Architects are embracing a new kind of theatrical modesty: pavilions whose forms are less about monumentality and more about mimicry — of shells, fungi, umbrellas and the subtle geometries of coral. These small, often temporary buildings are proving fertile ground for experimental materials, local craft and environmental gestures, and they are increasingly programmed to do more than delight: to teach, to shelter, to amplify sound and to frame views. According to recent project write-ups and exhibition briefs, the impulse to translate natural morphologies into public architecture is as much about tactile experience and community use as it is about spectacle. (Sources: Dezeen, Kew.)

MAD’s mammoth reinterpretation of the Chinese oil-paper umbrella at the Venice Architecture Biennale is a good example of that blend of craft and contemporary fabrication. The studio describes the draped Xuan‑paper canopy as “a pavilion of shadow and glow”; the paper has been repeatedly coated in tung oil so that it resists moisture while retaining a soft translucency when internally lit. According to the project brief, the pavilion integrates responsive lighting and microclimate strategies and is sited in the China Pavilion’s garden to offer sheltered, reflective spaces along the Biennale promenade. (Sources: Dezeen, MAD project page.)

In rural Zhejiang, HCCH Studio’s compact Twisted Brick Shell library translates local red‑brick traditions into a double‑curved reading room conceived as a “spiritual shelter.” The practice outlines a construction method that combines poured brickwork set into perforated steel plates with high‑strength in‑situ concrete to achieve its twisting geometry; an oculus and small apertures admit controlled daylight, and twenty‑four acrylic domes display texts and images to connect the interior reading experience with the surrounding landscape. The result reads as a contemporary rural folly that deliberately marries digital fabrication and local craft. (Sources: Dezeen, HCCH Studio.)

Timber appears repeatedly as both structure and message. The Armadillo, unveiled during the 2024 London Festival of Architecture, was built from 42 prefabricated cross‑laminated eucalyptus panels arranged into six stepped arches; the project was described by its makers as a disassemblable, reusable stage that also functions as an acoustic chamber. Industry coverage highlights the use of eucalyptus CLT for its improved durability and water resistance compared with conventional softwood panels and notes the pavilion’s emphasis on circular‑design principles and festival legacy planning. (Sources: Dezeen, Archello.)

Not all projects rely on timber or masonry. Marc Fornes’s Nomad pavilion — commissioned for Louis Vuitton’s Objets Nomades programme — works as a computation‑driven object whose bulbous, coral‑like skin is formed from hundreds of perforated anodised aluminium panels. Reports differ on the precise panel count: one roundup describes the shell as composed of more than 16,000 sheets, while earlier coverage of the Milan installation records a figure of about 1,600 uniquely shaped panels. Both accounts, however, underline the pavilion’s delicate patterning and the way perforation and thin metal panels dissolve mass into light and shadow. (Sources: Dezeen, Designboom.)

At Kew Gardens, the new Carbon Garden uses pavilion design to stage a climate message. Mizzi Studio’s fungi‑inspired pavilion — a fruiting‑body form set within the planting scheme — is built from low‑carbon materials including glued‑laminated timber and a flax fibre composite canopy, and it incorporates rainwater capture to irrigate a surrounding rain garden. Kew presents the scheme as an accessible, educational landscape intended to communicate carbon science and nature‑based solutions to school groups and the public. (Sources: Dezeen, Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew.)

Elsewhere in China, DoDesign’s Drifting Stones project takes a quieter, site‑specific tack: a stepped sequence of stone‑like slabs and a mirrored pavilion nestle into a Chongqing valley to create panoramic routes and a concealed glass‑walled viewing room. The practice describes the work as combining steel frames coated with cement mixed with local stone powder and hand‑chiselling by local artisans so that the interventions read as worked geology; reflective surfaces dissolve edges and foreground the surrounding topography. (Sources: Dezeen, DoDesign.)

Taken together, these projects illustrate a few recurring preoccupations. Designers are privileging material honesty and tactility — from hand‑chiselled cement and tung‑oiled Xuan paper to flax composites — and pairing that tactility with computational techniques that make complex, double‑curved geometry buildable. Many of the interventions are explicitly commissioned to teach or to leave legacies: amplifying sound for performances, serving as community reading rooms, or acting as educational nodes about biodiversity and carbon. As Piers Taylor put it when discussing a Gloucestershire woodworking shelter, the supporting oak framework produces “a roof structure that had some of the delicacy of a tree,” a remark that underlines how these projects aim to blur the boundary between the engineered and the organic while remaining rooted in craft. (Sources: Dezeen, Archello, Kew.)

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Source: Noah Wire Services