany (2021), Porto Alegre (2023), Valencia (2024) and regularly in Miami. Every region is now at risk of experiencing such disasters. We must accept that these extreme weather events will not remain confined to news coverage, but will increasingly shape our everyday environments. The 2021 flood in Germany also impacted the province of Limburg in the Netherlands. All of these events have occurred with just 1.2 degrees of warming. Scientists warn – and political consensus is emerging – that we are heading towards 2.5 degrees of warming by the end of the century. That is why we began exploring what this would mean for Rotterdam. In his compelling book Six Degrees, Mark Lynas illustrates the value of fighting for every tenth of a degree, describing the potential effects of global warming across all aspects of life.2 Scientists are increasingly concerned that the heat accumulating in the system is bringing us dangerously close to climate tipping points. The most troubling among these is the weakening of the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation, which could have catastrophic consequences for our latitude. If it were to collapse, we could become the cold spot of the planet. The third wheel concerns planetary boundaries. Johan Rockström of the Stockholm Resilience Centre created a well-known infographic illustrating the ‘safe operating space’ for humanity in nine key planetary processes. It reveals that in six of these nine areas, we have already exceeded the Earth’s capacity. For spatial designers, the land use system is especially relevant. I will return to that later. However, other issues such as the disruption of biochemical cycles – for instance, nitrogen and phosphorus – are equally pressing. This is not solely a Dutch issue; it is a global one. Nevertheless, the Netherlands is among the highest emitters in the world.

Biomass burning has a long history in the Netherlands. Peat extraction has shaped the landscape of Nieuwkoop.

Photo Frans Lemmens / Alamy

THE GREAT ACCELERATION

Human activity has had a profound impact on the planet’s natural systems. We are introducing ‘forever chemicals’ such as PFAS, altering sediment flows by damming nearly all major rivers for hydroelectric energy, and increasing land use, not only for urban development, but predominantly through the reclamation of wild lands for agriculture. Collectively, these activities are eroding biodiversity. In 2002 this prompted Dutch atmospheric chemist Paul Crutzen to propose a new geological epoch: the Anthropocene. He argued that we are no longer living in the Holocene, but in the age of humankind. Naturally, the emergence of the Anthropocene sparked significant debate within the social sciences and geology. It has been linked to what is often referred to as ‘the Great Acceleration’. If you plot the major global indicators on a graph, you’ll see that after 1950, they all skyrocket: exponential increases in energy consumption, population growth and urbanisation. Some interpret this as a graph of progress. Others, such as French philosopher Bruno Latour, see it differently. ‘This is the apocalypse,’ he says. But not an apocalypse in the traditional sense – not four black horsemen galloping through the night, laying waste to everything. Rather, it is an apocalypse in slow motion. Our wealth is our apocalypse. →

The Line, a proposed 170-km linear city within the Neom megaproject in Saudi Arabia, is marketed as ‘the next best thing in sustainability’.

The book Apocalypsofie by philosopher Lisa Doeland is a key reference for the North Sea Canal region design commission, a project we’re conducting with Arcam, the Amsterdam centre for architecture.³ If we are facing a slow-motion disaster and are drafting a disaster plan, what precisely is the disaster we’re planning for?

The disaster is the situation we are already in. It’s not a sudden explosion of an oil tanker, nor the leaking of toxic chemicals in the Volgermeerpolder. No, the situation itself is the disaster. Designers working on this project must be almost entirely reprogrammed not to think in terms of progress, but to fully comprehend that we are living amid an unfolding apocalypse.

The beginning of the Anthropocene marks the onset of this disaster, nearly seventy years ago. A more precise definition comes from Indian-American scholar Dipesh Chakrabarty, who argues that the Anthropocene is the era in which the global economy crashes with the Earth’s planetary boundaries.4 That is the reality we face. This definition urges us to rethink how we engage with disaster planning. Turning our attention to the built environment, a recent article in Nature revealed that the total mass of human-made objects now exceeds the weight of all living biomass on Earth.⁵ This includes everything from the pyramids of Giza to present-day infrastructure. It is almost inconceivable. The article also predicts that this ratio could double or triple in the coming four decades. Think about it: all that we have constructed throughout human history is likely to be replicated in weight within just a few decades. This is the trajectory of exponential growth. Where will this enormous wave of urbanisation end? Where will all the necessary cement and steel come from? Architects must urgently explore alternative construction methods using materials like rammed earth, bamboo and mycelium. We must be radical. But another urgent question arises: where will this urbanisation take place? The website Atlas for the End of the World, created by Australian landscape architect and academic Richard Weller, maps global biodiversity hotspots.6 Strikingly, these areas almost always overlap with the locations projected for future urban expansion. We are heading towards a direct collision between urbanisation and biodiversity. The atlas pinpoints these emerging conflict zones. In Nairobi, the city’s periphery is encroaching on rhino habitats. In Mumbai, sprawling slums have entirely surrounded a nature reserve still inhabited by a thriving population of leopards, now forced into the urban fabric. We must radically rethink land use planning if we hope to preserve natural areas. Here in the Netherlands, it’s fashionable to talk about urban nature, but this is an entirely different matter altogether. The only viable path forward in addressing these prolems is to slow the global economy. Yet this is no easy feat. Almost every synonym for ‘shrinkage’ carries negative connotations. Conversely, terms like ‘growth’ and ‘progress’ are intrinsically positive in our culture. It’s ingrained in our DNA. To slow down an economy is to row against the current. Alan Berger, professor of landscape architecture and urban design at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, asserts that systemic design can change the world.7 While that’s an inspiring claim, I think we must be more modest about the power of design. As early as 1971, Austrian architect Hermann Czech reflected on the limits of his profession: ‘Architecture is not life itself. Architecture is just the backcloth, the background. All the other things are not architecture. Architecture won’t solve our political, our social, not even our environmental problems, just as music won’t solve our noise pollution problems.’8

The 1970s were a period of reckoning, a hangover from the era of spatial determinism. Spatial determinism is the idea that societal problems can be handed over to an architect who will then solve them through spatial interventions. Fortunately, Czech’s aphorism doesn’t stop composers from creating beautiful music, nor should it stop landscape architects from working on meaningful projects. Landscape architecture can indeed contribute to addressing today’s challenges. We can assume at least four professional roles. In our day-to-day practice, we function as designers fulfilling assignments. But we can also become landscape activists, operating without a client, treating the landscape itself as our client. In addition, we can work as landscape researchers, using research by design to address issues that would never otherwise attract funding. And finally, we can take on the role of landscape artists.

As spatial designers, we must be honest about our impact. When we overreach, we fail to deliver, but we must also not underestimate our capabilities. All the transitions currently being discussed intersect in the spatial domain, presenting us with an immense task. Everything requires a world in which to exist, and the world we will inhabit is the one we design. That is the condition of the Anthropocene.Let us now contrast the key tenets of modernist thought with the Anthropocene perspective. The modernist belief in the immutability of natural resources gives way to the recognition of Earth as an active agent. Society is no longer progressing toward emancipation but rather is gripped by anxiety – even the air we breathe must be monitored. The ideals of freedom and detachment have shifted towards responsibility. And instead of striving towards a utopian ideal, we are now embedded subjects. Politicians and designers must ask themselves: ‘Do we remain complicit in modernism, or do we stand as part of a counterforce?’

An example of mycelium architecture, the Mushroom Tower was built in the MoMA PS1 courtyard in 2014. Photo Amy Barkow / The Living

There are at least four escape routes from the conundrum of modernism. The first, as already mentioned, is denialism. One approach to these problems is simply to ignore them. We might say: ‘Crisis? What crisis?’ This is the denialist worldview. Climate change is deemed a hoax. The Anthropocene, according to this view, is the ultimate hoax, dreamt up by leftists intent on dismantling our civilisation.Another common escape route is eco-modernism, which emerged in the 1990s as an attempt to align mainstream politics with environmental concerns. It is, at its core, an extension of modernism with the prefix ‘eco’ added. It imagines a world in which anything scientifically or technologically feasible should be pursued: genetic modification, CO2 storage in depleted oil fields, fully climatized agriculture. Its most extreme expression is the proposal to use B52 bombers to disperse sulphur into the atmosphere to cool the Earth. Proponents of this approach argue that economic growth will fund these expensive environmental interventions. We can, they believe, consume our way out of the climate crisis.

This represents a solutionist mindset. Geochemical cycles disrupted? The circular economy will sort that. Sediment flows halted? Implement hard coastal defences. Ocean acidification? Add iron ions and chalk to the water. In this worldview, climate change is seen as an engineering challenge. Biodiversity loss is not considered problematic if invasive species can fill the niches or, ultimately, if it can be tackled through de-extinction programmes. If we solve all these problems one by one, as though ticking off a bulleted list, the final victory for humankind and ‘the Good Anthropocene’ can be proclaimed.

A more recent escape route is posthumanism, a worldview in which all forms of existence and all ontologies are equally valid. Humans are part of a complex web of life, no more or less important than other non-human beings. Posthumanism is increasingly popular. The shift from ego to eco allows us to see ourselves not as the pinnacle of creation, but as one of many living beings. This is a world in which nature is afforded legal standing. The Whanganui River in New Zealand was a pioneer in this regard. Closer to home, the Embassy of the North Sea seeks to give political voice to this body of water. From an artistic perspective, this is an inspiring concept. In practical terms, however, its implementation remains limited. The oat milk elites, as some call them, don’t seem to be marching to the right frontier. Nonetheless, this escape route remains a deeply sympathetic one. The fourth escape route is what I call Anthropocentrism 2.0. It is a response to posthumanism. The premise is: ‘We might wish to see ourselves as just one tiny element in the web of life, but the truth is we are a force – almost a geological force – that has wreaked havoc on the biosphere. We must take responsibility and repair the damage.’ The figurehead of Anthropocentrism 2.0 is Swedish activist Greta Thunberg. in Anthropocentrism 2.0, we return our focus to a more responsible version of the anthropos. A compelling example is Brazilian photographer Sebastião Salgado, whose book Genesis documents the Earth and its indigenous peoples.9 The project stemmed from an artistic crisis. Salgado had spent years embedded as a war photographer in some of the world’s most horrific conflict zones. Emotionally and spiritually exhausted, he decided to create a homage to the living planet. With the proceeds from the resulting book, he and his wife Lélia returned to his father’s deforested hacienda and established three nurseries to reforest the land. Today, it is home to 200 species from the Atlantic rainforest. I might never have learned of this if German filmmaker Wim Wenders had not made a documentary about it, The Salt of the Earth. For me, this is the essence of Anthropocentrism 2.0: restoring, repairing and reconnecting. It is a form of inverse engineering. To be clear, this is not an anti-technological stance. It is about viewing science and technology through a Goethean lens, one that advocates for reflection and debate before such tools are unleashed upon society and the biosphere. Otherwise, we risk producing the kind of unintended consequences Goethe described in his poem The Sorcerer’s Apprentice –effects beyond our control.These, then, are four escape routes from modernism. They can be organised into a simple quadrant. It is my adaptation of

and

The denialist remains trapped in the present, yearning for a past that never existed. The eco-modernist proclaims that the best is always yet to come. The posthumanist embraces ontological pluralism and is convinced that the environmental crisis is a spiritual crisis at heart. Anthropocentrism 2.0, by contrast, offers a more sober – and arguably more realistic – outlook: the worst might still be averted. These four approaches show that there are not just four escape routes from modernism. The quadrant allows for a multitude of nuanced positions. You can even use it to situate various philosophers: Clive Hamilton fits squarely within the anthropocentrism 2.0 quadrant; Yuval Harari straddles eco-modernism and anthropocentrism 2.0; Steven Pinker, ever the optimist, sits somewhere between denialism and eco-modernism. You can apply this framework to your own bookshelf, categorising authors according to their philosophical stance.

To be honest, about 90 percent of today’s environmental discourse resides on the left-hand side of the quadrant. Just 10 percent occupies the right. These are the pioneers. Posthumanism is gaining traction in artistic circles. Few, however, fully adopt the stance of anthropocentrism 2.0. The quadrant helps us identify the ideological rifts in the environmental debate. Denialism persists due to cognitive dissonance. Eco-modernism gains momentum by offering hope: the belief that economic growth can continue, if only we adjust our environmental regulations. Anthropocentrism 2.0 is propelled by scientific insight, but the associated ethical discourse in science often lags behind technological progress. Posthumanism fosters new forms of empathy, but its application remains limited given the scale of today’s challenges.

This quadrant also teaches us that no single escape route will dominate the conversation. As designers, we must learn to navigate between these positions. Recognising the stance of your discussion partners can help. It might even be possible to combine the strongest aspects of each approach. Even denialism has something to offer: a sense of detachment, casualness, even a kind of lost innocence. Let us aim for that detachment without the naivety. From eco-modernism, we can take the delight in designing and making, but without the hubris of complete control. From posthumanism, we might embrace its empathy for the non-human, but without its obscurantism. And from anthropocentrism 2.0, we should adopt the impulse to heal, but without slipping into moralism or finger-wagging. With these lessons in mind, we – as architects, researchers, activists and landscape artists – can become reflective practitioners capable of engaging with a wide array of challenges.

I’d like to end with a quote I’ve always appreciated, from William Burroughs, published in a 1979 interview in High Times Magazine: ‘Optimist, pessimist. In a storm, some will say the ship will sink, others will say it will stay afloat. Who is to say who’s the optimist and who’s the pessimist? It all depends on whether the ship is really sinking or not. (…) Both pessimist and optimist are meaningless words.’10 ←

1 Eugene Thacker, Cosmic Pessimism, Univocal Publishing, Minneapolis, 2015, p. 58.

2 Mark Lynas, Six Degrees: Our future on a hotter planet, 4th Estate, London, 2007.

3 Lisa Doeland, Apocalypsofie: Over recycling, groene groei en andere gevaarlijke fantasieën, Ten Have, Utrecht, 2023.

4 Dipesh Chakrabarty, The Climate of History in a Planetary Age, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 2021.

5 Emily Elhacham, Liad Ben-Uri, Jonathan Grozovski, Yinon M. Bar-On, Ron Milo, ‘Global human-made mass exceeds all living biomass’,  Nature 588 (2020) 442444. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-020-3010-5

6 https://atlas-for-the-end-of-the-world. com/

7 Alan Berger, Systemic Design can Change the World, SUN, Amsterdam, 2009.

8 Herman Czech, ‘Nur keiner Panik’, in: Zur Abwechslung  Ausgewählte Schriften zur Architectur, Locker Verlag, Vienna, 1977. English translation from Elise Feiersinger (ed.), Essays on Architecture and City Planning, Park Books, Zurich, 2019.

9 Sebastian Salgado, Genesis, Taschen, Cologne, 2013.

10 Victor Bockris, ‘Interview: William Burroughs’, High Times Magazine, 42 (February 1979).

An atomic explosion during the Baker test of Operation Crossroads in the Bikini Atoll on 24 July 1946.

PLURALITY OF PERSPECTIVES

Architect Estelle Barriol, founder of Studio ACTE in Rotterdam, was invited as a guest critic for the 2024 Graduation Weekend. In the piece below, she shares her perspective on the projects presented.

Text ESTELLE BARRIOL Photos JONATHAN ANDREW

This year’s graduation projects reflect a fascinating plurality of perspectives, with an increasing emphasis on alternative ways of living and building. The work of young professionals and students reveals a heightened awareness of the social, environmental and political challenges shaping both present and future. From imagining habitable environments on the moon to investigations into politics, ecology and materiality, these projects directly engage with contemporary contexts and ongoing tensions.

In many cases, ecology is explored as a systemic concept encompassing social, climatic and historical dimensions. Projects that address resource extraction, colonial legacies and long-term sustainability highlight the complementarity between spatial design and the social sciences. At a time when figures such as Elon Musk provoke discourse around extraterrestrial living, projects cast a critical gaze on the emerging realities of space and interrogate what it means to design for alternative modes of living and working.

A standout theme is the focus on wind and its integration into architectural design. This line of inquiry delves into the relationship between wind and space, underlining the importance of reconsidering natural phenomena as design parameters. At a moment when cities around the world are vying to build ever-taller structures, these projects demonstrate how wind –both a constraint and an opportunity – can redefine the interaction between the built environment, climate and nature, while also bridging disciplines.

Several projects adopt speculative and futuristic approaches, boldly reimagining living models and forms of habitation. Many employ research by design as a methodology, demonstrating the value of inquiry and experimentation in generating novel spatial forms. For architects, urbanists and landscape architects, this approach emerges as a crucial tool for reflection, enabling practitioners to respond meaningfully to complex conditions. Research is embedded within the design process, producing new narratives and frameworks. →

The diversity of representational tools employed reveals the multidisciplinary and cross-disciplinary ethos within the Academy. The capacity to conceive and articulate space through a range of media leads to generous and often unexpected outcomes. These tools not only help frame spatial arguments but also encourage exploration and experimentation in the face of multifaceted subjects and contexts. This multiplicity should continue to be embraced as a strength in the professional field. When combined with more conventional techniques, it introduces new possibilities for expression and communication.

The underlying utopianism evident in many projects signals a nuanced engagement with the intricacies of reality. It echoes the difficulty of envisioning ecological futures while designing spaces that resonate with evolving political landscapes. While utopia has long served as a source of inspiration in architecture, it remains essential to translate idealism into resilient, adaptable and impactful spatial interventions. Spatial design must aspire to cultivate environments that are inclusive, sustainable and transformative. Themes of utopia, care, transformation and refurbishment reverberate strongly throughout the projects. These themes underscore the value of ‘making do’ – of working with existing conditions and recognising transformation as a potent and sustainable act. Collectively, the projects reflect a generation of designers unafraid to challenge conventions and eager to redefine the boundaries of their disciplines. ←

ARCHIPRIX NOMINATIONS

Additionally, both the Research Award and the (R)evolution Planet Award were awarded to Lunar Thais Zuchetti (architecture). The Engagement Award went to Vincent Lulzac (landscape architecture) and the Audience Award to Dennis Koek (architecture). The Archiprix Netherlands 2025 ceremony took place on 14 June. It had four first prizes; one for each of the four disciplines (architecture, urbanism, landscape architecture and interior architecture). The first prize for landscape architecture was for Renan Dijkinga.

At the close of the Graduation Weekend 2024, director Madeleine Maaskant announced the four nominations for the Archiprix Netherlands. The nominated graduation projects were: (Be)Coming Home by Renan Dijkinga (landscape architecture), Low-Tech Haven by Iaroslava Nesterenko (urbanism), The Creature by Minnari Lee (architecture) and Wind-Woven by Rachel Borovska (landscape architecture).

The Amsterdam Academy of Architecture nominated two landscape architecture projects, one architecture project and one urbanism project for the annual Archiprix Netherlands competition.

(BE)COMING HOME

Landscapes of belonging: home for all.

STUDENT Renan Dijkinga

MASTER Landscape Architecture

GRADUATION DATE 29 August 2024

MENTOR Jana Crepon

COMMITTEE MEMBERS Jacques Abelman and Raul

Corrêa-Smith

ADDITIONAL MEMBERS Berdie Olthof and Marieke

Timmermans

ARCHIPRIX WINNER

(Be)coming Home focuses on the Campos Gerais region and the Devonian Scarp in southern Brazil, my home. This area’s identity is shaped by a rich tapestry of geological, natural and cultural-historical layers. However, without efforts to bridge these dynamics, and with rising monocultures, exotic species forestry and unregulated tourism, the region risks becoming inhospitable.

This project envisions a future where people recon-

Elements of home: personal collection and family archive.

nect with the land, blending traditional practices with natural systems. It introduces new ways for locals to engage with the landscape, transforming land use to create opportunities for residents and landowners. These initiatives aim to regenerate the environment, attract new economic activity and help communities rediscover the beauty of their surroundings.

Central is a network of natural and cultural tourism sites, linking properties through regenerative land

use. These interventions generate income, support biodiversity and strengthen connections between people and place, healing damaged areas and fostering stewardship.

Landscape architecture plays a key role in preserving and reinforcing local identity. This strategy uses the region’s tourist potential, focusing first on local residents. By encouraging them to engage with diverse land uses and activities, tourism becomes

a tool for fostering environmental pride. Tourists, though welcome, are secondary.

Diverse land uses create opportunities for locals to live within and care for their landscape. This benefits communities and preserves the cultural and environmental heritage of one of Brazil’s most valuable regions. Ultimately, (Be)coming Home invites a sustainable environment where nature and humanity thrive together, offering a place to belong.

Geological dynamics.

Cultural dynamics.

Biodiversity dynamics.

(Be)coming Home: hopeful vision for the future.

Proposal applied in the city of Carambeí, Brazil.

New dynamics section: proposal for land uses, activities and collaboration between layers.

Illustration of the new potentials to reconnect with the landscape.

Plan of the node, showing its recreational function and erosion control. The planting scheme, composed of native edible species, allows visitors to help spread seeds along the pathways.

Detail of the node.

South-westerly winds bring strong cold air; summer winds come from the east.

Wind patterns explored along Breda’s 8-km railway corridor, which cuts through vulnerable climatopes prone to heat accumulation. Climatopes are areas with similar microclimatic characteristics.

STUDENT Rachel Borovska

MASTER Landscape Architecture

GRADUATION DATE 28 February 2024

MENTOR Gert-Jan Wisse

COMMITTEE MEMBERS Nikol Dietz and René van der Velde

ADDITIONAL MEMBERS Marit Janse and Ziega van den Berk

ARCHIPRIX NOMINATION

Urban heat islands are a major challenge in today’s cities, alongside the need for cooling and biodiversity. While interventions often focus on depaving, greenifying and reclaiming space for green-blue networks, the role of ventilation in cooling is frequently overlooked. This project, driven by a fascination with the thermodynamic performance of wind, seeks to address that gap by using weather, climate and atmosphere as design mediums.

This research-by-design project explores how wind can enhance cooling, focusing on two dominant wind directions in the Netherlands. South-westerly winds bring strong, cold air from autumn to spring, while summer easterlies can worsen urban heat if obstructed by dense streets or vegetation, reducing human comfort and ecological habitats.

The 8-km-long railway corridor in Breda, running east to west, is used to study wind as a design tool. Rail-

ways have expansive linear profiles and open surfaces that support ventilation and shape local climates. They also function as ecological corridors, enabling wildlife migration and seed dispersal. The railway and its surroundings become a testbed for cooling compositions and landscape interventions. These areas are not treated as blank slates but as vital components in ventilation, ecology and cooling. Wind becomes a medium to compose a green wedge

that integrates with the existing urban fabric. The result is a park-like necklace – an ecological and biodiverse network shaped by wind – running alongside the railway strip of Breda, connecting neighbourhoods and enhancing climate resilience.

A park-like necklace shaped by wind along the railway strip of Breda.

Plan West. The west, exposed to south-westerly winds, uses existing tree lines and adds new trees to shape outdoor rooms.

West blue grasslands. Summer ‘wind room’ impression. Slight topography variation creates shelter for paths, recreation and pollinators.

West beehive autumn. Autumn winds are filtered by trees and shrubs. Wind helps spiders disperse through ballooning.

Plan East. East stream channels summer winds, cooled by tree canopy shade and water surfaces.

Wind-woven axonometries. Topography, water, vegetation and roughness shape wind patterns and diverse microclimates.

Industrial climatope ‘t Zoet explored as a wind disperser via its green-blue network and land composition.

LOW-TECH HAVEN

The design introduces four green parks and four lively neighbourhoods.

STUDENT Iaroslava Nesterenko

Master Urbanism

GRADUATION DATE 25 March 2024

MENTOR Jerryt Krombeen

COMMITTEE MEMBERS Jandirk Hoekstra † and Hiroki Matsuura

ADDITIONAL MEMBERS Marijke Bruinsma and Martin Hopman

ARCHIPRIX NOMINATION

Urban greenery in low-lying areas functions as flood reservoir and recreational space.

My thesis explores how the energy transition affects cities, how to design liveable environments and what urban designers can do to safeguard quality of life during change. It examines urban design, sustainable low-tech energy practices from the past and urban well-being. Having experienced energy contrasts from Russia to the Netherlands – from abundance to austerity, centralised to decentralised systems – this dichot-

omy shapes my perspective on energy transition as a societal and spatial task.

The Dutch landscape, shaped over centuries by varying energy sources, now faces the integration of renewables. How will this new energy layer transform the urban Dutch context?

This thesis redefines energy as a vital component of urban life, influencing spatial and cultural dynamics. It argues that conserving energy should be prioritised

over producing it. A personal narrative on energy use highlights the need to rethink distribution and address technological inefficiencies.

The thesis proposes making cities more resilient, accessible and community-oriented through simple, traditional methods. The focus is on reducing energy use and avoiding dependence on costly technologies.

Initiatives include urban agriculture, low-carbon mobility and community-driven waste systems.

I developed and tested a toolkit of low-tech urban solutions in Groningen. It addresses green-blue networks, passive climate control using solar envelopes and wind, and efficiency in cargo, mobility and food systems. This is an invitation to engage in shaping futures where energy efficiency is woven into all layers of urban life in a practical, sustainable and human-centred way.

Low-tech streets prioritise cyclists, expose utilities, enhance greenery and improve soil water absorption.

Student Haven uses geography and architecture for natural climate control in a low-tech, eco-friendly setting. Agrihood is a community-focused neighbourhood centred around shared agricultural spaces.

Material Haven is a low-tech neighbourhood built using repurposed materials.

Food Haven.

Full axonometry. Design introduces four green parks and four lively neighbourhoods.

THE CREATURE

STUDENT Minnari Lee

MASTER Architecture

GRADUATION DATE 29 January 2024

MENTOR Jeroen van Mechelen

COMMITTEE MEMBERS Jandirk Hoekstra † and Marten Kuijpers

ADDITIONAL MEMBERS Geurt Holdijk and Susana Constantino

ARCHIPRIX NOMINATION

The North Sea has long existed as an imaginary space for humanity. This project presents a future archive from the year 2200 in IJmuiden, envisioning a new form of offshore infrastructure: a floating entity that acts as an ‘indeterminate interface’, merging hard technological systems with soft biophysical processes. This entity functions as a regenerative farmer of the North Sea, cultivating seaweed and fish, desalinat-

ing seawater into freshwater, harvesting wave energy and transporting sea products to nearby cities such as IJmuiden. People live nearby and participate in its construction, operation and maintenance in exchange for its ‘harvest’.

The project seeks to redefine our forgotten relationship with resources, landscape, non-humans and natural elements. It challenges conventional infrastructure, which often removes natural ele-

ments to maximise human benefit. Instead, this proposal offers a vision of co-existence and mutual dependency.

Combining theory and practice, the project sets out abstract concepts and anchors them in a tangible model, communicated through various formats including moving images, paintings and sculpture. These mediums help to gradually materialise The Creature.

The Creature over the horizon of IJmuiden.

North Sea gas extraction.

of The Creature, IJmuiden.

Anatomy of The Creature, IJmuiden.

Chamber of Electricity, axonometry.

Chamber of Electricity, principle plan.

The Creature on the North Sea. Chamber of Freshwater, principle section.

LUNAR LESSONS

STUDENT Thais Zuchetti

MASTER Architecture

GRADUATION DATE 29 January 2024

MENTOR Stephan Verkuijlen

COMMITTEE MEMBERS Bernard Foing and Natalie Dixon

ADDITIONAL MEMBERS Raul Corrêa-Smith and Rachel Keeton

AMSTERDAM ACADEMY OF ARCHITECTURE Research Award and (R)evolution Planet Award

Lunar Lessons is the design of a planetary habitat aimed at knowledge transfer between the Moon and Earth. The idea is to learn from the Moon what it takes to live in an unliveable place, so that such lessons might be applied to an alien Earth in the future. Conversely, the lessons from Earth offer a direct alternative to space exploration settlements, which are often envisioned and developed as clin-

ical and cramped environments that provide only the bare minimum for astronauts. Through the process, it became clear that ‘cramped’ and ‘bare minimum’ conditions are not exclusive to lunar habitats; the lessons from the Moon are closer to home than expected. Lunar Lessons is, in fact, a project about people, regardless of which planet they are on.

Thinking of the people, the Moon base is designed from the perspective of crew wellbeing. It incorporates conceptual architectural techniques from Earth to simulate not only the variety of spaces and atmospheres we are accustomed to on our planet, but also the interactions between people and the rituals from home.

Site plan.

Site plan.

Ground floor plan and entrance to the habitat.

Souterrain floor plan and bedroom module.

Section.

Section.

Souterrain floor plan and bedroom module.

Lantern module, physical model.

Physical model lantern, contemplation room.

Physical model lantern, contemplation room.

ECHOES OF HOME

Visitors are encouraged to interact physically and emotionally with the site. Movement becomes the central mode of engagement.

STUDENT Vincent Lulzac

MASTER Landscape Architecture

GRADUATION DATE 16 April 2024

MENTOR Thijs de Zeeuw

COMMITTEE MEMBERS Lada Hršak and Erik A. de Jong

ADDITIONAL MEMBERS Berdie Olthof and Justyna Chmielewska

AMSTERDAM ACADEMY OF ARCHITECTURE Engagement Award

Echoes of Home proposes a cultural garden in Nantes, inviting visitors to engage with the geological, hydrological and anthropological foundations of the city.

The 7-ha site lies at the intersection of a 300-km-high geological fault and the 1,000-km-long Loire river, dividing the landscape into wine plateaux, marshlands and riverbeds. Yet, from within the city, the richness of these landscapes remains largely unseen.

Nantes’ strategic position made it a key port in the transatlantic slave trade, triggering rapid urbanisation during the so-called Golden Age, followed by industrialisation along the river. This redefined both the physical and cultural landscape, fostering an identity tied to exotic goods and colonial imageries. In the 20th century, as the maritime industry shifted seaward, quays were abandoned, leaving an indus-

trial void. In response, the city turned to cultural initiatives rooted in its colonial past to maintain dynamism. This has led to a cityscape steeped in nostalgia, yet detached from its local context. The project responds by seeking to liberate itself from extractive narratives and practices. Emerging from a personal ambition to decolonise the discipline of landscape architecture, it aims to reclaim Nantes’

layered heritage. Visitors are encouraged to interact physically and emotionally with the site. Movement becomes the central mode of engagement. The design is conceived as choreography, a spatial dance in which visitors and natural elements move together.

The 7-ha site lies at the intersection of a 300-km-high geological fault and the 1,000-km-long Loire river.

A Garden of Granite, nestled in an old granite quarry, invites visitors to explore geological wonders and natural beauty.

The design of the Garden of Granite is based on movement, dance and music.

The toolbox for the decolonisation of landscape architecture comprises, among others, critical reflection, the reassessment of design approaches and a reconsideration of land use and ownership.

Industrial concrete slabs, which currently cover the ground, are repurposed in various ways to allow for different uses.

MODUS VIVENDI

STUDENT Dennis Koek

MASTER Architecture

GRADUATION DATE 22 January 2024

MENTOR Jarrik Ouburg

COMMITTEE MEMBERS Wouter Kroeze and Krijn de Koning

ADDITIONAL MEMBERS Paul Kuipers and Txell Blanco Diaz

AMSTERDAM ACADEMY OF ARCHITECTURE Audience Award

Modus Vivendi is an architectural monument to social integration and an ode to the encounters we have lost in today’s polarised, intercultural society. It honours, facilitates and stimulates social exploration and interaction in our shared existence.

Despite the diversity of contemporary society, people often coexist passively, rarely engaging meaningfully across group lines. Rooted in the in-group

and out-group theory, many of these divisions are based on assumptions and imaginary boundaries, contributing to segregation and polarisation. This project explores the role of architecture in fostering social integration. Public architecture, it argues, should not be shaped solely by pragmatic, economic or historical considerations. Instead, it must prioritise social function and encourage spa-

tial awareness and interaction among diverse users.

Modus Vivendi refers to a way of living, a means of continuing what connects us, even when we do not share the same norms and values. Philosopher Eberhard Scheiffele’s notion of ‘making the familiar strange by studying the unknown’ underpins the design and research process.

As a monument, Modus Vivendi is both a tribute to

and a catalyst for social flexibility. Its sculptural mass and counter-mass invite movement, reflection and connection. Grounded in theories from sociology and environmental psychology, the project advocates a shift in mindset: placing social interaction at the heart of public architecture. It stands as both a spatial design and a manifesto for change.

Socioscapes.

Axonometry of the monument of social integration.

Site plan.

Sociospatial

Visualisations.

Pouring of concrete layers.

Section building physics.

Visualisations.

OFTEN YOU’RE IN FOR THE LONG HAUL

Part of the Graduation Weekend is the Kromhout Lecture, delivered by alumni of the academy. This year, architects Lorien Beijaert and Arna Mačkić of Studio LA took the stage.

Text DAVID KEUNING Photos JONATHAN ANDREW

Beijaert and Mačkić graduated from the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture in 2017 with a joint design proposal for a human rights institute on the Plein in The Hague, next to the Dutch parliament. ‘We all remember your huge model, which was exhibited in the same room where we are gathered now,’ said director Madeleine Maaskant, introducing the two architects. ‘In your work, collective dialogue plays a central role.’ At the suggestion of the curators of the Graduation Weekend, Justyna Chmielewska and Anna Zań, Beijaert and Mačkić were invited to reflect on their work over the past seven years.

‘We started studying at the Academy in 2010, during an economic crisis,’ said Mačkić. ‘We wanted to learn from people on the fringes of the profession.’ Their first collaboration was an exhibition design for the Unfair art fair in Amsterdam in 2017. That same year, they created On Speaking Terms, an exhibition installation at Nest art gallery in The Hague, incorporating a temporary semicircular auditorium that meant to promote discussion. This public dimension also characterised the Geheugenbalkon (Memory Balcony) in Groningen (2021). This temporary structure provided a vantage point over a major highway reconstruction project, as well as tiered seating for public discourse. It comprised a dismantled highway segment elevated by a bright red steel frame. Studio LA is currently working on two further art projects in Groningen, including one involving a repurposed concrete road deck elevated on two columns, situated in a park designed by wUrck landscape architects.

A poetic project, City to Dust, was created with Baukje Trenning for the 2021 International Architecture Biennale in Venice. The installation featured floor tiles prone to cracking, yet held together by a mesh underside. As visitors walked across them, they would occasionally and inadvertently break. ‘Each step confronted the visitor with their physical impact on the environment,’ said Beijaert.

Heritage and memory form another key strand of Studio LA’s work. In 2014, Beijaert and Mačkić paused their studies to engage in a project in Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina, centred on the town’s iconic bridge: destroyed in 1993 and rebuilt between 2001 and 2004 by Unesco, among others. Despite reconstruction, Mostar remains divided, with communities separated across the Neretva River and lacking shared spaces. Inspired by the annual diving competition held since 1566, the architects proposed a speculative design for a diving school; a shared ritual space divorced from religious or political identity. Wide steps lead to a generous platform, functioning as both diving board and communal space. ‘We presented it in Mostar,’ said Mačkić, ‘but the audience was pessimistic: “This is never going to work here.”’ However, some time later, a diving instructor constructed a new platform near the bridge, which has begun to bridge the town’s divisions.

The final project Beijaert and Mačkić presented was their design for a memorial site in Lelystad. The municipality tasked Studio LA with locating the site, engaging communities and exploring modes of commemoration. Studio LA consulted with Jewish, Christian and Muslim communities, as well as Roma and Sinti, veterans, descendants of enslaved people, queers and physically challenged individuals. They selected the Zilverparkkade and proposed a design drawing from the linear landscape of the Flevoland polder. A large, circular stage will serve as a communal space for remembrance, while smaller platforms, co-designed with each community, allow for more individual forms of commemoration.

The lecture concluded with a Q&A. One student referenced a 2017 project by Studio LA: temporary refugee housing in a repurposed prison in Amsterdam. He asked how young designers should respond to today’s political climate, particularly bleak in the days following the 2024 United States presidential election. ‘You have to start somewhere,’ replied Beijaert. ‘Even if you can only make a very small difference.’ When the prison was converted, the window bars were left intact, creating a hostile environment for refugees. When Studio LA questioned this, a representative of the Central Agency for the Reception of Asylum Seekers (COA) claimed the bars improved indoor climate because they allowed for shade. Beijaert recounted: ‘The former prison director told us that that was nonsense.’ Following this, COA denied them further access. Studio LA raised the issue publicly, including at De Balie cultural centre. Weeks later, seven parliamentary questions were posed on the topic. A populist rightwing MP reiterated the claim that the bars were for shade. Seven years on, COA has approached Studio LA once again; this time with a commission to design two refugee housing complexes. ‘Often you’re in for the long haul,’ said Beijaert. ‘Have stamina and hold on to your ideas.’ ←

Lorien Beijaert and Arna Mačkić delivered the Kromhout Lecture 2024.

Each academic year begins with a special welcome: the start workshop, a three-day event that immerses first-year students in the academy’s atmosphere. This year, the workshop concluded with a lecture by London-based activist and architecture journalist Phineas Harper.

Text DAVID KEUNING Photos MILDRED ZOMERDIJK

DRAWING LINES

From the moment the doors opened on Wednesday morning, the academy buzzed with energy. First-year students were greeted with an informative tour and introductions to the library, workshops and other facilities. In small rotating groups, students explored the model workshop, met staff and received their goodie bags: a cheerful gesture marking the start of their academic lives.

After a short walk, lunch at the MakerSpace provided a setting for conversation and connection. The afternoon was devoted to a reflective session about the balance between work, study and private life, exploring intercultural dynamics and personal ambitions. This served as a reminder that the spatial design disciplines are shaped not only by skill but also by identity and context. Thursday shifted gears with the workshop theme ‘from city to landscape’. Through sketching, walking and a boat trip, students explored spatial relationships across Amsterdam, guided by academy alumni Roy Damen and Alice Dicker. They encouraged observation and curiosity.

The workshop concluded on Friday with a presentation of the students’ drawings. Before this, they listened to a number of speakers in the Dokzaal, a former church hall near the Academy of Architecture. The heads of the master's courses in architecture, urbanism and landscape architecture (Janna Bystrykh, Anna Gasco and Joost Emmerik respectively) offered insights into the structure of the curriculum. London-based activist and architecture journalist Phineas Harper gave a lecture on how spatial designers can establish a socially engaged practice. The event ended with drinks, offering a moment for reflecting on first impressions and new friendships. ←

The students’ drawings were exhibited in the academy.

BIRD BOX

For the V1b Form Studies course Technical Matter, students constructed a bird hide on the island of Texel with the help of a robot.

Text BENGÜSU HOŞAFCI EN MARLIES BOTERMAN Photos RAYMOND ASTUDILLO

VAN EIJK

Waddenpolder Waalenburg at Texel is the first and largest meadow bird reserve in the Netherlands. You can experience wide skies along winding creeks that date back to the time when the sea still had free rein here. The open landscape, with characteristic meadow mills on the horizon, offers a glimpse of what every polder in the Netherlands once looked like.

However, the number of meadow birds has been declining at an alarming rate for decades. Ongoing intensive and fragmented land use in rural areas has led to a drastic shortage of suitable habitats. To address this issue and facilitate the study of these birds while minimising disturbance, we initiated a collaboration with Natuurmonumenten at this location. The result: a bird hide designed to prioritise both birdwatching and ecological research.

The Amsterdam Academy of Architecture and Robotlab at the Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences collaborated to explore how different institutions can benefit from each other’s expertise and exchange knowledge. Students began by observing bird movements in Waddenpolder and translating these behaviours into digital data. Using advanced software such as Rhino and Grasshopper, they created a parametric design that mirrored these movements.

For the construction, we used 486 identical components of 45x45x600 mm thermally modified pine, with all ends cut at a 45-degree angle to emphasise the direction of the installation and provide unobstructed views of the landscape and birds.

Grasshopper enabled robots to efficiently stack the pine for the installation. These robots calculated the number of pieces and assembly points, streamlining the construction process. This robotic integration also offered flexibility, allowing students to experiment with dimensions, piece counts and, most importantly, the overall form of the bird hide. The iterative design process involved numerous trials to achieve a stable structure suited to the location. However, Grasshopper offers a multitude of design possibilities, presenting the challenge of refining these into a cohesive structure that responds to the environmental context and the needs of both birds and visitors.

The entire installation was divided into seventeen sections to allow for pre-assembly and transport from Robotlab to Texel. Construction began with laying the foundation, where wooden poles were hammered into the ground to ensure stability. This created a solid base for the installation. Once the foundation was secure, the first layer was placed and connected to the poles, establishing the framework. Additional sections were then added, interlocking to ensure alignment and cohesion. This method ensured that the final design not only met structural requirements but also harmonised with the surrounding landscape. Throughout the process, balancing functionality and aesthetic quality was essential, resulting in a harmonious addition to the natural environment.←

With thanks to Robotlab at the Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences (Marta Male-Alemany, Marco Gali, Zach Mellas, Timo Bega) and Natuurmonumenten (Lea van der Zee, Eckard Boot, Jerome van Abbevé and Duurt Holman).

JUSTICE BY DESIGN

The Winter School explored the agency of radical design in the pursuit of spatial justice.

Text

IRENE LUQUE MARTIN AND JOHNATHAN SUBENDRAN

Photos JONATHAN ANDREW AND GREG JENNIE

In the face of climate emergencies, socio-political unrest and a growing global wealth gap, spatial design plays a crucial role in offering integrated perspectives to address these overlapping crises both in the present and the past.1 The spaces we design are more than physical interventions; they are socio-political acts that can either reinforce injustice or foster more equitable outcomes.2 This highlights the responsibility and accountability designers must acknowledge, as design decisions shape whose voices are included and which forms of knowledge are prioritised.3

Contrary to the conventional approach in mainstream design education, which often emphasises the heroic role of the designer and a bias toward quick solutions for complex societal problems, the 2025 Winter School built on the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture’s diverse, multidisciplinary framework. It encouraged students to critically engage with the agency of design in confronting escalating social, spatial and environmental injustices. In doing so, students strengthened their multidisciplinary skills, exploring alternative methods and roles better to address the diverse and complex realities of the world today.

Design education in Western Europe, whether in academic institutions or other professional settings, is often grounded in specific values such as democracy. As in any discipline, the values we uphold shape how we operate, whether professionally, domestically or publicly. In design, we have normalised the practice of upholding democratic values because our institutional, political and social environments allow us to.4 However, the reality is that democracy is faltering in many states, both in the Global North and South. We are witnessing this now in the Netherlands with increasing anti-immigration policies, with more than half-century military occupation of the West Bank in occupied Palestine, and ongoing denial of ancestral indigenous people’s land in Canada. Designing under the assumption of a democratic context where everyone has the right to participate, speak and think freely will render us increasingly irrelevant and isolated if we aim to make a meaningful impact in diverse contexts and conditions. This realisation calls for a fundamental shift to diversify our design practices, methods and discourses.

Irene Luque Martin introduces the final conversation in the Dokzaal, a former church close to the academy.

The Winter School was not merely an academic exercise; it was a transformative journey. It was designed to critically explore the agency of design in the pursuit of spatial justice across diverse political, ecological and cultural contexts. Through an intensive examination of cases where injustice or democratic breakdown has occurred, students engaged in debates and discussions to challenge the role and position of spatial design in these conditions. These discussions explored both human and non-human perspectives. From this critical foundation, students embarked on a journey of radical spatial imagination, using design as a tool to resist unjust realities and envision spatial justice. The ultimate aim was to foster a comprehensive understanding of spatial justice through alternative design practices and methods, culminating in an open debate to reflect on the role of spatial design education and practice in creating more just futures. Despite thematic alignments and the need to drive our practice in a more contextualised manner, the Winter School focused on a dual approach. First, we developed a language based on ‘attitudes’ as a way to explore the values, practices, skills and approaches connected to different ways of being and doing. When discussing justice, there is often designer paralysis: designers feel they have no voice or agency in the realm of justice. However, our attitude – shaped and transformed by every decision and thought – defines how we approach our practice. This attitude inherently influences our approach to design, grounded in our educational foundations. The idea that designers should adopt a single attitude (e.g. the hero, the sculptor, the star) is perpetuated by mainstream professional practices, reinforcing power dynamics and colonial structures in contemporary design. Justice by design is a transformative journey to explore and understand alternative attitudes that counteract mainstream practices. It is, and remains, a call to embrace plurality in our ways of working, and to recognise how doing ‘otherwise’ can become a powerful tool for an uncertain future.

Second, the programme focused on contextualising justice, not as a fixed goal but as a lens through which we operate. The Winter School was organised into five case-based studios and one integrative studio. The five case-based studios addressed various unjust realities around the world, serving as the foundation for the students’ imaginative work. The integrative studio was reflective, aiming to develop a critical perspective on the agency of design in pursuing spatial justice, drawing insights from the five case-based studios.

A TRANSFORMATIVE JOURNEY

Justice by design was never about arriving at definitive answers, but about embarking on a collective journey; one rooted in process rather than outcomes. It was an invitation to unlearn, to build conscious awareness and to simply begin from where each participant stood. From the very first moment, students were encouraged to bring their full selves into the space, acknowledging the richness of diverse starting points, attitudes and ways of knowing.

The Winter School became a space for deep introspection, a critical pause to reflect on the designer within. Participants were invited to explore how they project themselves into their work and into the world, making visible the intimate connections between identity, values and design practice. A central thread throughout this journey was the question of positionality. Students were challenged to reflect on how their identities, privileges and perspectives influence the design process and how power shows up not just in the world they engage with, but within themselves.

As the days unfolded, this introspective process took different shapes and tempos. Each participant became an active agent in their own becoming, navigating through layers of self-awareness and shifting perspectives. Attitudes began to surface, not only as abstract concepts, but as embodied roles to embrace, challenge or transform. Some found resonance in the attitude of the hacker, others in the journalist, the exposer, or even in entirely new archetypes born from their own experience. →

Johnathan Subendran was one of the two artists-in-residence of the Winter School 2025.

Caroline Newton taught studio 2, titled Enacting Matriarchal Patterns, with Amber Coppens.

By engaging in alternative methods (performance, singing, storytelling, gaming) students stepped into unfamiliar terrains of inquiry. These creative practices offered new openings to question design ethics, explore values and reimagine the agency of design beyond conventional frameworks. Freed from preconceived assumptions, they were able to confront the injustices they sought to address with fresh eyes and renewed clarity.

This Winter School did not offer a singular path forward. Instead, it offered space to ask different questions, embody different attitudes and make space for different ways of becoming designers in and for justice.

A NEW LANGUAGE

STUDIO 1 JUSTICE BY DESIGN: A CONSTELLATION OF ATTITUDES

TUTORS: IRENE LUQUE MARTIN & JOHNATHAN SUBENDRAN

This studio explored the agency of designer attitudes through critical reflexivity across five case-based studios. Participants engaged in a journey to examine the values, methods and practices that shape these attitudes, drawing from past, present and future possibilities. In three key roles (journalists, researchers and composers), they investigated the evolution of design attitudes, conducted interviews and fieldwork, and created a visual narrative to communicate their findings. The studio integrated these insights into a conceptual framework, illustrating how diverse designer attitudes contribute to advancing justice by design. This process fostered an understanding of how attitudes relate and manifest.

Skills: Critical reflexivity and reflection Attitudes: The reflector and the exposer

STUDIO 2

For many students, the themes explored during the Winter School were entirely new. Questions of justice, ethics, positionality, values and attitudes were unfamiliar and understandably overwhelming. Some felt paralysed or disconnected, uncertain if they were even ‘qualified’ to engage with such weighty injustices. But rather than shying away, the studio embraced these tensions. Through the lens of attitudes and values, students began to see how they could meaningfully engage with complex topics. The key was to individualise the conversation, meeting each participant where they stood and recognising that there is no singular way to understand or relate to justice. Too often, conversations about justice assume a shared vocabulary or common ground. This Winter School challenged that assumption, creating a space where difference was not only acknowledged but welcomed. Through collective dialogue and peer exchange, students realised that injustice isn’t abstract or distant. On the contrary: it often shows up in their daily lives, in how people are treated, how spaces feel or how design decisions are made. They redefined justice on their own terms, whether in feeling unsafe on a street corner or being treated unfairly at work. They also began to dismantle the stigma around the word ‘radical’, recognising it not as extreme, but as a return to the root. Ultimately, students left better equipped to carry justice-oriented values, such as care, respect and equity, into their work. From a curator’s perspective, introducing this new language has been one of the most powerful and transformative aspects of the Winter School.

ENACTING MATRIARCHAL PATTERNS: UNLOCKING THE RADICAL IMAGINARY TUTORS: CAROLINE NEWTON AND AMBER COPPENS

In this studio, participants explored matriarchal patterns of liberation in contrast to colonial and patriarchal oppression. Through theatrical performance and the concept of mind-body-territory, they engaged with the radical imaginaries and decolonial struggles of the Sahrawi people. Focusing on enactment over embodiment, the workshop connected spatial dynamics with personal and collective experiences to foster inclusive, community-driven design practices. Participants reinterpreted and reimagined these patterns through physical, emotional and reflective processes, delving into spatial justice issues. Outputs included a screenplay of performances, visual documentation and reflective writings, promoting an understanding of matriarchal resilience in spatial planning.

Skills: Enactment and performative exploration of spatial concepts, critical reflection, visual documentation and drawing the radical imaginary Attitude: The activator

STUDIO 3

UNTOLD: COUNTER-NARRATIVES OF UNDOING

TUTORS: LUISA MARIA CALABRESE AND RAQUEL HADRICH

This studio examined socio-environmental injustices in land reclamation, focusing on Manila Bay, where socalled ‘green’ developments displace communities and ecosystems. It challenged the designer’s complicity in perpetuating inequity, dismantling the myth of Dutch land reclamation expertise as a universal solution. Rooted in ‘undoing’, the studio deconstructed dominant narratives and confronted designer neutrality. The focus

was on movement improvisation and choreography, allowing students to engage with conflict and injustice through embodied strategies. Speculative mapping was used to challenge power structures, and the final outcome, in the form of a multimedia installation, presented counter-narratives that provoke critical engagement with accepted ‘truths’ in the built environment.

Skills: Movement improvisation and choreography

Attitude: The hacker

STUDIO 4

THE PALESTINE THAT IS IN THE PALESTINIAN REFUGEE CAMP: STORYTELLING AS A TOOL OF IMAGINING LIBERATED FUTURES

TUTOR: NAMA’A QUDAH

In this studio, participants used storytelling as a critical tool to re-examine Palestine and Palestinian refugee camps, particularly in the context of the ongoing Israeli war on Gaza. By combining academic research and film, the studio interrogated colonial knowledge production and explored pathways to reclaim justice for Palestine. Participants challenged fragmented narratives about Palestine’s geography and global perceptions, envisioning liberated futures beyond colonial borders. Through storytelling, they explored the temporal and spatial layers of Palestinian refugee camps since Al Nakba (1948), reflecting on how these intertwined histories shape the realities and possibilities of Palestinian life today.

Skills: Storytelling

Attitude: The exposer to confront

STUDIO 5

A PLAY FOR SPACE AND JUSTICE: SHADOWS OF CENTRAL PARK IN SHANGHAI

TUTORS: CHUN HOI HUI, JAMMY ZHU AND YANG ZHANG (SPRING ONION ATELIER)

Lujiazui Central Park, located in Shanghai’s iconic CBD, contrasts lush landscapes with a skyline symbolising China’s economic rise. Yet, its gated access, surveillance and exclusive events reflect a governance model prioritising authority and exclusivity over equitable urban access. This studio challenged these norms by transforming the park into an experimental space for rethinking spatial justice. Through role-play and urban games, students used participatory methods to reimagine the park’s design and governance, shifting from top-down control to inclusive, bottom-up processes. The studio explored governance, social equity and sustainability, uncovering the roots of spatial injustice and inspiring new conversations on public space.

Skills: Urban gaming

Attitude: The gamer

STUDIO 6

SINGING A LAND INTO BEING: RADICAL REIMAGINING OF LAND–BODY RELATIONS THROUGH COLLECTIVE SINGING AND DIGITAL LANDSCAPES

TUTORS: AGAT SHARMA AND LAURA CULL Ó MAOILEARCA

In this workshop, participants enacted scenes from an unfinished script by Dr Dhvani Shodhak, a glottogeologist and theatre-maker. The script, divided into five scenes, explored land–body relations observed on cotton farms in India, highlighting issues such as agrochemical exposure, cancer, contamination and farmer suicides. Each scene consisted of three sections: entering a collective dream space, improvisational singing and creating digital walkthroughs of imagined landscapes. Participants used collective dreaming as a tool for radical imagination and practised embodying and representing landscapes sonically and digitally, exploring the socio-environmental conditions affecting farmers’ lives in India.

Skills: Improvised singing and applying Unreal Editor for Fortnite

Attitude: The realiser

THE FENCE-SITTERS, THE AWAKENING

The Winter School offered a rare and meaningful opportunity to engage with a wide spectrum of students, each bringing different political, social and cultural backgrounds, and a diversity of values. Unlike many voluntary initiatives around justice that tend to attract like-minded individuals, this space welcomed a broader range of perspectives. A key intention of the Winter School was to reach beyond those already committed to justice-oriented design. It aimed to engage those in-between: the hesitant, the uncertain, the curious. It became a real-world case for how to open up conversations about justice in more public and plural domains.

In some instances, this created a kind of awakening. Students who were unsure at the start became open to the relevance of injustice, realising how it intersected with their own experiences and lives. This shift fostered a growing sense of self-awareness and agency, extending beyond the academy to their workplaces and everyday roles as citizens.By focusing on attitudes, rather than prescribing fixed outcomes, the process became more accessible. It allowed students to relate to justice in their own way, at their own scale. One student who began the week Googling ‘justice’ ended it by actively questioning how design decisions carry ethical and political implications. It was a rare and powerful moment, where justice by design resonated across a broad range of hearts and minds.

IMAGINING AND DESIGNING OTHERWISE

At the heart of the Winter School’s pedagogical approach was a commitment to imagining and designing otherwise, moving away from the dominant ethos of designer heroism that still underpins much of mainstream design education. Students were invited to radically and spatially reimagine the world, thinking beyond the constraints and symptoms of present realities. By engaging in unfamiliar and experimental design methods, they began to reconsider how their skills and sensibilities could be broadened and applied differently.

This meant design was no longer just about solving problems or producing solutions. Students were encouraged to tell stories through drawings, perform dances, create posters for social change, gamify questions of power and justice, map constellations of values and explore future imaginaries through embodied design practices.

Designing otherwise became a way to challenge norms, open new modes of expression, and embrace alternative ways of knowing. It was through these acts of radical spatial imagination and creative experimentation that students entered a process of becoming: unlearning, questioning and cultivating a more critical design consciousness.

This practice was not only liberating, but essential to the Winter School’s vision: that design, at its most powerful, is not only a tool for shaping spaces, but for reshaping perspectives, values and ways of being in the world. ←

1 See: K. Lynch, The Image of the City, MIT Press, 1960; J. Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, 1961, 13-25; C. Alexander, S. Ishikawa and M. Silverstein, A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction, Oxford University Press, 1977; R. Koolhaas, Delirious New York: A retroactive manifesto for Manhattan, The Monacelli Press, 1978; J. Till, Architecture Depends, MIT Press, 2009; H. Ovink, Blauwe Kamer, June issue on Water, 2024.

2 See: D. de la Pena, D. Jones Allen, R.T. Hester Jr. a.o., Design as democracy: Techniques for collective creativity, Island Press, 2017; R. Fiehn, K. Buchanan, and M. Haward, Collective Action! The Power of Collaboration and Co-Design in Architecture, RIBA Publishing, 2023, https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003394945

3 See: S. Costanza-Chock, ‘Design Justice: Towards an intersectional feminist framework for design theory and Practice’, in: C. Storni, K. Leahy, M. McMahon, P. Lloyd and E. Bohemia (eds.), Design as a catalyst for change, DRS International Conference 2018, 25-28 June 2018, Limerick, Ireland. https://doi.org/ 10.21606/drs.2018.679

4 See: I. Young, Justice and the Politics of Difference, Princeton University Press, 1990; O. Yiftachel, ‘Re-engaging Planning Theory? Towards ‘South-Eastern’ Perspectives’, Planning Theory, 5 (2006)3, 211-222, https:// doi.org/10.1177/1473095206068627; V. Watson, ‘Seeing from the South: Refocusing urban planning on the globe’s central urban issues’, Urban Studies, 46(2009)11, 2259–2275; N. Perera, W.S. Tang (eds.), Transforming Asian Cities: Intellectual impasse, Asianizing space, and emerging translocalities, Routledge, 2012; F. Miraftab, ‘Insurgent Practices And Decolonization Of Future(s)’, in: M. Gunder, A. Madanipour and V. Watson (eds), The Routledge Handbook of Planning Theory, 2017, 276–288.

SHATTERED GLASS

Students Milan Candido and Hajar Oost took part in the Architecture Minor. As part of the programme, they participated in a workshop at Van Tetterode Glass Studio in Amsterdam. In their report, they argue for the return of the glass block to the architectural vocabulary.

Text MILAN CANDIDO AND HAJAR OOST Photos MARLIES BOTERMAN

Glass is an exhaustible resource. It may not be something you often consider, but window glass is one of the major polluters in the construction industry. Architects are encouraged to incorporate large amounts of glass in buildings, yet glass is far from environmentally friendly. While concrete is widely regarded as a rough and dirty material, glass belongs in the same category, even if this is less obvious.

The production of glass begins with its principal raw material: sand. Over millions of years, sand has developed through the erosion of rocks and minerals by natural forces such as water, wind and ice. Most sand grains are made of quartz, a particularly hard mineral that is resistant to weathering and able to travel long distances. Rivers often carry these grains to the sea, where they accumulate. Sand can also be formed through the breakdown of shells and corals. It is a fundamental ingredient in the production of many objects, including windows, vases and mirrors. Like other raw materials, sand is finite, which makes it vital to reduce our consumption.

The Netherlands ranks highly when it comes to recycling glass jars and bottles, with around 80% being reused. For effective recycling, each type of glass must be separated due to their differing melting points. Unfortunately, window glass is not easily recycled. The coatings and additives used in its production are difficult to remove, and most glass studios avoid such waste due to the risks it poses. Chemicals released during the melting process can compromise other pieces. So the supposed sustainability of glass recycling in the Netherlands is less convincing than it may seem.

In response, we designed a lamp using leftover glass. The glass plates in the lamp were crafted to create a prismatic effect. By forming shapes that diffuse light, the lamp plays with the way light passes through it. Prismatic glass in a façade can redirect (sun)light to specific places intended by the designer. In our case, it also functions as a decorative element.

Initially, we planned to use leftover window glass, but we encountered the same problem as many studios: it was not accepted in furnaces. The glass we eventually used came from other projects at glass studio Van Tetterode. Two types were selected: a white transparent glass formed into rounded pellets, and a white glass with a blue hue. Drawing inspiration from Berlage and Falconnier, we cast 29 plaster moulds to shape the glass. This process became an experiment in itself. The outcome of each form was uncertain and precision was key, as even the slightest error or impurity would be visible in the final piece. Recycling window glass remains complex, but there are alternatives. Ultra-flat, transparent glazing is not always essential. In the past, glass blocks were widely used. They were imperfect and matte but admitted daylight into interiors. Why did we abandon glass block design in the tradition of Berlage? In today’s trend-driven environment, perhaps it is time to revisit glass blocks and move away from façades dominated by sleek, transparent windows. ←

Students used recycled glass to produce handmade geometrical objects.

OUDE KERK TRIPTYCH

This drawing features a red figure among symbolic objects, highlighting how anyone can find a personal connection to the building.

STUDENT Noyan Azgun

PROJECT P1A

MASTER Architecture

TUTOR Steven van Raan

ASSIGNMENT Room for One Thought

These drawings express my evolving fascination with the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam. The first sketch reflects on the many visitors throughout history, each shaped by their own time and experience. Another focuses on the graves beneath the church: resting places of both renowned individuals and everyday citizens, each with their own stories. A third features a red figure among symbolic objects, high-

lighting how anyone can find a personal connection to the building. Like an island, the church offers refuge to all who enter. These sketches formed the foundation for a series of subsequent drawings, which expanded on the idea that everyone sees the world through a unique lens. Meaning does not reside in the structure itself, but in the significance we assign to it.

The final piece, a triptych painting, merges these three fascinations. It shows how different perspectives coexist around a single space. We project our own narratives, and the building becomes a canvas for them all.

As a spatial extension of this idea, I designed an intervention in the form of a mirror, echoing the triptych. The installation consists of three adjustable

panels, each 3 m high and 1.5 m wide. Placed in front of the church, it reflects the Oude Kerk from multiple angles, symbolising the subjectivity of perception. This project is ultimately about empathy, about recognising that others may see the same place differently. It invites reflection, both literally and metaphorically, on how diverse experiences shape our view of the world.

This sketch explores the people who have visited the church throughout history, each with a unique perspective on the building. Their views, shaped by different times and experiences, are likely to differ greatly.

This drawing focuses on the numerous graves beneath the building.

A mirror, echoing the triptych, reflects the Oude Kerk from multiple angles, symbolising the subjectivity of perception. The final piece, a triptych painting, merges the three fascinations that formed the basis of this project.

CASCADING IJ

In the current situation, the central area is a no man’s land: it is only used to access the jetty.

In the proposed situation, part of the platform is used to channel water flows.

STUDENT Frank Groen

PROJECT P1A

MASTER Urbanism

TUTOR Rachel Borovska

ASSIGNMENT Weather, Climate and Atmosphere as Mediums of Design

The IJ Boulevard behind Amsterdam Central Station, though home to a vast underground bicycle parking, feels neglected. It is a hot, noisy corridor dominated by traffic and technical constraints. Its highly paved design, driven by structural demands, leaves little room for trees or greenery, resulting in a harsh climate and poor acoustic experience.

Observations and sound recordings from both

sides of the boulevard reveal a space overwhelmed by mopeds, fat bikes and commuter chaos. This design research proposes a climate-adaptive intervention: a cascading waterfall that softens sound and transforms the atmosphere. Originating from the station’s arched roof, waterfalls spill into a wide basin, creating a deep, masking sound. The water then flows over a stepped

cascade, with each step marking a historic tide level from Amsterdam’s extensive tidal records, dating back before the Afsluitdijk. Walkways shaped like historic piers cross the basin, evoking the former ferry and cargo docks once found here. These paths provide places to pause, connect and cool off, offering a sensory counterbalance to the boulevard’s current urgency.

The water ultimately flows back into the IJ, just beyond the existing wooden pier. The intervention respects the current infrastructure, preserving circulation and bicycle access while transforming the space from a utilitarian thoroughfare into a vibrant urban haven.

Thermodynamic performance in the current situation.

Thermodynamic performance in the proposed situation.

Soundscape of the IJhal and IJboulevard in the current situation.

Soundscape of the IJhal and IJboulevard in the proposed situation.

The semicircular entrance to the underground bicycle garage is carved out of the water’s surface.

Stepping stones offer opportunities for children to play.

The jetty is accessed via raised wooden platforms.

Hard substrate.

Hybrid materials: old shells and concrete.

Design principles for the zebra mussel.

Reproductive temperature range.

Effective breakwater shape.

Sufficient algae and phytoplankton. Light and dark spatial qualities.

Combination of open and sheltered spaces.

Sufficient oxygen. Diverse height levels. Always underwater. Varied shelter sizes.

General design principles.

Rough textures providing microhabitats.

Variable flow speeds.

Mussel bed with reef cores.

DRIFTING TOGETHER

STUDENT Damian Verheide

PROJECT P1B

MASTER Architecture

TUTOR Daria Khozhai

ASSIGNMENT The House that Visionary Built

By 2075, rising sea levels and dwindling resources have triggered global collapse. The Netherlands, submerged by the melting polar ice caps, is unrecognisable. Cities are overwhelmed by climate refugees, infrastructure crumbles, and governments falter. In Amsterdam, once-thriving neighbourhoods vanish under water. The city becomes a flooded relic of its former self.

Amidst this broken world lives Mari, a curious and

resilient young girl. She and her mother occupy what remains of a canal house, now perched at the edge of the submerged city. Mari explores the sunken streets with friends, seeking meaning in the ruins.

One day, she finds a flyer. It’s a call to imagine and design a space for reconnection in this fractured society. Inspired, Mari begins to reimagine her surroundings. Her journey becomes one of resilience,

creativity and hope. Through her eyes, we discover that even in a landscape marked by devastation, imagination can spark renewal.

This story unfolds as a comic, blending narrative and illustration to confront real-world climate issues in a playful, emotional and accessible way. It challenges traditional design thinking, instead prioritising empathy, adaptability and joy.

Rather than presenting fixed solutions, the comic

invites reflection. It ends on an open note. Will Mari bring people together again through design? The answer lies not in certainty, but in daring to envision a new beginning.

2074 URBAN ECOLOGY REORDERED

URBAN NATURE RETREAT

STUDENT Sophie (Sui-Hui) Kuo

PROJECT P1B

MASTER Urbanism

TUTORS Léa Soret and Anna Torres

ASSIGNMENT The Wizard and the Prophet

This project explores Amsterdam’s ecological future through an eco-modernist lens. By 2074, rising temperatures and environmental disasters force wildlife to migrate in search of refuge. What happens when European ecosystems shift, and what role can cities like Amsterdam play?

Thanks to its temperate climate and ecological resilience, Amsterdam becomes home to a wide range of displaced species. The city transforms into the

world’s first Urban Nature Reserve, offering shelter to new, non-human residents. Yet urban life poses risks: traffic, limited habitat, new predators and pollution. The need arises for a dedicated wildlife sanctuary: part refuge, part emergency centre, and part educational space for human–animal coexistence. The proposed site is a large car park on Marnixstraat, adjacent to the Singelgracht canal. With declining car use, this area is reimagined as a haven for urban

wildlife. The design restricts human access by closing Marnixstraat, regulating canal traffic and relocating the Waterkant bar across the canal. Habitat creation is central. A sluice at the canal controls water levels in wetlands and ponds. A mesh façade supports vertical planting and reduces heat loss. Smart systems regulate light, ventilation and moisture across microclimates, powered by local energy sources. Visitors follow a guided route via

bridge and spiral slope, encouraging respectful interaction.

This vision reclaims space from cars, offering a paradigm shift: cities not only for humans, but for all life. Amsterdam becomes a model of adaptive urbanism, one that responds to planetary crisis with care, generosity and foresight.

HEDGEHOGS' AND RABBITS' HOME 1:50

RE:FENCE

Bat Habitat: From industrial storage to wildlife habitats. Due to residential development, the reduction in old-growth trees is leading to a projected decline in bat roosting sites. Holes are created in ammunition warehouses to serve as alternative hibernation sites for bats. Stored bat guano will be returned to the forest ecosystem.

Living Barricade: New recycled barriers to combat plastic pollution. Plastic waste from Amsterdam and new residential areas significantly impacts waterfowl. A new barrier for birds is installed by offsetting the existing factory fences by 30 metres and placing them in the riverbed. Mesh from the existing fences is used to create both a filtering function and a habitat for birds.

Regenerative Track: Transforming industrial heritage into a linear living landscape. A linear intervention transforms former railway traces into ecological corridors. Construction fencing, arranged parallel to historical track patterns, establishes new pathways for urban wildlife. The design preserves the site's industrial memory while creating contemporary biological infrastructure.

STUDENT Yuto Miyazono

PROJECT P1b

MASTER Landscape Architecture

TUTORS Blake Allen and Vito Timmerman

ASSIGNMENT Unravelling

Once a military factory, Hembrug remains marked by its past. Fences, moats and restricted zones still limit human access, but now, redevelopment risks creating new barriers, this time for non-human species. The area is under ecological pressure.

Based on surveys in Zaanstad, this project maps the habitat boundaries of several key species. Humans are restricted by man-made defences, while hedge-

hogs face roads and waterways as major obstacles. Bats and waterfowl, less hindered by surface boundaries, nonetheless gain little from current urban structures.

Re: Fence reimagines these barriers as supports for biodiversity. Existing fences and remnants are transformed to benefit non-human life. Abandoned railway lines become corridors for hedgehogs. Ammunition

storage buildings are adapted into nesting sites for bats. Offset and submerged fences prevent plastic waste from entering the canal, improving conditions for waterfowl.

The materials used further reinforce ecological cycles. Pruned branches decompose into leaf mould, enriching the soil. Bat guano is collected as natural fertiliser. Plastic waste is processed into site-specif-

ic furniture. In this way, once-exclusionary fences evolve into multifunctional structures that serve as storage, shelter and ecological infrastructure. Hembrug becomes a place of connection, where barriers are repurposed and life cycles restored. This project advocates for shared territory and mutual resilience, bringing ecological thinking into

design.

Hembrug masterplan.

Territory map for bats.

Territory map for humans.

Territory map for hedgehogs.

Territory map for waterfowl.

THE CONCRETE BATHROBE

This project explores the idea of a home that functions like a smartphone. A smartphone can instantly alter the degree of publicness or privacy simply by launching a particular app. Whether one is watching a film on the metro or posting on Instagram from bed, the device transforms the context without altering the location. Similarly, in this building, every dwelling includes a space between the collective and the private without a fixed function. Like an app, the space can become either collective or private by opening the appropriate door.

The collective spaces are accessible only through the private spaces. These private zones are strategically arranged so that they can potentially expand or contract the extent of privacy within the building.

STUDENT Arjan Post

PROJECT P3O3

MASTER Architecture

TUTORS Harmen van de Wal and Oana Radeş

ASSIGNMENT Compact Co-housing

The P3O3 project Compact Co-housing comprises a research paper and a parallel design assignment centred on the evolving role of privacy in collective housing. These components influence one another throughout the process.

My research explores how privacy is socially constructed and shifts over time, drawing on Lynn Lofland’s distinction between space and realm. This has implications for designing collective housing

that remains relevant across generations. To illustrate this, I analysed three monasteries across different centuries. Their spatial arrangements reflect changing privacy norms. Sanitary spaces, for instance, evolved from communal to private. In one case, a monastery converted into a hotel had to address guests’ discomfort with shared bathrooms. The solution: rental bathrobes. They are mobile privacy tools that allow comfort without altering architecture.

Public bathing was once the norm; today, private bathrooms are expected. Such shifts shape our built environment. Designers must anticipate these changes and embed spatial flexibility, offering users agency over privacy without needing structural changes.

My design proposes a housing typology that allows privacy zones to shift over time. It builds on Herman Hertzberger’s idea of the polyvalent space: over-

sized rooms that support changing uses. I extend this by arguing that location is equally crucial: polyvalent spaces must sit at the junction of public, collective and private realms.

In my design, a large, central space acts as a hinge between these zones. This supports long-term adaptability and empowers users to manage their privacy within a flexible framework.

Floor plan of the monastery of La Tourette. The private cells (dark blue) and the communal bathrooms (light blue) are located on the upper floors.

Section of a cell in the monastery of La Tourette.

The monastery of La Tourette, designed by Le Corbusier in the late 1950s, is an intriguing example of how privacy zones within a building can shift over time. Since it was converted into a hotel in the early 2000s, guests have required bathrobes (€10 per night) to safeguard their privacy.

Section of the proposed housing block, showing the division between private living quarters (dark blue) and communal space (light blue).

,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065

A NOMAD’S HOME

,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065 =,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065=,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065

=,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065=,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065 =,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065 =,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065 =,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065

=,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065

STUDENT Ibrahim Diab

Anna is a therapist. She follows online masterclasses and helps as many people as possible. Normally, she conducts online sessions with her patients, but sometimes they visit in person. She enjoys working in a high, open space. Sleeping is functional for her rather than a priority; she hides the bed behind curtains and uses the rest of the home as a therapy practice..

PROJECT P3O3

MASTER Architecture

TUTORS Patricia Yus and Simon Whittle

ASSIGNMENT Living with Each and Every Other

Maya is an architect. She can only focus in a more enclosed space to avoid distractions. Additionally, she likes displaying her drawings on the wall once finished. A wooden screen is enough for her to separate her sleeping area from her living space.

This project began with a simple question: what is home? In today’s fast-paced world, many feel the need to escape, searching for freedom, a connection to nature and a more meaningful way of living. But freedom often comes at a cost. Constant movement can erode the feeling of home; staying too long in one place can feel stifling. A Nomad’s Home seeks a balance between these needs.

This is not about mobile homes or machines with sliding walls and fold-out furniture. A glove that fits all hands is not a good glove. Flexibility should not mean losing character. True adaptability lies in spaces that are fixed in form yet open to interpretation. Here, the architecture remains physically constant, while its use shifts from person to person. That is its strength. A window corner may be a writing nook,

Thomas is a researcher. For him, working and living must remain separate. Occasionally, he gets help from junior researchers in his “office,” and he dislikes having his private life visible to them. He came up with the idea of separating the space entirely into a home and an office. =,*;69>692: ,+<*(;065(3 =,9:065

a coffee spot or a seat to watch the wind in the trees.

A thick wall might offer protection or quiet strength. A high ceiling may calm or inspire. These spaces do not aim to serve all needs at once, but to offer an atmosphere people can make their own. Flexibility, then, is not about technology; it is about people. The space doesn’t change, but the experience does. This approach allows inhabitants to bring

their own values and routines into the space, making it feel personal and alive. Here, home is not something you carry; it is something that emerges through how you live.

main, too large to move and too expensive to dis-

This project reimagines abandoned oil platforms as foundations for sustainable living. Drawing inspiration from the urban fabric of southern Noord-Holland, I developed a network of floating platforms that cluster essential functions – living, learning, working – more closely, as movement over water is slower and conditions harsher. Each platform must be both physically and socially self-reliant.

The Brent Spar platform anchors this vision. With 1,400 m² of usable space, it accommodates thirty residents, a Montessori school and a research station. Its design supports collaboration, ecological stewardship and innovation. Spatially, it rises from research labs at its base to communal kitchens, open workspaces, a school with a sports field, and finally a modular residential zone.

Section of the repurposed Brent Spar platform.

Model of the repurposed Brent Spar platform.

While the temperatures rose, so did the sea.

We had to find new ways, new land and hope. With the large structures in the sea abandoned and out of use... ...we gave the Netherlands a new image.

The projection of the city on the water, highlighting the location of the Brent Spar platform slated for transformation in red.

The repurposed Brent Spar platform in its context.

TURNING HOUSING TO HOMING

Perspectives.

STUDENT Shane Kemp

PROJECT P3O3

MASTER Architecture

TUTORS Piero Medici and Renzo Sgolacchia

ASSIGNMENT Reimagining Housing for Migrant Workers

This research and design project explores how migrant housing in the Netherlands, typically shaped by efficiency and control, can shift towards a more inclusive notion of ‘homing’. Migrant workers, essential to sectors like agriculture, logistics and construction, are often housed in temporary, isolated accommodation that prioritises function over personal or emotional well-being. Current models reinforce transience, with housing controlled by employment agencies and detached

from urban life. These spaces offer little autonomy, contributing to social isolation and undermining any sense of home. Traditional architecture plays a role in this, often treating housing as a technical challenge rather than a social or emotional one. The research advocates for a move from ‘housing’ to ‘homing’ – a concept that centres autonomy, identity and community integration. Drawing on Gaston Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space, the study emphasises the emotional and phenomenological

dimensions of home. Using a three-part methodology consisting of literature review, research-by-design and case study analysis, the project proposes spatial strategies rooted in empathy and engagement. Design work explores the reuse of neglected infrastructures, such as Rotterdam’s Luchtsingel, to create social corridors. It also examines participatory processes like self-builds, using reclaimed materials to foster ownership.

Case studies include Alejandro Aravena’s incremental housing in Chile and Almere’s self-build communities, which show how involvement shapes not just dwellings, but identities. This research proposes flexible housing models that meet both practical and emotional needs. In doing so, it offers a vision for inclusive urban landscapes where migrant workers are not only housed, but truly at home.

Cross section.

Second floor.

Expansion second floor.

Third floor.

Façade stucture.

Long section.

Site location.

POWERING THE FUTURE

STUDENT Timothy Simons

PROJECT P3

MASTER Urbanism

TUTORS Fulco Treffers and Lilet Breddels

ASSIGNMENT Designing with Uncertainty

Kryvyi Rih, situated in Ukraine’s Chernozem belt, is a city of stark contrasts. Once fertile land has been deeply scarred by decades of metallurgical mining, severing the connection between city and landscape. Now, amid war and industrial decline, a new vision is emerging – one of ecological restoration, industrial tourism and community healing.

The Kovalska–Darvina site reflects this transformation. Currently reliant on a fragile, above-ground

energy grid, the site will undergo a strategic transition. An underground energy system will replace the existing one, with solar roofs and battery storage integrated into repurposed and new buildings. These will also serve as crisis shelters, offering warmth and safety when needed most.

Densification will make the city more energy and space-efficient, preserving industrial heritage while freeing space for green infrastructure. An

existing industrial tower will be retained as a landmark, symbolising safety, continuity and adaptive reuse.

The landscape will be reimagined as connective tissue. Green corridors and new routes will draw people back in, linking industrial pasts with urban life. Over time, the disused quarry may support hydro-energy production and a data centre whose residual heat contributes to the local grid.

Local communities and former workers will play a central role in replanting efforts, restoring air and soil quality through carefully selected vegetation. What was once polluted terrain will become a landscape of memory, innovation and resilience. Kryvyi Rih’s future lies not in erasing its past, but in transforming its scars into a sustainable and inclusive urban fabric.

The design is based on principles for heritage and landscape that aim to strengthen energy resilience.

Kryvyi Rih’s industrial and landscape heritage. Site location.

Vision for safe and independent city energy.

Introduction of a new safe microgrid alongside a more resilient city grid.

Building on the existing natural qualities of the site.

The site is currently vulnerable due to the structure of the city grid.

The long-term vision addresses energy provision at both the micro and city scales.

BOUNCING BOUNDARIES

STUDENT Melissa Pearson

PROJECT P3

MASTER Landscape Architecture

TUTORS Maike van Stiphout and Linde Keip

ASSIGNMENT Wilding the City

The P3 project Wilding the City explores how urban design can enhance biodiversity and, in turn, human quality of life. As the global population approaches ten billion (mostly concentrated in cities) the urban environment is fast becoming the dominant human biotope. At the same time, global wildlife diversity is in decline. Interestingly, cities are seeing a rise in biodiversity as species adapt to urban conditions. This raises the question: how can we improve urban

space so that humans and other species coexist and benefit from one another?

My project, Bouncing Boundaries, begins on Nieuwe Uilenburgerstraat in Amsterdam, a site rich in history, once part of the Jewish quarter. Now, a new transformer station is planned, further altering the site’s character. During site visits, I observed a wealth of vegetation and a patchwork of old and new materials on walls and pavements, creating

distinct atmospheres and zones.

I realised that materials and structures act as boundaries that attract or repel different species. While buildings invite human habitation, they often exclude birds, bats or butterflies. But if we understand species-specific needs, we can reimagine these boundaries as ‘ecological highways’ that support urban wildlife.

I focused on species from nearby Artis Zoo that can

travel: birds, bats, butterflies and mice. After creating a ‘boundary library’, I analysed which existing boundaries could serve as habitats and where improvements were needed. This led to the design of five new boundaries, each tailored to specific species, encouraging them to settle or pass through, reconnecting fragmented urban ecologies.

Design for the period of zero to fifty years.

Design for the period of fifty to one hundred years.

Ecological highways in the time span of zero to fifty years.

Ecological highways in the time span of fifty to one hundred years.

Species and their boundaries through time and seasons. Winter,

Spring, Summer, Autumn.

Detail of the boundary: tiles. Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn.

Detail of the boundary: tiles. Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn.

Section.

The Holland Tour 2024 took students to the Dutch provinces of South Holland and Zeeland. The trip combined study-related site visits with night-time fun on the beach.

Text DENISA MASHHADI Photos MILDRED ZOMERDIJK AND DENISA MASHHADI

TRACING TIDES

On 7 and 8 June 2024, first-year students embarked on the Holland Tour 2024, a two-day journey exploring architecture, engineering and Dutch innovation. Together with Remco Bakker and Huub van Loenen, I acted as chef d’équipe, supporting the group with logistics and assisting with meals, among other tasks. Our journey commenced at Amsterdam’s Bijlmer Arena station. After a twohour coach ride, we arrived at our first destination: Zandwacht, a striking sculpture by artist collective Observatorium. Nestled in the dunes of Maasvlaktestrand, the 12-m-high, sand-coloured concrete structure abstractly represents the natural formation of a dune. Its skeletal form initially suggested a giant turtle, but a guided presentation revealed a deeper intent: a seamless fusion of art, nature and landscape.

We then visited the Delta Works at Neeltje Jans, an iconic example of Dutch resilience and ingenuity. Built in response to the catastrophic 1953 North Sea flood, this vast system of dams, sluices and storm surge barriers redefined flood protection. The centrepiece, the Oosterscheldekering, features colossal gates designed to close during extreme weather events. A guided tour through the structure’s soaring pillars highlighted the delicate balance between safety and ecology, preserving marine life by keeping the barrier open in calm conditions.

After a day of exploration, we pitched our tents in Renesse. A shortfall in the dinner delivery turned into an unexpected triumph: a beach barbecue improvised on the spot. Despite the wind, teamwork and creative problem-solving prevailed. We ended the evening under a starlit sky, playing games on the sand.

The next morning began with an early breakfast and tent clean-up. Before returning to Amsterdam, we made a brief stop in Vlissingen for a well-earned serving of kibbeling: freshly battered and deep-fried chunks of fish.

Our final stop was Fort de Roovere, home to the renowned Moses Bridge by RO-AD architects. Submerged in the surrounding moat, the bridge allows visitors to walk below water level while staying dry. Part of the 17th-century West Brabant Water Line, the site also features the Pompejus tower, a contemporary lookout that adds a theatrical element to the historical landscape. The Holland Tour 2024 offered more than sightseeing. It deepened our understanding of how thoughtful design can shape both our environment and our experience of it. ←

Students visited the Moses Bridge in Bergen op Zoom, designed by RO-AD.

The Zandwacht sculpture abstractly represents the natural formation of a dune.

FRAMING FREIBURG

The Eurotour 2024 took students to Freiburg im Breisgau and Basel to learn about experience design.

The Eurotour is an integral part of the summer programme, offering students the opportunity to travel together for a week to explore architecture, urbanism and landscape architecture. In 2024, a group of twenty-one students visited Freiburg im Breisgau and Basel under the theme of experience design.

Experience design is a broad and multifaceted concept. Within the realms of spatial design, it refers to the intentional shaping of environments to influence how individuals perceive and interact with them. Drawing on theories such as Pine and Gilmore’s ‘realms of experience’ and their concept of authenticity, students were encouraged to critically assess how design choices impact visitors’ experiences.

Students visited the Double Church for Two Faiths by Kister Scheithauer Gross.

We began our journey in Freiburg, spending the first few days immersing ourselves in the city’s charm. Our exploration started with a guided tour of the historic city centre, during which students presented insights into the urban layout, key architectural landmarks and the iconic Bächle – the narrow streams that weave through the streets.

Over the next two days, we rented bicycles and ventured into Freiburg’s diverse districts. It was here that the city’s true character revealed itself. Renowned for its short distances, sustainability and liveability, Freiburg stands as a global model of child-friendly urban planning. Across disciplines, we encountered projects that will undoubtedly serve as inspiration in our own future work: the sustainable Vauban neighbourhood, the revitalised banks of the Dreisam River, expansive green spaces like Seepark, and innovative structures such as the Heliotrop, the United World College and many others.

After three days in Freiburg, we boarded a train to Basel, where our main destination was the Vitra Campus. In stark contrast to the historic neighbourhoods we had just left, this hub of design and architecture offered a curated landscape of buildings designed by Zaha Hadid, Frank Gehry, Tadao Ando, Nicholas Grimshaw and others. It felt like a playground for anyone passionate about the built environment. But the experience also raised important questions. How do these spaces shape our emotional responses? Are they truly authentic, or designed simulations of authenticity? With each building speaking its own design language, what experiences are they meant to evoke? And how do those buildings differ?

To explore a completely different facet of experience design, we spent our final day at Europa-Park in the village of Rust, Germany’s largest theme park. In many ways, theme parks represent the epitome of engineered experience, similar to zoos, museums and commercial centres. Every design decision is calculated for emotional impact and crowd control. As we moved through the park, we reflected on how these choices affected our own perceptions and behaviours. Looking back, Eurotour 2024 was a deeply rewarding journey, an exploration not only of architectural, urban and landscape design, but of how we experience the world through them. Just as importantly, it was an opportunity to connect and collaborate with fellow students from across disciplines and study years. That was an experience in itself. ←

The Vitra Design Museum in Weil am Rhein by Frank O. Gehry.

The VitraHaus in Weil am Rhein by Herzog de Meuron.

MARSEILLE MEMORIES

Each year, one of the partner universities in the European Master's in Landscape Architecture (EMiLA) course hosts a summer school, bringing together students and lecturers from across Europe. It is an opportunity to explore innovative design approaches while working in a fresh and inspiring environment. The 2024 edition centred on Les Plages du Prado, a completely artificial beach created in the 1970s as part of a wider urban development initiative. Over the course of a week, we examined the site’s ecological, cultural and social dynamics. The first few days were dedicated to site immersion: exploring the city, visiting the beach and analysing its relationship with the broader urban fabric of Marseille. Afternoons often ended by the sea, where we swam, shared conversations and absorbed the Mediterranean atmosThe

As the week progressed, our attention turned to design, production and preparing the presentation of our collaborative proposal. One of the most inspiring aspects of the summer school was the emphasis on teamwork. Collaborating with students from different academic and cultural backgrounds brought a range of perspectives to our discussions and design process. The group work encouraged creative thinking and enabled us to form a shared vision for the future of Les Plages du Prado, pushing each of us to step beyond our usual approach.

Beyond the academic framework, the summer school was a social experience. Spending a full week in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by like-minded peers, fostered strong connections and friendships that extended well beyond the studio sessions. These shared moments, both structured and spontaneous, were just as valuable as the design challenges we tackled. Whether you study landscape architecture, urbanism or architecture, I cannot recommend the EMiLA Summer School highly enough. It is a unique opportunity to broaden your perspective, meet inspiring people and engage with a new place in an immersive and meaningful way. Whether next year’s edition takes place in Marseille or somewhere entirely new, it is an experience not to be missed. ←

EMiLA is the European Master in Landscape Architecture. Participating in 2024 were the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture, École Nationale Supérieure de Paysage Versailles, Leibniz Universität Hannover, Universitat Polytècnica de Catalunya and the University of Edinburgh. Guest university was the Arkitektur- og designhøgskolen i Oslo.

Les Plages du Prado, a completely artificial beach in Marseille.

In September 2024, students from eight European universities built a demountable chicken shed. Text and Photos MACHIEL SPAAN

CHICKEN IN

In August 2022, the 100% Tree workshop marked the conclusion of the Erasmus project Crafting Wood. Over six days, students and lecturers from eight European architecture schools used the timber from seven storm-fallen trees to build a new chicken shed for the urban farm Schoterhoeve in Haarlem. After the workshop, the structure’s components – construction, façade and roof – were dismantled and stored, awaiting the moment the shed could be assembled on site. That moment came in late September 2024. At Schoterhoeve, the shed was rebuilt. Students from six European schools worked in four teams, each with a specific task. They applied four circular construction skills at full scale. One group repaired existing components on site (repair), another adjusted parts in the carpentry workshop (adapt), a third group integrated salvaged materials into the fencing and façade elements (reuse), and the final group reconstructed the structure on location (rebuild). The result is a beautiful chicken shed, which will hopefully be enjoyed by its feathered residents for a long time to come. ←

Participating schools: Amsterdam

of

the universities

and the

With

Mortise and tenon joints allow the chicken coop to be dismantled.

Academy

Architecture,

of Liechtenstein, Volos, Antwerp and Leuven,

technical universities of Trondheim, Darmstadt, Cologne and Delft.

thanks to: Schoterhoeve Urban Farm, Municipality of Haarlem NME (Nature, Environment and Education), Joost Pothast, Lorin Brasser, Gilbert Koskamp, Pierre Jennen, Max Hohe, Max Salzberger and more than fifty students.

In her O6 paper Emma Diehl explores concepts of decay and care in material culture.

Text EMMA DIEHL

OLD IS GOLD

A friend recently mentioned, while renovating her newly purchased apartment, that she intended to replace the original solid oak floor with laminate. Her arguments could be summarised as follows: in the end, it looks the same, it is far easier to clean, especially in the kitchen, and it is less likely to be damaged by plant pots. I would add to that: it is considerably cheaper, readily available, deliverable, installable, and so on. The industry is finely tuned to make it a highly appealing product. For the vast majority, these arguments usually outweigh the fact that a wooden floor can be grown and harvested without the need for highly technological, oil-based and energy-intensive processes, that it stores the CO2 absorbed during the tree’s lifetime, that, as an organic material, it continues to react and interact with its environment once in a living room, offering benefits for mental well-being and a more pleasant feeling under bare feet, and that it does not emit the chemical vapours still released by synthetic products. Once used, it can be reused, repaired, recycled or composted into nutrients for other living organisms as part of a natural cycle of renewal. Historically, our relationship with the materials in our daily surroundings was accompanied by traditions of care and maintenance. This connection was supported by shared knowledge, enabling people to repair, adapt or modify their environment. With the arrival of synthetic, oil-based materials, marketed for their increasing resistance, we grew accustomed to maintenance-free surfaces, fostering a widespread aversion to any visible trace of decay.

Panton Chair Classic in Vitra test centre. Photo Vitra.

One of the pressing challenges in today’s polycrisis context is the material transition in the construction sector. As a response to the heavily industrialised, oil- and chemicals-dependent material culture, emerging approaches are reviving and reinterpreting the use of familiar materials rooted in traditional and historical construction methods. Usually low-tech and sourced directly from the environment, these biobased or geo-based materials – either cultivated, such as straw, hemp and wood, or minimally processed and locally extracted, such as raw earth, clay and natural stone – offer a low or even negative carbon footprint. Transitioning to these biobased and geobased materials is essential for achieving a carbon-neutral construction sector and reducing dependence on carbon-intensive industries. However, their naturally sourced, minimally processed characteristics also make them more susceptible to wear and the passage of time. In a society conditioned to expect the permanence of synthetic materials, this necessary transition challenges our prevailing material culture. It raises a central question: how might we rethink our perception of material decay, and what tools can emerging practices offer to cultivate (new) rituals of care?

THE IDEAL OF IMMUTABILITY

The passage of time is arguably one of society’s primary preoccupations when contemplating the human condition, being directly tied to our awareness of mortality. Visible signs of ageing on our bodies and faces are often deeply feared as embodied expressions of our progression towards death. A wide range of cultural production attests to this universal concern: if the historical quest for eternal youth was once associated with religion or mythical pacts with the Devil, as in The Picture of Dorian Gray or Faust, modernity has reframed it in terms of technological advancement, as seen in the recent film The Substance (2024). In practice, modern cosmetic procedures have made resistance to ageing more accessible. This is clearly visible in the widespread normalisation of Botox and other aesthetic treatments, particularly among those who can afford the most advanced techniques. This obsession with eternal youth also shapes contemporary aesthetic norms, influencing not only our visual culture but also the built environment. Stability and permanence offer a sense of temporal control.

We can safely say that architectural permanence, prior to modernity, was a privilege of the few. It was typically reserved for religious structures or elite residences that required extensive labour and financial investment. With modernity came the mass adoption of concrete and steel. These materials could be produced in large quantities at relatively low cost, granting architects the long-desired possibility of permanence and introducing unprecedented design freedom. This period also witnessed the rise of plastics and other petrochemical products, driven by the same industrial logic of mass production and standardisation. Together, these materials came to symbolise an era of industrialisation and technological progress. They defined the modernist aesthetic of the early to mid-twentieth century and have shaped the trajectory of our material culture ever since →

Neue Nationalgalerie by Ludwig Mies van de Rohe.

Photo by David von Becker, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin.

In her article ‘Love for Dirt and Cleaning’, Ruth Baumeister explores the shift in material culture that accompanied the modernist aesthetic, which was largely built around materials engineered to appear perpetually new and unchanging.1 However, to achieve this illusion, these materials require meticulous upkeep, as even the slightest trace of dirt or wear makes them appear prematurely aged

This demand for pristine surfaces gave rise to an entire industry of technologically advanced cleaning products. Maintenance and cleaning became industrialised processes, while advertising cultivated ever-higher standards of hygiene, fuelling fear of dirt and visible wear. This major shift paved the way for a throwaway culture. As materials became cheaper and industrial production more prevalent, anything that showed signs of wear was simply discarded and replaced. This further distanced users from any understanding of how things are made. Paradoxically, the pursuit of permanence and a never-ageing appearance has led to actual impermanence: worn-out, non-repairable materials are replaced rather than maintained. Consequently, material decay is now heavily stigmatised. Industrially produced materials generally cannot be repaired, modified or adapted. Decay is no longer viewed as a natural part of a material’s life cycle and an invitation to repair or renew, but instead as a one-way decline in value, with the user cast as a passive observer. In architecture, this has led to a widespread preference for demolition, disposal and new-build strategies, reinforcing the rejection of ageing materials. If, in the post-war and reconstruction era, these materials represented opportunities for social and economic progress, aligned with values of technological achievement, their environmental costs were already being recognised. By the early 1970s, scientists were widely discussing these concerns, notably in the Limits to Growth report, which marked a turning point in public awareness. ‘Permanence is a privilege,’ says architect Andy Carmody. ‘[...] The materials currently used were engineered to outperform traditional local ones. For that they use the abundance of energy available through the oil industry but as a consequence they use much more energy than they really need.’2 Historically (and still evident in communities that use traditional materials, though in decline) decay was regarded as a natural process and part of a lifecycle supported by maintenance practices. General knowledge and experience were widely shared among inhabitants, nourished by traditions of craftsmanship. Notable examples include the long-standing tradition of limework in Portugal and Greece, the legacy of half-timbered houses in Germany, France and England, and the recognisable thatched roofs of Northern Europe. While such practices persist in historically valued buildings, traditional materials that demand ongoing care are rarely chosen in new construction. This results in a widespread loss of skills, not only among professionals but within the wider population.

In rural India, where self-built mud houses remain common, although increasingly rare, material use is deeply rooted in the local culture and geographical context. The construction of a new house is often associated with a wedding. Plastering is renewed biannually after the monsoon, and floors are refurbished before any major social or religious event. These practices are gradually disappearing as mud is stigmatised as the material of the poor. Mud houses retain cool indoor temperatures but concrete buildings, though more expensive and poorly adapted to the climate, are chosen instead, often paired with air conditioning. Even when inappropriate, industrialised materials continue to represent progress and social status.

Some initiatives do return to traditional methods, but they remain marginal, largely visible within highly educated populations concerned with climate issues, or promoted for tourism. For the majority, the absence of maintenance is seen as a sign of modernity, a rejection of what is perceived as outdated traditions. As modern aesthetics have evolved, they have normalised the idea that materials should not require care, reinforcing a cultural denial of decay.

The concept of decay is fundamentally anthropocentric. It reflects a human view of material decline as a loss of value. Yet in nature, beyond human framing, no such stigma exists. Decay is a key part of a continuous cycle, facilitating regeneration and energy transfer within ecosystems. In some cultures, such as Japan, these natural rhythms are embraced in aesthetic concepts like wabi-sabi, which values what is ‘imperfect, impermanent and incomplete’.

Understanding and accepting the evolutionary nature of materials invites us to engage with them more attentively and to prolong their lifespan. This requires a redefinition of permanence, not as the unchanging preservation of form through industrial processes, but as the capacity to endure by adapting over time

Many of today’s most innovative building materials, particularly in the context of material transition, are rediscovered traditional ones. They are based on accessible, renewable resources such as wood, straw, hemp and raw earth, and are closely tied to local crafts and ecosystems. Their softer, decay-prone characteristics are not limitations but opportunities for adaptability. They evolve with time without losing value, and they invite human interaction, independent of industrial intervention.

An instructive example of material-enabled autonomy can be found in Japanese post-war architecture. Quickly constructed timber houses for low- and middle-income families allowed for a high degree of flexibility, enabling residents to modify their homes according to changing needs without depending on professionals. This idea was powerfully expressed in the Japanese Pavilion at the 2020 Venice Biennale, curated by Kozo Kadowaki, titled Co-ownership of Action: Trajectories of Elements. One such house was dismantled, its elements transported to Venice to be exhibited, reused in new construction or upcycled into objects and sold to visitors. As the house was taken apart, the modifications and traces left by successive generations became visible, emerging layer by layer. The poetics of this domestic archaeology were strong enough to warrant inclusion in an internationally renowned event, redefining the value of what had once been seen as humble, even cheap, materials. This example underscores that the value of materials is increasingly conditioned by our ability to interact with them through craft, or more broadly, manual labour. This practice, however, is declining rapidly in contemporary society.

‘Capitalism has no interest in craftsmanship,’ says sociologist Richard Sennett.3 ‘It is a productive activity which produces fixed products and does not invite the users to ever become more skilled in their interaction with them. What is called a “user-friendly programme” is actually stupefying. [...] The actual production of things is disempowering of craftsmanship. [...] Capitalistic logic is about throwing out to buy something new. What was there before is used up. When one learns how to use it, it is almost dead. We see it with cars or phones.’

As early as the 1970s, theologist Ivan Illich also criticised this trajectory in Tools for Conviviality, where he argued that industrial society’s tools had become so advanced that they undermined people’s autonomy to work and create freely. He called instead for individual freedom to be realised through mutual interdependence, describing a society of ‘autonomous and creative intercourse among persons, and the intercourse of persons with their environment’.4 →

Elevation for a multi-story brick, half-timbered house with stained glass windows and a small cupola. Watercolour, pen and black ink over graphite, late 19th–early 20th century. Drawing by Ernest Geldart, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Crowland Abbey, UK, the west front under repair, 1860. Photo by Alfred Capel Cure, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Today, the proliferation of services and consumer goods has taken this dependency a step further. Companies like Tesla, Swapfiets and Van Moof exemplify systems where service subscriptions determine access and usability. Without such services, not only is repair impossible, but even basic use may be blocked. This results in a complete disconnection from the underlying mechanisms and materials and, ultimately, a loss of user autonomy. Hands-on engagement restores not only a relationship with the material but also with the environment it comes from. Bio-regionalism, first introduced by environmental writer Peter Berg and others in the early 1970s, advocates for aligning human and non-human resources through local, sustainable practices aimed at restoring ecosystems and communities.

In 1983, architecture critic Kenneth Frampton echoed this thinking in his essay ‘Towards a Critical Regionalism’, in which he called for a deliberate, reflective stance against globalised modernisation processes.5 He warned of the destructive impacts these processes can have on regional cultures, and advocated for a context-based approach rooted in local materials and conditions. For Frampton, hands-on building fosters respect for both material and place, encouraging a more sustainable and caring relationship between people and their environment.

The reintroduction of natural, minimally processed materials opens up building practices to anyone interested in participating. This democratises construction and promotes a shift from passive consumption to active engagement.

‘To build is deeply embedded in human DNA,’ writes architect Anna Heringer in Form Follows Love.6 ‘We are detached from it today, because we are accustomed to everything in a finished state. But we have to give this human urge space again. It’s easy to go to a furniture warehouse, or to a hardware store, where we try to access the feeling of nesting – but this is not the same.’

CARRYING STORIES

The evolutive nature of softer materials creates space for narratives and emotional connections, allowing us to value the marks left by time. In psychology, the concept of ‘embodied cognition’ suggests that physical engagement with materials reduces stress, fosters pride and fulfilment, and deepens our connection and understanding. In his 2008 book The Craftsman, Richard Sennett explored the value of manual labour. He argued that working directly with materials builds emotional investment, often leading to greater care for the environment, as individuals feel responsible for what they have helped create. When users understand a material, how it ages, wears and responds, they tend to care for it better. The shift from passive consumer to active maker introduces intentionality, engaging users emotionally and fostering responsibility.

Adobe house belonging to the Pima Indian interpreter, Gila Crossing, USA, ca.1900. Photo by Charles C. Pierce, California Historical Society Collection.

In this light, the marks of time that appear on objects cared for do not carry negative connotations. The patina formed through repeated use and maintenance produces an aesthetic unique to each object, not by design but through spontaneous, gradual development. Patina offers a new kind of value rooted in slow, manual shaping, in contrast to the aesthetics of shortlived, large-scale industrial production. When associated with care, decay can be appreciated. Paradoxically, this organic quality, so fundamentally opposed to capitalist values of efficiency and mass production, is now being imitated. Faux patina is commercially printed onto objects to meet demand, proving the market appeal of a feature once considered a flaw.Just as modernism introduced a new aesthetic shaped by novel materials, today’s transition to a post-growth material culture requires new design approaches that accommodate the vulnerability of softer materials, making these qualities visible, understandable and relatable. Andy Groarke uses the phrase ‘a softer future’ to describe the material choices made in the renovation and extension of the Design Museum Gent. ‘It made us think of this softer material requiring more forgiving detailing. The building will have exaggerated weathering details to throw water away from areas of exposed softer bricks such as window sails and cuppings. Also, in the same gesture, shutters will have an exaggerated treatment, giving the building a presence and identity in the city that is based on the characteristics of the material used.’7 Designing with and around the phenomenon of decay and the evolutive nature of materials allows us to construct narratives and support a value system rooted in time, care and transformation.

COLLECTIVELY RELEARNING

The transformation that modernism and industrialisation brought to society demonstrates how material culture reshapes social structures and our relationship to the environment. It transformed us from small-scale domestic shapers into passive consumers. Rebuilding our relationship with materials requires a collective cultural shift that addresses the social and ecological costs of globalisation and seeks alignment with the rhythms of the planet.

This is not a new subject. As noted earlier, it has been examined by thinkers such as Ivan Illich and Richard Sennett, as well as by designers and makers who sought to challenge institutional norms. In 1973, the multidisciplinary experimental design education programme Global Tools was founded in Italy by members of Radical Architecture in response to the ecological crisis.8 The programme focused on the study and application of natural materials and their inherent properties, aiming to redefine the relationship between design and Italy’s industrial system. From the same movement, The Whole Earth Catalogue echoed this ambition, advocating alternative practices grounded in the logic of both human nature and the wider systems of the planet.9 The aim was to develop new tools for living and making, outside the constraints of institutional structures, freeing creative practice from cultural superstructures.

Today, we see signs of this shift resurfacing in diverse initiatives. While academic institutions have long explored these questions, their reach remains limited to relatively small, educated circles. Increasingly, non-institutional learning structures are experimenting with new, collective, hands-on formats. A clear trend can be observed among contemporary design practices, many of which incorporate participatory moments with non-professionals as an integral part of their working methods.

In a broader context, workshops, summer schools and participatory building projects are multiplying, allowing people to engage directly with materials and reintroducing the concept of the active end-user. In Western societies, another significant trend, particularly visible in rural areas of France, Germany and the United Kingdom, is the rise of self-build communities. These initiatives are usually led by environmentally conscious, educated groups in search of more meaningful lifestyles, often rejecting the logic of urban capitalist models. These movements tend to organise around robust collective practices, underlining the importance of communal learning in contexts beyond conventional education.

Though this example is specific to the building sector, similar ideas are emerging across society. One notable manifestation is the now-widespread concept of repair cafés. These organisations are usually run by non-profit associations with both social and ecological aims. Their goal is to help individuals regain autonomy by resisting the hyper-consumption model that dominates capitalist economies. Importantly, the collective nature of these practices also serves a vital social function, helping to strengthen community ties. In increasingly individualised societies, where many people experience isolation, these initiatives offer opportunities for reconnection at the local level. →

The White House is undergoing its annual inspection and repair, 1929. Photo by Herbert E. French, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.

The reintroduction of materials that can age and decay inevitably creates a need for repair and craftsmanship. This, in turn, supports a diversification of roles within the city and helps cultivate a more resilient urban ecosystem. As Ivan Illich proposed, such interdependence is essential for realising individual freedom within a healthy, small-scale societal model.

REACHING THE FUTURE GENERATIONS

Schools, as public educational spaces, are emerging as key sites for advancing the material transition on a cultural level. This is due partly to their visibility, but more importantly to the opportunities they offer for instilling new understandings of materiality in future generations. Schools are where many of the behavioural patterns that accompany us through life are first established. Just as we learn how to relate to others through social interaction, these spaces can also shape how we relate to our environment. Ruth Baumeister writes about the Japanese tradition of teaching children, already at primary school level, not only to clean and maintain their classrooms but also to learn about the materials and surfaces within them. She cites the example of Hiroko Yoda, who recalled her disappointment when her old school was torn down and replaced with a new building made of modern materials. ‘How boring the sterile concrete floors seemed in comparison to the rich wooden floorboards, their grain polished smooth by previous generations of students. It was like losing an old friend.’10 Through these rituals of maintenance, Yoda had developed a bond with her surroundings. The ageing of the building was experienced as a natural part of its lifecycle, connected to the memories of the generations before her.

When designed using natural, low-tech materials, school buildings can tell the stories of the environments and systems they come from. In Rosny-sousBois, near Paris, a municipal team of architects and engineers is committed to constructing all new schools in the most ecological manner possible. Their buildings feature timber frameworks filled with straw insulation and clay plaster finishes. These techniques are simple and easily understood. Through the timber structure, one can tell the story of the tree and its forest; the straw speaks of agricultural systems and food culture; the clay of soil, subterranean life and the water cycle.

Understanding where materials come from and how they form part of a broader planetary system is vital in a context where dominant narratives often place humans outside of nature. Familiarity with materials is developed not only through stories but also through sensory experience: sight, touch, smell. These impressions are particularly powerful when children are invited to engage with them directly, for instance in workshops held during construction. Beyond their educational symbolism, these structures also act as tools for learning. They contribute to improved health and wellbeing by offering pollutant-free environments with better air quality. These conditions have proven to reduce stress and enhance concentration among students and staff.11

The Vorarlberg region in Austria is well known for its architectural culture of building with the most abundant local resource: wood. Here, both the economy and culture revolve around timber, which is introduced to children from a young age. At the primary school in Doren, children aged six to eleven work with wood and professional tools as part of the regular curriculum. They are taught to care for the tools and the material, nurturing a respect for manual work.

This early connection to materials helps to establish long-term values around craft and stewardship. For example, in most contemporary projects in Vorarlberg, the timber is left untreated, meaning it will naturally weather to a grey tone. While such a process may be viewed negatively elsewhere, it is entirely normalised here.

The Japanese Pavilion at the 2020 Venice Biennale, curated by Kozo Kadowaki, titled Co-ownership of Action: Trajectories of Elements. Exhibition design by Jo Nagasaka, Schemata Architects. Photo by Alberto Strada.

The construction site of a school in Rosny-sous-Bois, France, 2023. Own Work.

Although digital tools must be approached with caution, especially considering their energy demands, ignoring their impact on material culture would mean overlooking a crucial shift. The digital and material worlds should not be seen as opposites. While digitalisation often distances us from the physical realm, it can also serve as a bridge, reconnecting users to manual activities. This became especially visible during the Covid lockdowns, when social media channels played a key role in the rise of a popularised DIY culture. Within an intensely digitised context, there seems to be a growing yearning for hands-on, physical engagement, typically expressed in domestic hobbies such as baking, sewing, knitting or writing poetry. This response suggests a widespread craving for sensorial experience in reaction to the abstraction of digital life. In such cases, the digital tool becomes a gateway to practical knowledge. Beyond content focused on making, there is also a substantial volume of material dealing with care: cleaning, restoring, repairing, maintaining, upcycling and so forth. In earlier times, such knowledge would have been passed down informally within households or communities. Today, digital content often fills the gap left by the erosion of that shared knowledge. These online resources support the revival of traditional techniques and materials. In these digital contexts, the goal is not productivity or efficiency, but process, understanding and the satisfaction of shaping things directly. Typically, the content promotes the use of simple, accessible, local materials that do not require professional expertise or specialised tools. In construction and renovation, this is especially visible in the promotion of local, biobased materials as healthy, accessible solutions. Many social media accounts document the ecological renovation of old buildings, especially farms, where decay is not treated as a defect but as an inherent quality. In these stories, the ageing process of traditional materials is celebrated and preserved through the use of similar softer materials in repair. Their simplicity and accessibility help to democratise the act of building.

CONCLUSION

Ivan Illich, who argued for the value of learning over being taught, did not live to see the rise of the internet as we know it.12 Yet what we are now witnessing online arguably represents the kind of democratisation of knowledge and skill he once called for: outside institutional settings and rooted in autonomous curiosity.

The exploration of decay and care in material culture highlights the need to re-evaluate our relationship with materials and their inherent ageing processes. By understanding the mechanisms of decay – not as failure, but as a potential indicator of prolonged engagement – we can foster a deeper appreciation for the evolving qualities of materials. This cultural shift is already beginning to take shape through collective practices that encourage emotional and informed connections to our material surroundings, laying the groundwork for new rituals of care and maintenance.

Beyond the notion of repair, the next step is to view the built environment as part of a larger continuum that seeks symbiosis with biological and geological systems. This means integrating material sourcing and construction practices into regenerative cycles that strive for the balance essential to sustainability. Emerging scientific perspectives, as expressed by thinkers such as philosopher Emanuele Coccia, reaffirm the interdependence of our bodies and the environments we inhabit. These views challenge us to reconsider architecture not as a static boundary, but as an extension of the ecosystems with which it continuously interacts.

Such principles open new pathways towards a postgrowth material culture that values stories of ageing and care, encourages collective relearning, and envisions both architecture and the human body as coexisting hosts within a shared, dynamic biome. ←

1 R. Baumeister, ‘Love for dirt & cleaning’, in: M. van den Heuvel (ed.), Volume: The not so easy guide to circular interior design, vol. 63, Archis Foundation, Rotterdam, 2023, 184.

2 Andy Carmody, Lecture ‘Taking Care of Matters’, The Berlage Keynotes, Delft, 25 January 2024. youtube.com/watch?v=5zzeuVyLzcI

3 R. Sennett, Lecture ‘The Architecture of Cooperation’, Harvard GSD, 28 February 2012. youtube. com/watch?v=tcXE4NEgLn8

4 I. Illich, Tools for Conviviality, Harper & Row, New York, 1972, 22.

5 K. Frampton, ‘Towards a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance’, in: T. Avermaete, V. Patteeuw, H. Teerds and L.C. Szacka (eds.), Oase: Critical Regionalism Revisited, 103(2019), 11–22. https://www.oasejournal.nl/en/Issues/103/TowardsaCriticalRegionalism

6 A. Heringer and D. Gauzin-Müller, Form Follows Love: Building by Intuition, from Bangladesh to Europe and beyond, Birkhaüser, Basel, 2024, 63.

7 Carmody (2024), note 2.

8 S. Franceschini and V. Borgonuovo, Lecture at symposium ‘Global Tools 1973-1975: Towards an Ecology of Design’, Salt Beyoğlu, Istanbul, 2014.

9 See: wholeearth.info

10 Baumeister (2013) note 1, 187.

11 J. Hanták and D. Končeková, ‘Positive effects of wood in Vorarlberg's (Austria) timber kindergartens’, Architecture Papers of the Faculty of Architecture and Design STU, 28(2023)3, 36-49. DOI: 10.2478/alfa2023-0018

12 S. Samuel (ed.), Beyond Economics and Ecology: the Radical Thought of Ivan Illich, Marion Boyards Publishers, London, 2013, 7.

BRICK HUB

STUDENT Ayça Özüm Sevinç

PROJECT P5O5

MASTER Architecture

TUTORS Josse Popma and Hedwig van der Linden

ASSIGNMENT Speculations of a material banker

To move beyond the linear ‘take–make–dispose’ economy, we must recognise and preserve the val-

ue embedded in materials. Brick Hub, a proposed pilot warehouse under a flyover in Rotterdam, offers a model for inclusive, circular construction.

The warehouse serves as a central, accessible node for receiving, processing and redistributing salvaged bricks. It connects large construction companies with small contractors, independent build-

ers and homeowners. Situated in an underused urban location, the site is dry, accessible and embedded in the city. The project not only extends material life but also revitalises overlooked urban space.

More than a storage depot, the warehouse acts as a lab, market and learning hub that supports education, craft and collaboration. It enables a civic infrastructure for circularity by integrating policy,

subsidies and certification. High-quality reclaimed bricks are redistributed for small-scale projects, reducing landfill waste and CO2 emissions while supporting job creation.

The architecture itself demonstrates the versatility of brick through three wall types:

• Permanent walls use surkhi mortar (lime with crushed brick), simplifying disassembly.

• Movable walls, built from dry-stacked steel, wood

and brick panels, show modular flexibility.

• Shelf-walls, made with steel frames and timber boxes, reflect the accessible, evolving nature of reused materials.

‘Form follows availability’ becomes a guiding principle, both in design and ethics. Brick Hub redefines how we value, share and build with materials, turning salvage into opportunity and waste into civic potential.

Brick pattern studies.

Brick Hub is a proposed pilot warehouse under a flyover in Rotterdam.

BELOW THE MARK

STUDENT Jeroen Piels

PROJECT P5O5

MASTER Architecture

TUTORS Eric Frijters and Taneha Bacchin

ASSIGNMENT Landscape Factories

Tata is far from innocent. Accidents, health issues and environmental degradation have increasingly discredited the steel plant, mainly due to raw material processing. While relocating such industry to less populated areas might seem logical, a complete shutdown is drastic. This project builds on last year’s design scenario in which Tata no longer processes raw materials on-site. Yet one major issue remains unaddressed: severe soil contamination.

Several zones on the Tata terrain fall into the highest contamination category, comparable to asbestos. Harmless when undisturbed, dangerous when moved, these zones cannot be ignored in any transformation of the site. Research into remediation strategies revealed that such soil must be excavated and permanently stored elsewhere, leaving deep scars in the landscape. They are visible reminders of past pollution.

Below the Mark transforms one of these scars into a space of reflection and renewal. The current blast furnace museum and conference centre are outdated and unfit for the future-facing industry envisioned. They are reimagined within the remediated void. The underground museum, showcasing past and future industrial objects, plays with alienation, scale and light, offering a visceral experience of the site’s past. The walk from museum to confer-

ence centre leads through a lowered forest, symbolising transition. The centre, outside the remediated zone, looks to the future from a place of clarity. Both buildings are entered through modest, monolithic volumes at ground level – gateways to an underground world.

Beneden Peil

Jeroen Piels

cleaning with nature. Possibly based on depth of contamination and degree of contamination.

In the immobilisation process, contaminated soil is mixed with a binding agent, such as cement and other additives. By adding the binding agent, the contamination is physically and/or chemically bound.

contaminated soil can be burned clean by coal or kooks

excavation and removal of heavily contaminated soil to a depot for storage. similar to asbestos

Model of the subterranean museum and conference centre.

Remediating the soil.

remediate the soil

After excavation of the heavily contaminated area on site, the void becomes the new location for the museum and conference centre.

FROM SUB TO URBIA

Existing situation: A commuting-focused lifestyle and abundant free parking contribute to car-dominated public spaces, limiting opportunities for children to play and reducing chances for spontaneous interaction among neighbours.

Collectivisation: A central community hub, designed as a collective parking garage, removes cars from the streets while creating a vibrant space for social interaction. The building integrates functions such as guest rooms, hobby spaces, storage, DIY tool lending, music rooms and more, fostering community connections and shared resources.

Reduction: By reducing private space, the community can harvest material resources and create more room for collective use, while saving both environmental and financial resources.

Diversification: The reclaimed space allows for the much-needed diversification of public space, adding greenery to enhance the neighbourhood’s climate resilience. New homes for elderly people or students would contribute to greater mobility in the housing market, encouraging dynamic community growth.

STUDENT Raphael Näf

PROJECT P5O5

MASTER Urbanism

TUTORS Sofia Koutsenko

ASSIGNMENT Finding Housing

Densification: Densifying the existing neighbourhood through splitting, topping-up and introducing new housing typologies creates additional homes for new residents, increasing the overall population.

This project seeks to unlock the transformative potential of suburban neighbourhoods, addressing both the housing crisis in the Netherlands and the promise of suburbia: a life in harmony with nature, within climate-resilient communities. Suburban areas can densify while preserving their character. Rather than demolishing and rebuilding, this approach works with the existing environment, respecting its original design and minimising disruption.

The proposal is grounded in a study of the housing crisis, which shows a high standard of living leading to excessive space use, changing demographics, declining affordability and increasing distance between home and work. These factors intensify pressure on the built environment and quality of life.

It responds to challenges such as disconnection from nature, insufficient climate adaptation, poor public space, a lack of amenities, declining social cohesion

and the ageing building stock.

The project introduces strategies for sharing and collectivising space, beyond basic needs to include hobby rooms, guest spaces, seasonal storage and parking. These facilities enable a local sharing economy where goods and services can be exchanged or co-owned. Private space is reduced, creating room for flexible neighbourhood use.

This supports a more diverse resident mix of elderly

people, students and single households, enhancing inclusivity and long-term vitality. In the third phase, densification introduces new housing typologies to meet current needs while strengthening liveability. This creates a critical mass to support local shops, services and communal facilities. The case study is De Kamp in Nijmegen, a postwar neighbourhood now due for transformation, like many others across the Netherlands.

Room for improvement: The suburban lifestyle is characterised by car-dependence, lack of accessible green spaces and separation of work, living and recreation. This often leads to physical inactivity, social isolation and increased stress, negatively impacting both physical and mental health.

Walking in the green: New community hubs will encourage residents to take a short walk through green public spaces before driving, promoting physical activity and enabling casual encounters and conversations with neighbours.

A cohesive society: New developments in suburbia offer an opportunity to introduce innovative models of homeownership, such as housing cooperatives, co-housing, rent-to-own and tiny homes. These allow residents to stay within the same community throughout their lives, fostering long-term stability and social cohesion.

Work–life balance: As the population grows, the neighbourhood reaches a critical mass, enabling the development of essential amenities and breaking the monofunctional layout by incorporating workspaces. This improves connectivity and public transport options.

Distance: maximum 400 m.

Duration: approximately 4.5 minutes’ walk.

Energy expenditure: 30 kcal.

Air intake: 50 l.

Existing neighbourhood structure. Public transport route.

EUROPE, ONE FLIGHT AWAY

The agricultural landscape is currently fragmented.

The rural and urban landscape will be opened up.

STUDENT Richter Dallinga

PROJECT P5O5

MASTER Urbanism

TUTORS Alex de Jong and Renée Rooijmans

ASSIGNMENT Airport in National Park Rotterdam

Aviation emits 1 billion tons of CO2 annually, with domestic and short-haul flights being the worst offenders. Post-Covid, emissions have surged beyond pre-pandemic levels. Flights are expected to rise from 9.6 to 25 billion annually within 25 years (Airports Council International, 2024), driven by global wealth growth (Our World in Data, 2024). Without change, emissions could more than double, intensifying climate change and migration due to extreme heat. Why don’t we fly less?

Globalisation has made the world our home. Many live far from their roots and travel frequently to connect with family and friends, contributing to 48% of global tourism (Verder Vooruit, 2022). Migration for safety, opportunity and better environments has long been shaped by conflict, climate and scarcity (Space Connect, 2023). Rotterdam The Hague Airport (RTHA) has strong ties with communities from Morocco and Turkey, reflecting Rotterdam’s migrant history (rotterdamthehagueairport, 2024). Exploration drives

innovation and self-understanding (International Space Exploration Coordination Group, 2013). Eliminating flights is unrealistic. Shifting short-haul to rail demands 21,000 km of high-speed track, emitting 33 million tons of CO2 and impacting ecosystems (Railway Gazette, 2023; DecarboN8, 2022).

Electric planes are a better solution. By 2030, 44-passenger electric aircraft for 500 km will be viable, using Europe’s 2,000 small airports, including RTHA, for a regional network.

RTHA could evolve into an electric air station serving mega-regions like the Blue Banana (BigThink, 2014), aligned with Rotterdam’s aspiration to be a ‘city in a national park’. It could become a city-integrated hub or nature-integrated airport. This project explores that transformation, balancing innovation and sustainability, echoing Jefferson’s view of responsible progress (Jefferson's Letters, 1813; Monticello, 2023).

Rotterdam air station, 2040.

The air station will be situated in a high-density area, necessitating the emergence of a second city centre.

The existing terminal is currently used daily by passengers travelling to destinations within and beyond Europe.

Phase 2: air station becomes operational; the surrounding areas are opened to the landscape and densified, embedding the station within a second city centre.

Phase 1: begin construction of the air station and open up the landscape by removing buildings.

Phase 3: fossil-fuelled flights will cease; the old terminal will be converted into a transferium for visitors’ cars parked at the city’s edge.

Visitors and travellers will experience the urban landscape from the air station.

SLEEP WELL, FRISIAN PEATLANDS

STUDENT Lisette Woltjer

PROJECT P5O5

MASTER Landscape Architecture

TUTORS Jeroen Wiersma and Berte Daan

ASSIGNMENT Frisian Peatlands

After 300 years of hard work, the Frisian peat meadows are so exhausted that they desperately need some sleep. History can reveal what sleep means for this landscape. For this project I wrote a landscape biography on the Frisian peatlands, in the shape of a bedtime story. Retelling the story in a simple and graphic way helped me to arrive at an experimental design intervention.

In the lowest parts of the peat area, water naturally collects itself. This has become almost invisible, because humans have built a system of dikes and pumps to keep the water out: this is the landscape that never sleeps. The water that seeps through is filtered as it comes from the higher sand areas, once pushed up by glaciers. It is clean and valuable for drinking and

irrigation. But current agricultural activities pollute it with nutrients from fertilisers. Low water levels and nutrient-rich conditions are the opposite of what peat-forming plant communities need. If we stop fertilising and pumping, deep peat polders could become a fresh water source – important as rising sea levels cause salty seepage. Peatmoss can turn the tide: it creates raised bogs, keeps

water clean and grows atop its own organic material. Peatmoss forms only one millimetre a year and cannot grow on over-fertilised soil. One solution is removing the top layer. But what if we mimic peatmoss and grow it on added woodland clippings, stop pumping and let it take over? After rest, we can return parts to production and create a cycle.

LA VALL DEL BROTS ÁUREOS

STUDENT Sebastián González Tovar

PROJECT P5O5

MASTER Landscape Architecture

TUTORS Hanna Prinssen and Aura Luz Melis

ASSIGNMENT Pyroscapes Catalonia

Somewhat translated from Catalan, the Valley of the Golden Sprouts is a project where tradition, folklore, local sprouts and future-proof knowledge merge. The design aims to protect the natural areas of Castell de Montesquiu National Park, north of Barcelona, by incorporating methods to manage wildfires. They are now more frequent in the Mediterranean due to climate change. Fire, as the protagonist, is deeply rooted in Catalan

tradition and folklore. Rather than being viewed as a menace, it is an opportunity. Local festivals involving fire, flames and fireworks create circular economies using materials sourced from the area. Their harvesting is as sacred as the burning itself and guided the masterplan.

The forest includes Quercus (ilex, pyrenaica, suber, petraea), Fagus (silvatica) and Pinus (nigra), whose timber is used for sacred bonfires marking solstic-

es and equinoxes. Shrubs like Cephalaria leucantha, which are key fuels in wildfires, are also burned in seasonal ceremonies like Saint John's night and Christmas. Some are used in year-round fire demonstrations across Catalonia. Post-fire, ash mixes with soil, enhancing the mycorrhizal network between fungi and tree roots. Sacred mushrooms like Tuber melanosporum, rare and highly valued, are part of this cycle and reflect

a strong local identity. The masterplan divides the site into six zones based on slope, water proximity and presence of agricultural terraces. Two new festivals are proposed: Festival of New Flames in March, aligned with the spring equinox, and Festival of Golden Sprouts in October, focused on harvesting mushrooms and sticks for end-of-year celebrations.

THE NATURE OF LONELINESS

For the P3O3 studio Compact Co-Housing: Between Necessity and Delight, David Gak Vassallo wrote a reflection on the nature of loneliness, titled Garden of Interactional Pleasures. Drawing on the work of Ryue Nishizawa and Alvar Aalto, the ideas developed in this essay formed the basis for his design.

Text and Images DAVID GAK-VASSALLO

In the aftermath of Covid restrictions, we are left grappling with a host of mental challenges, heightened by encounters with those from different backgrounds and cultures, and by a growing sense of alienation –estranged from both ourselves and others, struggling to relate meaningfully to those around us. What is loneliness, as different from solitude?

Designers often seek to address loneliness by creating more opportunities for social interaction in semi-public spaces. While these efforts may support individuals who feel lonely due to social isolation, they fail to address the complex range of other experiences associated with loneliness. Indeed, there are numerous reasons why individuals may experience loneliness, and these causes are rarely resolved through an increase in social interaction alone. Interestingly, many who feel lonely may actually prefer, and sometimes even benefit from, spending time alone.

However, this does not mean that those who feel lonely necessarily prefer to remain in private spaces. Attempts to ‘design out’ loneliness or suppress visible signs of solitude in public space may, paradoxically, worsen the experience of loneliness, as it signals to individuals that their feelings are unwelcome. The paradox of loneliness is that, when given space, it may ache less, if it can exist without shame. Specifically, we must envision spaces that cater to the multifaceted experiences of loneliness. These spaces should work to de-stigmatise being alone, offer opportunities to reflect on solitude, build connections that foster a sense of belonging and provide avenues for mental escape.

SOURCES OF INTERACTIONAL PLEASURES

‘Solitude is that human condition in which I keep myself company.’ – Hannah Arendt.¹ We tend to think of loneliness simply as the state of being alone – meaning, not being able to relate to our environment or each other. The word ‘lonely’ is defined as a negative sensation evoked by isolation, where the emotional component separates the word from ‘lone’, ‘alone’ or ‘solo’, isolation being a key element in this definition.² However, the two – loneliness and isolation – are far from mutually inclusive. Vivek Murthy defines loneliness as ‘the subjective feeling where the connections we need are greater than the connections we have. In this gap, we experience loneliness’.³ By that definition, the state of loneliness is distinctly different from the objective state of isolation, which is simply determined by the number of people around you. Similarly, it is often said, almost too casually, that loneliness arises in moments of solitude. Yet, how little do such voices understand the nature of solitude itself. Consider sitting at a café people-watching, or driving on the motorway alone in the car, or the calm focus of reading in a quiet library corner. Solitude is a state of mind, an emotional independence, that can lead to a deeper understanding of oneself. It is not simply the absence of others; it is the presence of oneself. Solitude, in fact, is not a singular state but a spectrum, it seems. According to David Vincent’s book A History of Solitude, there are mainly three types of such experience:⁴

1. Abstracted solitude: the lack of focus on one’s surroundings. This form of solitude briefly separates the self from present company, allowing for deep engagement with personal thoughts and ideas; like reading in the living room while family members are nearby, or strolling through the city with music in one’s ears, or stepping outside during a gathering for a moment alone.

2. Network solitude: the curious state where one connects or operates with a network, physically present, yet mentally within. A shared silence, like a concert where friends absorb the music together but without a word, a film watched side by side in mutual silence, or even in the calm focus of working on a puzzle together. →

Moriyama House ground-floor plan and types of solitude, own work.

Alvar Aalto’s Hansaviertel apartments, studies of types of solitude, own work.

3. Physical solitude: the act of physically separating oneself from social situations or environments for an extended period to engage in self-reflection. This type of solitude is familiar, seen in activities such as walking alone in the forest or retreating to an isolated cabin.

Lyn Lofland, in her sociological work, discusses the sources of interactional pleasures primarily in the context of how people find enjoyment in public spaces and social settings; they are grounded in the subtle and often overlooked interactions and experiences that arise in urban environments. These sources of pleasure lie not only in the grand and visible but in the subtle, nearly invisible threads that bind moments of quiet observation and silent communion. If we concentrate on the forms for which the public realm seems to provide an especially favourable environment when being on your own, these can easily be re-imagined to emphasise how solitude intertwines with public life and personal satisfaction.⁵ According to Lofland, the main sources of such pleasures include:

1. Public solitude: this pleasure of solitude lies in the comfort of being enveloped by the ambient hum of conversation of a crowd. In such moments, one can focus one’s attention on another subtle enjoyment: the act of people-watching or listening, which allows for quiet observation and reflection.

2. People-watching: we catch just enough of others’ lives in passing to glimpse fragments of real-life dramas; the completion of these scenes, however, is left to our imagination.

3. Public sociability: while public solitude and people-watching are solitary pleasures, public sociability, by definition, requires verbal interaction between individuals, whether in pairs, small groups, or larger gatherings. Imagine sitting on your lawn, engaging with those who pass by. Each conversation is brief, without obligation and mediated by the physical space that separates you.

4. Playfulness, frivolity or fantasy: even the most ordinary pleasures, perhaps especially those that are commonplace, offer a release from the constraints of daily life and responsibilities. The bustling, anonymous crowd of the public realm allows for the illusion of freedom, where one can momentarily ‘play’ with who they are, engaging in relationships that are as fleeting and perhaps as false as the façades we put on.

Reaching the state of solitude allows one to reconnect with the depths of imagination and the freedom of daydreams. When at peace, we turn inward, finding a calm that nourishes creativity and confidence. This solitude serves not only the individual but, through them, society as a whole.

TOKYO–BERLIN: BETWEEN INTIMACY AND INTERACTION

Modern society seldom encourages solitude. Consequently, few architectural spaces are intentionally crafted to foster this experience. We look for solitude in nature, or perhaps in a quiet room of our homes. More often, architects focus on community-centred spaces, with optimistic renderings that portray vibrant, bustling social scenes. Yet, in reality, many such places fail to reach this envisioned level of activity and are often uncomfortable for solitary visitors. But what if we embraced solitude in our designs, creating spaces that invite one to pause, to reflect? There is an urgent need to study solitude, to understand its significance in architecture and to reimagine how we might craft spaces that destigmatise being alone. In order to learn more about the architectural manifestations of solitude and its unique pleasures (or lack thereof), we have to test the theory on practical examples. For that we compare two significant study cases: Ryue Nishizawa’s Moriyama House in Tokyo and Alvar Aalto’s Hansaviertel Apartments in Berlin. By mapping their respective interactional pleasures (Lofland) and types of solitude (Vincent), the goal is to derive an architectural vocabulary that facilitates these experiences.

THE MORIYAMA HOUSE

In 2002, Ryue Nishizawa was commissioned to design a residence in the Ōta ward, a historically traditional village now overtaken by the expanding metropolis of Tokyo. His proposal envisioned a series of independent units interspersed with gardens, creating a peaceful and contemplative microcosm within the urban sprawl. This design allowed the owner, an urban hermit, to rent part of the property and cover his mortgage. The concept, founded on a radical fragmentation of the living space and the dissolution of conventional hierarchies, redefined domestic life in a highly personal and unorthodox manner.

Isometric of Alvar Aalto’s Hansaviertel apartments.

Hansaviertel apartments placement on site, Tah-Chih Kao, 2010.

Section of Alvar Aalto’s Hansaviertel apartments.

One of the most intriguing aspects of the Moriyama House is the absence of a clearly defined main entrance. The layout of the property, where the four boundaries of the rectangular plot are treated equally, eliminates any preferential orientation, with volumes aligned similarly to both front streets and back alleys. This absence of a designated ‘correct’ path is deliberate, as the house lacks a traditional main door.

A few modules feature small canopies indicating their entrances, while the remaining openings are intentionally indistinguishable from windows. The exterior space can thus be understood as a multidirectional corridor that organises the distinct units without resorting to the conventional linear corridors typical of modern architecture. This design recalls the fragmented, interconnected arrangement of rooms seen in Renaissance palaces, but here it is reimagined in a way that enhances the independence of each unit.

Nishizawa challenges traditional concepts of communal living by effectively dissolving the collective circulation into interstitial spaces between the units, giving them further meaning beyond mere functional pathways. The Moriyama House is essentially divided by two axes: one wider (seen horizontally in the plan) leading from the main street into the central courtyard, and the other more akin to an ally-way – narrower and more private. What’s interesting here is how this design doesn’t force you into a pattern, alone or with others. Instead, it leaves room for people to figure it out for themselves. It invites reconsideration of how privacy and social interaction are balanced within the design of contemporary urban spaces, emphasizing the dynamic interplay between these two states.

The non-hierarchical nature of the house fosters a distinct sense of freedom in both movement and function. The gardens, more than paths, invite dwelling. With no fixed routes and many entrances, they move freely between the warmth of others and the quiet of themselves.⁶ Nishizawa often speaks of how the idea of a garden for each module haunted him as a guiding inspiration for the design. However, the balance of spaces leaves the gardens’ ownership in question. And this ambiguity of property, marked only by trees and scattered belongings, is exactly what nurtures a strange respect between inhabitants, bound to respect each other’s privacy without a single wall between them. In addition to places for seclusion, Nishizawa’s design offers retreats – be it the ‘meditation room,’ a table shared between two boxes, or the open sky of a 20m2 rooftop terrace. These voids, much like those in Tokyo, invite contemplation. ‘Here, human beings must unexpectedly give thought to each other’s movements, and the existence of this type of relationship produces a space in which people are inherently made aware of the fact that they are part of a community without being forced to constantly behave as such’.⁷

The outside is to hold just as much domestic life as the inside, with equal importance. The plans fill both realms with scattered objects: chairs, tables, books, clothes, flowerpots. These objects fill the void, adding the materiality the white backdrop fails to provide and collapsing the boundary between the two realms. Take away the walls, and Nishizawa’s modules become lost in the plot, their place swallowed up by the scattered objects and plants, which know neither inside nor outside. Not only are both realms fashioned with equal care, but the objects, once sketched on paper, seem to awaken the exterior, bringing it to life.8

These design decisions manifest in a surprisingly solitude-friendly environment, even though the density and proximity of the housing modules would suggest otherwise. The central courtyard serves as a stage which allows network solitude to occur as well as particular interactional pleasures like playfulness or fantasy and public sociability. Of course each module serves as a retreat for physical solitude, but by connecting them to either the central yard or another, and the strategic placement of windows, a gradient forms where abstract solitude can manifest. One can stay at home (without interaction), but people-watch whatever occurs outside. Similarly, the small garden ‘nooks’ allow the option of retreat, yet still have a connection to the public realm, allowing to experience the pleasure of public solitude.

In Berlin, the Hansaviertel Apartments stand as Aalto’s first step into housing architecture. Amidst the ruins of war, the Hansaviertel Apartments were constructed in 1957 as part of the Berlin International Building Exhibition, alongside the works of Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe.Nestled in the Tiergarten park, the building was a part of a variety of housing typologies, from single-story homes to building blocks. Aalto rotated the housing units around two central stairways and elevators, dividing the building into two blocks that, though separate, remained bound by an invisible thread. Inspired by courtyard houses, the plans featured a central multipurpose space. Balconies opened the living space to the outside, offering access from the main bedroom and dining rooms. The façades prominently feature the prefabricated concrete units, with expansive balconies that Aalto designed as open atriums. The intention was to give each flat a piece of nature, much like that in single-family houses. The modest flats are clustered around the living room, with the atrium balcony nearby.

HANSAVIERTEL APARTMENTS A NEW VOCABULARY

Aalto’s Hansaviertel Apartments, though his most successful housing project, fall short in public realm design compared to the Moriyama House. The Moriyama House excels in offering solitude in diverse settings, both public and private, while Aalto’s focus remains on the residential units and private realms. If solitude is desired, the primary type offered in the Hansaviertel is physical solitude, where individuals can retreat to their units. This is reflected in the varied international pleasures the complex provides. People-watching exists, but only through the presence of balconies. Yet, the public realm is devoid of the necessary program, and thus, the ‘theatre of life’ goes largely unnoticed, its stage left vacant. As a result of these decisions the international pleasures that Hansaviertel Apartments has to offer are not only limited, but the ways in which you experience them is limited as well. People-watching is mainly conducted via the balconies and public sociability only occurs if you are in the yard, while fantasy or playfulness is nor facilitated at all. Furthermore, the building is removed from the Tiergarten park, its yard walled by trees, distancing it from the world. A sort of gated community, if you will. Although, the building, a retreat within the park, becomes a gesture within the greater system (if seeking interactional pleasures, one may go to the park, people-watch, find solace in the crowd, and retreat to the complex) it cannot be a microcosm.

By extracting the architectural elements which make the interactional pleasures work in both the Moriyama House and the Hansaviertel Apartments we can start forming a new vocabulary: a catalogue of design principles and spatial elements that foster these pleasures. The pursuit of solitude often defies logical patterns. Psychologists James Averill and Louise Sundara encapsulate this idea succinctly: ‘Solitude is not something that happens; it is a place where different types of experiences may occur’.9

Each of these design principals is critical to a certain type of solitude. Some belong to networking solitude, like ‘the stage’ or ‘temporality’; others are blatantly physical, like ‘the Dostoyevsky’ or ‘the roof’; and others operate within the playful realm of abstract solitude, like the ‘alone in plain sight’, ‘the balcony’ or ‘the win dow ledge’. Together they can all form a sequence of spaces, which are able to interact with one another or work individually. A person can read a book in ‘the Dostoyevsky’, sit on ‘the window ledge’, walk out to ‘the stage’, interact with people ‘temporarily’, go to his module in ‘the tower’ and isolate on ‘the roof’.

THE GARDEN OF INTERACTIONAL PLEASURES

If we learned anything from both case studies it’s that you get what you paid for, in terms of design and outcome at least. Alto’s main subject in the Hansaviertel Apartments was replicating the qualities of the single-family houses in each residential unit, and so the private realm is very rich and filled with intention while the public realm is left as a secondary idea and at best supporting element. At the Moriyama House the public realm was the main focus of design, and the residential modules its niches, to be use as a retreat.

The Moriyama House is definitely a reinterpretation of the village-like outskirts of Tokyo, meaning it is in fact a fragment of a whole. A fragment which, if expressed abstractly, can stretch and multiply into an urban-like scale. An open-ended grid system can be expanded indefinitely into a tapestry of interlocking axes, nooks and stages. An abstract framework on which we can start imagining our garden of interactional pleasures. We are free to explore new interactions throughout the system or develop an individual segment we feel is relevant.

However, there is one element which makes Hansaviertel Apartments still very relevant, something that the Moriyama House does not address and inevitably costs it much relevancy: verticality. There is no getting around the fact that social housing models such as Hansaviertel are far more applicable nowadays than any replica of a Japanese village. That being said, the qualities which the Moriyama House has are still necessary and coveted. This dilemma begs for a new reinterpretation of the vertical village, one that is comprised of architectural elements which facilitate solitude in its best forms and begins with the public realm as its main subject of design.

The idea which Alto suggests is that ‘the stage’ is a reproducible element on each floor. It is simply the circulation itself – the staircase. Then, more than just a functional pathway, the staircase begins to become an event, linking a sequence of experiences rather than just a connecting duplications. Alto eludes to this by opening up the circulation to the air, treating it as an experience not itself and connecting it to generous lobbies on each floor.

By combining both the Moriyama House’s horizontal scheme with Alto’s vertical strategy, we are able to create something unique which (hopefully) allows us to explore our new vocabulary playfully and design according to both types and pleasures of solitude. ←

1 H. Arendt, The Life of the Mind, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1981.

2 A. Stevenson (ed.), Oxford Dictionary of English, 3 ed., Oxford University Press, 2010.

3 B. Martin, ‘The Q&A: Dr. Vivek Murthy on fighting loneliness during COVID-19 pandemic’, nba.com, 2020. https://www.nba.com/news/qa-dr-vivek-murthy

4 D. Vincent, A History of Solitude, John Wiley & Sons, 2020.

5 L.H. Lofland, The Public Realm: Exploring the City's Quintessential Social Territory, Routledge, 1998.

6 G. Martín Domínguez and J. de Esteban Garbayo, ‘Home-city interactions in suburban Tokyo: Mori-

yama House by Ryue Nishizawa’, Revista de arquitectura, 23(2018)34, 45-53. DOI: 10.5354/0719-5427.2018.47906

7 K. Kitayama, Y. Tsukamoto and R. Nishizawa, ‘Changes in urban areas of Tokyo at the beginning of the 21st century’, in: Tokyo Metabolizing, Toto, Tokyo, 2010, 15-28.

8 Domínguez and Garbayo (2018), note 6.

9 J.R. Averill and L. Sundararajan, ‘Experiences of Solitude: Issues of Assessment, Theory, and Culture’, in: R.J. Coplan and J.C. Bowker (eds), The Handbook of Solitude: Psychological Perspectives on Social Isolation, Social Withdrawal, and Being Alone, John Wiley & Sons, 2013, 90-108. DOI:10.1002/9781118427378

SWIM OR SINK

In the P3O3 studio Swimming Class for Architects, led by Bruno Vermeersch and Ewout van Rossum, students tested the buoyancy of their models empirically in a pool set up in the Academy courtyard.

Text DAVID KEUNING Photos BRUNO VERMEERSCH

This design and research project began with a leap, not into water but into uncertainty. In the studio Swimming Class for Architects, students were invited to dive headfirst into one of the most pressing realities of our time: our fragile and complex relationship with water. Under the guidance of Bruno Vermeersch and Ewout van Rossum, the project challenged students to imagine what it means to design for a world where dry land is no longer guaranteed.

The brief: design compact, floating housing for thirty inhabitants across age groups, balancing individual needs with communal benefit. The course blurred the lines between research and design, with students contributing to a water encyclopaedia for architects.

Among the proposals was Sam Vork’s project, which transformed oil platform typologies into sustainable floating communities. Vork envisioned a hybrid structure adapted from decommissioned drilling rigs. The design integrated scaled infrastructure and cultural programming, illustrating a floating city capable of supporting daily life (see pages 78–79).

Equally compelling was Boris Gelauff’s project, which revolved around the concept of accidental encounters: spontaneous, unplanned meetings fostered by architectural gestures. Inspired by Gordon Matta-Clark’s building cuts, Gelauff’s design embraced openness and layered sightlines, translating principles of water physics and buoyancy into a slim, semi-submerged tower. Lotte Luna Meeuse took a radically material approach with her project Polymeris, imagining a community built entirely from waste such as reclaimed plastic. Meltable plastic waste was turned into façade cladding and furniture, while unusable plastic was stored in ballast tanks that doubled as flotation devices.

At the edge of the pool, students tested their hypotheses by floating their models. Guest sessions with artists Leonard van Munster and Rianne Makkink reframed prevailing stereotypes about floating architecture, encouraging students to take a leap into uncharted waters. ←

Students tested their hypotheses by floating their models.

The swimming pool also served as a nighttime venue for lectures.

Boris Gelauff presented his floating tower at the final presentation.

The pool in the courtyard is filled with water.

EMERGING PEDAGOGIES

Janna Bystrykh, head of the Master’s programme in Architecture, was curator of the 11th International Architecture Biennale Rotterdam, titled Nature of Hope. She organised the IABR education symposium Nature of Knowledge, which took place on 20 September 2024.

Text FRIEDER VOGLER

Imagine waking up in 2024 as an aspiring architecture student. You are facing a world rocked by the recent floods in Valencia, with debates around migration, a rise in fascist politics, and the emergence of new technologies like AI. All this intersects with worsening social inequality and rapid biodiversity loss. In this turbulent landscape, you are expected to learn how to ‘do architecture’ – a field concerned with envisioning better futures. But what does ‘doing architecture’ mean amid these multiple crises?

This was the central question at the Nature of Knowledge symposium at the Nieuwe Instituut. Held in support of the Nature of Hope exhibition, the International Architecture Biennale Rotterdam (IABR) invited academics, students and practitioners to discuss architecture’s future. More precisely, the future of architecture education. The discussion was divided into three blocks – Knowledge in a Post-Growth World, Nature of Knowledge and Practice in Transition – exploring how education might adapt to address a future full of uncertainty. Most academics approach big questions by refining a problem statement. One of them is Tatjana Schneider, professor at TU Braunschweig and researcher on the Architecture is Climate project. She opened the late afternoon session with a refreshing and energetic overview of architecture’s relationship to climate breakdown. She explained that relationship with a chronogram – a drawing, similar to a geological map, serving as both visual guide and critique – depicting layers not of Earth, but of crises, labelled Violating, Band-Aiding, Exploiting, Accumulating, Separating and Ignoring. This layered map reveals how architecture is embedded within and shaped by these interwoven social, economic, cultural and spatial forces, contributing to rather than resolving today’s crises. In the midst of this lies architectural practice, which she depicts as inherently fused with these processes. Schneider calls them out: buildings acting as fossil fuel apparatuses that feed extractivist exploitation, speculation objects in a growth economy, greenwashing tools and gentrifiers. She then formulates a problem statement where architecture is deeply entangled with a hegemonic order that fails to envision better futures and, instead, perpetuates and reproduces a violent status quo. A conventional architecture practice that has failed to critically reflect on its position in the current crisis and, with that, might have made itself obsolete. Yet the chronogram also highlights unexpected and encouraging areas of resistance forming in the crevices of this order: space-making practices that challenge the entangled mess through protest movements, community projects and research collectives that fundamentally reimagine what architecture could look like. The assembly of individuals gathered to speak at the symposium represented these forms of resistance. Individuals who try to critically position themselves, actors emerging from the fissures. As architect Janna Bystrykh, who organised the event, noted, they were ‘toiling alone in their institutions’, each working in different ways to make a difference.

Professor Phoebe Lickwar, for example, presented her research on ‘expanding the canon of landscape architecture’ by exploring the poetic and ancient practice of agroecology. In central Italy, she drew attention to a method that has resisted the colonisation of land by monocrop farming. Planting crops in relation to local ecology connects agriculture to flora, fauna and soil. Collective caretaking of these crops provides communities with engagement and meaning. In this context, her students from the University of Texas at Austin are encouraged to engage in land-based learning, exploring the land, observing the relationships that produce these landscape architectures and learning from sustainable remnants of agroecology, which have become very up-to-date for our future survival.The forgotten practice of agroecology aligns with a form of knowledge production that Kasia Nawratek brings to the conversation. The teacher at Manchester University encourages her students to adopt a post-humanist perspective, drawing on thinkers like Anna Tsing and Rosi Braidotti. Central to her teaching is the concept of polyphony,

a term borrowed from music, which refers to the presence of many voices – human, animal, fungal and plant life – all voicing simultaneously. In her courses, Nawratek helps students to become aware of this polyphony, emphasising the diversity of species that inhabit spaces. She aims to foster a sense of connection between students and the networks of life around them, encouraging them to listen to and become part of the complexity that exists beyond an anthropocentric view of the world. The symposium continued to explore other ways of telling histories to students, such as the approach provided by Professor Daniel Barber from TU Eindhoven. Barber focuses on decarbonisation. In his pitch, he examined architecture and urban planning through the lens of energy use, particularly in relation to fossil fuels. By doing so, he illuminates the known architectural canon in a different light, challenging the legacy of modernism once energy use is taken into consideration. Parallel to the re-evaluation of a canon, he also highlights underrepresented histories, like those of solar architecture pioneers in the 1950s.These are only a few examples of the non-violent ways of thinking, acting and narrating histories presented at the event. They were beautiful to listen to. They claim a critical space in the discourse, exploring affirmative approaches that try to understand education in the complicatedly interwoven crises. In their exploration of a response to the problem, they provide not only other ways of thinking but also fundamentally different ways of ‘being in the world’, as Nawratek put it. While these critical approaches are still incomplete – missing discussions on topics like degrowth and spatial politics – they allow students and emerging practitioners to tackle the anxieties that the fragility of our current reality produces. Value compasses, new ways of thinking, which could give direction and turn hope into action, turn ‘hope into a verb’, as IABR director Saskia Stein put it to tie the symposium back to the main topic of the IABR.

However, as architect Sascha Glasl noted, the actors taking this critical in-between approach seem dreamy when facing the real world. In the encounter with the co-founder of Space & Matter, the gap between these critical approaches and the reality of architecture practice became clear. In this space, terms like interdisciplinarity, decolonisation, polyphony and decarbonisation clash with venture, innovation, investment and development. Although Space & Matter shares the goal of addressing the polycrisis through projects like De Ceuvel and new ownership models, their approach seems misaligned with academia’s emerging critiques. If the divide between sustainable practice and academia can already be felt, the discourse with a conventional architecture office appears almost impossible.The effect of this on students was described by Emma Diehl, a student at the Academy in Amsterdam, where students work part-time in an office and attend classes in a study programme. She described how peers hesitate to bring their newly learned values and attitudes into their work environments. This resonates with my own experience, and many ‘critically’ trained graduates leave conventional practices, disheartened, or re-enter academia, seeking alignment with their ideals.

Here, the role of academic institutions became a subject of discussion at the event. How should they position themselves in this multifaceted crisis? What is the relationship between new approaches amidst a polycrisis and ‘normal’ architecture practice? Should they continue to prepare students to meet current industry demands or reimagine architecture through its potential for fundamental, transformative change? At present, institutions seem to lean towards the former, largely conforming to an existing professional landscape. Many academics at the symposium described themselves as small factions within a larger university system. Critical academics on ‘rowing boats’ that try to push an ‘oil tanker’ off course is the metaphor that architect Lara Schrijver, professor at University of Antwerp, used to describe the situation.

The symposium therefore left me with mixed feelings. On the one hand, one senses the emergence of a new attitude in architecture education. Educators provide refreshingly sharp analyses of the status quo, offer engaging visions of what architecture could become and utilise alternative tools and methods to gather knowledge and histories. Listening to them, I felt the presence of a radically different pedagogy, one that transcends the complexities of the polycrisis and offers empowering avenues for students. An education that provides a set of values that give future architects handles for action. But it seems that the new approaches presented are trapped in the very polycrisis they seek to address: squeezed between slow-moving education institutions and the demands and language of a ‘real world’ office architecture. The IABR symposium offered a vital space for these actors in the crevices. A platform for discussing and exchanging ideas, a place to widen an influence and strengthen a critical position. But if a reimagined design practice is to challenge the dominant architecture entangled with the status quo, many more of such events will be necessary. I agree with Tatjana Schneider when she urges that education needs to ‘shift gears’. It needs to find ways of expanding these other ways of teaching a fundamentally different architecture practice. Academics and students need to start organising themselves, exerting collective and energetic efforts to overcome institutional inertia and take the lead in transforming the field. When this happens and the crevices widen, perhaps we will finally be able to answer the big question of what envisioning better futures means for aspiring architects in this polycrisis. ←

RESEARCHING BUILDING ADAPTIVITY

The OBA Practice Studio resulted in a publication that not only serves as an educational outcome but as a resource for the future design team of OBA Next.

For students who do not have the opportunity to work on certain learning objectives from the external curriculum within their professional environment, the Academy of Architecture regularly organises practice studios. On 28 May 2025, seven students presented the outcomes of the practice studio OBA at the Amsterdam Public Library on Oosterdokseiland. In this studio, led by Arie van der Neut, Paco Bunnik and Jan-Richard Kikkert, students collectively conducted research into design parameters for building adaptivity. Their research was brought together in a publication, not only as an educational outcome but as a resource for the future design team of OBA Next.

Designing the library of the future is no simple feat. With the development of OBA Next (a collaborative project between the OBA and the Municipality of Amsterdam) a key ambition is the creation of a public building that excels in adaptability. Currently in its early stages, the project already embraces experimentation and user engagement, even before a formal design is in place.

At the heart of this initiative is the OBA Next Lab at Kraaiennest, a circular, demountable pavilion that exemplifies the project’s guiding principles. Surrounding this intervention, the neighbourhood is being activated with new programming, including basketball games held in the PaperDome designed by Shigeru Ban. Such efforts hint at a wider ambition: to host an evolving programme of activities, from quiet daytime study to lively evening events, serving a broad and diverse community.

This studio at the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture tasked students with investigating the spatial and technical challenges of such a versatile institution. Through analysis of international case studies and visits to leading architectural firms, students examined what makes a public building truly adaptable. Weekly studio sessions served as testing grounds for hypotheses and provided space for critical reflection.

A building’s capacity to change hinges in part on its infrastructure. The MEP systems (mechanical, electrical and plumbing) are not only costly but deeply influential to the long-term viability of any structure. Their adaptability directly impacts how easily a building can be reconfigured.

Another central theme is the spatial organisation of flexibility. From sliding walls to multifunctional furniture, interior elements can shift how spaces are used. Beyond the interior, the relationship between the building and the public domain must also be considered. A strong inside–outside connection increases both the physical use and social value of the building.

As students discovered through research and design, future-proof architecture is not only about technology or sustainability; it is about attuning to human needs for flexibility, autonomy and connection. The future library, then, is not only a space for books, but a catalyst for collective life. ←

Exterior rendering of OBA Next Lab, designed by AWR, BAZ studio and Matter Makers. Rendering by Absent Mat-

The ACT research group of the Academy of Architecture was represented at the IABR 2024 with two installations.

BOOKWORMS

Janna Bystrykh, head of the Master's programme in Architecture at the Academy of Architecture, was curator of the 11th edition of the International Architecture Biennale Rotterdam (IABR), entitled Nature of Hope, which took place at the Nieuwe Instituut from 29 June to 13 October 2024.

The research group Architecture and Circular Thinking (ACT) of the Academy of Architecture was represented with two installations in the main exhibition. The research group explores the architectural vocabulary of a regenerative society. The exhibition presented ten approaches to (old and new) relationships with material and materiality. The researchers gave the different approaches titles such as Wizard, Banker, Tinkerer, Forest Manager and Narrator. These were illustrated using ten second-hand Ikea Billy bookcases, sourced via the classifieds website Marktplaats. It is estimated that a Billy bookcase is sold somewhere in the world every five seconds. The exhibition offered a preview of the research group’s book, which will be published by nai010 in early 2026.

Research group member Laura van Santen also presented an installation on behalf of her own architecture practice, La-di-da, about timber foundation piles, which were once common in the Netherlands but fell into disuse in the second half of the 20th century in favour of concrete alternatives. However, these have high embedded energy and carbon. Today, timber and other bio-based materials are being reintroduced to design lightweight structures, and La-di-da argues for their use in foundations as well. This was also the topic of a P4O4 project studio titled Timber Foundations, led by Diederik de Koning and Laura van Santen. ←

Research group Architecture and Circular Thinking (ACT): Peter van Assche, Gerjan Streng, Laura van Santen, Quirine Winkler and Luuk Kramer. Production, assembly, disassembly: Atelier Schaft Mining. Billy bookcases from Ikea: Marktplaats (Verbeek, Wuister, DLB, Paul Van, Joost, 2live, shar, bmanders). Photo Luuk Kramer.

EXCURSIONS

The P4O4 studio Computers, Crafts and Circular Communities was led by Jeroen van Mechelen, Gilbert Koskamp and Machiel Spaan. They took students on a study trip to Vaduz.

Text

and

Photos JEROEN VAN MECHELEN

In March 2025, a group of students from the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture participated in the Erasmus+ workshop Crafting Clay in Vaduz, Liechtenstein. Hosted by the University of Liechtenstein, the workshop united architecture students and lecturers from four European schools to collaboratively design and construct a permanent structure on the university campus: the Red Cube.

The Red Cube marks the first intervention of a broader campus development plan, intended to enhance accessibility and establish new spatial anchors. Situated behind the former cotton mill, the project served both as an architectural gesture and as a community event space. Over the course of a week, participants worked with locally sourced hardwood and clay to explore hybrid building techniques. Using otherwise discarded, freshly cut wood from the Vaduz forest, students constructed full-scale mock-ups and prototypes, experimenting with skeletal timber frames filled with clay and finished with slate-tiled roofs. The hands-on nature of the workshop was paired with a transdisciplinary ethos. Days were spent prototyping and building, while evenings celebrated cultural exchange through shared meals representing each participating country. A mid-week excursion to rammed earth building Austria and Switzerland offered regional architectural and material context.

The workshop culminated in a festive Aufrichte, presenting the completed Red Cube to stakeholders from the local community. More than a construction exercise, the project embodied principles of circularity, collaboration and learning-by-doing, merging local materials, traditional knowledge and contemporary design thinking. ←

Students worked with locally sourced, freshly cut wood and clay to explore hybrid building techniques.

Led by tutors Jana Crepon and Raul Corrêa-Smith, students participating in the P6 studio Emotional Landscapes set off for a trip to the Reykjanes Peninsula in Iceland.

Text JANA CREPON AND RAUL CORRÊA-SMITH

In February 2025, students from the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture embarked on a five-day field trip to Iceland as part of the P6 studio Emotional Landscapes. Set against the otherworldly backdrop of the Reykjanes Peninsula, the trip served as an in-depth exploration of the interconnected systems of climate, geology and biology shaping Iceland’s dynamic terrain and culture.

The journey focused on the Reykjanes Peninsula and included a day in Iceland’s capital, Reykjavik, with expert talks from urban planner Salóme Rósa Þorkelsdóttir and a guided tour of the architecture school at the Iceland University of the Arts, led by Massimo Santanicchia, director of the master's course. In Reykjanes, students encountered a wide array of locations: geothermal plants (linked to aquaculture, carbon capture, agriculture and the Blue Lagoon spa), local towns including the evacuated Grindavík, heritage sites such as churches and turf houses, geothermal sources, warm rivers, mountains, waterfalls and striking sea cliffs. A memorable highlight was a visit to a Japanese strawberry farm in a repurposed aluminium smelter powered by geothermal energy.

Urbanism and architecture students explored themes including tourism, the requalification of existing urban settlements and the potential for infrastructures such as geothermal power plants and data centres to inspire new urban strategies. Landscape architecture students focused on natural succession and erosion mitigation (both on land and water), the positive landscape impact potential of geothermal installations and methods for fostering deeper awareness of the unique Icelandic environment, using mythical narratives and a renewed attention to the vibrant life of mosses, lichens and more.

Field visits formed the foundation for the students’ studio projects upon returning to Amsterdam. Drawing from firsthand observations and research, each student developed an individual proposal inspired by the overarching studio theme of coexistence within Iceland’s volatile yet captivating landscapes. Through speculative design strategies, adaptive urban plans or landscape restorations, the projects expressed a shared ethos: working with nature, not against it. ←

Part of the P6 studio Constructing London’s

Waters, led by tutor Lili Carr, was an excursion to the British capital.

Text LILI CARR Photos JOSEF ALI

In February 2025, a group of students from the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture travelled to London as part of the P6 studio Constructing London’s Waters. Over five intensive days, they explored the city’s complex hydrosocial systems through the lenses of fieldwork, archival study and critical design practice. Their focus was on the Thames and Lea rivers – London’s two primary water sources – both subject to mounting pressures from pollution, privatisation and climate-induced extremes. With the UK’s Environment Agency warning that London could face severe water shortages within a generation, the urgency of the trip was evident.

The itinerary included visits to floodplains, reservoirs, canals and water treatment sites, alongside meetings with local researchers, activists and designers. Through direct observation and site recording, the students examined the visible and invisible infrastructures shaping London’s water politics. A highlight was a visit to Cody Dock, a social enterprise sited at the mouth of the River Lea, where the students undertook an aquatic invertebrate sampling exercise led by ecologist Gino Brignoli, and discussed the vital importance of nurturing fragile urban brownfield habitats for both people and nature.

Back at the hotel, students synthesised insights into visual mappings, tracing the spatial and material dimensions of London’s water systems and flows. The fieldwork set the foundation for each student’s individual design brief in the second half of the semester: speculative yet situated interventions aimed at reshaping London’s water futures. ←

Students visited the Crossness Pumping Station, a Victorian-era sewage pumping station designed by the architect Charles Henry Driver for the Metropolitan Board of Works's chief engineer Sir Joseph Bazalgette.

ARCHIPRIX NETHERLANDS

Archiprix Netherlands 2025 awarded four first prizes, one for each of the four disciplines: architecture, urbanism, landscape architecture and interior architecture. The ceremony took place on 14 June and the first prize for landscape architecture was awarded to Renan Dijkinga, graduate of the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture. In his graduation project, titled (Be)Coming Home, he reimagines Brazil’s Campos Gerais region through regenerative land use that blends traditional practices with ecological systems.

NVTL TALENT AWARD 2024

Landscape architect and academy alumnus Jacob Heydorn Gorski won two awards last year. For his graduation project Burnt: A Tale of Three Fires, he received the NVTL Talent Award. In this project, he explored new ways of addressing forest fires, drawing inspiration from the Dutch approach to water management. The jury awarded the prize for his decision to approach the topic from a landscape architectural perspective. ‘That is innovative for the field and highly relevant,’ the jury wrote. ‘Jacob Heydorn Gorski sees not only the firefighter as an actor in wildfire management, but above all the landscape shapers of the ecosystem and the area's residents.’ He also received the 2024–2025 NHBos Talent Grant for his proposal Water Zien Branden (‘Seeing Water Burn’). With this proposal, he aims to bring design thinking on wildfires into the specific context of the Netherlands as a water land. He plans to initiate discussions with key stakeholders and organise an exhibition. The NHBos Talent Grant provides € 5,000 in financial support for a project by a recently graduated landscape architect. The grant was awarded to an alumnus of the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture for the fourth consecutive year.

KUIPERCOMPAGNONS GRADUATION AWARDS 2024

Two graduates from the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture received awards at the KuiperCompagnons Graduation Awards 2024. Urbanist Mike Wissing won second prize in the Masters category, and landscape architect Roy Damen received an honourable mention, also in the Masters category.

Wissing graduated with an urban design for the Dutch city of Doetinchem. In his plan, a derelict industrial site along the railway is transformed into a green urban district. Around the station, there is room for compact urbanism and the city is reoriented towards the Oude IJssel river.

Damen graduated with a design for the area surrounding Liessel, a village in North Brabant situated between dry forests and the peatland De Peel. These two landscape types are separated by the Peelrand fault line, which has shaped the landscape and influenced the division between wet and dry land.

AHK GRADUATION PRIZE 2024

Architect Martijn van Wijk won the AHK Graduation Prize 2024 in the Masters category. He graduated from the Academy of Architecture with his design research Island Encounters. Van Wijk focused on creating architecture without a predefined programme, allowing the site itself to guide the process. In doing so, he explored the hidden layers of the Uilenburg district in Amsterdam. From the jury report: ‘Island Encounters is a poetic plan. Martijn starts with a solid analysis and research, and approaches it with care. He seeks stillness and poses questions: what should I do with this environment? What are its stories? How can I make it as sustainable as possible? Martijn believes we must treat our surroundings in a sensitive, respectful way. Starting by looking at what is already there seems obvious, but is in fact a completely innovative principle in construction.’

To give structural attention to the relationship with employers, the Academy of Architecture organises an annual employers’ meeting. Topics discussed during the February 2025 meeting included job market conditions, employee rights and career development.

Text THAIS ZUCHETTI

WORK IN PROGRESS

Talks between the academy and employers are annually held, but on 13 February 2025, the meeting took a different turn: rather than being an internal conversation about the input and needs of employers, the intention was to broaden the discussion to include students, so both sides could pose questions, elaborate on their views, and share their wishes and expectations.

The meeting included office owners, practice mentors, representatives of the academy, and a handful of students. As an alumna, I was invited by the Academy of Architecture to moderate the evening. The conversation began with a round of introductions in which employers spoke about their practices, introduced the academy students working with them, and described the students’ responsibilities. I was pleased to see some practices attend as a team, side by side with their student employees.

The Academy of Architecture used the opportunity to present the structure of the curriculum: the responsibilities and roles of mentors in supporting students’ professional experience, the study load and associated pressure, and the academy’s climate agenda. Although the climate agenda has been embedded in the curriculum for several years, it was, to my surprise, still unknown to many in the room. Most offices acknowledged the relevance of the topic, yet admitted that it is not yet integrated into their daily practice. However, they responded positively and were interested in how students might implement this knowledge in their office work.

As the discussion progressed, we began to reflect on the current situation and brainstorm ideas that might benefit both parties. A key topic raised was the growing trend of students – especially in their first year – being offered internships rather than positions as junior architects. Students noted that they often accept internships just to enter the job market, despite the lower wages, and frequently perform the same tasks as their colleagues. This is problematic not only for students’ self-esteem and financial security, but also in terms of their engagement with the professional experience. When questioned, some employers said they were willing to invest in first-year students, helping them build skills and confidence while offering fair wages. Others, however, expressed concerns about students’ skill levels and were hesitant to commit to employees they felt might not meet their expectations. The Academy of Architecture responded by reminding the group that all students are enrolled in a master’s course, meaning they already hold a bachelor’s degree and must be paid in accordance with the collective labour agreement.

The discussion also touched on professional qualifications and the role of employers in guiding students’ career development. Some employers said they were unclear about their responsibilities. Others described how they regularly discuss students’ goals and make plans to meet the requirements, offering appropriate mentoring. The academy reminded the group that a clear list of professional experience requirements is available on the AvBWerkt website.

Towards the end of the discussion, students raised the topic of permanent contracts. The prevailing situation seems to be that students work under temporary contracts and are released when those contracts end. This hampers their development and creates uncertainty, as they must continually restart their professional trajectory. Employers explained that the current market conditions, particularly for small offices, make permanent contracts financially risky. They also mentioned that it is difficult to find highly skilled students worth retaining. When asked what skills they expected from employees, employers listed proactivity, the ability to engage with stakeholders, an entrepreneurial mindset and strong technical and software knowledge. They also noted the difficulty of fully involving international students due to language barriers. In response, the Academy of Architecture stressed that many skills come with experience and appropriate feedback. It was mentioned that a Dutch language course is offered as an elective and that software training has previously been available and could be reinstated. Regarding technical skills, first-year students are supported by the Tools course.

The final topic addressed was flexibility. Students mentioned that being allowed to leave work earlier during deadline weeks would already be a helpful adjustment. Employers, in turn, requested greater flexibility from the academy. They argued that the strict attendance policy sometimes prevents students from participating in important work meetings. It was agreed that better planning and communication could help to avoid stress and scheduling conflicts.

The evening was filled with valuable insights, thoughtful questions, useful feedback and new ideas. All attendees were pleased that the dialogue had taken place and led to better mutual understanding. The Academy of Architecture plans to further strengthen the relationship between students and employers by hosting more of these events, and perhaps even organising a job fair in the near future. My takeaway from the evening is that we are all interconnected: the academy supports students, who, with guidance from employers, will become the next generation of designers. ←

28 August 2024

Klaske Havik / Methods of Analysis and Imagination

04 September 2024

11 September 2024

Klaas Kuitenbrouwer / How to Zoöp? Being part of the living world

Henk van Houtum / Free the Map: A new cartography of borders and migration

18 September 2024 Patricia Pisters / Canary in a Coal Mine: Carbon cinema and three ecologies of energy

25 September 2024

02 October 2024

30 October 2024

Roemer van Toorn / Revolutionary Love: The power of gentleness in architecture

Moojin Park and Ben Scheerbarth /An Awkward Dance

Francesca Rizzetto / Ouverture Taranto: The residual identity on polluted landscapes

06 November 2024 Bertram de Rooij & Hanna Prinssen/Like Water and Fire: Wildfire challenges in the Netherlands

13 November 2024 Kevin Logan / From De to Re 20 November 2024

Jeroen Wiersma / Changing Landuse, Changing Landscapes: An ecological history of the landscape north of the town Aldeboarn

27 November 2024

Film screening of Make Do With Now and a reflection on the film with Hedwig van der Linden

LECTURERS

ABOUT THE AMSTERDAM ACADEMY OF ARCHITECTURE

This annual newspaper is published by the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture, an international school that offers space to experiment, produce and reflect in the heart of Amsterdam, providing a laboratory and workplace in one. Established in 1908, the academy is now part of the Amsterdam University of the Arts (AHK) and offers three Master’s programmes: Architecture, Urbanism and Landscape Architecture. The interdisciplinary courses prepare students for practising spatial design as a discipline on the cutting edge of visual art, construction engineering, civil and cultural engineering and the spatial sciences in a national and international context. Students study and work simultaneously, combining academic learning with professional development. All of the guest teachers are practicing professionals, forging a strong connection between the school and the job market. Graduates are entitled to independently practice one of the three disciplines taught at the academy. The degree meets the admission requirements that are defined in the Dutch Architect’s Title Act and is notified with the EU. The graduate has direct access to the Dutch register of architects, urban planners and landscape architects and is qualified to compete in the European market. The academy has its own place in the cultural life of Amsterdam and places itself in the professional debate through lectures, workshops, events and exhibitions.

P1A (AUL) UNLEARNING HOME, Land, Habitation: In a search for a home Maria Khozina / Building on Reciprocity: Artist-in-residence at the Marker Wadden Laurien Zwaans / Weather, Climate and Atmosphere as Mediums of Design Rachel Borovská / Learning to Unlearn the City Imane Boutanzit / Residue Gavin McGee Fraser / Room for One Thought Steven van Raan / Unlearning Food Waste: Changing links in the urban food chain Elena Dobretsova, Mike Wissing / Vondel Follies Jacob Heydorn Gorski / The Constant of Change: Designing with hygromorphic materials Tobias Kumkar

P1B (A) SCENOGRAPHY The House that Visionary Built Daria Khozhai / Eight Obstructions Freyke Hartemink / Social Structures Jochem Homminga / The Amsterdam Toilet Project Susana Constantino Peixoto da Silva / Chimeras Giulio Magheri, Valentina Fantini

P1B (UL) OPEN REALM The Wizard and the Prophet Léa Soret, Anna Torres / Next Destination: Zaanstad Mathias Lehner / Unraveling: Exploring alternative representation and the future of Hembrug Blake Allen, Vito Timmerman / Time after Time Charlotte van der Woude

P2A (AU) TYPOLOGY Out of Balance 2.0 Grisha Zotov / Playground Sandra Bsat / Gender Theory in Architecture and the Built Environment Nourhan Bassam / Malleable Typologies: The generative scale of the warehouse Justus Schaefer, Theodor Reinhardt, Christopher Clarkson / Thick City Thiago Maso / Un-Conventional Gavin McGee Fraser, Maiara Luchi Camilotti

P2A (L) INTERBEING LANDSCAPE Dynamics of the Amsterdamse Bos Jean-François Gauthier, Justyna Chmielewska

P2B (AL) NATURECULTURE Sensitive Case: Top secret Lieke Jildou de Jong / Architectura et Natura Sander Rutgers, Jan Minne / Regenerative Ecopolis Aura Luz Melis / Space to be Ill, Place to Heal Ira Koers / New Protagonists for Ecological Monuments Ronald Boer, Jonmar van Vlijmen / The Stream of Time and Overlapping Places: Sloterplas Minnari Lee

P2B (U) NEIGHBOURHOOD AS A RESOURCE City Centre Osdorpplein Izabela Słodka / The Small World Federica Zatta

P3/O3 (A) ON HOUSING Swimming Class for Architects Bruno Vermeersch, Ewout van Rossum / Living with Each and Every Other Simon Whittle, Patricia Yus / Compact Co-Housing: Between Necessity and Delight Harmen Van De Wal, Oana Radeş / Reimagining Housing for Migrant Workers Piero Medici, Renzo Sgolacchia

P3 (U) CITY AS A RESOURCE Connecting and Transforming Schinkelkwartier Martijn de Wit, Joost de Wit / Designing with Uncertainty: Case study Kryvyi Rih Fulco Treffers, Lilet Breddels

P3 (L) THE URBAN LANDSCAPE Wilding the City Maike van Stiphout, Linde Keip

P4/O4 (A) BUILDING ECOLOGIES Disrupting the Smooth City Art Kallen, Charlie Clemoes / Building on a Roof of an old Bullet Factory Patrick Roegiers, Rogier van den Brink / Timber Foundations Laura van Santen, Diederik de Koning / Computers, Crafts and Circular Communities: Designing a new open air school Jeroen van Mechelen, Gilbert Koskamp

P4 (UL) REGIONAL RESEARCH AND DESIGN Groundbreaking: The Amsterdam metropolitan region’s underground as leverage for resilient futures Philippe Allignet, Léa Soret / Turning Tides: Reimagining the island life of Ameland in the Frisian Wadden Sea Giacomo Gallo, Jonas Papenborg

P5/O5 (AUL) RESEARCH AND DESIGN Pyroscapes Catalonia Hanna Prinssen, Aura Luz Melis / Frisian peatlands: Investigating and testing the fundamental boundaries Berte Daan, Jeroen Wiersma / Planning an Airport in National Park Rotterdam: Where the needs of bees and people meet Alex de Jong, Renée Rooijmans / Speculations of a Material Banker Josse Popma, Hedwig van der Linden / Thriving at Altitude Andrew Kitching, Anna Fink / Finding Housing: Re-tooling the process Sofia Koutsenko / Landscape Factories: Detailing interdependencies of sustainable production Eric Frijters, Taneha Kuzniecow Bacchin

P6 (AUL) NARRATIVE Transforming Cities with Soil Anna Zań, Dingeman Deijs / Ephemeral Interventions: Interpreting urban transformation in De Esch, Rotterdam Stefano Milani / Imagine a Possible Future Barend Koolhaas / Constructing London’s Waters Lili Carr / The Fifth Forest: A thousand hectares of connection between a city and its landscape Remco van der Togt, Eva Willemsen / Emotional Landscapes Iceland Jana Crepon, Raul Corrêa-Smith

O1 (AUL) METHODS Fieldnotes: Exploring a living space Rebecca Bego / Short Stories of the City Magnus Weightman / Amsterdam Transforms: A documentation of the city’s physical change Sanne van den Breemer / City, Streets and Adaptability Eric-Jan Bijlard / Density and Typology Liza van Alphen / Blueprints for the City Bram Klatser / Landscape Narratives Willemijn van Manen / Chasing Raindrops and Gathering Moss: Mapping the city from the perspective of other-than-human life Tanja Koning / The Nature of Nature Philippe Allignet

O2A (A) FORMS OF KNOWLEDGE Site Marten Kuijpers / Resistance Noortje Weenink / Care Ania Molenda / Justice Claudia Rot / Repair Minnari Lee

O2A (U) READING THE CITY Post-Growth City Research Marco Broekman, Mike Emmerik

O2A (L) ECOLOGY AND BIODIVERSITY How to Use Ecology as a Design Instrument I Rob van Dijk, Koen Wonders

O2B (AUL) ECOSYSTEMS AND REFLECTION The Classroom as an ecosystem Saja Amro / The Fashion System Stef Dingen /

The Other Construction Site Paulien Bremmer / Beyond the Hype: Artificial intelligence and the design process Pietro Scarpa / Dirt Snack! Leanne Wijnsma, Mirte van Duppen / Alien Places Thais Zuchetti / Anatomy of a City: How systems make cities work (or fail) Ganesh Babu / Ecosystems of Tourism Javier Arpa Fernández

O3A (U) URBAN DEGROWTH METHODS The Site as a System Giacomo Gallo, Iruma Rodríguez Hernández

O3A (L) NATURE-INCLUSIVE DESIGN In Flux: Exploring nature-inclusive design from diverse perspectives Blake Allen O3B (U) URBAN SYSTEMS AND INFRASTRUCTURES Thinking through the effects of interventions Christian Rommelse, Stephan Boon

O3B (L) PUBLIC SPACE DESIGN Toolkit for Nature-Inclusive Design Frank Bruggeman

O4A (UL) REGIONAL RESEARCH Groundbreaking: The Amsterdam metropolitan region’s underground as leverage for resilient futures Philippe Allignet, Léa Soret / Turning Tides: Reimagining the island life of Ameland in the Frisian Wadden Sea Giacomo Gallo, Jonas Papenborg

O4B (U) METROPOLIS AND URBAN REGION Compare, Comment, Collage Jacopo Grilli

O4B (L) ECOLOGY AND BIODIVERSITY How to Use Ecology as a Design Instrument II Rob van Dijk, Koen Wonders

O6 (AUL) NARRATIVE Arjen Oosterman, Vibeke Gieskes, Abla el Bahrawy, Alexandra Tisma, Billy Nolan, René Boer, Ali T. Asad

GC (A) GRADUATION CLINIC Vibeke Gieskes, Paul Kuipers, David Keuning, Marten Kuijpers

GC (U) GRADUATION CLINIC Jerryt Krombeen, Léa Soret

GC (L) GRADUATION CLINIC Joost Emmerik, Berte Daan

P4/O4 / P6 FALL (A) Bart Bulter, Dana Behrman

P4 FALL / P6 FALL (UL) Herman Zonderland, Yttje Feddes

O6 Fall (AUL) Vibeke Gieskes

V1A (AUL) NATURAL MATTER

Marlies Boterman (coordinator), Rogier van den Brink, Joris Ruhe, Koosjan van der Velden, Machiel Spaan, Zach Mellas, Marco Galli, Thijs de Zeeuw

V1B (AUL) TECHNICAL MATTER

Marlies Boterman (coordinator), Rogier van den Brink, Joris Ruhe, Koosjan van der Velden, Machiel Spaan

V2A (AUL) INSPIRATIONAL MATTER

Marlies Boterman (coordinator), Daria Khozhai, Ricky Rijkenberg, Paul Kuipers, Kaita Shinagawa, Annemarijn Haarink

V2B (AUL) SELF-GROWING MATTER

Marlies Boterman (coordinator), Aliki van der Kruijs, David Habets, Arja Hop, Peter Svenson, Marjolijn Boterenbrood

IC (AUL) INTERCULTURAL COMPETENCE Magdalena Szumna, Caroline Haafkens, Marjoleine Havik, Jessica Shinnick, Iruma Rodríguez Hernández, Imane Boutanzit, Patrick Roegiers

T1 (A) TOOLS Jos Rijs, Jan Bart Bouwhuis, Charles Hueber, Adri Verhoef, Thijs Meijer

T1 (UL) TOOLS Mirjam Koevoet

T2 (A) TOOLS Jos Rijs, Jan Bart Bouwhuis, Charles Hueber, Adri Verhoef

T2 (UL) TOOLS Luuk Koote, Mike Wissing

C1 (AUL) FOUNDATIONS AND REFLECTION Nicholas Korody, Joost Emmerik, Daryl Mulvihill, Colin Keays

C2 (AUL) BOOK AND DEBATING CLUB Daphne Bakker, Tim de Boer, Sereh Mandias, Thijs van Spaandonk

C3 (AUL) PRACTICES Adham Selim (coordinator), Angelo Renna, Maike van Stiphout, Renzo Sgolacchia, Arne Hendriks, Bart Smeets, Bruno Vermeersch, Laura Thomas, Golnar Abbasi, Holly-Jean Buck, Victor Muñoz Sanz, Gus Tielens, Elma van Boxel, Kristian Koreman, Marianne Loof, Brent Ryan

C4 (AUL) PERSPECTIVES Marcel Schouwenaar (coordinator), Simone Niquille, Špela Petrič, Vo Ezn

C5 (AUL) RESEARCH AND DESIGN Katja Hogenboom (coordinator), Klaske Havik, Klaas Kuitenbrouwer, Henk van Houtum, Patricia Pisters, Roemer van Toorn, Moojin Park, Francesca Rizzetto, Bertram de Rooij, Hanna Prinssen, Kevin Logan, Jeroen Wiersma, Hedwig van der Linden

C6 (AUL) NARRATIVE Gert Staal, Rebecca Bego, Patrick Doan, Teun van den Ende R1, R2, R3 AND R4 (AUL) REFLECTIVE COMPETENCE Michael van Bergen, Dirk Osinga, Sara Fontana, Melvin Crone, Gökçe Önal, Remco van der Togt, Rashid Rashidi, Emma Lynn, Lili Carr R5 AND R6 (AUL) REFLECTIVE COMPETENCE Maria Khozina, Thais Zuchetti, Rogier van den Brink, Léa Soret, Iruma Rodríguez Hernández, Remco van der Togt, Sjaak Punt PREMASTER (A&T) Jos Rijs (coordinator), Jan Bart Bouwhuis, Roy Kok, Matteo Cozzi, Paul Vlok, Paul Kuipers MINOR (A) Paul Kuipers (coordinator), Paul Vlok, Ricky Rijkenberg, Paulien Bremmer, Daria Khozhai, Kaita Shinagawa, Edwin van Gelder, Michal Jurys, Jeroen Musch, Marlies Boterman, Laura van Santen, Oene Dijk, Jelle Geertman, Ira Koers, Wouter Kroeze, Thijs de Zeeuw

PREMASTER AND MINOR (UL) Jean-François Gauthier, Ania Sosin (coordinators), Willem Hoebink, James Heus, Roy Damen, Jan Eiting, Sander van Velden, Mirjam Koevoet, Eva Willemsen, Willie Vogel, Klara Mitlenerova, Mohamed Hassan, Emiel Lamers, Oene Dijk, Sebastien Reinink, Floris van der Zee

START WORKSHOP Roy Damen, Alice Dicker

WINTER SCHOOL Irene Luque Martin, Johnathan Subendran, Caroline Newton, Amber Coppens, Luisa Calabrese, Raquel Hadrich, Nama’a Qudah, Chun Hoi Hui, Jammy Zhu, Yang Zhang, Agat Sharma, Laura Cull Ó Maoilearca

ELECTIVE COURSES Marjolein Roeleveld, Hans van der Pas, Mies Rogmans, Raimond Wouda, Hans van der Pas, Ton Muller, Sanne Horn, Gerrit Jan van Prooijen, Hans Kaljee

PRACTICE MODULE DESIGN & MANAGEMENT Alijd van Doorn, Martin Fredriks, Tamara Rogić, Chris Luth, David Tol,

Corinne Schrauwen, Geurt Holdijk, Leon Emmen, Kim Kool, Niek Smal, Hanneke Kijne, Martijntje Stam, Pedro Silva Costa, Marijke Bruinsma, Els Leclercq

PRACTICE MODULE DESIGN & ENTEPRENEURSHIP Thijs Meijer, Martin Fredriks, Annegien van Dijk, Leon Emmen, Joram van Otterloo, Frank de Volder, Ries Meertens,

PRACTICE COACHES Judith Korpershoek, Lejla Duran, Rogier van den Brink, Ramon Scharff, Frans Boots, Francesco Carrasso, Pedro Silva Costa, Judit Gaasbeek Janzen, Martin Fredriks

MIDSUMMER NIGHT LECTURER Floris Alkemade

The Amsterdam Academy of Architecture would also like to thank all assessors, graduation mentors, graduation committee members and staff members.

HouseEurope! is a citizens’ initiative for EU legislation that promotes the renovation of existing buildings and halts demolition driven by speculation. You can support this initiative with your signature until 31 January 2026.

HouseEurope! aims to make the renovation and transformation of existing buildings the new norm and a widely adopted approach. This will stimulate the renovation market and add new value to what already exists. The goal is to preserve homes and communities, foster a fairer and more locally rooted construction industry, save energy and resources, and protect memories and stories. The demolition of existing buildings is as outdated as food waste, animal testing, fast fashion and single-use plastics.

To achieve these objectives, HouseEurope! advocates for a right to reuse existing buildings based on three key pillars: tax reductions for renovation works and reused materials, fair regulations to assess both the potential and the risks of existing buildings, and a new valuation of the embedded CO2 in existing structures.

You can support this initiative with your signature until 31 January 2026 by visiting the link below or using the QR code: eci.ec.europa.eu/052/public/#

COLOPHON

Amsterdam Academy of Architecture

Annual Review 2024-2025

Editorial Board

Madeleine Maaskant and David Keuning

Managing Editor and Copy Editor

David Keuning

Graphic Design

Mainstudio (Edwin van Gelder)

Lithography

Alex Feenstra

Printing Tuijtel, Werkendam

9789083207445

Publisher Amsterdam Academy of Architecture

© 2025 Amsterdam Academy of Architecture www.academyofarchitecture.nl

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy or any storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Whilst every effort has been made to ensure accuracy, the Amsterdam Academy of Architecture does not accept responsibility for errors or omissions.