Tag Archives: Architecture

This Startup Says Your House Should Be the Robot, Not ‘Have’ a Robot

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Most of the AI money right now is betting on robots. Hundreds of embodied-AI startups and their backers are convinced that a bipedal machine will eventually become the household’s operating system, rolling from room to room and handling everything. Endong Zhang, the founder and CEO of LiveLarge Home Inc., thinks that’s the wrong frame, and he’s pretty candid about it.

A robot, he points out, has limited battery life, limited field of view, and can only be in one place at any given moment, which makes it a fairly weak candidate for running a multi-room household with several people in it. His counterproposal is that the building itself is the smarter infrastructure bet, and he’s building a company around exactly that.

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The company Zhang founded in 2023 spent its first few years looking more like a serious California construction operation than a tech startup, delivering more than 20 accessory dwelling units (ADU) and residential projects across the Bay Area and Los Angeles.

Endong Zhang – Founder and CEO, LiveLarge Home

In July 2026, LiveLarge revealed the Flagship L-Space, a standalone AI-native room environment and the clearest physical statement of Zhang’s thesis so far. Light, sound, air, privacy glass, and a voice assistant called Lila are coordinated as one system rather than a pile of separate apps, organized around three modes: Focus, Reset, and Passion.

Space AI: the invisible housekeeper

The conceptual core of Space AI is a deceptively simple question: can AI give every household some version of what a housekeeper provides? Zhang keeps returning to the housekeeper image because it captures something the smart home industry never quite cracked. A housekeeper reads the room, observes what’s needed, and acts without being told every small step. A traditional smart home, by contrast, receives a command or follows a fixed rule, and it doesn’t understand the situation, decide what should be done, or make a plan. “Without a human housekeeper,” Zhang says, “the home itself has to listen, observe, understand, decide and act.” That’s the jump LiveLarge is trying to make. LLMs, multimodal models, and a maturing robotics ecosystem are what make the timing feel genuinely different now rather than aspirationally so.

The room integrates a 5.1 surround sound system, adaptive lighting, fresh-air circulation, a 4K short-throw projector, and privacy glass into a single coordinated environment, all orchestrated by an AI assistant called Lila. The three modes, Focus, Reset, and Passion, were shaped directly by early users rather than invented in a whiteboard session. “People do not really want smarter devices,” Zhang told us. “They want to focus better, relax, recover, or spend time on something they care about.”

LiveLarge makes some deliberate engineering choices when it comes to privacy, with pretty straightforward reasoning: a room that watches, listens, and learns is exactly the kind of product that erodes trust the moment something leaks. The first rule is to do as much computation locally as possible, and L-Space uses an NVIDIA Jetson Orin as its local AI computer, with a large part of the sensing, data processing, storage, and inference happening inside the product. Sensitive information, including conversations, biometric signals, and usage data, can stay local.

The system uses voiceprints to recognize regular users, each user has a separate history and profile, and User A cannot access User B’s conversations or usage records. The full permission system is still in development, but the architecture already accounts for different access levels across family members, guests, and service providers. Zhang’s framing is tidy: “Personalization only makes sense within the permission given by the user.”

The Flagship L-Space is what Zhang calls a “concept car,” and the analogy holds up across more dimensions than the marketing might suggest. The Standard and Flagship models share the same core Space AI platform, but the key addition in the Flagship is vision: locally processed computer vision that lets Lila recognize individual users, read gestures, and actually observe what’s happening in the room rather than waiting to be addressed.

Vision is, in Zhang’s view, one of the most important sensors for a future AI-native home, and once AI can actually see a space, many services that are difficult today become possible. He’s testing facial identification and gesture control as more natural interaction layers on top of voice, and all of it runs on-device because visual data inside a home should never casually leave the building. “The engineering question is simple,” he says. “If AI can really understand a room, what useful services can it provide to the people inside it?”

The biggest lesson in getting from concept car to delivered product is that a lab demo and a product are different engineering objects. In the lab, every cable, firmware version, network condition, and room setup is controlled. A delivered L-Space has to survive shipping, installation, startup, software updates, and daily use. The customer also needs to set it up quickly, understand how to use it, and trust that the basic functions will keep working over time.

At current production volumes, many subsystems still use consumer-grade components, and the challenge of packing computing, storage, networking, IoT control, audio, projection, sensors, and actuators into a compact structure without compromising acoustics or airflow is, as Zhang puts it, closer to vehicle electronics than construction. “A feature is not finished when it works once,” he told us. “It is finished when it works repeatedly in the customer’s space.”

Technology is reshaping architecture and interior design

What the home looks like ten years from now, in Zhang’s telling, reads more like a tech product manifesto than an architecture brief. The house becomes a device in the same way a phone or laptop is a device: one integrated hardware and software system where every new appliance, robot, or sensor plugs into a shared runtime rather than living as yet another isolated smart product.

He also believes the intelligence shouldn’t stay tied to any specific building. “If you move, the home model, preferences and memory should move with you,” he says. “The new house becomes the new body, but the agent continues.” For designers, he sees a real reskilling moment coming, one where sensor placement, robot clearances, and interaction architecture start sitting alongside floor plans and material palettes as standard deliverables.

LiveLarge’s roadmap for the second half of 2026 includes bringing Space AI into ADU and broader residential products, which means the concept car phase has a fairly clear expiry date. You can see what the company is building at livelargetech.com.

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Biophilic Library Let the Trees Decide Exactly Where the Walls Go

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Architecture is often defined by what is added to a site. The new library by Spanish studio Typsa Arquitectura in Luanda, Angola, is equally compelling for what it chose not to remove. Set within the city’s technology park, the 1,915-square-metre building was shaped around a collection of mature trees already rooted on the plot, allowing the landscape to dictate the architecture rather than becoming an afterthought once construction began.

That decision gives the project an unusually gentle presence. Instead of clearing the land and imposing a rigid footprint, the architects organised the library around planted courtyards, weaving the existing trees directly into its spatial logic. Across cultures, trees have long created informal places to sit, gather, learn and exchange ideas, and the library seems to translate that instinct into architecture. The building does not simply preserve the trees as decorative remnants; they become anchors around which circulation, views and communal spaces unfold.

Designer: Typsa Arquitectura

Above, a sweeping concrete roof moves across the site in broad curves, narrowing and expanding before opening into circular voids around the retained trees. These openings transform the canopy into part of the composition, framing trunks and foliage as though they were architectural elements themselves. Supported by reinforced concrete slabs and slender steel columns, the roof extends far beyond the glazed envelope, creating shaded walkways and generous cantilevers that soften the transition between indoors and outdoors.

The resulting plan rejects the conventional idea of a library as a sequence of rooms linked by straight corridors. Instead, visitors move along gently curving routes that wrap around gardens and courtyards, allowing spaces to gradually reveal themselves. Reading areas, administrative offices and a multipurpose auditorium occupy the ground floor, while a broad timber staircase leads to the upper level and its principal reading room. From here, the library opens onto a terrace overlooking the surrounding park, strengthening the visual relationship between study space and landscape.

The roof is not only the building’s most expressive gesture; it is central to its environmental performance. Designed as a ventilated double-layered structure, it allows air to circulate between surfaces and dissipate heat before it reaches the spaces below. Combined with cross-ventilation and the natural shade of the mature trees, the system helps reduce solar gain and supports a cooler interior climate through largely passive means.

The glazed facades receive another layer of protection through tall, adjustable brise-soleil screens made from lacquered aluminium. Their orientation can respond to the movement of the sun, filtering daylight while creating an irregular rhythm across the curved elevations. The strategy also draws on the brise-soleil frequently seen in Angolan modernist architecture, giving a familiar climatic device a contemporary interpretation.

Inside, the effect is both functional and atmospheric. White walls, polished floors and floor-to-ceiling glazing keep the interiors visually light, while sunlight passing through the exterior fins creates constantly shifting patterns across walls and floors. These moving shadows prevent the predominantly white palette from feeling static, introducing an almost temporal quality to the interior as daylight changes throughout the day.

There is something particularly appealing about architecture that understands intervention does not have to mean disruption. In Luanda, the artificial and natural worlds are not positioned against one another; they are allowed to coexist and actively shape each other. The trees determined where the building could bend, where its courtyards would emerge and even where its roof would open to the sky.

Founded in Madrid in 1966 as the architecture division of engineering consultancy Typsa, Typsa Arquitectura has worked across civic, educational, transport and infrastructure projects in Europe, Africa and the Middle East. Yet this library demonstrates that even within technically complex architecture, one of the strongest design decisions can be remarkably simple: begin by paying attention to what is already there.

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This Tiny Home Packs a Full-Size Fridge, Loft Bedroom, & Sleeping for Four Into 128 Square Feet

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At just 16 feet long, the Petite Pelican doesn’t ask much of the land it sits on. What it does ask is that you reconsider how much space you actually need — and it makes a convincing case. This custom-built tiny house on wheels, currently listed in North Carolina for $60,000, packs a full kitchen, bathroom, loft bedroom, and sleeping for four into 128 square feet of main-level living space, with an additional 60-square-foot loft overhead.

The exterior sets the tone immediately. White board-and-batten siding meets a black metal gable roof — clean, cottage-adjacent, and just sharp enough to photograph well. The proportions feel considered rather than squeezed, and a small exterior storage box handles propane tanks without cluttering the aesthetic. It rides on a double-axle trailer, which keeps it road-legal and genuinely mobile for those who want a home that actually moves with them.

Designer: Tyson Chavonne Builders

Inside, the design leans into the beadboard-and-shiplap vocabulary that tiny home buyers tend to love, but with enough restraint that it avoids feeling like a theme. Luxury vinyl flooring runs underfoot, and natural light pours in through generous glazing on all sides. The open-plan living room connects directly to the kitchen, and the layout makes the transition feel intentional rather than inevitable. A sofa doubles as a twin daybed with a pullout trundle — two guests sleep there comfortably — while the loft above hosts a double bed flanked by clerestory windows on both sides. That’s four people sleeping in 16 feet, which is a harder problem to solve than it sounds.

The kitchen is galley-style, with cabinetry on each wall. Sage green cabinets anchor the space with a calm, earthy quality, while a butcher-block countertop adds warmth without trying too hard. A two-burner propane cooktop, full-size fridge and freezer, microwave, and steel sink cover the cooking essentials. The underside of the staircase opens into open shelving — small jars, spices, and kitchenware stored where dead space would otherwise be. It’s a detail that signals real design thinking, not just spatial necessity.

The bathroom is compact but functional, with a walk-in shower, toilet, floating shelves, and a vanity sink. The shower is separated by a white curtain rather than a glass partition — a pragmatic call at this scale, and one that keeps the weight down.

The Petite Pelican is listed fully furnished and turnkey, ready to live in or rent out immediately. At $60,000, it sits on the accessible end of the tiny home market — and for something this well-resolved at 16 feet, that’s the detail worth noticing.

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This 400-Square-Foot Log Cabin Has a Loft, a Covered Porch, and Cathedral Ceilings — and It Arrives on a Flatbed

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Zook Cabins has built a quiet reputation for making tiny homes that feel anything but small. The Aspen Park Model is their clearest proof of that. At 400 square feet across a 12-by-41-foot footprint, this log-sided cabin does something few homes of its size manage: it doesn’t ask you to compromise on comfort, character, or quality.

The exterior is built from solid 4-by-8 kiln-dried Eastern White Pine logs, stained and sealed for durability. A 7/12 roof pitch gives the Aspen a proper cabin silhouette, and the 28-gauge, 40-year heritage metal roof comes standard in Textured Evergreen, with Textured Bronze, Textured Black, and Galvalume as alternatives. A 7-by-11-foot covered front porch anchors the entrance, wide enough for a pair of chairs, a small table, and a grill. Mornings genuinely slow down out there.

Designer: Zook Cabins

Inside, 2-by-8 tongue-and-groove Southern Yellow Pine boards line the cathedral ceiling, with log beams left exposed and finished in two coats of polyurethane. Luxury vinyl plank flooring runs throughout. The layout is deliberate: a great room combining the kitchen and living area, one master bedroom, one full bathroom, and a 7.5-foot loft accessible by a proper staircase. Solid pine interior doors with sliding barn door hardware add a detail that feels intentional rather than pulled from a catalog.

The kitchen comes fully outfitted with a 9.8-cubic-foot refrigerator, a two-burner electric induction cooktop, a 24-inch over-the-range microwave, and painted wood cabinets with Formica countertops. The bathroom offers a 4-foot shower with a black shower head, a 30-inch vanity with a matching black faucet, and an exhaust fan. Climate control runs through two 18,000-BTU ductless mini-split units. Ethernet ports are tucked into the closet or cabinet, a small touch that signals Zook understands exactly who is buying these homes.

Structurally, the Aspen rides on a heavy-duty steel, 4-axle chassis with a detachable hitch. It carries an RVIA seal and meets ANSI A119.5 standards, making it eligible for RV loans and RV insurance. For buyers looking to skip traditional mortgage timelines, that matters. Closed-cell spray foam insulates both the roof and floor, and delivery is included nationwide.

For anyone building out a retreat property, running an Airbnb, or just looking for a weekend space that doesn’t feel like a sacrifice, the Aspen makes a quiet but convincing case. The log exterior photographs beautifully, the footprint fits most parcels, and the build quality shows up in the details. It’s a home that asks nothing of you except to enjoy it.

The post This 400-Square-Foot Log Cabin Has a Loft, a Covered Porch, and Cathedral Ceilings — and It Arrives on a Flatbed first appeared on Yanko Design.

Korean Hanok Design Just Landed in a Moscow Apartment

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Architecture has always been one of the most honest forms of cultural expression. It tells you what a people value, how they move through space, and what kind of relationship they want with the world outside their walls. So when a Korean couple settled in Moscow and commissioned designer Inga Kordya to create their home, the brief was never simply about aesthetics. It was about belonging. The result is Residence Open, and it’s the kind of project that quietly reframes what we mean when we talk about culturally informed design.

Kordya’s starting point was the Korean hanok, the traditional dwelling that has defined Korean domestic architecture for centuries. The hanok isn’t a rigid style so much as a philosophy: rooms that flow into one another, spaces defined by natural light rather than solid walls, a constant conversation between interior and exterior. These are principles that could easily be flattened into trend-driven styling. Inga Kordya did something far more considered than that.

Designer: Inga Kordya (photos by Mikhail Loskutov)

The apartment is organized around filtered light. It moves through the space the way it might move through the latticed wooden screens of a hanok in Seoul, diffused and soft, never harsh. A set of custom oak shutter doors in the living room does much of this work, drawing directly from traditional Korean door design and becoming, in the process, one of the most quietly beautiful features of the entire apartment. They don’t shout for attention. They earn it.

The material palette follows the same logic. Marble, granite, natural wood, brass, ceramics, linen. Nothing synthetic, nothing that flattens texture or pretends to be something it isn’t. These materials read as both internationally sophisticated and grounded in something older and more specific. They’re the kind of choices that age well, which matters enormously in a family home built for the long term.

Speaking of family, the spatial planning for the two daughters is worth pausing on. Their rooms are separated by sliding partitions that open into a shared play area, an idea borrowed directly from the hanok’s flexible interior logic. Spaces in a hanok weren’t locked into single functions. A room could be a sleeping space by night and a social one by day. Kordya applies this thinking to the children’s zone with genuine intelligence, giving the girls independence and togetherness at the same time. That’s not just good design theory. That’s good parenting, built into the walls.

The broader conversation this apartment opens up is one that design has been circling for years: how do you honour cultural heritage without turning it into decoration? Plenty of projects get this wrong. They borrow the visual language of another culture, strip it of meaning, and call it a mood. Kordya avoids this entirely by working from the inside out, from principles and values rather than surfaces. The hanok’s spatial logic, its relationship to light, its flexibility and restraint, these things translate because they were never just visual to begin with.

Context matters more than design writing usually admits. Moscow is not Seoul. The climate is different, the architectural tradition is different, the cultural references a visitor would bring to the space are different. And yet, within the apartment, you feel transported. Not in a theatrical way, not in a way that announces itself. It’s a quieter sensation, more like a shift in atmosphere. The light changes, the materials soften, and the rhythm of moving through the rooms feels deliberate and calm. That quality of calm is the hanok’s deepest gift, and Kordya has managed to carry it across an extraordinary distance.

Residence Open is a reminder that the most interesting design conversations happen at the intersection of cultures rather than within any single one. It takes confidence to root a home this deeply in a tradition that isn’t local, and clarity to translate that tradition faithfully rather than decoratively. Inga Kordya brought both. The result is a home that knows exactly where it comes from, and is completely at ease with where it ended up.

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Someone Built a Compostable 8GB Hard Drive From Mushrooms and Hemp And 5 More Ways Hemp Is Redesigning Your Home

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The year 2026 marks a turning point toward carbon-positive luxury in the built environment. Industrial hemp emerges as a material of substance, redefining authenticity and permanence. Architecture evolves beyond efficiency, allowing buildings to participate in carbon sequestration and environmental restoration.

Applied across multiple layers of the home, hemp delivers value through longevity and resilience. The result is the biophilic cocoon, an architecture that feels inseparable from the landscape, shaped by a philosophy of quiet endurance and responsibility.

1. Hempcrete Homes

The residential envelope is evolving through hempcrete’s exceptional thermal efficiency. This monolithic bio-composite creates a breathable skin that naturally regulates humidity and temperature, reducing reliance on energy-intensive mechanical systems. The material is rooted in honesty, which is non-toxic, fire-resistant, and designed to age with quiet grace rather than decay.

The true return on investment lies in hempcrete’s ability to sequester carbon, locking CO₂ into the walls for generations. It forms a biophilic cocoon that supports physical comfort and mental well-being. In doing so, the built form engages seamlessly with the landscape, creating homes that endure as sustainable legacies instead of disposable structures.

Hemp is taking centre stage in a new generation of low-carbon housing through a collaboration between Irish social enterprise Common Knowledge and Tigín Tiny Homes. Designed as compact yet liveable micro homes, these dwellings demonstrate how hemp-based construction can offer a sustainable alternative to conventional building materials. The twenty-square-foot homes feature façades made from corrugated hemp panels, paired with cork insulation and natural rubber flooring. Lightweight yet robust, the hemp panels help reduce structural load and significantly lower the homes’ overall carbon footprint.

Inside, the homes are arranged across two levels to maximise space efficiency. The lower floor includes a multifunctional window seat that doubles as a bed, alongside a kitchenette, bathroom, and flexible storage or work area, while a mezzanine level above adds visual openness. Structurally, the hemp panels are produced using plant-waste-derived sugar resin combined with UK-grown hemp fibres, which function as a scalable material for environmentally responsible housing.

2. Bio-Resin Lightscapes

In 2026, hemp-based bio-resins are reshaping the phenomenology of lighting design. These translucent materials enable you to create sculptural fixtures that hold light gently, capturing its ephemeral glow while softening the hard lines of contemporary interiors. The result is a sanctuary of diffused illumination, where light feels organic, and the fixture reads as a living, luminous artifact woven into the spatial narrative.

Among leading designers, these “smart” resins are valued for their elevated aesthetic presence over conventional plastics. One experiences a warmer haptic quality and visual depth. By choosing biodegradable membranes, lighting supports a healthier indoor ecosystem while sustaining a refined, high-performance environment rooted in nature.

Norwegian studio Snøhetta and Swedish lighting brand Ateljé Lyktan have designed a contemporary office lamp that redefines low-impact lighting. Rooted in collaborative thinking, the project reflects a shared commitment to regenerative design, combining architectural insight with lighting expertise to address today’s environmental challenges through thoughtful material choices and efficient production methods.

The Superdupertube reimagines Ateljé Lyktan’s 1970s Supertube using a composite of hemp fibres and sugarcane-derived PLA bioplastic. Hemp was selected for its strength, renewability, and ability to cut CO₂ emissions by over 50 percent compared to aluminium. Extruded into the lamp’s main body and paired with energy-efficient LEDs, the design is lightweight, durable, and fully recyclable or compostable. Each lamp features natural tonal variations, subtle texture, and modular construction, ensuring reduced waste, easy maintenance, and long-term sustainability.

3. Hemp Furniture Design

Furniture design is entering an era of tectonic precision through high-pressure hemp fiber composites. These advanced bio-polymers enable radical, skeletal forms—delivering steel-like strength at a fraction of the weight. Each piece becomes a journey through built form, with curves calibrated for ergonomic comfort while expressing structural confidence and restraint.

The return on investment lies in durability, longevity, and timeless presence. Hemp furniture does not off-gas, preserving the purity of the biophilic interior. By leaving the fiber structure visible, material truth is honoured, allowing the raw beauty of the plant to create a layered, textural dialogue within refined, contemporary interiors.

The hemp chair from Normann Copenhagen’s Mat collection is a clear example of how bio-based materials can be applied to modern furniture design without compromising performance or aesthetics. The shell of the chair is made primarily from hemp fibres, replacing traditional injection-moulded plastic with a plant-based alternative. Using hemp stems rather than leaves, the material offers strength, texture, and structural stability while maintaining a clean, contemporary finish. The shell is paired with powder-coated steel legs, ensuring durability and suitability for everyday residential and commercial use.

Technically, the hemp fibres are milled and formed into sheet material using a specially developed compression process. A recyclable bico binder holds the fibres together, allowing the chair to remain fully recyclable at the end of its life cycle. The result is a lightweight yet robust seating solution that demonstrates hemp’s potential as a sustainable, high-performance furniture material.

4. Hemp Spatial Dividers

Spatial sequencing is choreographed through room dividers made from hemp-based textiles and woven fibers. These semi-permeable membranes define zones while preserving the flow of diffused light, allowing space to breathe. Each divider becomes a living partition, guiding movement through the home as the biophilic cocoon expands or contracts in response to daily rituals.

Hemp fibers introduce acoustic warmth, enriching the interior’s phenomenological experience. Acting as a soft tectonic element, these dividers bridge architecture and furniture with quiet precision. By prioritizing biodegradable solutions, the approach delivers flexibility and high aesthetic value, balancing privacy with open, fluid spatial volumes.

The Breeze Divider stands out primarily for its thoughtful use of hemp, a material that instantly sets it apart in the world of contemporary interiors. Made from natural hat-making hemp fabric, the divider embraces a translucent, tactile quality that feels both grounded and refined. Light filters gently through the layered, fan-shaped panels, creating shifting shadows and visual depth that change throughout the day. Rather than acting as a solid barrier, the hemp fabric softens boundaries, allowing spaces to feel connected yet clearly defined, while its organic texture adds warmth and character.

Beyond aesthetics, hemp gives the divider practical and environmental credibility. The material is durable, renewable, and lightweight, making the entire structure easy to dismantle, reconfigure, and transport. This flexibility reduces waste and extends the divider’s lifespan, while its breathable quality keeps interiors open and airy. It’s a modern reinterpretation of an age-old material, used with intelligence and purpose.

5. Carbon-Neutral Bio-Hardware

The era of bio-electronics has arrived, where even digital infrastructure aligns with carbon accountability. Sustainable design now extends to data itself, exemplified by biodegradable storage devices. Within a circular economy, technology is no longer permanent waste but a material capable of responsibly returning to the earth.

This shift expands the definition of a healthy home to include the devices used daily. Material honesty protects sensitive components while offering a tactile richness far superior to synthetic plastics.

A USB drive made from fungi sounds improbable, yet the idea feels strangely logical. The Soft Drive is built using mycelium – the underground root network of mushrooms – turning data storage into something tactile and materially expressive. Rather than hiding behind glossy plastic, this device makes its construction visible, inviting you to reconsider how personal data is stored and valued. It challenges the invisibility of cloud systems by grounding digital memory in a physical, locally held object.

Designed by Sree Krishna Pillarisetti, the Soft Drive features a translucent shell made from mycelium combined with hemp fibres and bioplastic derived from waste materials. The fibrous structure naturally absorbs impact, offering protection for the electronics inside while remaining biodegradable. With an intentionally modest 8GB capacity, the device prioritises conscious storage over excess. Its organic texture, visible layers, and compostable design transform a familiar tech object into a statement on sustainability, material honesty, and regenerative digital futures.

The rise of hemp in 2026 marks a shift from disposable sustainability to material truth. By integrating bio-based elements across the home, you create spaces that balance luxury with responsibility.

The post Someone Built a Compostable 8GB Hard Drive From Mushrooms and Hemp And 5 More Ways Hemp Is Redesigning Your Home first appeared on Yanko Design.

Manhattan Detention Facility Is the World’s Tallest Jail (Yes, That’s Something That Exists Now)

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At 335 feet tall, the Manhattan Detention Facility rising at 125 White Street in Chinatown is already earning a nickname it can’t shake: the jailscraper. Designed by HOK for New York City’s Department of Design and Construction, the 1,053,671-square-foot tower will become the tallest correctional facility ever built when complete. But the more interesting story isn’t its height — it’s what HOK is attempting to do with it.

The building sits on the same footprint as the old Manhattan Detention Complex, known for generations as The Tombs, which was demolished in 2024. It is one of four borough-based jails commissioned by New York City to replace the notorious Rikers Island complex — a system that, at its peak, held up to 15,000 detainees under conditions that earned international condemnation. HOK is leading the design of both the Manhattan and Brooklyn facilities, with the Brooklyn jail already topping out at 295 feet.

Designer: HOK

The design splits the building into two main volumes, separated at the base by a pedestrian walkway that cuts straight through the site — a deliberate gesture toward the neighborhood. Chinatown doesn’t lose the block; it moves through it. At ground level, a public lobby, community and retail space, and a staff lobby face the street, while below grade, parking for Department of Correction and NYPD staff keeps the site’s working infrastructure out of sight.

The facade does much of the heavy lifting. A reddish mesh screen and undulating panels wrap portions of the exterior, and toward the middle of the building, this double-skin system serves a dual purpose: it lets those in custody look outward while maintaining visual privacy from the street. Around this zone, HOK has positioned the building’s recreation hall — a spatial acknowledgment that daylight and fresh air are not privileges.

The interiors are guided by a design brief that reads more like a hospitality spec than a corrections document. Materials should be warm and non-institutional. Spaces should give people in custody a sense of personal agency, control over light and temperature, and access to greenery. Visitor areas are designed to feel welcoming rather than processed. Public artwork salvaged from The Tombs — aluminium wire sculptures by Kit-Yin Snyder and stone bas-reliefs by Richard Haas — will be preserved and reintegrated around the new site.

The project is not without opposition. Local leaders have raised concerns about the site’s structural integrity and written directly to Mayor Zohran Mamdani asking for a reevaluation. Construction is underway. Completion is slated for 2032.

Whether the jailscraper succeeds as architecture — let alone as reform — won’t be clear for years. What HOK has produced in the meantime is a building that at least refuses to look like what it is.

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Mud, Bamboo, and a Big Idea for Rural Senegal

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Every so often, a piece of architecture comes along that makes you question what the job of a building really is. The winning design for the Kaira Looro 2026 competition is one of those rare projects that does exactly that. Created by Greek designers Afroditi Ioannidou and Vladimir Gligorovski, the proposal for a community center in rural Senegal took first prize in one of architecture’s most socially focused competitions, and it deserves more attention than it’s getting.

The Kaira Looro competition, organized by the international non-profit Balouo Salo, is not your typical design brief. Each year, it invites young architects, students, engineers, and designers from around the world to imagine structures for communities in Sub-Saharan Africa that are actually built, or at the very least, seriously considered for construction. This year’s challenge drew entries from over 125 countries, with participants tasked with designing a multifunctional civic space for a rural community in southern Senegal, one that could support educational, cultural, and social life using local materials, self-construction techniques, and low-impact methods. That’s a narrow lane to design within, which is precisely why what Ioannidou and Gligorovski came up with feels so impressive.

Designers: Afroditi Ioannidou, Vladimir Gligorovski

Their starting point wasn’t a sketching pad. It was a centuries-old architectural typology from the Casamance region: the impluvium house. The impluvium is organized around a central open courtyard where rainwater collects, light filters in, and daily life unfolds. Rather than import a foreign design idea, the two designers took that logic and scaled it up to serve a whole village. The result is a community center that feels born from the place rather than placed onto it, a distinction that matters enormously when we talk about design for underserved communities.

The materiality is just as considered. The primary structure uses tapia, a rammed earth technique that draws on red laterite soil dug directly from the site. It’s a building material with deep roots in West African construction, practical, thermally efficient, and locally executable without heavy machinery. Above it, the roof is a bamboo truss system, lightweight and renewable, assembled in a way that allows for natural ventilation and keeps the interior cool in a climate that demands it. Together, the materials tell a cohesive story: this structure was designed to be built by the people who will use it and to age gracefully within the landscape it sits in.

The prize package reflects just how seriously the competition takes its mission. Ioannidou and Gligorovski walked away with €6,000 and an internship at Kengo Kuma & Associates in Tokyo, one of the most formally inventive firms in contemporary architecture. It’s a combination of recognition and opportunity that points to what Kaira Looro does well: it doesn’t just celebrate ideas, it cultivates careers while centering humanitarian impact.

If you’re not already following this competition, it’s worth understanding what sets it apart. Previous winners haven’t just gathered dust on a portfolio page. The Children House, which took top honors in an earlier edition, is now in the final stages of construction as a medical center specializing in childhood malnutrition treatment in rural Senegal. The designs are meant to become real buildings for real people, and that raises the stakes considerably for everyone involved.

What makes Ioannidou and Gligorovski’s proposal so satisfying isn’t just its elegance on paper. It’s the philosophy underpinning every decision. The building belongs to the village first and to specific programs second. That’s a line straight from their own concept, and I think it should be printed and pinned above the desk of every architecture student right now. Architecture has a long and complicated history of showing up in communities it doesn’t understand, building things that look impressive in renderings but fail to serve the people they were supposedly designed for. This project pushes back against that instinct quietly, without grandstanding. The best design, at its core, listens before it speaks. This community center for rural Senegal does just that.

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This Tiny Home Hides Its Bed Beneath the Floor — and It’s Listed for $39,500

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The Adirondack looks like it survived a forest fire and came out better for it. That charred exterior is the first sign that Cubist Engineering was thinking differently. At just 12.5 by 8.5 feet, it does not try to convince you it is something it is not. It is small, honest about that fact, and better designed for it. Built by the now-defunct New York firm Cubist Engineering, it arrived in 2017 with one genuinely clever idea, and the restraint to let that idea do most of the talking.

The exterior sets the tone immediately. Clad in timber treated using the Japanese shou sugi ban technique — wood charred to preserve and protect it — the Adirondack carries a slightly weathered, almost ancient-feeling skin. It reads as architectural rather than prefabricated, which is no small feat for something sitting on a single-axle trailer. The compact footprint gives it the proportions of a Japanese garden pavilion rather than a construction-site office.

Designer: Cubist Engineering

Step inside and the 106 square feet of interior space feels more generous than the numbers suggest. High-quality Marvin windows run along the walls, pulling in natural light and giving the room a sense of borrowed space. The ceiling is tall, the walls are finished in wood, and the overall palette is calm and consistent. There is a sofa. There is room to breathe. There is, notably, no bathroom and no kitchen — the Adirondack is not pitched as a full-time residence, and it does not pretend otherwise. Think of it as an extra room that happens to have wheels: a backyard studio, a writer’s cabin, a guest retreat, a poolside workspace.

Then there is the bed. Hidden under the raised floor section, it pulls out like a drawer when needed and disappears entirely when it does not. The entire main floor remains open during the day. No Murphy wall mechanism, no fold-down drama — just a smooth, low-profile pull that reclaims the room each morning. It received national attention when the Adirondack first launched, and it still earns it.

Climate is handled by a mini-split system and a compact wood-burning stove. Power comes through a standard RV-style hookup. A small exterior deck and steps complete the package. It is simple infrastructure for a simple, well-considered life.

Cubist Engineering no longer operates, which makes every surviving Adirondack something of a collector’s piece. The current listing on Tiny Home Builders — located in Dallas, Texas — asks $39,500. For anyone searching for a design-forward retreat that does not overcomplicate itself, that is a fair price for something this considered.

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Why This 1,050 Sq Ft Upside-Down Cottage Beats a McMansion

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A thousand and fifty square feet. That’s roughly the size of a generous one-bedroom apartment in most major cities. And yet somehow, the Skybox, a new residence perched on stilts in Upper Kingsburg, Nova Scotia, manages to feel like a manifesto about how we’ve been thinking about small homes all wrong.

Designed by Halifax-based MacKay-Lyons Sweetapple Architects, the Skybox was built for a couple called the Everetts, who wanted something honest, modest, and rooted in place. What they got is all of that, and then some. The house sits on a sloping site that runs from road to creek, which is the kind of terrain that usually sends budgets spiraling. Architect Brian MacKay-Lyons solved it elegantly with stilts, lifting the structure off the ground so that it, as he puts it, “floats.” He compares it to a birdhouse. The analogy sticks.

Designer: MacKay-Lyons Sweetapple Architects

The Skybox takes its visual cues from the traditional Nova Scotia fisherman’s cottage, but it’s not a nostalgic recreation. The exterior is wrapped in galvalume, an industrial aluminum-zinc alloy that’s durable, low-maintenance, and unapologetically contemporary. The result is a building that reads as both entirely of its place and entirely of its moment. It belongs to the landscape the way a weathered boathouse does, not because it’s pretending to be old, but because it respects the same logic: build lean, build honest, build for the conditions.

The interior takes the most interesting turn. The Skybox is what MacKay-Lyons calls an “upside-down house.” The sleeping areas, the private and quieter spaces of home life, sit on the lower floor. The living room, dining area, and kitchen are upstairs, where the views are wide and the light is generous. It’s a reversal that feels obvious in hindsight, which is usually the mark of a genuinely good idea. Why hide your best rooms at eye level when you could push them toward the sky?

Client Corey Everett coined the phrase “fish shack fabulous” to describe what they were going for, and it’s one of the most useful design descriptors I’ve come across in a while. It captures exactly what’s happening here: humble materials, unpretentious form, but a kind of elevated confidence in the result. No apologies for the size. No compensating with expensive finishes or overworked details. Just a clear idea, executed well.

What makes the Skybox part of a bigger story is the community it belongs to. Upper Kingsburg isn’t a random stretch of Nova Scotia coastline. MacKay-Lyons has spent four decades building dwellings here, more than fifty of them, as part of an ongoing exploration he calls “village-making.” The Skybox is the newest addition to that experiment. His own daughter’s house is visible from the property. This is architecture as long-term commitment, which is rare, and worth noting.

I keep thinking about the cultural timing of this. We are, at this point, thoroughly oversaturated with the idea of the dream home as something maximalist: the open floor plan that swallows a football field, the kitchen with two islands, the great room with thirty-foot ceilings. Those homes photograph well, but they also carry a quiet anxiety, a sense that more space must mean more living. The Skybox argues the opposite. At 1,050 square feet, it’s not asking you to scale down your ambitions. It’s asking you to redirect them.

Small doesn’t have to mean compromise. It can mean precision. It can mean that every decision about where you put a window or how you orient a room is made with intent. The Skybox earns its square footage in a way that many larger homes simply don’t bother to.

MacKay-Lyons described it as floating in the air like a birdhouse, and that’s also a quietly poetic way of explaining why the Skybox works. It’s light. It doesn’t take more than it needs from the land. And it leaves room for the view, the community, and the life happening all around it. That’s a harder thing to design than it looks.

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