Children's Treatment Centre, Hokkaido, Japan
Architect: Sou Fujimoto Architects, Tokyo

Of the many Japanese entries in this year's awards, this treatment centre for disturbed children by Sou Fujimoto won unanimous praise from the judges for its combination of simplicity and sympathy. How, given the unhappy circumstances of those being treated, should architecture respond to combat worries, stresses and strains which have produced a need for the building in the first place?

Fujimoto’s answer is to create a multiplicity of 'centres' in the series of apparently random, but in reality carefully planned, arrangements of the individual buildings. In their 'external' relationship to each other, there is no obvious centre to the complex, no hierarchy of buildings or spaces. Internally, the provision of alcove and other semi-private areas allows the residents to occupy their own centre stage, or to use the common space as a centre. This strategy addresses two common conditions in disturbed young people: on the one hand a feeling of powerlessness and indeed sometimes paranoia, and on the other hand a desire to be able to assert their independent personality.

The architect regards the interiors as providing something akin to the free interpretation of space by primitive man, capable of being used for hiding or enjoyment, separation or connection. The sense of useful ambiguity applies to the overall planning concept: is the centre a large home or a small city? Is it about the intimacy of the single building or the variety of the larger whole? For the residents, who spend time living in the centre, it is what they want or need it to be. What they find is large-volume spaces filled with filtered natural light, but plenty of opportunity for private contemplation.

Precision about the disposition of uses, and indeed the disposition of the various blocks, each with its mix of uses, results in the translation of an artificial design process into an apparently organic sprinkling of buildings across the site. This merging of the intentional and the precise into a centre which is, in the architect’s words, 'vague, unpredictable and filled with unlikelihood', is a strong intuitive response to the needs of the children. PAUL FINCH

Pedestrian Bridge, Lake Austin, Texas, USA
Architect: Miró Rivera Architects, Austin, Structural engineer: Chuck Naive, Photographs: Paul Finkel

The extraordinary simplicity of this bridge earmarked it for further consideration from the beginning of the judging process; in the event the design went all the way to become one of this year's winners. It would have been hard to predict, from images alone, that the location of the project is in Texas, generally thought of as a hot, dry and taciturn sort of place. But here we are given a delightful, contextual and curiously natural structure.

The bridge looks enjoyably risky to use, and is in fact not for public consumption – it links the main house on the estate to a guest house, across the lake. The 100ft arch structure has a main span of 80ft, achieved through the 'nesting' of five 5 inch diameter pipes that diverge from the spring point of the main span and the abutments.
The pipes support half-inch diameter bars which act as both decking and guard-rail; their irregular length and spacing are intended to respond to the reeds on the site.
The handrail comprises a rope secured with steel wire rings to a horizontal tube welded to the vertical bars, while the abutments are made from local stone slabs, layered vertically to create ramped access; deep raked joints recreate the rhythm of the deck and railings. The bars and reeds intertwine at the abutments, making it appear that structure and nature are merging into one. This is a light-maintenance bridge, whose man-made elements have been translated by architecture into something as beautiful as it is unexpected. P.F.

Handmade School, Rudrapur, Bangladesh
Architect: Anna Heringer, Eike Roswag and Berlin, Photographs: Kurt Hörbst

All too often, aspirations towards modernity in developing countries have malign economic and cultural effects where construction is concerned. Traditional materials and techniques are abandoned in favour of the import of expensive and sometimes energy-inefficient materials and products, benefiting only manufacturers in more advanced economies. The outcome can at worst be the imposition of alien buildings, forms and materials which don’t last long and are difficult to maintain. Their only merit is to look new for a time. By contrast, this joyful project, in a poor rural area of Bangladesh (said to be the world’s most densely populated country), shows that new and refreshing local identity can be achieved by exploiting the immediate and the readily available – ironically via architects from Europe.

This school is built using brick, loam, straw, bamboo and rope, plus some steel pins. Refining the local technique of using very wet loam to build walls, the school has a brick foundation, a damp proof course, and walls made of a mixture of loam and straw, the latter acting as a form of reinforcement. The loam and straw are combined by getting cows and water buffalo to tread them in. The 'Wellerbau' technique employed here involves building a 700mm high wall layer, leaving it to dry for two days, and trimming off with a spade. A further drying period is followed by the addition of the next layer.


The ceiling and first floor are constructed using bamboo as the chief material. Three layers of bamboo sticks, bamboo boards and an earth filling make the surface of the floor. The upper walls and roof comprise a frame construction using four layers of joined bamboo sticks, and vertical and diagonal poles; steel pins are fixed with nylon lashing from the junction of the sticks (a modified form of traditional local lashing was used).

The inventive architecture, allied to traditional materials, has attracted thousands of visitors to the building, which is clement, spacious and colourful. The architects sums it up thus: 'Comfort, durability and style as teaser – sustainability as concept'. It is the only two-storey building in the neighbourhood, and the architects hope that the principles that inform the school design may be replicated in relation to housing development, escaping the apparent tyranny of the earth hut. The judges felt this project more than lived up to its aims and ambitions, and that the thorough analysis which underlies the design has been matched by the quality of architecture achieved. PAUL FINCH

Concrete Pod Micro Space Furniture, Nagoya, Japan
Architect: Kazuya Morita Architecture Studio, Kyoto, Photographs: Ichiro Sugioka

Concrete technology takes another small and surprising leap, even by exacting Japanese standards, in this delicately perforated pod-for-all-occasions designed by Kazuya Morita. The secret of this remarkable little structure lies in its material and construction. The concrete is fibre-reinforced, a combination of white cement, lightweight aggregate and glass fibre. This mixture was meticulously hand trowelled onto a carved styrofoam mould by skilled plasterers (the traditional Japanese plasterer's art is known as sakan). The perforations were created by attaching styrofoam rings to the dome-shaped master mould. When the concrete hardened, the mould was dismantled and removed.

The result is a structure of immense beauty and simplicity. The concrete skin is a mere 15mm thick, with a height and diameter of 1.7m; proportions comparable to those of a hen's eggshell, according to the architect. Yet this concrete eggshell is also immensely strong and can easily bear the weight of a person. Placed on a raft of tatami mats, the pod becomes a tranquil enclave for contemplation or play.
In a forest setting with the sun dappling through the holes, it has a quietly lyrical intensity that seduced the jury, who were also impressed by the ingenuity involved in its making. C. S.

House, Tokyo, Japan

Despite its distance from the city, Mount Fuji dominates Tokyo's horizon, both in the mind's-eye of its inhabitants and with its physical presence when visible on a clear day. Fittingly, when designing this modest house on a typically cramped Tokyo site, the architect chose to create Fuji in microcosm: an unreachable subject of contemplation. As such this house focuses on a white hill that cuts deep into the centre of the plan: a shapely mass that can be sensed in all the rooms, but neverreached.

This urban house is surrounded by tall buildings on three sides. To the east it faces a narrow street. The question of how to bring light inside while shutting out views inspired the architect to develop an abstract scenery within an enclosed manmade environment.

Around the perimeter, high concrete walls block views from neighbours. Within this a crater-like courtyard has been excavated, bound to the east by a large white inclined roof: an unblemished surface stretching to the eastern sky from eye level, reflecting light into adjacent spaces.

In plan the crater creates a triangular void that increases in size and eccentricity as it rises against the slanted perimeter walls. On the first floor, the living room occupies the space within the hill, rising 6.8 metres in height and extending from a dining space visible across the courtyard. On the upper levels, two bedrooms overlook the hill's west face.

Moving through the spaces, the hill becomes the principal point of orientation as part of a unique foreground scenery, the effect of which diminishes the impact of any glimpses to apparently distant neighbouring buildings when seen against the building's crooked horizon. Remarkably this spacious home is only 78sqm. R. G.

Mafoombey Acoustic Space, Helsinki, Finland
Architect: Martti Kalliala and Esa Ruskeepää with Martin Lukasczyk, Helsinki, Photographs: Timo Wright & Jukka Uotila,

Ikea pack furniture in it. Gehry has made furniture from it. Now architects are shaping spaces with it. Is there any limit to the creative re-use of corrugated cardboard? With its unique physical consistency, its decidedly axial strength, and its deadening acoustic absorption, corrugated cardboard has many inherent qualities. As such it was the perfect material for this particular sound installation: Mafoombey.Made from 720 half square sheets of 7mm thick corrugated cardboard, stacked in 360 layers, this cavernous sound space is set within a 2.5m cube. As a space for listening to and experiencing music, the initial concept for the design developed from the architect’s ambition to create a strong spatial intensity and a distinct With an irregular free-form interior set within a regular cubic volume, the object has a profound duality. Made from one material it also has an implied solidity that strengthens the architect’s distinction between inside and out – a distinction that is heightened when the full acoustic ambience is experienced from within.Cutting the cardboard took three working days, and assembly just one. The structure sits under its own dead weight, without any fixings or glue. And, for those of a technical persuasion, a simple calculation reveals that the combined compression of the 360 layers of cardboard is 20mm over the 2.5m height, or an average of 500ths of a millimetre per sheet. All services are integrated within the stack, including cable runs and apertures for the six-speaker surround sound system. R. G.

Restoration of Pont Trencat, Sant Celoni & Santa Maria de Palautodera, Spain Architect: Xavier Font, Sant Vicent de Montalt, Photographs: Courtesy of the architect

On 23 February 1811, in a desperate attempt to stop Napoleon's invading army, General Josep Obispo ordered the destruction of the Pont Trencat, a double arched stone bridge spanning the River Tordera just east of Barcelona. Since that time, the Pont Trencat (literally the 'Broken Bridge') remained a poignant ruin, made redundant by the construction of a new bridge further down the river in 1866. In the mid 1990s, locals from the surrounding villages began mustering support and funds to restore the Pont Trencat and finally, a decade later, their efforts have paid off.

The bridge has come back spectacularly to life to a design by Catalan architect Xavier Font. Archaeological research dated the structure from the mid fifteenth century, but rather than simply mimic the original stone construction, the destroyed arch is replaced by a supple curve of Cor-ten steel, thus making absolutely explicit the distinction between old and new. Spanning 24m, the arch supports a box girder with timber decking. The arch was prefabricated in two pieces, the deck in three, and the new structure welded together in situ. For visual continuity, the steel balustrade is extended along the top of the existing stone arch. Underfoot, fragments of the original paving are revealed through steel grids set in the timber deck. The jury warmed to the project's boldness, and the way in which the present engages in a vigorous and stimulating dialogue with the past. C. S.

Dalaman International Airport, Mugla, Turkey
Architect: Emre Arolat Architects, Istanbul, Photographs: Ali Bekman

The general disagreeability of airports is well known to the point of cliché, so it was heartening to reflect on this attempt by Emre Arolat and his partner Gonca Çirakoglu to uplift and civilise a fundamentally dreary building type. The jury also acknowledged and applauded the project's scale, compared with the (albeit seductive) array of houses and follies that tend to predominate in the early stages of most architectural careers.

Set on Turkey's south-west Mediterranean coast, Dalaman is an important hub for a growing number of tourists who flock to enjoy the region’s sybaritic delights. This new international terminal replaces an existing building that had failed to keep pace with increasing passenger volumes. Capable of handling  five million passengers per year (the vast majority during summer), the new terminal is the third largest in Turkey, servicing daily domestic flights from Istanbul as well as chartered and scheduled international traffic.
To dispel that deadening sense of airport anomie, the architects introduce light and views at every opportunity. The new terminal is a crisp, undemonstrative Miesian box, its glazed walls shaded from the more extreme effects of the Turkish sun by an equally Miesian roof canopy that seems to hover lightly over the glass volume. The 'detached' roof arrangement also encourages airflow through the building. The canopy extends on the landside to form a monumental porte-cochère for receiving departing passengers.an organisational sequence familiar to many modern airports (Barajas, Kansai), departures are at upper level, with arrivals and baggage below, but here, in a much smaller building, circulation is more compact, thus minimising the trudge to departure gates.

Once through the formalities of check-in and security, departing passengers head through to a boarding gate zone running along the north edge of the building. In between is a small canyon of consumerism for whiling away the waiting hours. Though most flights dock at boarding piers, there is a lounge at tarmac level for those being bussed to and from their planes. Arriving passengers follow the same sequence in reverse, one level below.
Compared with the flashiness and dislocation of most airport interiors, Dalaman is a model of restraint. Changes of level and a subtly orchestrated play of natural light give a sense of orientation. Materials speak for themselves – concrete columns, clear glass screens, dark timber floors and wall panels – and detailing has a thoughtful refinement. Check-in counters are adorned by a soothing mural of rippling cornfields and the airport’s backroom staff enjoy a private courtyard garden on the building’s east side.
The ongoing security paranoia has whittled away any last vestiges of gloss from modern air travel, but Dalaman is a dignified attempt to make amends. The true test, however, will come in high summer when it is besieged by mobs of hot, fractious tourists, but hopefully the architecture will be robust enough to cope. C. S.

House,Tsukuba, Ibaraki, Japan
Architect: Loco Architects, Tokyo

The principles of rammed earth construction, perhaps the oldest form of building, are reinterpreted in this intriguing project for an experimental house. Tokyo based Loco Architects won a national Japanese competition for a concept house which aims to impinge as little as possible on the environment. When the house becomes redundant, its rammed earth walls can simply be demolished and returned to the ground.
The material to construct the house is generated by site excavation and preparation. A series of tightly packed earth walls define and enclose a loose arrangement of interconnected spaces. The tapering profiles of the walls form a new topography, as if the land has been cut and fashioned by forces of nature. In reality, an array of rollers, rammers and concrete mixers were used to make and shape the walls. Raw steel sheets, more commonly used for providing grip for trucks on construction sites, were employed as a roofing material.
The outcome is delightfully primitive, like an archaeological excavation revealing ancient burial mounds, and it would take some effort for it to be properly habitable. But in some ways, that is not the point. Japan’s stringent Building Code currently prohibits the use of rammed earth as construction material, so this eye-catching prototype is intended to demonstrate its evident potential.

House, Hokkaido, Japan
Architect: Sou Fujimoto Architects, Tokyo

Once again, Sou Fujimoto has succeeded where so many other architects fail; namely in carrying off apparently simple solutions with unswerving directness, commitment and exquisite mastery. His responses are almost elementary. Working with basic building blocks – cubic forms, pitched roofs, vertical walls and orthogonal apertures – he produces compositions and spatial sequences that have a remarkable and surprising sculptural range, and this pair of conjoined houses is no exception.

Each house has two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen/dining/living room. Arranged as a linear sequence, the houses occupy a seven pitch volume which, when seen from a distance, appears to form a terrace of seven small sheds. Internally, however, the spatial division does not follow the order of the roof, but instead relates to the spatial requirements of each of the 10 main rooms. As a result, with the pitches fully exposed, single, double and even triple pitch spaces are produced, and occasionally walls do not even coincide with ridge or valley, but break the module to interrupt the ceiling's pitch.  The cumulative effect of the rising and falling section gives each space its own unique scale and proportion, with an eccentricity that is at its most exaggerated in the relatively low valleys hanging independently in the middle of a room.

Within such a strong formal setting the architect has wisely reduced the palette of materials and the articulation of the detail to the barest minimum, with timber floors and seamless featureless white walls throughout. Externally eaves and verges have been clipped and the timber skin is simply whitewashed. The planning not only produces a delightful sequence of space, and creates a unique figure in the landscape, but it also exhibits an efficiency that is typical of the best of Japanese architecture. When taken as a whole, this four bedroom, two reception room development has a total floor area of just 102sqm. R. G.