Ghana is home to me - it's where I grew up, from the age of four until I returned to England for university - but its contrasts always surprise me. Below, waves crash violently into jutting rocks, but those rocks also form a protective circle, creating a pool calm enough for a child to play in.
Rather than representing a simple return to the past, this renewed interest reflects a broader reconsideration of how architecture engages with materials, local resources, and environmental conditions.
Every city contains two transportation systems. One is the visible network of roads, rail lines, sidewalks, and bus routes mapped in planning documents. The other is the invisible geography of privilege and exclusion embedded within it: the neighborhoods that received highways instead of parks, the communities whose bus routes were cut, the sidewalks that abruptly end at the edge of a district.
The expense, return on investment, and volume of investors needed to make it a reality did not make sense. I thought, 'maybe it's time to do something new.' The amount of money you need to run a restaurant in Brooklyn or Manhattan at this point is so crazy. If you fail, the loss is massive. Here, we were able to do a major renovation, we have a 100 bottle wine list, and we can use the ingredients we want and serve them at a decent price point because our overhead is not as bad.
While remote work has expanded opportunity and demand for high-amenity, walkable communities, it has also intensified housing shortages in desirable regions. Zoning reform alone will not solve the housing crisis, warning that regulatory changes must be paired with coordinated public-private investment to deliver meaningful supply.
When routes are well organized, there are clear directional signs, and speed limits become reasonable. The early installation of warning signs allows transport companies to plan deliveries more accurately and avoid delays. For businesses, time is money. When a truck carrying goods does not spend hours detouring due to an unclear traffic scheme or stuck in traffic where it could have been avoided thanks to competent traffic management, fuel costs, driver wages, and vehicle maintenance costs are reduced.
Here dwells the indigenous Tzotzil community which has kept a pastoral way of life against the march of time. Apart from the odd forest ranger and passerby, Ruvalcaba's film focuses almost entirely on the Tzotzil women. Together, they tend herds of sheep which they still shear by hand, and use traditional tools for spinning yarns and natural dye for fabrics.
The air feels heavier. And the struggles are changing shape. Beyond my office walls, the world is shifting, and my clients sense the tremors. The things they once trusted, global order, democratic norms, and even their own personal safety, no longer feel solid. They feel brittle, as if one strong wind could bring it all down. And what they're sensing isn't imagined.
That local exodus is documented by Cornell-led research that mapped annual moves between U.S. neighborhoods from 2010 to 2019 in detail 4,600 times greater than standard public data. Called MIGRATE, the new, publicly available dataset revealed that most of those displaced remained within the affected county - moves not captured in county-level public migration data aggregated every five years.
The humble tortilla is an iconic food staple in Mexico. Everyone eats them, regardless of age or income. The ingredients for the tortilla I was frying in this photo have been fermented to include probiotics and prebiotics for gut health. My research focuses on developing such fermented nutraceuticals - nutritious products with pharmaceutical benefits - to help improve people's metabolic health and combat the malnutrition prevalent in some of Mexico's poorest communities.
The industry's attempts to educate consumers "[seem] to largely have gone unheard," Amy Mitchell, then Pew's director of journalism research (she now heads the Center for News, Technology, and Innovation) said in a briefing at the time. "There's really a disconnect there between the public's knowledge and understanding about the industry and how it's functioning, compared with what we see in headlines day in and day out about budget cuts and revenue declines."
Across history, the relocation of capital cities has often been associated with moments of political rupture, regime change, or symbolic nation-building. From Brasília to Islamabad, new capitals were frequently conceived as instruments of centralized power, territorial control, or ideological projection. In recent decades, however, a different set of drivers has begun to shape these decisions. Rather than security or representation alone, contemporary capital relocations are increasingly tied to structural pressures such as demographic concentration, infrastructural saturation, environmental risk, and long-term resource management.
The Rural Cut places vintage fashion in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, among vineyards, open fields, and the animals that inhabit the land. As a Beirut-based stylist, I worked with a fully Lebanese team to create a shoot that feels authentic, where each garment and every frame reflects the textures, history, and rhythm of the rural landscape. Photography by Angele Basile / Instagram: @angelebasile Styling by Rinad Saad / Instagram: @rinaaaaddd
In places where inclusion is part of the infrastructure of their economy-supply chains, procurement processes, capital access, or business ownership-people thrive. Inclusive economies create more resilience by expanding the base of potential business owners who can build, own, innovate, and hire. They allow more opportunities for homeownership and investing in the longevity of communities. As our economy becomes increasingly stratified and volatile, we need as much resiliency as we can get.
I remember this as I wend my way from Brazil's colossus, São Paulo, to the coastal enclave of Paraty on the Costa Verde, driving through tunnels of Atlantic Forest that filter blinking bars of light. Floral scents surf on warm air through the open window. The legendary Afro-Brazilian singer-songwriter of the 1960s Tropicalismo genre, who went on to become Brazil's first culture minister to advocate for national diversity, has performed at festivals in Paraty.
In Indra's Net of pearls and jewels, every gem reflects every other, a shimmering image of interdependence. This ancient Vedic metaphor for connection across the cosmos also illuminates what the environmental philosopher Glenn Albrecht first proposed in 2014as 'theSymbiocene': the era after the Anthropocene, in which human technologies take their cues from living systems and work in partnership rather than through dominance.
The body is a shifting landscape transformed by surfaces and sensations. Each look captures a different tactile world: the heat of blood, the cool weight of metal, the yielding drift of water. The result is a sculptural study of how the elements carve, shield, and release the self. The materials we embody become the emotions we carry, and the body becomes a materialised exhibition of our emotions, from the pulse of Blood to the discipline of Metal to the surrender of Water.
A sprawling tale of two Singapores, the short documentary Sandcastles draws connections between Singapore, Michigan - a 19th-century ghost town swallowed by sand following widespread deforestation - and the island country of Singapore, where rapid development and land reclamation has, for decades, been enabled by the importation of sand. More poetic exploration than call to action, the work surveys waterways, cycles of development and the transient nature of sand - deceptively sturdy over short timescales but, over decades, quite volatile.
Cities around the world share a common goal: to become healthier and greener, supported by civic infrastructure that restores ecosystems and strengthens public life. The question is how to reach this. Global climate targets, local building codes, and municipal standards increasingly guide designers and planners toward better choices. Still, many cities struggle to translate these frameworks into everyday, street-level comfort and long-term ecological protection.
The war began the week of my 26th birthday. There was a lightness on that day, something born from what remained of our childhood. Sparks like candy, crackling in our mouths: colorful letters; laughter leaking out through voice notes; hearts adorning our text chats; an abundance of cake. But the days that followed are laid out like burnt matchsticks; once the first one was lit, the flames consumed the rest. The war spared nothing on the calendar; I have had no other birthdays since.