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They say a musician’s sophomore album is always the hardest: after the critical acclaim of a breakout debut, expectation weighs heavy on an artist and production team. The same could be said for the follow-up edition of a magazine. Which raises the question: for the Monocle Design Directory’s second outing, how could we step it up? We didn’t want this issue to simply be a showcase of good-looking design – a round-up of handsome products and projects. Rather, we wanted to seek out people and places that demonstrate the impact that design can have beyond aesthetically pleasing architecture, and how it shapes communities and cultures.

To do so, we touched down in Baghdad to trace the work of Le Corbusier and Walter Gropius. Commissioned by the country’s ruling powers in the mid-20th century, the duo played a part in transforming the Iraqi capital into a major Western-style city. The ambition? To distinguish it from other Arab metropolises that were looking to the Soviet Union for inspiration. It was architecture intended to empower and embody a young nation, though it was ultimately co-opted by dictators. Yet it shaped a generation of Iraqi architects, including Rifat Chadirji. “I thought it imperative that, sooner or later, Iraq create for itself an architecture that is regional in character,” wrote Chadirji. The architect would go on to do exactly that.

We also saw how architecture can influence artistic experience, visiting the Fondation Beyeler near Basel, which has been newly expanded with three structures by Peter Zumthor. “Let’s not make museums too didactic,” he told Monocle’s Blake Matich. The result is a set of buildings that prioritise the viewer’s experience: there’s no artistic preamble, wall labels are spare and art is positioned so that visitors encounter it immediately. Large windows and abundant light put the galleries into conversation with the surrounding landscape. It’s a welcome reaction to screen and information saturation.

Design’s ability to transform economies is also on show, with the municipality as patron and dealmaker in Saint-Étienne. The French city is offering affordable studio space to creatives and grants to businesses that hire designers in a bid to supercharge its economy. In a similar vein, Brussels-based Rotor is building circular economies by reviving reuse, a practice that was the norm until industrial materials made new products cheaper than those that exist already.

All of this is rounded out by visits to communities in Kyoto, New York and Florence, where makers and quality of life go hand in hand. It’s a reminder that we can design the lives that we want, with creatives marching to the beat of their own drum.

Monocle on Design
For more design coverage from our team, tune in to Monocle on Design on Monocle Radio and subscribe to our weekly design newsletter at monocle.com/newsletters

As the stories in our Design Directory have demonstrated, the global design industry is thriving. Here we have compiled an international directory of the firms, studios and individuals at the top of their game, drawing on the crafts and vernaculars of the countries where they work to produce objects and buildings that enhance our lives.

Europe

Europe’s architectural and design landscape has a rich history, from ancient castles and cathedrals to modernist masterpieces. Contemporary designers are using this as a foundation for cutting-edge adaptive reuse and the establishment of circular economies, setting global industry standards.

Austria

The country’s contemporary designers build on a foundation of secessionist art and early modernist rigour.


Belgium

Tapping into a storied heritage of art nouveau and Flemish urbanism, modern Belgian design is a leader in minimalist creativity.


Czechia

From gothic towers to brutalist works, Czech architecture offers a wide range of styles. Today the nation is a pioneer in adaptive reuse.


Denmark

A new generation of designers is now standing on the shoulders of the country’s mid-century masters, ensuring that Denmark remains a leader in functional minimalism.


Finland

The home of organic modernism, Finland has a contemporary scene that celebrates natural materials and human-centred design, while making room for new ideas and technological innovations too.


France

French design expands on centuries of haute-couture craftsmanship, pairing new technologies with exceptional handicrafts.

Models of Ghotmeh’s projects in her studio, including Qatar’s pavilion in the Giardini della Biennale (Image: Julien Lienard)

Germany

There’s more to German design than the Bauhaus and industrial precision. The country’s contemporary design scene is a respected leader in efficient architecture and savvy design.


Greece

Classical antiquity and modern regionalism combine to define the contemporary Greek design scene.


Italy

Renaissance roots and postwar radical design continue to have an influence on contemporary Italian design, which now strikes a balance between industrial efficiency and elegant opulence.


Ireland

The rugged Irish landscape shapes the country’s modern architecture and design scene with a creative output defined by robust and timeless works.


Malta

At their best, Maltese designers deliver smart enhancements that bolster the appeal of the island’s ancient fortifications and rocky shores.


Netherlands

Contemporary Dutch design brings together the legacies of game-changing 20th-century movements and centuries of water management, frequently resulting in savvy, sustainable works.

Both (Image: Michael Bodiam)

Norway

Nordic timber traditions and fjord landscapes have influenced generations of Norwegian designers to create climate-sensitive, smartly crafted works.


Poland

Born of a rich craft tradition and the legacy of postwar modernism, the Polish design industry skilfully melds tradition with innovation.


Portugal

Modern Portuguese design melds artisan crafts, minimalism and a proud sense of regionalism to produce places and items with a distinct Lusitanian charm.

Aires Mateus (Image: Ricardo Gonçalves)

Spain

From Moorish architecture to Catalan modernism, Spanish designers have a rich history of sunny vernaculars to inspire them.

Bofill Taller de Arquitectura (Image: Gregori Civera)

Sweden

Scandinavian functionalism meets cutting-edge innovation, from industrial circularity to flat-pack designs, resulting in a creative economy whose products are as useful as they are sleek.


Switzerland

Precision meets Alpine engineering traditions in Switzerland, whose creative community delivers work that’s both practical and expressive.


Turkey

At the crossroads of Europe and Asia, Turkey boasts a lively contemporary design scene that blends modern urban innovation with the legacy of Byzantine-Ottoman craftsmanship.


United Kingdom

Despite a design history that spans everything from brutalist experimentation to a Georgian focus on symmetry and proportion, the UK doesn’t rest on its laurels. Its contemporary scene remains among the most exciting in the world, marked by material innovation and a playful approach to architecture.

Andu Masebo
Andu Masebo (Image: Dan Wilton)

Middle East and Africa

Creative communities across the Middle East and Africa balance distinct regional styles and traditional masonry with forward-looking architecture and design – all adapted to meet the demands of life in warmer climes.

Bahrain

Contemporary design in the Kingdom of Bahrain has long reflected the country’s island heritage, Dilmun history and pearl-diving lineage.


Egypt

With a deep connection to desert landscapes, as well as the legacies of the nation’s pharaonic and Islamic histories, modern practices in Egypt excel in climate-smart residential architecture and creating localised brand identities.


Ethiopia

Contemporary Ethiopian design has a bountiful hinterland of ancient, rock-cut masonry and indigenous crafts.


Ghana

Modern Ghanaian design is informed by the country’s tropical vernaculars and vibrant urban cultures.


Lebanon

Taking cues from Levantine craft and mid-century cosmopolitanism, modern Lebanese design blends art deco and graphic geometry into light-filled architecture and fine bespoke furniture.


Morocco

Grounded in centuries of earthen kasbah construction, contemporary Moroccan architecture focuses on the restoration of historic granaries and sustainable vernacular building techniques, celebrated at the Casablanca Design Week.


Nigeria

Modern Nigerian design is renowned for its refined industrial works that transcend resource restrictions through the raw ingenuity of the country’s informal manufacturing sector.


Qatar

Qatari design pairs regional motifs informed by Bedouin and maritime traditions with luxury contemporary craftsmanship.


Saudi Arabia

Modern Saudi practices focus on participatory heritage restoration and regionally sensitive architectural interventions and additions.


South Africa

South African design brings together time-tested Indigenous craft skills and diverse cultural narratives, making for potent ideas and works that respect their setting.


United Arab Emirates

Evolving rapidly from a landscape of traditional courtyards to one of hyper-modern towers, the UAE leads the way in climate-conscious desert architecture and innovation.

The Americas

Across North, Central and South America, design traditions range from indigenous handicrafts and colonial masonry to mid-century modernism and sweeping post-industrial experimentation. Contemporary practices in these continents are exploring climate resilience, manufacturing localisation, indigenous knowledge systems and more.

Argentina

Modern Argentine design is rooted in a unique blend of European grandeur, resourceful industrial adaptation and high-quality craftsmanship.


Brazil

Built on a foundation of tropical modernism and traditional crafts, Brazil is home to creative communities that excel at blending the country’s many and varied approaches to design.


Canada

Modern Canadian design is every bit as varied as the country’s vast landscapes and extreme climates – natural assets that are reflected in a scene that remains as resilient as it is innovative.


Chile

Demanding geography, rigorous seismic codes and a focus on utility over ornament shape a contemporary Chilean design culture that is both resourceful and function-forward.


Colombia

The Colombian creative scene is booming, built on a dynamic fusion of ancestral craftsmanship and tropical modernism.


Mexico

Famed for its monumental pre-Hispanic structures and globally celebrated mid-century regionalism, contemporary Mexican design is pursuing fresh ideas and is deservedly having a moment.

Tatiana Bilbao Estudio (Image: Courtesy of Tatiana Bilbao Estudio)

Uruguay

Uruguay’s design scene fuses European colonial roots with modern innovation – all while celebrating local landscapes and materials.


USA

Much like the country itself, contemporary American design offers an astonishing range of approaches and ideas, with creatives inspired by everything from industrial production and radical pop culture to indigenous traditions and civil-rights movements.

Asia-Pacific

From China and Japan in East Asia to Australia and New Zealand in Oceania, this region is home to more than 60 per cent of the world’s population. Its design scenes are as big and varied as its geography.

Australia

Built largely in isolation, Australia’s design scene is frequently grounded in climate-responsive living, an appreciation for resource scarcity and respect for indigenous land.


Bangladesh

Informed by the country’s river delta landscapes and monsoon climates, contemporary Bangladeshi practice is known for smart, climate-adaptive and community-built structures.


China

Historic spatial philosophies, rapid urbanisation and industrialisation drive an exceptionally agile and ambitious design culture.


Hong Kong

Dense vertical urbanism and an East-meets-West heritage position Hong Kong design at an intersection of cultures and technologies.


India

India’s architecture is well known for its fusion of Hindu, Islamic and Mughal traditions, and this ancient heritage continues to animate the country’s contemporary design scene.


Indonesia

Rooted in tropical timber craft and island vernaculars, Indonesian practices are innovating in the face of rapid urbanisation while maintaining a deep respect for their nation’s heritage.


Japan

From ancient wood joinery to postwar minimalism, Japan has shaped international design and its scene continues to go from strength to strength.

Ryue Nishizawa (left) and Kazuyo Sejima (right) of Sanaa (Image: Kohei Take)

New Zealand

Informed by Maori and Pacific design principles, contemporary practice in New Zealand produces meticulous typography, landscape-led timber homes and generous civic buildings.


Singapore

The city-state’s youth and compact footprint have fostered a design and architecture scene that’s nimble, efficient, forward-looking and environmentally focused.


South Korea

Blending traditional hanok aesthetics with sleek modernism, South Korean design produces bold graphic identities, woven-cable furniture and adaptive public parks.


Thailand

Influenced by the nation’s tropical climate, Thai practices are renowned for lush landscape urbanism and lively furniture designs.

Moonler (Image: Natthawut Taeja)

Vietnam

With abundant natural materials and a tropical climate, Vietnam is a leading light in environmentally conscious architecture.

Base Saigon team members, including Joshua Breidenbach (holding cup) and Chí-An De Leo (on far right) (Image: Mat Bet)

For more recommendations about the best architects, designers, branding experts, furniture makers and graphic designers, subscribe to the Monocle Minute On Design newsletter. It hits inboxes every Wednesday with a swath of design tips. Visit monocle.com/newsletters to subscribe.

1.
Villa El Fida
Marrakech

With its dramatic views and interplay of natural materials, this guesthouse immerses visitors in the landscape’s colours and textures.

Against the backdrop of Morocco’s Atlas Mountains, guesthouse Villa El Fida is a celebration of the land that engulfs it. “Organised across four levels, the villa is structured around courtyards and double-height spaces that create a seamless connection between the interior and exterior,” says the property’s owner, Abdellatif Tots, who conceived its spaces with architects Gwenaël Clément and Lou Cirendini. Villa El Fida consists of two distinct sections connected by a narrow bridge. Suspended, exposed staircases are cast in the shadows of the towering peaks and give the façade a sense of Cubist precision.

“This place combines a contemporary architectural language with traditional materials such as tadelakt lime plaster, marble and sculpted cedar wood,” says Tots. Beyond the entrance, the villa opens into a living area anchored by a fireplace, before descending into a sunken lounge with views across the reflecting pool and gardens beyond. The outcome is a villa that feels like an extension of the landscape.
el-fida.com

Craft conscious:
What makes this space so distinctive is the way that it embraces Moroccan craftsmanship through a contemporary architectural lens. Its material palette features locally sourced leather and traditional zellige tiling. Rather than competing with its surroundings, the structure feels connected to the landscape, which allows its natural beauty to remain the focus.


2.
Hermès workshop
Loupes, France

French luxury goods house Hermès’s new atelier reaffirms its commitment to the timeless value of craftsmanship.

In the village of Loupes, 20km east of Bordeaux, a sleek wood-and-glass building houses French brand Hermès’s newest atelier, where artisans craft the house’s leather bags. “In a world that is constantly accelerating, making the choice of craft and of doing things slowly sends a strong message,” says the mayor of Loupes, Véronique Lesvignes. This factory has created 260 jobs that are unlikely to be replaced by AI, says the company’s CEO and sixth-generation heir, Axel Dumas. “The strength of Hermès lies in the fact that we’ve missed out on every successive technological revolution,” he says.

The conviction that some things cannot be rushed means that demand for its signature bags far outstrips supply. “The only way to meet demand and increase our output is to recruit and train artisans,” says Guillaume de Seynes, the executive vice-president of the brand’s manufacturing division. “But we want each site to remain on a human scale, where everyone knows each other.”

Bayonne-based architect Patrick Arotcharen designed the Loupes workshop to fit into a forest clearing, without cutting a single tree. It’s heated by biothermal energy and equipped with solar panels and a rainwater-harvesting system. Inside, wall-to-ceiling windows allow in plenty of sunlight.

“The materials are natural and untouched but great care has been taken in the assembly, a bit like the seams of a bag,” says Arotcharen. “There’s a connection between what we do and the patient, meticulous work happening inside. It requires craft and technique.”
hermes.com; arotcharen-architecte.fr


3.
Stable by Carmen Maurice Architecture
Mayenne, France

Clean lines and simplicity elevate this new space for horses and their riders.

Carmen Maurice Architecture’s brief was to replace a dilapidated former stable in Mayenne, France. The resulting design has an “active zone” that accommodates teams and support staff, with a lounge, parking, saddle room and a farrier’s workshop. This is complemented by an equine space that has stalls creating a quieter, more protected area.

“A certain sense of poetry emerges from the simplicity of the design, the treatment of light and its relationship with the landscape,” says the company’s founder, Carmen Maurice.
carmen-m.fr


4.
Alouette
Copenhagen

Tasked with designing a restaurant’s new digs in a listed former warehouse, David Thulstrup has cooked up an architectural feast.

When Danish architect David Thulstrup was commissioned to design the new home of Michelin-starred restaurant Alouette in central Copenhagen, his priority was to make it just right for its owners. “You have to understand who they are, how they host people, the food that they make and the kind of atmosphere that they’re hoping to create,” he says.

He began with the arrival experience, drawing on the format of the original restaurant, which opened in the Danish capital’s Islands Brygge neighborhood in 2018. There, chefs Nick Curtin and Camilla Hansen (pictured) made a point of welcoming guests on the street before guiding them through a garden. At the new Alouette, a cobbled pathway leads through flowers and edible plants to an arch made from hand-brushed aluminium. “It’s a journey of discovery,” says Thulstrup. “I wanted people to have that original experience but amplified.”

A sense of place was also important. The restaurant occupies a former warehouse that was built in 1803. The architect devised a palette informed by the building’s history. Raw pine, hessian, blackened steel and Swedish dark stone are complemented by custom furniture developed with Frankfurt-based interior-design and furniture brand E15. “I wanted the material palette to feel grounded in the old warehouse, so we reduced it to a few strong materials,” says Thulstrup.

It’s an approach that echoes Curtin’s work as a chef. “Nick’s cooking is about reducing a dish to a very clear main ingredient,” says the architect. “I work in a similar way with materials.”

The constraints of redesigning a heritage-listed building inspired one of Thulstrup’s favourite interventions. Unable to alter significant parts of the existing structure, he introduced a sculpted hessian ceiling that adds volume while improving acoustics and concealing the technical infrastructure. “I had to design without touching the architecture,” he adds.

Together, these elements create a cohesive experience. “Fine dining takes place over a long evening, so you have to think about how you move through the space and how your mood changes along the way,” says Thulstrup. “It’s a narrative in itself.”
davidthulstrup.com; restaurantalouette.dk

Delicate balance:
What makes for good restaurant design? Architects need to consider circulation requirements, acoustics (you want a soundtrack of gentle conversation, not an echoey din), appropriate lighting (not blinding but bright enough to read a menu) and comfortable seating – a combination that helps the restaurant to tell its story.


5.
Cosmos residence
Singapore

In the densely packed island nation of Singapore, 95 per cent of residents are boxed into high-rise apartments. Local firm Right Angle Studio has found a way to elegantly accommodate art lovers when space is limited.

Singapore’s Right Angle Studio has renovated an apartment in the city to accommodate its owners’ passions for hosting and art. “We wanted to allow them to entertain their guests while preparing a feast,” says Alex Liu, who co-founded the studio with his brother, Jay. To that end, the duo connected previously disparate communal areas and opened up the kitchen to face the living areas. They also installed custom cabinetry to fit with immovable stone risers and framed the generous windows with bespoke furniture. The result is a home that is layered with portals, frames and stacking forms. It’s a combination of small details that creates a sanctuary from Singapore’s constant bustle.
rightanglestudio.com.sg

Artistic licence:
Pride of place in the living room goes to two yellow diptychs by Singaporean artist Lee Wen – the owners’ first art acquisitions, framed in a softly uplit, counter-height niche.


6.
Teffont House
Wiltshire, UK

This new hotel honours its historic British roots while catering to all of its guests’ modern needs.

Beckford Group’s Teffont House hotel sits in a centuries-old stone building in Teffont Evias, Wiltshire. Designer Natasha Hidvegi and co-owner Charlie Luxton have created a series of distinct public spaces: an orangery, a bar, a lounge, a brasserie-style dining room and an outdoor terrace. In a walled garden are badminton and croquet courts. “It’s important to have areas with different moods,” says Luxton. “You might have a high table where you can do some work, a lounge where you can read the paper, then an upright setting where you can talk. It’s about creating vignettes.”
teffonthouse.com

1.
Glasshouse Theatre
Brisbane

With its undulating glass façade and nods to Indigenous heritage, Queensland’s ambitious new theatre is reframing how a cultural institution engages with a city.

Glasshouse Theatre in Brisbane features an undulating glass façade with curved architectural elements and ground-level public entrance.
(Image: Scott Burrows/Courtesy of Glasshouse Theatre)

Brisbane’s architectural gems are gleaming more brightly than ever. A case in point is the new Queensland Performing Arts Centre expansion, which features the 1,500-seat Glasshouse Theatre, designed by local practice Blight Rayner Architecture in partnership with Norway’s Snøhetta. The building’s striking signature is a 173-metre glass façade that seems to ripple in sunlight.

The interior is equally striking. Its seven skylights reference Queensland’s seven watersheds. “It evokes the feeling of being beneath a rainforest canopy,” says Jayson Blight, the director of Blight Rayner Architecture, referring to the layered ironbark timber linings offset by a lush, emerald-green carpet.
blightrayner.com.au; snohetta.com

Fine façade:
The glass is inspired by a poem by Aboriginal elder Lilla Watson about fish in the city’s river. The idea is translated into a “veil” that lets passers-by glimpse blurred figures in the foyer – a spectacle that unfolds before anyone steps inside.


2.
Faculty of Psychology,
Warsaw

The decision to rehouse the University of Warsaw’s psychology faculty from an outdated, off-campus building presented architects with a chance to give it a fresh start. The result is a space that balances an ambitious sense of scale with intimacy, while fostering interaction.

The brief for the new Faculty of Psychology at the University of Warsaw, designed by Projekt Praga, was to create a new home. “The process went beyond defining the functional programme and preparing a list of rooms,” says Marcin Garbacki, co-founder of the Warsaw-based architecture studio. “It explored how students and staff learn, work, meet and build relationships.”

Reinforced and exposed concrete lend the space an eco-brutalist character, while wood, glass, terrazzo, textiles, greenery and natural light add intimacy. “Psychology is concerned with people and relationships,” says Garbacki. “The building supports this through visual connections, shared spaces and opportunities for informal encounters. This openness is balanced with quieter, more intimate settings because comfort also requires privacy, concentration and security.”

The key innovation is its two ground-floor areas. The first is a public level beneath the concrete canopy, with a spacious foyer, canteen, café and auditorium access. This is the “living room”. The second is under the atrium’s glazed ceiling, with open galleries leading to classrooms, terraces and study spaces, including nooks and alcoves. For Garbacki, the value of a building is defined by the quality of its users’ everyday experience. “We wanted to offer many kinds of spaces and a sense of choice.”
projektpraga.pl

Higher learning:
Academic architecture leans towards the overly conceptual or the utterly mundane. Projekt Praga’s building instead gives physical form to the notion of an open mind. The firm designed all of the interiors, furnishings and bespoke elements, as well as the structure – a rare opportunity to shape an entire environment for a 2,000-strong faculty.


3.
KIS International School Reignwood Park
Bangkok

The designer of this new Thai school has put freedom at the heart of its approach to meet students’ diverse educational needs.

“Today schools are rather restricted systems,” says Copenhagen- and Madrid-based designer Rosan Bosch, who specialises in educational spaces. Her latest vision for a school campus is the KIS International School Reignwood Park in Bangkok. “Children need freedom to move, experiment, make connections and experience their surroundings from different perspectives.” The school’s outdoor spaces unfold across 24 hectares. Inside, the light-filled rooms create an environment where children are invited to explore. The architecture includes playground slides, reading nooks, oversized cushions and soft mats. “We try to balance quiet corners with opportunities to take risks, test ideas and challenge oneself,” adds Bosch.

As the school welcomes a range of ages, the campus design was required to meet various needs. “We step back with the client and ask how teaching happens,” says Bosch. “We look at how the school is organised and its methods, then consider how design can support them.”
rosanbosch.com

Local lore:
Rosan Bosch’s Bangkok debut, developed with Thai architects, blends regional materials with local motifs. Water lilies adorn the entry hall, while the reception desk is lotus-shaped.


4.
Jihlava Municipal Arena
Jihlava, Czechia

An architectural competition led to the construction of a huge sports arena on a hitherto-underused plot of land in Czechia – with funding left over to renovate the park beside it too.

In 2019 the local authority of Czech city Jihlava launched a competition to design a new multidisciplinary sports venue on a plot of land next to a public park. “Stitching the city together became a mantra of our design,” says Ondrej Chybík, a founding partner of Prague-based international architecture firm Chybík + Krištof, which won the commission. The result is an elliptical structure designed to embed itself in the city’s physical, social and cultural make-up. Its red façade represents the municipality’s symbolic colour, while also invoking a hedgehog. Up to 5,650 fans can perch in the arena’s concrete stands. The roof is open to the public and features a pro-grade racetrack.
chybik-kristof.com


5.
La Source Vive
Évian-les-Bains, France

French studio PCA-Stream has completed a domed copper-clad chamber-music hall next to Patrick Bouchain’s 1993 La Grange au Lac.

A striking music hall and a wood-and-glass foyer building have recently opened on the forested slopes above Lake Geneva. They join La Grange au Lac, designed by French architect Patrick Bouchain in 1993. The complex has been dubbed Les Mélèzes – a name that references the surrounding larches.

Bouchain, who is now 81, worked with architect Philippe Chiambaretta of PCA-Stream on La Source Vive. The new building is clad in dark, copper tiles while the interiors are lined with timber and undulating layers of white plaster. The architects collaborated with a troupe of engineers, acousticians and craftspeople to deliver a harmonious complement to Bouchain’s original.
lesmelezes-evian.com


6.
Phare Ylliam
Geneva

Architecture practice Bureau’s new lighthouse on Lake Geneva transcends its function as a piece of maritime infrastructure, offering a poetic vision of safety and calm waters.

Because of developments in navigation technology, a lighthouse is no longer an essential piece of infrastructure for waterfront communities. Nonetheless, in 2020, the canton of Geneva and the Société Nautique de Genève launched a competition to design a new lighthouse for the city’s harbour.

The winner was Bureau, a small architectural studio based between Geneva and Lisbon, run by Swiss partners Daniel and Galliane Zamarbide and Portuguese-French Carine Pimenta. The now completed lighthouse is a feat of engineering that sits on concrete and metal foundations. “It’s a very precise structural construction,” says Daniel.

The lower floors, largely composed of locally sourced stone, include the sleeping quarters, while a spiral staircase leads to a co-working station. The open-air upper levels lead to the 23-metre-high light. “It’s an infrastructural but poetic object, with an anti-monumental intention,” says Daniel. “It’s an inhabited sculpture, rather than a bold carved-out architectural statement.”
bureau.ac


7.
Tagaytay City Hall
Tagaytay, Philippines

More than just government buildings, city halls are civic spaces that nurture transparency and trust. This new city hall in the Philippines is a fine example.

When temperatures rise, Filipino urbanites flock to Tagaytay, a highland city 60km outside the capital on a ridge overlooking Taal lake. Manila-based WTA Design Studio was commissioned to create its eight-storey, 8,000 sq m city hall. For the practice, the project was a chance to reimagine an administrative building as a vibrant civic space.

“This building is the social core of the city,” says William Ti, WTA’s founder. With a focus on social architecture, the studio’s recent work includes pedestrian bridges, cultural centres and city halls across the Philippines. “City halls can be gathering places for both residents and tourists. More than just government buildings, they’re civic spaces that nurture transparency and trust.”

On the site of an old convention centre, Tagaytay City Hall houses administrative departments, a café and an art gallery, all connected by an open atrium. WTA brought in local woodworkers to create the furniture and timber finishings.

The completed building is an expression of Tagaytay’s confidence and identity. More of a civic playground than a bureaucratic box, it’s also a masterclass in how public buildings can welcome visitors and bring communities together. “We aspired to find a path forward that speaks to the city’s kinship with nature and its culture,” adds Ti.
wtadesignstudio.com


8.
Living Breakwaters
New York

How to protect the shore while shoring up the local oyster population.

Rocky breakwater structures extending into New York Harbor at sunset with moss-covered boulders and coastal cityscape in background.
(Image: Ty Cole)

Commissioned by the US Department of Housing and Urban Development, Scape’s Living Breakwaters are designed to protect New York Harbor’s shoreline while providing a habitat for oysters. These filter water as they eat – a smart way to enhance infrastructure with natural systems.
scapestudio.com


9.
Sharjah Bridi Park
Sharjah

With its thatched-roof pavilions set within a nature reserve, Urko Sánchez Architects brings African vernacular architecture to the UAE.

Urko Sánchez Architects drew on Africa’s architectural heritage for its work on the new visitor facilities of Sharjah Safari, a wildlife attraction within Al Dhaid’s Al Bridi Reserve. Their thatched roofs were inspired by the makuti structures found in East Africa; the arrangement of buildings around the station area recalls Zanzibar’s historic centre. For project director Eloy Fernanz, the aim was to evoke “the feeling of being protected from a harsh environment, while being connected to the outside”.
urkosanchez.com

1.
Vite Espresso Coffee Maker
Italy

Alessi is expanding its celebrated kitchen range with this screw-themed moka pot, which takes inspiration from machinery in the company’s factory.

Alessi Vite moka pot with light blue cylindrical body, green handle, and threaded metal base.

London-based designer Philippe Malouin worked with Italian brand Alessi to create this take on the stovetop moka pot. The piece draws inspiration from the threads of screws, with its spiral ridges and grooves referencing the twisting motion used to assemble the pot – making aesthetics part of the pot’s intuitive use. Its lower chamber is made from die-cast aluminium and its upper section features a heat-resistant thermoplastic-resin handle. Its colours are taken from the surfaces of machinery inside the Alessi factory. Adding to its appeal is the fact that it features a magnetic steel base that works on induction, gas and electric stoves.
alessi.com


2.
Kodak Snapic A1
USA

Rediscover the joy of traditional film photography with this revamped camera design.

Kodak Snapic A1 35mm film camera with dark blue body and textured grip on white surface

Kodak has provided an upgrade to the traditional plastic disposable camera with its new 35mm film model, the Snapic A1. It features a sharp three-element glass lens for crisp images, a two-zone focus (which allows you to switch quickly between close-up portraits and wide landscape shots) and a built-in flash. It also has a wide focal length that keeps scenes sharp: perfect for everything from travel and street photography to casual indoor shoots. The main appeal, though, is in its simplicity.
kodak.com

New focus:
Free from distractions such as digital screens or phone apps, the Snapic A1’s pared-back design keeps its user in the moment and on the task.


3.
Fiio CP13 Portable Cassette Player
Guangzhou

Chinese brand Fiio plugs into the trend for retro audio players with this superior throwback.

Fiio CP13 portable cassette player with silver casing and cream-colored tape visible inside.

Though China has long been disparaged as the home of cheaply made electronics, its new domestic makers are proving that the country has the manufacturing chops for quality audio. Analogue tapes are enjoying a resurgence in popularity (fans point to the allure of being able to “own” music) and Guangzhou-based Fiio’s CP13 Portable Cassette Player has found its way into New York’s Museum of Modern Art shop. It features old-school physical buttons, while its modern touches include USB-C charging and a 13-hour battery life.
fiio.com

Audio endurance:
The CP13’s 13 hours of continuous playback marks a significant improvement on the classic Sony Walkman.


4.
Hay Outdoor Market Fire Pit
Copenhagen

Light up your garden party or campsite with this versatile portable fireplace and cooker.

Hay Outdoor Market Fire Pit, a stainless-steel portable fireplace with handles and removable grill basket.

Designed in collaboration with Jasper Morrison, this fire pit brings to life the London-based product designer’s “super normal” ethos – an approach that aims to make everyday objects feel essential. Made by Danish brand Hay, its stainless-steel construction is portable, making it equally at home on a terrace or a trail. More than just an outdoor fireplace, it doubles as a cooker, thanks to its removable grill and charcoal basket.
hay.dk

Playing with fire:
There’s something about a fire pit that lights up our brains. Humans have evolved to associate flames with warmth, nourishment, safety and connection.


5.
Between the covers
Global

Looking for guides to visionary contemporary architects and era-defining design movements? Here’s our pick of five books to add to your shelf.

Published by oro Editions, Chairman is a new monograph documenting chair designs by London-based Yinka Ilori.

Oríkì: Material Affirmations in Three Acts from Apartamento Publishing is the debut work of Nigerian designer Nifemi Marcus-Bello, telling the story of a three-part sculptural series.

The Albanian Files: Freedom and Architecture, published by Lars Müller, chronicles two decades of urban change in the Balkan country. Tadao Ando has released Towards Light, which outlines his philosophies on life and architecture.

Riverside Modern explores the homes of Melbourne’s Studley Park, with photography by Jack Lovel.

Pride in print:
The challenge for any specialist design publisher is to blend the academic with the entertaining. A good architectural book should translate complex information into inspiring, visually engaging content that also pushes readers to build better.


Further inspiration:
The Monocle Design Awards 2026: The best homeware and equipment

While most New Yorkers know Red Hook by name, many have never set foot in the tiny, water-hugging Brooklyn neighbourhood. Occupying the borough’s western extreme, the former shipping hub feels isolated from the rest of the city – and it’s a schlep to the nearest subway station. This has helped to give it the atmosphere of a New England fishing town suspended in time.

That outlier status has made it a magnet for creatives. First to arrive was the art crowd but Red Hook has also attracted members of the city’s design community. New York can feel increasingly sanitised but its quirkier side lives on in Red Hook. Louis Shannon, the founder of Entrance gallery, describes himself as “a grateful member of the band of weirdos” who call this place home.

Entrance exhibits large-scale sculptures in an outdoor space and also has a focus on design. When Monocle visits, the gallery is showcasing the work of New York-based Japanese-American sculptor Mariko Makino. Alongside such exhibitions, it tends an on-site vegetable garden and hosts film screenings, dance performances and motor club meets.

Architect Wes Rozen and his wife, painter and furniture-maker Natalie Shook, are also key figures in Red Hook’s design scene. In 2013, when Shook was looking to move out of Williamsburg, she came across a Red Hook warehouse that was filled with plumbing supplies. She immediately signed on the dotted line. Today the workshop is divided into two businesses: Rozen’s practice, which focuses on everything from interior design to houses, and Shook’s studio. Woodwork, she says, has allowed her to build a community.

Architect Wes Rozen and furniture-maker Natalie Shook pose together at a window in their Red Hook home.
Wes Rozen and Natalie Shook in their Red Hook home
Stacked geometric sculptural forms by Michael Haynes with warm lighting and shadows.
Sculptural work by Michael Haynes
Stacked wooden planks of varying colors in a workshop, with exposed wooden ceiling beams above.
Planks in Haynes’s workshop
Woodworker Mike Haynes standing in his workshop wearing a white cap and gray t-shirt.
Woodworker Mike Haynes
Furniture maker Free Alexander Tripp working on wood at Piscina workshop.
Furniture maker and sculptor Free Alexander Tripp at the Piscina workshop
Mid-century modern interior with wooden furniture, warm lighting, and artwork in Piscina's showroom.
Cosy corner in Piscina’s showroom

Shook operates a makers’ co-operative called Piscina Studio, where about 30 creatives focus on woodwork but also ceramics and metalwork. We meet Michael Haynes, who’s making feet for a dresser in cherrywood. Another woodworker, Luke Malaney, shows us a coffee table that he’s fashioning for his home. “I feel lucky to have found this place,” he says. “It’s more than a dusty workshop.”

Piscina’s newest addition opened on Red Hook’s Van Brunt Street in 2022: a shop selling design pieces, about 80 per cent of which are produced at the workshop. A gallery was added this year. Piscina’s influence doesn’t stop there. Designer Devin Wilde, who started in ceramics, chose Red Hook when he moved back to New York five years ago because he loved the “grungy seaside town” feel. Before he found his artist loft, he worked from Shook’s workshop. Piscina has also collaborated with Keti Chichinadze, the founder of Jamieri, which is next door but in the process of looking for a new space. Originally from Georgia, Chichinadze specialises in contemporary design and collectable furniture from her homeland. Before finding this spot, she had never been to Red Hook. “This is the best place in New York for making,” she says.

Tying together all of the strands is Ross Belfer, a communications professional who lives in an apartment overlooking the water. He takes us around the nearby streets, stopping in on Heron Preston, a streetwear titan who has shown in Paris and Milan. Preston recently made a set of chairs from reclaimed street signs. It’s the sort of work that has prompted Belfer to establish the Red Hook Design District. “We want to protect and preserve the fabric of the neighbourhood and be a catalyst for undiscovered talent,” he says.

Red Hook won’t stay suspended in time forever. A film studio is under construction and more people are discovering it during weekends. But once Monday comes around, the neighbourhood goes back to doing what it does best: being a tight-knit community of creatives. “I’m doubling down on here,” says Belfer. “It’s more interesting to be where everybody else isn’t.”

Streetwear designer Heron Preston wearing a cream SCRAP t-shirt and black shorts in his Red Hook studio.
Heron Preston in his studio
Clothing rack with black, white, and orange garments including a green jacket with orange text at Heron Preston's studio.
Rack of street styles at Heron Preston
Close-up of an orange Heron Preston jacket sleeve featuring reflective striping and branded patches.
Bright, eye-catching details on a Heron Preston piece
Multiple polaroid-style model photographs pinned to a beige wall displaying people wearing streetwear and fashion pieces.
Model shots on designer Heron Preston’s wall
Man in cream shirt standing at desk in brick-walled apartment with exposed brick and artwork.
Communications professional Ross Belfer in his waterfront apartment
Customers outside Red Hook Tavern restaurant and bar with wooden storefront at number 329
Red Hook Tavern, famous for its burgers
Musicians and spectators gather under a yellow canopy for live music at Sunny's Bar in Red Hook.
Live music outside Red Hook favourite Sunny’s Bar
Red brick Waterfront Museum barge docked in Red Hook with Manhattan skyline beyond
The floating Waterfront Museum on a barge in Red Hook
Steve's Authentic Key Lime Pie storefront with green signage on red brick building in Red Hook, Brooklyn.
Family-operated bakery specialising in key-lime pies
Adult and child walking on a sunny Red Hook street holding a colorful star balloon.
On Red Hook’s family-friendly streets
Two people on a boat viewing the Manhattan skyline across the water from Red Hook, Brooklyn.
Views of the Manhattan skyline across the water

“We chose to live here because there’s still a sense of barrio,” says Borja Marco Moreno. “When we registered our new address at the municipal office, the clerk congratulated us. There’s a citywide admiration for this place.” Moreno and his partner, Daniela Barena Martinez, are residents of Valencia’s Finca Roja, a housing complex the size of a city block that was designed by Enrique Viedma Vidal and completed in 1934. It organises residents into 14 communities, each with its own lobby and staircase. The six-storey, red-brick structure is built around a trapezoidal plot and encloses a paved private central courtyard lined with palms.

It’s early evening when Monocle enters the courtyard, passing beneath the thick foliage of its trees. Despite its calm ambience, we have the sneaking sensation that we’re being watched. The quadrangle’s walls are speckled with windows, behind which 378 apartments can house about 2,000 residents. As if to confirm our suspicion, a resident pops her head out of a first-floor window to see who has wandered in. We exchange polite pleasantries and she explains, in a hushed voice, that the neighbours here guard the courtyard’s tranquillity closely. “Be careful,” she says. The brief exchange captures the pride and protectiveness of those who inhabit what is one of Valencia’s best-known addresses. Before disappearing back into her apartment, she drops a small publication down to us (we promise to deposit the book in her letterbox later). A quick flick through its pages, which are filled with tales of past residents, reveals that the courtyard was once a far livelier place.

When work began on the more than 15,000 sq m site on Valencia’s rural outskirts in 1929, architect Viedma Vidal envisaged its patio as a contemporary agora, energised by commerce, community interaction and cultural life. He hoped that daily interactions would foster a spirit of neighbourly solidarity. Despite these founding ambitions, the place has settled into a calmer, more private rhythm. As we speak to its residents, it becomes clear that this huge building, housing such a broad cross-section of people, holds up a mirror to the moment.

Red-brick facade of Finca Roja housing complex in Valencia with stepped gable roofs and regular window patterns.
Finca Roja’s red façade

Finca Roja (meaning “Red Estate”) stands out for its bright, expressive brickwork. Many Valencianos know it by name. “More than its strong architectural character, I appreciate the way that it embodies a very clear idea of how to live,” says designer Francesc Rifé, who moved here with his wife, Eva Clérigues, in 2019. “The interior courtyard is the perfect example. It’s a peaceful space for residents, insulated from the city’s fast pace. Almost 100 years since it was created, it still makes perfect sense.” The couple tell Monocle that they were looking for a house that would “lower our heart rate”, while offering moments of community, quiet and calm in the chaos of the city. “There’s a sense of balance here,” says Clérigues. “It’s still mainly working class and the streets haven’t been overrun by chain shops. And we are within walking distance of the primary school, small parks and the train station.”

Finca Roja was finished during the progressive Second Spanish Republic and much has changed – in both the building and the neighbourhood – over the past century. Commissioned in response to Valencia’s rapid urban growth, the project began with a public tender from a social-welfare fund to provide housing for the workers of nearby factories. Its style married touches of neo-Mudéjar – a late-19th-century movement channelling medieval Iberia’s ornamental brick-and-tile architecture – with expressive rationalism inspired by Dutch architect Michel de Klerk, whose brick social-housing blocks were reshaping Amsterdam’s working-class districts.

Finca Roja’s ambitious scale, as well as its chamfered corners, make it a clear example of Catalan urbanist Ildefons Cerdà’s ensanche (“city expansion”) vision, which had already reshaped Barcelona. This often took the form of a grid of uniform blocks with planted courtyards at their centres that let light, air and traffic circulate.

Sunlit entrance hall with geometric shadows cast through latticed railings onto polished floor
Afternoon sun illuminating one of the entrance halls
Looking up through a rectangular stairwell with ornate black and tan metal railings receding toward a bright opening.
Enrique Viedma Vidal had the space and foresight to design wide stairwells
Modern minimalist home office with illuminated shelving, dark structural column, and pendant lighting in Finca Roja.
Francesc Rifé and Eva Clérigues’s home office
Modern kitchen counter with white bowls containing red peppers, dark tiled backsplash, and gas cooktop in background
Snacks in Rifé and Clérigues’s kitchen

With only open fields and factories nearby, Viedma Vidal layered Finca Roja with features promoting self-sufficiency and made room for a medical clinic, a bar, a consumer co-operative and a bakery.

There was a crèche and a shared cultural space too. The roof was adorned with eight ornate tiled turrets that still conceal giant water tanks.

But the building and its community have moved with the times, says architect and resident Pep Ruiz. “The context has changed because Spanish society has changed,” he adds, referencing the fact that, as the city grew and surrounded the standalone complex with housing and shops, Viedma Vidal’s model of self-sustaining commerce became redundant. Today this cultural shift has meant that many of these lower-floor shop spaces are occupied by quieter tenants. We spot signs for accountants’ offices and psychologists. “Somehow, the building has managed to stay relevant,” says Ruiz. “It’s always reflecting the current needs and wants of residents.”

For many of them, the priority is peace and quiet. “Valencia can be loud – often explosive,” says Ana Botella Espacio. She tells Monocle about Las Fallas, an annual, weeklong festival during which firecrackers are let off and towering sculptures are built before being burned. “Finding a peaceful enclave was fundamental, especially for my husband, Philipp Köpfli, who is Swiss,” she adds, with a laugh.

The couple spend most of their time near Zürich but Botella Espacio, a Valencia native, wanted their children to maintain a connection with their Spanish roots. Inside their interior-facing apartment, which was refurbished by fellow resident Francesc Rifé, the silence is so pronounced that it feels almost uncanny. “This might well be the most tranquil place in Valencia,” says Botella Espacio. “The past few years of global commotion have pushed us to focus on finding small strongholds of stillness. In Switzerland, we spend most of our time in the countryside. In Spain, our Finca Roja home is like an urban sanctuary.”

Modern kitchen with black cabinetry, pendant lighting, and dining table with black chairs in Ana Botella Espacio and Philipp Köpfli's Finca Roja apartment.
Ana Botella Espacio and Philipp Köpfli’s kitchen

Early accounts of life in this housing complex describe a central garden overflowing with flowers oriented around an ornate stone fountain. Its sense of serenity was interrupted by the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936, when idealistic aspirations of community living made way for more urgent, utilitarian needs. During and just after the conflict, the complex was renamed Finca España; under Francisco Franco’s postwar fascist dictatorship, the veneration of anything red became a serious faux pas. In 1952 the central patio played host to its first falla – one of the giant papier-mâché monuments annually erected in Valencia to celebrate Saint Joseph – which was designed to reference the chalet-styled animal houses that then dotted Finca Roja’s garden, hosting ducks, chickens, rabbits and even a pet fox.

One barometer of how much things have changed is Finca Roja’s in-house club, La Colmena, in a ground-floor space that looks out onto the interior patio. Over the years it has hosted a football team, a chess club, meetings, conventions and evening drinks. Today it resembles a neighbourhood bar and is used mainly for watching televised sport.

To ensure that everything runs smoothly across the complex, a system of governance has evolved. Occupants clustered around each of the 14 stairwells elect their own president, with another rotating seat for a building-wide commissioner. When there are no willing candidates, a lottery system designates representatives. This led to recent property-buyer Moreno being elected president before he even moved in. His tenure coincided with Valencia’s catastrophic La Dana floods in 2024, which left the building unscathed but without proper pipe pressure for weeks. It was a crash course in collective problem-solving, with Moreno co-ordinating the installation of a temporary water pump in the patio.

Man in black shirt walks with dog on leash in brick patio courtyard of Finca Roja housing complex.
Resident Nacho Sancho with dog Thea in the interior patio

“The meetings sometimes resemble an episode of Game of Thrones,” says Moreno. “Presidents are addressed by the number of their stairwell, rather than their names. Reaching consensus on anything is thorny.” As a result, changes happen slowly. An agreed hour for children’s playtime is still under discussion and a plan to rebuild the original fountain awaits a costing that everyone supports. Such caution has served the building well. In 1969 plans were tabled for a single-storey retail-and-hospitality block in the central patio, with an underground car park beneath. Neither got off – or under – the ground, which is why the picturesque garden survives today.

All of this adds to the building’s mystique. “Finca Roja is renowned in Valencia but many people don’t know exactly why,” journalist Isabel Blasco tells us. In 2022 she co-curated a retrospective exhibition with Laura Yerpes inside the latter’s interior-design studio on the ground floor. Part of Valencia Design Week, it was a popular showcase of works by artists and artisans who have called Finca Roja home. Tours were organised, allowing curious Valencianos to peek inside the private interior patio. “For many, this building is nearby but still far away,” says Blasco. “We wanted to demystify its past and present to remind the city that, more than being emblematic, it’s also part of our creative heart.” It’s a sentiment with which Yerpes agrees. “It’s more than a model for social housing,” she says. “It also evokes a certain esteem in Valencia. There’s an emotional connection.”

Five women pose in Laura Yerpes' interior design studio with material samples on a table and red flowers.
Laura Yerpes (bottom right) and her design-studio team
Hand touching wood material samples on a table with fabric swatches and design samples nearby
Material samples inside Laura Yerpes’ interior-design studio

Juan Antonio Sánchez Santos (or Pichi) and Álvaro Hernández Santaeulalia (Avo) are an artist duo known as PichiAvo. The pair made an offer on their newly purchased Finca Roja apartment during their first viewing and are finalising plans to convert it into a combined studio and residence. “The building has a lot of personality – and personalities,” says Pichi, with a laugh. “All of them have many stories to tell.” Sensing a sea change as more younger residents move in, they suggest a revival of the recreational club’s cultural activities. However, both agree that taking a soft, rather than radical, approach is probably best. “Like everyone, we want to respect, cherish and protect the building,” says Avo.

When Monocle speaks to Ruiz, the conversation circles back to Finca Roja’s structure. “It is still advanced and functionally rational,” he says. “It means that there’s always potential for life to become more communal – if or when the community decides.” Indeed, during our time tiptoeing through Finca Roja’s corridors, another resident, who asks not to be named, explains that the building will continue to grow and change with its residents. “You can’t stop movement,” he says. “There will always be different ways of seeing things and this includes versions of the past and plans for the future. But life in Finca Roja goes on – change comes and goes – because the world always turns.”

Woman with curly blonde hair wearing dark blue shirt looking to the side against colorful building backdrop
Resident Eva Clérigues sat on her windowsill

While it might hold up a mirror to the moment and its community, Finca Roja continues to get the fundamentals right: a solid structure, sensible distribution of space and considered communal areas. The central patio still serves as a much-needed enclave of peace and pause for residents, while the inward-facing apartments benefit from ample natural light and generously verdant views. The community policing of renovations can cause headaches but this attitude also ensures that vestiges of the original vision, from the ornate fireplaces to the colourful floor tiles and the look of the window frames, are protected.

Viedma Vidal, it seems, understood that large-scale housing projects need to be more than functional. He dedicated time, effort and money to aesthetic details that conjure pride by giving residents a shared identity. Almost a century later, this resplendently red city block remains a fixture of Valencian architecture and communal living – and it looks set to continue to evolve with the needs of its community for many years to come.

In April 2025, Pope Francis authorised a decree declaring Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí “venerable” – a major milestone on his path to sainthood. Next up is beatification. That’s the stage where you need to prove that a person led a life guided by heroic values, has an impeccably holy reputation and has been responsible for a miracle (maybe curing tourists’ sore knees after traipsing up all the steps at Barcelona’s Park Güell?).

To be frank, you would have hoped that the creation of the Sagrada Família basilica, the exterior of which was finally completed this summer after 144 years, would have been enough to swing him a sainthood. While this might be one of the most exclusive clubs in the world, surely there’s scope to swiftly advance the occasional candidate? The Pope is perhaps mindful of the fact that, while Gaudí was a devout Catholic who remained single all his life and put his body through intense, lengthy fasts to demonstrate his commitment to God, he was, ultimately, an architect.

Tall order: Antoni Gaudí’s Sagrada Família is finally completed (Image: Dan Kitwood/Getty Images)

It’s quite hard to be in that line of work and remain, well, saintly at all times. Builders, meddling planners and ill-informed critics all tend to push these sensitive souls over the edge every now and then. English writer Peter Stanford, known for his work on religion, has suggested that perhaps Gaudí is too complex and rich a figure to be moved along this particular conveyor belt. Sainthood, he recently said, “reflects an extraordinary life of religious devotion, and that clearly was a very important part of him, but it puts him in too small a box. In terms of people who could be in the biggest box possible or no box at all, Gaudí seems to me to be a very good example, because his imagination knew no boundaries.”

There’s also the question of whether Gaudí would have wanted this. After all, someone upstairs was neglecting his needs when, in 1926, he was run over by a tram and killed while walking to church.

In the end, however, it matters little whether he officially attains sainthood because people are already enraptured and mesmerised by his work, and make pilgrimages to see Casa Vicens and Casa Milà. And they can witness a true miracle: the Sagrada Família.

To many, “God’s architect” is already a saint.

About the writer
Andrew Tuck is Monocle’s editor in chief. And while no saint himself, he is delighted that his namesake is the patron saint of Scotland, a country where his ancestral roots run deep.

In mid-2026, Konstantin Grcic presented a solo show at Berlin’s Deutsches Design Museum that few creatives would have had the means – or guts – to pull off. Streetwise was a display of early prototypes and models, abandoned projects and failed ideas, all drawn from the 61-year-old’s archives. “We make models to see all the defects of an idea,” says Grcic. The resulting show was a peek into the seldom-seen inner workings of a design studio.

Grcic has a three-decade track record of creating bestsellers, from office chairs and portable lamps to lipstick containers. Experiments with industrial processes and a predilection for angular forms in bright colours have helped define the 21st-century material world. In 2025, he founded his furniture label, 25kg. The same year, Grcic and a seven-strong team moved into a larger studio space in an industrial building in Schöneberg, which is where Monocle sat down with him.

Portrait of Konstantin Grcic, a bespectacled man with gray hair and beard wearing a dark blue shirt, leaning on a cane with a yellow knob.

Where do you keep your archives?
I had a space of 300 sq m on the outskirts of Berlin and it was full. We recently shrunk that storage by half, throwing away a lot and creating some kind of order. Our work is physical and designing a chair probably means that there are 10 or more full-scale iterations. It’s a difficult decision: do you keep all of them, some or none?

Is this what gave rise to ‘Streetwise’?
I knew that I would be going through all of this stuff and thought it was a good occasion to pick out some things. These pieces have value for me but maybe they also have some value for someone looking at them. The beauty is that they are the frozen moment of a creative process.

What was it like to revisit those archives?
I have been doing this for 30 years. The models show a very analogue process and it’s shocking to see how much we could do without all the tools that we have today. When I go through these old models, it shows me that the analogue process, the limitations, the focus and the time that we had were really good.

You started your studio in 1991. How long did it take to make a living from your design work?
It paid the bills from the start but those bills were small. My calculation was that I needed 1,500 deutschmarks a month. That’s something like €800. From that, I could pay my rent, a desk space, the phone bill, for food and materials. The struggle started once I had more clients and needed to produce more work more efficiently. I had an assistant and needed my own space. Suddenly, everything became really difficult. The turning point was a job for a kitchen-appliances company, which provided projects one after the other with a fixed fee. It was a big change. But there was a lot of what I never wanted to do: agency meetings with too many people involved, working for a market where there are 10 coffee machines on a shelf next to each other and the success of one model is that it’s cheaper than the others or it has more blinking lights. After four years, I said that I can’t do this any more. But it transformed the studio and I was free again.

What’s the ideal relationship with a manufacturer?
Italian companies really shaped who I became. The postwar Italian industry was always my role model: family-run businesses with a strong head who has an eye for finding designers to work with. These firms were interested in technology, in machinery. I love to work with industry. The studio can be quite a bubble and we could be happy doing stuff that we love but I need the outside world to push me somewhere that I wouldn’t normally go. That can be extremely creative.

Is the current crisis facing German manufacturing largely a design problem?
The design process starts way before you start giving form to something. It’s the analysis and briefing that make you start working on a car. That’s where the German industry went wrong. It was doing the same thing that it was very successful doing for so many years, and didn’t realise that something was starting to change fundamentally. German industry is not agile enough. But in moments of difficulty there is opportunity. The world today is a better world than ever – not to say that everything is perfect but it’s up to us to turn things around.

How did starting 25kg change things for you?
I never wanted to be a designer-producer. I always thought that was limiting. Projects that don’t make it into production, in most cases, I can understand why they don’t. One limitation that I see in the industry is in addressing very niche markets – it can’t do this because the scale of operation is different. But these niches are probably poking at something that we don’t realise yet.

Why do you make temporary public furniture?
Public space is wild and occupied by so many different people and interests. The furniture needs to withstand all of that. It caters to so many more people, rather than being a specific perfect solution. It’s a challenge for design to come to terms with. Seeing my pieces out in the world is nice because you understand how little control that you have over how they end up being used. Reality will never fulfil my ideal but it will surprise me in being better than I would ever have imagined.

“The government of Iraq was the first to show a practical interest [in my ideas],” wrote Le Corbusier in 1960. Walking along the car-choked streets of eastern Baghdad, Monocle passes hookah cafés and dukans (compact convenience shops) before encountering the soaring, curvilinear roof of the Swiss-French architect’s Baghdad Gymnasium. It’s a building that recalls a bygone age of design ambition in the Iraqi capital. The modernist was invited here by King Faisal II as the city was preparing a bid to host the 1960 Olympic Games. The UK-backed Hashemite regent had established the Iraqi Development Board as part of a nation-building programme and was using revenue from the British-controlled Iraq Petroleum Company to bring the best architects from across the globe to the country. Over the course of several decades – and despite revolutions – the programme enlisted Frank Lloyd Wright, Alvar Aalto, Gio Ponti and Josep Lluís Sert, alongside Le Corbusier. The goal was to make Baghdad the envy of the world.

“Baghdad belonged to the Ottoman Empire for centuries but the city didn’t really have a specific architecture,” says academic Pedro Azara Nicolás, who has extensively studied Baghdad’s modernist masters (his exhibition, City of Mirages: Baghdad 1952-1982, toured cities including Barcelona, Madrid, Boston and Baghdad between 2008 and 2023). “Ottoman architecture wasn’t necessarily suited to Iraq’s geographical and climatic conditions. King Faisal II decided to transform Baghdad into a major Western-style capital to distinguish it from other Arab cities that were looking to the Soviet Union for inspiration.”

Upward view of the 1962 Ten Fils Building showing curved concrete balconies beneath dark modernist concrete overpass structure
The 1962 Ten Fils Building in Hazem Namiq Al-Khilani Square

To distance his country from Soviet aesthetics, the regent developed plans for a capital with an opera house, new universities and museums, as well as public, cultural and political institutions. Faisal II was the third ruler of the independent Arab state that is now modern-day Iraq, a nation formed after a revolt against the Ottomans in the provinces of Basra, Baghdad and Mosul. He was continuing a legacy established by his grandfather, Faisal I, who had devoted the early years of his reign to building roads and oil pipelines in order to finance development projects.

Faisal II had toured the world following the Second World War and, working with architects and engineers led by Nizar Jawdat – the Harvard-educated son of Ali Jawdat al-Ayyubi, Iraq’s former prime minister and ambassador to Washington from 1942 to 1947 – the king was committed to reinventing the nation’s capital at pace, project by project. Chief among these was Le Corbusier’s Gymnasium and plans for a 50,000-seat stadium complex, including a swimming pool with stands holding 5,000 seats and open-air amphitheatre. The Swiss-French architect would explore themes also seen in his design for Stade Firminy near Saint-Étienne, a lightly curved athletics grandstand built in a former sandstone quarry.

Around the same time, Walter Gropius, the founder of the Bauhaus movement, was reimagining an institute of higher learning in Baghdad. The German architect had first visited the city in 1954 on his way home from Japan. A First World War hero, he had gone into exile following Adolf Hitler’s rise to power, heading first to London and eventually arriving at Harvard University, where he joined some of the most important architects of the 20th century, pushing for social reform. One of his students there was Jawdat, who lobbied his politically influential family to bring Gropius to Iraq. This set of experiences enabled his firm, The Architects Collaborative, to secure prime position when it came to designing the Baghdad University campus.

“It’s hard to imagine now but Baghdad during the 1950s was a hub of modern arts and literary movements,” says Ali Shakir, an Iraqi-born architect who has written extensively on the country’s architectural past. “Young Iraqi alumni of prestigious European and US universities returned to their country of origin pulsing with potential and new ideas that they aspired to marry with their rich heritage.” Jawdat and his American-born wife, Ellen, were part of this cultural movement in which the educated diaspora returned to the fledgling modern nation.

The work on the campus was carried out with an understanding that the project was as much about good architecture as it was about providing a space to train a generation of Iraqi architects and engineers, so the country would no longer need to import Western expertise for every project. “We felt as though a large window had opened with such a wealth of new ideas, wise advice and calm optimism that we had to find some way of continuing the experience,” wrote Ellen at the time.

Brutalist concrete courtyard with modernist buildings, trees, and Baghdad cityscape in background.
Courtyard on the Walter Gropius-designed University of Baghdad campus
Walter Gropius's Faculty Office Tower at University of Baghdad, a tan concrete modernist high-rise with regular window grid and communications antenna, flying an Iraqi flag.
Gropius’s Faculty Office Tower at the university of Baghdad
Covered walkway with concrete columns at Walter Gropius-designed University of Baghdad campus with palm trees visible beyond
Covered walkways at the University of Baghdad help students to beat the heat

With the Iraqi Development Board’s blessing, Gropius and his advisers chose a piece of land in the southern part of Baghdad surrounded on three sides by the Tigris. The team believed that this site would remain secluded and unaffected by the city’s development. By 1959, Gropius and his office had a workable design of 273 buildings on 200 hectares encompassing three academic faculties: sciences, letters and humanities. Among the buildings that Gropius prioritised were those for architecture and engineering, as well as athletic and recreational facilities, an infirmary, student dormitories and staff housing, all surrounded by a ring road.

Outside this core campus, clusters of date-palm groves, open areas and artificial topography offsetting the otherwise flat terrain helped to counteract the excessive heat from May to September, with daily highs regularly climbing above 40C. Gropius’s design positioned the buildings close enough to overshadow one another, cooling the architecture. The shade and proximity also provided students with a sense of closeness and connection, regardless of the discipline that they were studying.

But the region was changing fast. Pan-Arab nationalism, fuelled in part by Gamal Abdel Nasser’s Egypt and resentment of the pro-UK monarchy’s Baghdad Pact alliance, was sweeping Iraq and Faisal II was assassinated in July 1958, marking the end of the Hashemite monarchy in the country. Led by Abdul Karim Kassem, a socialist son of a carpenter from Baghdad, the new regime reassured Gropius’s team that they wanted the project finished, though Kassem had his own ideas about it. The general wanted to add a small skyscraper to the campus plan that could be seen from his office in the defence ministry. The result was the 20-storey Faculty Office Tower, alongside Gropius’s symbolic, 25-metre-high entrance arch known as the Open Mind.

The construction of Le Corbusier’s athletics venues also continued. The sheer number of projects in which he was involved caused the process to drag. By the time the Gymnasium was completed in 1980 (23 years after the project commenced and 15 years since its architect’s death), Saddam Hussein had ascended to the presidency. He named the Le Corbusier Gymnasium complex after himself. The accompanying Al Sha’ab stadium that the architect had planned was never built. Instead, next to it, a 35,700-seat design by Portuguese architect Francisco Keil do Amaral went up in 1966.

It was in the shadow of these projects that Iraq’s own modernist master would emerge. Rifat Chadirji trained at the Hammersmith School of Arts and Crafts in London, returning in 1952 to Iraq, where he absorbed Gropius and Le Corbusier’s ideas by watching their Baghdad projects rise around him. Born into an influential Baghdad family, he opened his own architecture practice, Iraq Consult, with the aim of putting a regional spin on the international templates sweeping the globe in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s.

Chadirji’s first major commission came in 1959, when he was 33 years old. He was asked to create the Unknown Soldier Monument in Baghdad. A modernist statue modelled on the ancient Arch of Ctesiphon, it celebrated the wars of independence fought against the British monarchy. Chadirji soon hit a streak, creating the platform for Tahrir Square’s Freedom Monument, also in 1959; the Iraqi Scientific Academy in 1965; the Tobacco Monopoly Company building in 1966; the School for Veterinary Medicine in 1967; and the Central Post Telegraph and Telephone Administration offices in 1975. He also designed several homes for wealthy, ruling Ba’ath party members and supporters, including the Mahmoud Othman Residence. This project cemented the young brutalist’s style: it featured yellow brick for arched windows and wooden shutters in the traditional manner of old Iraqi markets. “From the very outset of my practice, I thought it imperative that, sooner or later, Iraq create for itself an architecture that is regional in character,” he wrote. “Yet, simultaneously, it needed to be modern, part of the current international avant garde style.” By 1978, at the pinnacle of his career at Iraq Consult, Chadirji was the country’s most renowned contemporary architect.

That year, however, Chadirji was sent to Abu Ghraib prison after refusing president Ahmed Hassan Al-Bakr’s request to use his international office for intelligence-gathering purposes (Iraq Consult had an additional studio in Bahrain). Al-Bakr had led Iraq since 1968 before his vice-president, Saddam, overthrew him in July 1979. The latter granted Chadirji freedom shortly after taking office but demanded that the architect lead Baghdad’s beautification plan – a brief, cosmetic yet deliberate echo of the Hashemites’ architectural courtship of the West decades earlier. It was a forced commission that led to the next great period of construction in the Iraqi capital.

“Saddam came to power and he wanted to prepare Baghdad for the conference of non-aligned countries that was to happen in 1982,” Chadirji recounted to the press years later. “He wanted somebody to replan the city and he was told that I was the one who could do it. A car took me to the palace, still in my prison clothes, and a secretary of the Revolutionary Council said, ‘The president wants to immortalise your name in history.’ So, I said, ‘Thank you very much.’”

With unlimited resources, Chadirji brought in design consultants from across the globe, including Robert Venturi from the US and Richard England from Malta. The team built pedestrian bridges and carried out planning for a cultural construction programme, which included new theatres. Tensions, however, eventually arose. The memory of his 20 months in prison became the catalyst for the architect to flee Iraq in 1983. A resentful Saddam subsequently tore down Chadirji’s Unknown Soldier Monument and replaced it with an enormous statue of himself. Chadirji considered returning on one occasion: in 2009, when the US invited him to reconstruct his Unknown Soldier Monument, following the overthrow of Saddam. This never materialised but it prompted him to share his thoughts on the city with the architectural media.

“I cannot believe what has happened to the buildings in Baghdad; everything has been almost completely destroyed,” said Chadirji. “The proper rebuilding is only half of the project; the other half, which is more important, is to keep it and take care of it, because it is part of the memory of the people and the society.” That challenge of keeping and taking care of these architectural memory banks has been put to the test continually. Chadirji’s Central Post Office withstood the Iran-Iraq War (1980 to 1988), the 1991 Gulf War and the 2003 US invasion, though postwar crews did rebuild and reinforce parts of its foyer. Similarly, Le Corbusier’s Gymnasium has, over the years, undergone a conversion from a 3,500-seat indoor arena – part of a wider athletics complex also including a stadium – to a US army barracks used during the occupation from 2003 to 2005. The arch and other prominent features of the university survived the invasion too and young students still gather underneath it to this day, reviewing notes, gossiping and waiting for a ride home. It’s an appropriate reflection of Gropius’s ambition, disseminating architectural modernism in the Middle East and inspiring many designers.

Entrance to a brutalist building by Rifat Chadirji featuring brick and concrete with arched doorway and wooden doors.
Entrance to a building by Chadirji combining brutalism with an Iraqi flavour

The future of much of this legacy, however, hangs in the balance. Recent conflicts have left many buildings destroyed or in a state of disrepair, including Chadirji’s Tobacco Monopoly Company, where the US-led forces undid the progress of dynasties and dictators. It is damage that hasn’t been helped by shifts in attitudes, as Baghdadis now look to the rapid development elsewhere in the Gulf for city-making benchmarks. “The United Arab Emirates is fascinating for young Iraqis and therefore young architects,” says Azara Nicolás. “That country projects an image of luxury, splendour, novelty and modernity that Iraq doesn’t have. Architects are holding conferences to try to save heritage but developers – and many residents as well – prefer to build a new city that resembles those in the Emirates.”

Glimmers of hope do exist. The governments of former president Abdul Latif Rashid and incumbent Nizar Amidi have been aware of the need for, well… something. There is a construction boom in Baghdad (Zaha Hadid’s Central Bank of Iraq is due for completion this year) and the executive office has tried to maintain some standards, overseeing the removal of hastily placed Chinese-made panels from some “new and gleaming” buildings due to the urban heat-island effect they have exacerbated. A few main streets have also been given a facelift and young people can again be seen sitting outside the 1979 National Theatre (constructed during Saddam’s building boom), discussing politics, business and the state of Iraqi society. In recent years, Le Corbusier’s Gymnasium has also been repaired, with his namesake foundation contributing to the renovation by adding hanging ceilings, traditional Iraqi coloured glass and multicoloured seats, as well as marble to replace outdated metal parts. Two international football matches have been held at the adjacent stadium. It’s a demonstration that Baghdad remains an avant garde architectural capital, albeit a dusty one.

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