Articles by Jonathan Yeung

Across cities worldwide, architecture unfolds continuously at the scale of people and community—not only through new buildings, renovations, or monumental works. “Third spaces” are especially revealing. Consider the street-side culinary realm: how seating, serving, and lingering occupy the edge of the street often discloses a city’s cultural codes and spatial habits. What forms of dining and inhabitation have emerged in response to local climate, regulation, and social custom—and how have they evolved over time?

Among the 2025 Aga Khan Award winners is AAU Anastas and their project, Wonder Cabinet in Palestine, whose central aim is to serve as a haven for culture and creativity and a bridge between design and production. Beyond this meaningful project, AAU Anastas—working from offices in Bethlehem, Palestine, and Paris, France—has built a broad portfolio since 2015. Notable works include Dar Al Majous, a restoration in Bethlehem that challenges the boundary between domestic and public realms; the Tulkarm Courthouse (2015), one of their first projects that redefined civicness and social gathering on a prominent corner site in Tulkarm; and The Flat Vault, a commercial intervention that adds a juxtaposed stone vault to an existing monastery shop associated with a church built in the 12th century by the Crusaders.

Urban renewal is inherently fraught—financially complex, politically exposed, stakeholder-dense, and almost guaranteed to leave someone dissatisfied. Precisely for these reasons, many cities default to inertia rather than risk the upheaval that comes with reworking entrenched urban fabrics, their residences, and their dynamics; once the “sleeping bear” is prodded, unexpected complications tend to multiply.

Living by the beach has long been a defining aspiration—drawn by the promise of tempered nature, privacy, and immediate access to the water. Historically, beach houses tended to be rustic and pared back: partly because servicing remote sites and delivering materials was difficult, and partly because their charm lay in being closer to the elements—simpler, rougher, more direct.

We walk on “flat” ground every day and rarely think twice—but how flat is it, really? In the city, curbs are chamfered, sidewalks pitch toward grates, and roadways are crowned to shed water into shallow gutters. In suburbs and on unpaved paths, irregular terrain is the norm. Inside buildings, by contrast, we pursue near-perfect horizontality—structural frames, slabs, and finishes are all disciplined to create level walking surfaces in the name of safety and accessibility. Yet flatness is inherently at odds with water. A closer look reveals a quiet repertoire of accommodations: slight falls at entries, thresholds raised a few millimeters, wet areas with barely perceptible pitches. The floor is read as flat, but it is in fact carefully tuned—micro-topographies masquerading as plane—to manage water without calling attention to themselves.

There is growing awareness around sustainability—and the environmental cost of prematurely demolishing safe, structurally sound buildings only to replace them with new construction. In the broader race to reduce carbon emissions, corporations and institutions are placing greater emphasis on ESG performance (environmental impact, social responsibility, and governance). Many now require carbon accounting, set “carbon-neutral” targets, or purchase carbon credits to offset footprints.

The design of public bathrooms and changing facilities has historically catered to a generalized notion of user needs, often oversimplifying the complexities of gender-specific requirements and falling short of supporting the unique needs of women. These needs extend beyond biological differences—such as the necessity for more stall privacy and differences in height and body posture—to include cultural factors that influence restroom use and expectations over time.

For centuries, burial practices across various cultures have connected honoring the deceased to the earth, with cemeteries firmly grounded in the soil as a symbol of eternal peace. Yet, as discussed in one of our articles, No More Room for the Living or the Dead: Exploring the Future for Burials in Asia, land shortages in densely developed urban areas present significant challenges to traditional burial practices, especially as societies like Japan face an aging population. Given these spatial constraints, how can above-ground cemeteries and columbariums be designed to provide a dignified, tranquil resting place while respecting cultural values?

Our contemporary society has been witnessing a surge in skyscraper construction in urban centers worldwide for various reasons—including engineering advancements, increased urban density, space constraints, and, arguably, a competitive drive for building the tallest structures. The allure of all-glass facades and the pursuit of curtain walls with larger panes of continuous glass have often come at the cost of functionality.

Coffee culture continues to thrive in the contemporary world, with a noticeable shift from the dominance of chains & franchise stores to a growing market for prosumer coffee. As more and more coffee consumers become prosumers, individuals who both produce and consume, they are turning coffee-making into a hobby, even a ritual, and are expecting coffee shops to keep up. Consumers are becoming more knowledgeable, paying close attention to the source and type of beans, brewing methods, and equipment. They also appreciate the design of coffee machinery, not just for its functionality but for its aesthetics, efficiency, and space management. This surge in interest, especially in Asia, has led to changes in coffee shops’ operations. Many individual coffee shops, responding to the rise in consumer spending power and interests, are motivated to focus on creating unique, immersive experiences for an ever-growing marketable audience.