When we talk about the future intelligence of architecture, much of the historical effort has centered on pushing boundaries—challenging norms, exploring alternatives, and projecting bold visions of what architecture could become. The advent of modernism exemplified this approach: radical new materials and construction methods gave rise to a vastly reimagined architectural future. This momentum continues today, with research institutions and leading practices constantly exploring innovative techniques, materials, and systems of making.
Yet one method of imagining architectural futures often remains overlooked: the act of critically revisiting the past. Learning from, uncovering, and documenting lesser-known spatial and communal practices is just as essential. These quieter forms of knowledge—how spaces have been used, adapted, and inhabited—can reveal enduring insights that shape more grounded, culturally resonant futures. Rather than chasing novelty for novelty's sake, perhaps an equally meaningful path lies in building a cohesive architectural archive that bridges the past and future.
In this short Q&A, we speak with the curators of the Hong Kong exhibition at the 2025 Venice Biennale Architettura—Fai Au, Associate Professor of Practice at the University of Hong Kong and Founder of O Studio Architects; Ying Zhou, Associate Professor at the University of Hong Kong, Chair of DOCOMOMO Hong Kong, and editor of Architectural Histories; and Sunnie S.Y. Lau, Adjunct Associate Professor at HKU and CUHK, and Founder of SOS Architecture Urban Design Studio. Titled Projecting Future Heritage: A Hong Kong Archive, the exhibition prompts us to consider what it means to archive architecture—not merely as a record of buildings, but as a living body of knowledge, memory, and intelligence. The conversation explores how architectural archiving differs from traditional archival practices, how built structures are translated into visual and spatial forms, and how intangible dimensions—craftsmanship, community life, and collective memory—can be preserved and projected into the future.
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ArchDaily (Jonathan Yeung): How do you define archiving in the context of architecture? And, In what ways is archiving architecture distinct from traditional archival practices?
Fai Au: Archiving architecture goes beyond preserving physical structures—it involves capturing both the tangible and intangible aspects of a building. From one perspective, you may argue that archiving architecture involves the on-site preservation of the building itself, where the structure remains in its original context, serving as a material archive of form, facade, and construction.
However, this approach alone often cannot convey the full story of what once happened within and around the space. That's where a second, arguably more critical type of archival work comes in: documenting the life of the building through events, stories, construction processes, and public interactions. These elements can't be retained even within the original structure itself, especially if it's altered or demolished. Instead, they live on through drawings, models, films, interviews, and other media. This form of archiving aims to capture the "flesh and blood" of architecture—not just its representation, but the vibrancy, temporality, and human activity that give it meaning. In our projects like the archiving of Municipal Services Buildings of Hong Kong, our documentation goes beyond formal analysis to reflect what was once a thriving building life, even if the physical space is now somewhat abandoned. Through this lens, the archive becomes an essential dimension of spatial histories.
Ying Zhou: Archiving architecture is fundamentally different from archiving art—you can't preserve a building one-to-one. It's always about representation: the design process, the underlying concepts, and the narratives embedded in scale and context. Because architecture operates on such large and complex scales, what we archive are fragments, ideas, and traces—not the object itself.
The notion of what constitutes an "archive" also varies depending on context. In regions shaped by colonial histories—such as parts of Asia, Africa, and South America—archival practices often carry implicit biases rooted in relationship with empires. While the response differs across geographies, in many places, especially in Africa and South America, there's a growing critique of how colonial frameworks have shaped the way we remember and record. In Hong Kong, the conversation shifts toward rapid cycles of demolition and redevelopment. Here, archiving becomes a race against disappearance—a way to capture what existed before it vanishes again. Compared to art or other disciplines, architecture has historically been slower to build robust archival practices. But in a city where transformation is constant, even the act of documentation can be a radical gesture.
Sunnie S.Y. Lau: I would argue that architecture inherently resists conventional archival practices—unless it was conceived from the outset as a static artifact, like a mausoleum or monument. At its core, architecture is not an inert object to be preserved, but a dynamic medium shaped by inhabitation. Its value lies in its ability to evolve—to accumulate layers of meaning through use, adaptation, and even decay. The desire to freeze a building in its "original" state often runs counter to its nature. When we embalm architecture as a museum piece, we risk erasing its temporal dimension—the very quality that distinguishes it from sculpture. The patina of wear on a stair rail, the weathering of materials, or the ad hoc modifications made by occupants are not flaws to be corrected, but tangible evidence of life unfolding within the built form.
A more meaningful form of architectural memory might focus on documenting transformation: treating buildings not as fixed entities but as palimpsests. Through drawings, photographs, and oral histories, we can capture a building's successive reimaginings, honouring both its original design and the lived experiences that reshape it over time. After all, a building isn't finished when it's built—it's just beginning.
AD: What are some of the challenges you've encountered in archiving architecture — particularly in cities with layered, complex histories? And, the process of archiving often involves translation—from physical structures to visual or textual representations. What is gained and what is lost in this process?
FA: Buildings are constantly evolving—shaped by events, users, and shifting contexts that alter their form and function over time. No archive can fully capture the complexity of this transformation, but that shouldn't stop us from trying. Through interviews, videos, scholarly analysis, and other media, we can piece together fragments that speak to a building's lived experience. The aim isn't to create a singular narrative, but to embrace multiplicity. I would even argue that the more contested the perspectives, the richer the archive becomes. Contradictions aren't flaws—they reflect the layered realities architecture inhabits. For those documenting, the goal is not resolution, but equitable representation.
In cases where buildings no longer exist—demolished, transformed, or erased—archiving becomes especially urgent. Preserving original images and drawings is vital, but equally important are the stories of those who inhabited the space. Even when the physical structure is gone, recording what happened within its walls helps complete the picture. It's a process of loss and recovery. In the case of Municipal Services Buildings of Hong Kong, which still stands, the archive takes on a different role: not only to preserve the past, but to highlight what is at risk of vanishing. Here, archiving becomes advocacy—bringing attention to endangered typologies and invisible shifts in the urban fabric.
SL: Globalization and the cross-hybridization of architectural identity since the postwar era have created a challenging—yet deeply compelling—moment for cities everywhere. The globalized city resists singular narratives. In places like Hong Kong, where colonial legacies, vernacular traditions, and hypermodernity intersect, architecture becomes a layered site of reinterpretation—each addition adapting, overwriting, or erasing what came before. This fluidity presents fundamental archival challenges: how do we document a built environment that is in constant dialogue with its own history?
In such contexts, architectural historiography cannot be separated from origin or transformation. It requires a critical re-reading of how conflicting elements converge into an identity that is both emergent and historically rooted. Hong Kong's architecture is a living negotiation—neither wholly global nor purely local, but a continual reworking of both. The task of the archive is not to impose order, but to reflect this complexity without flattening it. That's precisely what makes Hong Kong such a fascinating city to study and document.
AD: How should an architectural archive be organized? What kinds of systems or logics make the most sense, especially when considering various mediums of archiving artifacts?
YZ: Traditional library systems follow established conventions—but as we begin to archive intangibles like videos, 3D scans, and digital models, there's a growing need to rethink how we organize and preserve architectural knowledge. One of our HKU colleagues is working on a prototype for a new kind of digital architectural archive to address this gap.
In Hong Kong, the challenge is especially acute. We rarely keep even the physical models of buildings—there simply isn't enough space. Even prominent architectural firms did not retain their archives, as we find out through this effort reaching out to different offices. While there's a growing awareness of the need to preserve architectural work, the infrastructure hasn't caught up. Compared to places elsewhere with more awareness, where archival practices are far more developed, Hong Kong still lags behind. The consciousness is emerging—but we have a long way to go.
SL: No creative narrative should be constrained by a rigid organizational system. Especially when the built form no longer exists, its archival traces become vessels of architectural consciousness. In this sense, an architectural archive must go beyond documentation—it must act as a curated visual manifesto, where drawings, photographs, and models are reassembled into an immersive, affective experience.
Much of architecture exists only in fragments—sketches, models, speculative proposals—so the archive must itself become an evocative reconstruction, one that speaks in a universal visual language while preserving layered, sometimes contradictory, histories. At times, even fiction plays a role—expanding the archive's capacity to imagine what was, what is, and what could have been.
AD: How do you approach the challenge of recording intangible aspects—such as craftsmanship, use, or collective memory?
FA: It's difficult—perhaps impossible—to fully translate the story of every building or exhibition into a fixed archival format. But at the very least, we can ask: how might we reveal the making, the process, the energy behind the work? Rather than presenting only static images, drawings, or models, we hope to give audiences a sense of the dynamism at the heart of the project. That's why in our exhibition in Venice, we're including construction tours, forums, and participatory moments—why we're bringing 10+ local craftsman and workers to Venice. These moments of engagement should be considered part of the archive, too.
Archiving should not be limited to a single event or frozen moment in time. The more urgent question is: can the archival exhibition become part of everyday life? At Venice, might the archive be reconstructed not just through displays, but through the experience of the space itself—its interior, its courtyard, and the proposed bamboo structure—evolving into a communal gathering place, something to be lived in rather than merely observed? Visitors may not arrive seeking information, but simply by inhabiting the space, they may begin to reconsider what archiving can mean. That, too, becomes part of the exhibition. No archive can capture every intangible detail—but it can create the conditions for meaning to emerge.
YZ: As architects, we operate as both designers and record-keepers—capturing not only the physical built environment but also the intangible qualities embedded in space, use, and memory. Architecture can never be archived one-to-one. Instead, we rely on representational tools—drawings, models, videos—to convey its essence. These mediums become proxies, translating spatial experience and social context into a form that can be studied, remembered, and reinterpreted.
We also turn to interviews and oral histories to document lived experience. When video isn't possible, we rely on transcripts or written accounts. But no matter the medium, the act of archiving is always an act of selection. What gets recorded—and what gets left out—inevitably reflects a curatorial judgment. Unlike a physical object that can be archived in its entirety, a building must be distilled through layers of interpretation and representation.
Traditionally, archives have been text-based—written records preserved by institutions. Today, we're expanding the definition to include materials, scans, sounds, and spatial experiences. There's a parallel here with archaeology: we dig through ruins not just to uncover artifacts, but to piece together how people lived, what they valued, and how civilizations expressed themselves through form and material. Architecture, like archaeology, reflects its time and culture through form and material, even in the absence of words.
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