Architecture as a way of life and place making

Rafiq Azam lecture


When: 5:30 PM – 8:00 PM MONDAY, JULY 28

Where: At The Center

Rafiq Azam is the principal of SHATOTTO architecture for green living, based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. He will introduce us to his work and city, which is also home to works by Louis Kahn. Azam’s “green” is not about global ratings or the current sustainability trend. It is his response to the sky, water, and vegetation that surround him and his city. There is an apparent simplicity in Azam’s work that disguises and belies a complex fabric revealing the wonders of the cosmos. “Shatotto” in Bangla means “doing something continuously.” Azam creates spaces and structures for one’s senses and thoughts in the context of South Asia’s past and future. His presentation will coincide with the New York introduction of his monograph by SKIRA, the first ever published about a Bangladeshi architect.

Reception: 5:30 – 6:00 PM
Lecture: 6:00 – 8:00 PM

Opening Remarks
Lance Brown, FAIA, 2014 AIANY President

Umberto Dindo, FAIA, Committee Chair, Architecture for Education

Rafiq Azam, Principal SHATOTTO-architecture for green living, Dhaka, Bangladesh
Rosa Maria Falvo, International commissions editor for SKIRA

Closing Remarks

Price: Free for AIA and Asia Society members, and for students; $10 for non-members
Register Here

Sponsored by: AIANY Committee on Architecture for Education

Supported by: Asia Society New York

Life in Dhaka, Bangladesh

It’s messy but it’s home

Posted by: Alex Gallafent TED Blog

The view to the tony residential neighborhood, Gulshan, photographed from the Korail slum. Photo: Mohammad Tauheed. See also Tauheed’s gallery of photos of Dhaka.You could, on first glance, see Dhaka as a fast and loose place, the kind of city that draws people in, churns them around and spits them out after a few tough years. Many in Dhaka face circumstances similar to those in other South Asian cities: poverty, limited education, exploitation. Dhaka itself sits at or near the bottom of rankings of the world’s cities — not a happy picture. Perhaps you read about Dhaka recently because of the political unrest roiling Bangladesh now (the latest national strike was called on November 26, and the capital city often bears the brunt of any political unrest). Or perhaps it was because of the collapse of a garment factory on the outskirts of the city in April 2013, which killed more than 1,000 people, a disaster that shone light on political and civic failings in the city.Yet that headline-driven sketch of the Bangladeshi capital is, of course, incomplete. For a more nuanced picture, you need to talk with someone like the architect, university lecturer and photographer Nurur Rahman Khan, a born and bred “Dhakaite.” As far as he’s concerned, the city may have issues, but the title is an honor.

Sure, as a child, he spent a couple of years living in Liverpool, England, while his father worked towards a Ph.D. But the strength of his feelings toward Dhaka have kept him there for almost his entire life. “It’s what Dhaka does to you: the city is powerful enough to make you want to be a part of it,” he says. Khan’s Dhaka is steeped in culture and history, rooted in the central district of Ramna. In March 1971, when Khan was 6 years old, Ramna was the scene of a famous speech by nationalist leader Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. Proclaiming that “our struggle is for our freedom,” Rahman’s speech inspired many in the war with Pakistan that began not long after — a war that resulted in an independent Bangladesh.

A typical street in the Mohakhali area of Dhaka. Photo: Mohammad Tauheed. See also Tauheed’s gallery of photos of Dhaka.

Ramna is also where you’ll find some of the country’s leading academic institutions, including the University of Dhaka and Bangla Academy. Khan’s father was a professor at the university; the family lived in academic housing for almost forty years. His mother taught at a women’s college in the neighborhood. And Khan’s own academic career in architecture took flight in Ramna — the way Khan describes it, his entire immediate family is connected to the area and its academies. (Not his 12-year-old son, though. Not yet.)

Discussing, thinking, debating — these are the social habits that Ramna prompts, says Khan. Instead of going to pubs or nightclubs, Khan and his friends will share tea in homes and cafés late into the night, chewing on the issues of the day. It’s a form of socializing known as addaand, he says, ”you can get hooked on this drug in no time.” Adda is spontaneous and can happen at any time and in any place. Even now, Khan marvels at the flow of such conversations, which range “over many topics and moods, from light to serious, covering daily affairs, friends, events, the past, politics, religion, art, music, nostalgia, common interests, work and study.” It is, he says, “never only about one thing or in one mood.”

Dhaka and Bangladesh are dealing with some serious, intractable issues. Political inertia, deep social inequality and crumbling infrastructure aren’t solved by drinking tea. Yet adda is a central part of city life. In general, says Khan, Dhakaites don’t tend to seek out time alone. “People don’t see a need for personal time,” he adds. Maybe that’s another reason the city’s parks have become dilapidated in recent years: “People just don’t crave peace and quiet.”

See a gallery of photographs of Dhaka, shot by Mohammad Tauheed »

That’s lucky, because there are certainly plenty of distractions. Dhakaites are “big foodies,” Khan says. The smells give the game away: on any corner, “you know that you’re approaching a kebab shop, or a dalpuri shop, or a snack shop or a cha place.” A whiff of all that and Khan knows he’s home. One dish he says visitors can’t avoid (and shouldn’t attempt to) is kacchi biryani. It’s lamb and rice cooked together, an aromatic feast that was a favorite of the Nabobs of Dhaka, Khan says. “They formulated the food taste of the city — the sweet dishes, kebabs, biriyanis, the fine dining. Those tastes used to belong to the rich and elite, but they filtered down to all classes of society. Now a wedding is not complete without a kacchi biriyani.”

In other areas of life, though, Khan sees Dhaka losing its traditions. In the affluent district of Gulshan on the north side of the city, he observes a city rushing to be like its cosmopolitan global counterparts, with its own version of sleek malls, glitzy fusion restaurants and fancy galleries. “Most people there don’t want to get around without their cars,” he says. Further south, in Ramna and elsewhere, more traditional Dhakaites resist such “progress” by “making fun of the nouveau riche. The old people of Dhaka look at them and say, ‘oh come on… who are they trying to show off to?’”

The astonishing Jatiyo Sangshad Bhaban, Bangladesh’s National Assembly Building, designed by American architect Louis I. Kahn. Photo: Mohammad Tauheed. See also Tauheed’s gallery of photos of Dhaka.

The changes have deepened Khan’s appreciation for the city’s history, an interest that frames his professional work. His architectural firm has designed offices, homes and diplomatic projects, including a renovation of the American embassy in Dhaka. His architectural research takes place in the capital too, a city that marries 500-year-old architecture alongside colonial styles and modern designs. Those include Dhaka’s modernist jewel, the marble-and-concrete Jatiyo Sangshad Bhaban (National Assembly Building), northwest of Ramna. It was the last — and arguably greatest — work by the American architect Louis I. Kahn, a hero to his Bangladeshi near-namesake. (Khan has lectured on Kahn around the world.) Opened in 1982, the Jatiyo Sangshad Bhaban is extraordinary, a colossal floating palace that seems to have equal heft and weightlessness. The building is a powerful statement of democracy and national pride, a sad contrast with the collapsed garment factory on the outskirts of town.

Khan himself no longer lives in Ramna. Along with his father, his wife and his son, he now resides in Dhanmondi, an “upper middle class” residential area fifteen minutes west by car. Khan owns an apartment in a building built for civil servants — one of the first pieces of organized housing outside Ramna. “It’s a great area. People are on their feet or on rickshaws doing their shopping.” When Khan works at his practice, in another part of Dhanmondi, he generally travels by rickshaw, a half-hour journey on a good day.

See a gallery of photographs of Dhaka, shot by Mohammad Tauheed »

Other journeys require a car, such as his undergraduate teaching commitments at BRAC University, east of the Jatiyo Sangshad Bhaban, and North South University, an hour and a half away to the north. Unlike many car owners in Dhaka, Khan says he usually drives himself around town. “We are the only megacity in the world without a good mass-transit system,” he says. Plans to build a subway for Dhaka’s 14 million residents have remained on the drawing board for decades, even as the population has continued to grow. Just as it was in the 1970s, rickshaws and buses remain Dhaka’s principal options for public transportation, but now there are more cars on the road, more noise, more honking. Not that it gets on his nerves. He quotes Delirious New York, the book in which architect Rem Koolhaas suggests that within the noise of a city we find every extreme, or as Koolhaas puts it, both “splendors and miseries.”

Dhaka is not perfect, not by any means. Khan complains that the city seems unable to extract itself from a morass of poor planning and politics. But the chaos requires Dhakaites “to find our way around,” and he still finds that exciting. “Thank god Salvador Dalì wasn’t born in Dhaka,” Khan adds. “He wouldn’t have been very creative here; the city’s already surreal.”

See a gallery of photographs of Dhaka, including the Korail slum, the ritzy neighborhood of Gulshan and the incredible Jatiyo Sangshad Bhaban, shot for TED by Mohammad Tauheed »

And, check out some of Danny’s favorite places in this annotated map. (Click the pins for more details):

This profile is part of a series of TED articles about interesting people and their life and work in a particular city. See also interviews with Juliana Rotich, a tech entrepreneur in Nairobi, Kenya and Danny Squires, an urban designer in earthquake-devastated Christchurch, New Zealand. For other city-related content, go to TED’s Cities topic page »

The Poetics of Space

Rosa Maria Falvo on the architecture of Rafiq Azam

Travelling through Bangladesh, you soon become aware of the fluidity of nature, its ultimate omnipotence and perfection, and the comparatively contorted predicaments of human aggregation. During the dry season, Dhaka feels like a dust bowl. Regional weather fluctuations, relentless traffic, open air burning, and discharges from the surrounding brick kilns are steady reminders of what it means to impose ourselves on our environments. The wet season provides relief from the June heat, washing away the accumulated debris, and in the process houses and streets are waterlogged despite their drainage systems. The southwest monsoon flows across the Bay of Bengal, powered by rain-bearing winds from the Indian Ocean onto the landmass that subsequently reverse their direction to the northeast in October. Agriculture is heavily dependent on these rains, and any delays severely affect the surrounding economies, as evidenced in the numerous droughts over the ages. And yet nature’s fertility is ultimately forgiving, and persevering farmers are eventually granted their harvests. Major flooding is a recurring reality and yet water is the very lifeblood of Bangladesh. Rivers intersect across the entire country, forming the largest delta on the planet, at the confluence of the Ganges (Padma), Brahmaputra (Jamuna), and Meghna Rivers and their countless tributaries. Bangladeshis have a unique relationship with water, and their sensibilities to its bounty and destruction are a tangible part of the national psyche. The Bangla axiom “paanir opor naam jibon” (water is another name for life) aptly demonstrates this psychological architecture and the determinative influences of the more than fifty trans-boundary rivers between India and Myanmar, with all their hydrologic, social, economic, and political ramifications. Little wonder then that water bodies are a constant architectural feature for Rafiq Azam. And his desire to “revitalise nostalgia” is as ubiquitous in his designs as the water itself in Bangladesh.

Insistently perched on alluvial soils, Bangladesh’s ancient heritage provides true bearings for this architect. The country boasts some of the most significant archaeological sites on the Subcontinent. Mahasthangarh in Bogra, one of the earliest urban sites, dates back to the third century BCE. And there are stunning examples of Buddhist, Hindu, and Muslim settlements and monuments throughout, such as the magnificent fifteenth-century mosque city of Bagerhat founded by the Turkish general Ulugh Khan Jahan in Khulna, southwest of the country, with its renowned sixty-pillar Shait Gambuj Mosque; the sixteenth-century Mathurapur Deuel (High Mound) in Faridpur; the late medieval Kantaji Hindu Temple in Dinajpur; and the multiple-domed Chandanpura Mosjid in old Chittagong, to name a few. As outsiders, we hear and see little of the creativity, innovation, and resourcefulness that once made the great Bengal and today animates Bangladesh – the region’s rich literary and cultural legacies, its political, intellectual, and revolutionary contributions to South Asia, its role in the Indian independence movement, the emergence of the Bengali language movement, and the ultimate liberation of Bangladesh. And it is not until you immerse yourself in the ebb and flow of its chaotic streets that you realise the relentless dynamism of its people. Naturally, Rafiq Azam has been inspired by the legendary Muzharul Islam – father of modernist architecture in Bangladesh and founder of an “essentialist” Bengali paradigm – whose work aimed to reconcile the dichotomy of city and countryside; creating liberated, indigenous notions of urbanity, while at the same time engaging in a “world dialogue”. A true visionary, M. Islam wanted to blend cultural particularity with the humanist notion of a “world village”, and argued that a city’s ultimate aim is to integrate its surrounding rural areas; that is, traditional relationships with nature and ancient knowledge (still alive in some villages of Bangladesh) should be continued in the cities. Rafiq Azam’s own aesthetic philosophy is in collaboration, not competition, with the local realities. He has also insisted on architecture’s role in the bigger picture, and its responsibilities to its own communities. His “green” thinking shows the interplay between artistic autonomy and social engagement, and he nurtures an obstinate but calm optimism that strives to turn the negatives into positives. Azam courageously aims to produce the kind of architecture that provides intuitive responses and bespoke solutions to local conditions in a place fraught with challenges; ideas led by his artistry and translated by ordinary workers whom he elevates to craftsmen; buildings that reflect personal stories with transversal meanings; and designs and technologies that take instruction from the fields of semiotics and biology.
Based on that celebrated affirmation by the great Frank Lloyd Wright (1867–1959) – “I know that architecture is life; or at least it is life itself taking form and therefore it is the truest record of life as it was lived in the world yesterday, as it is lived today or ever will be lived” – the basic principles of Bangladeshi architectural practice today, according to Rafiq Azam, must necessarily feed on the wisdoms of three extraordinary Bengali thinkers from the past: Lalon Shah (1774–1890), Jagadish Chandra Bose (1858–1937), and Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941).[1] For Azam these three leading lights inform what is fundamental to architecture in Bangladesh and its requisite interventions with nature. Architecture is therefore seen as directly evolving from a true, organic connection between what is man-made and what is natural. As a Baul saint and social reformer, Lalon was interested in the dynamic essence of life – its comings and goings, its natural cycles and recycles, its absolute and infinite expressions – free from the distinctions and limitations of religious, social and identity politics, and worldly interpretations. It is said that Lalon was abandoned as a child and found floating on a river. For Rafiq Azam such a visualisation holds enormous poetic resonance: a river, both real and metaphorical, carries an artist’s soul through life and beyond; an artist, across all mediums, becomes its messenger and the art itself an expression of this life; a building forms a natural habitat and its inhabitants exchange its energy; the human body is a temporary vehicle and its spirit travels along that same river. Lalon’s syncretic positioning and exquisite descriptions, still poorly understood in English, capture the very dynamics of this land and its people, from which Azam takes much heart. Additionally, the notion of embedded life within inanimate objects can be traced back to the writings of Bose, a Bengali physicist and botanist who dared to argue that a tree can “feel pain” and respond to affection. His demonstrations of the electrical nature of various stimuli in plants and the corresponding changes in their cell membrane potential recognised, far ahead of his time, the invisible threads of a unified physical world, which included pioneering radio waves and microwave optics. Combining these intuitions through literature, music, and the visual arts, Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore also articulated that elegant reconciliation of form and meaning which still motivates Rafiq Azam to conceive his architecture from reading poetry and painting watercolours.

As the world’s centre of economic gravity steadily moves further east and south, emerging markets and the new middle classes are beginning to drive the global recovery in ways few would have imagined earlier. These shifting horizons are now quite clear, and Nobel Prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz foretells an Asia that will rebalance if not draw to a close the Western-centric mindset. This presupposes fresh ideas and ways of seeing from new and hitherto overlooked, or indeed negatively branded, realities which may now leapfrog the technology and infrastructure that has served the West so well. Our traditional notions of what constitutes art and design, and our very hypotheses on world culture are being reworked. This ground-breaking architecture monograph from Bangladesh is a shining discovery from what fellow Bangladeshi activist and photographer Shahidul Alam calls the “majority world” and is testimony to the professional excellence that exists in underrepresented countries.[2] Numerous art media readily lend themselves to a political consciousness, and they can do much more than simply inspire. Indeed, history shows they can be powerful instruments for social education and development. The political significance and potential of architecture, our most public and negotiated of arts, appear quite obvious, but what is less evident is the complex decision making by designers on a daily basis. Of course, the challenge to invigorate architecture based on regional and local values and specific geography in the face of globalisation, financial imperatives, and frenetic construction is as old as architecture itself. But if the architect’s own vision is progressive, can architecture be an actual vehicle for positive change? Is there really such a thing as an “architecture of resistance” to establish new ways of living, especially under adversarial conditions? Personal engagement seems to offer hope and Rafiq Azam is also a devoted teacher and lecturer, encouraging others wherever he goes. Considering the socioeconomic disparities and city planning conditions of Dhaka, Azam’s architectural vocabulary is kept simple. His approach does not so much incorporate or add nature and tradition, as to harness and interact with their beauty and potential. In a practical way, he wants no less than to increase the emotional value of his buildings to make people feel like participating in those individual and collective habits that are nourishing to both mind and body.

Over the last two years I have been talking at length with Rafiq Azam, visiting his projects throughout Dhaka, sharing tea on the rooftops of the old city, meeting his family and friends, and even seeing the architecture biennale in Venice together. I realised early on that his creative focus and dedication are a personal creed and not a slogan. My earliest sensations were confirmed when I first entered the SA Residence in Gulshan, an affluent neighbourhood of Dhaka, which was close to completion at the time and since received the “Residential Building of the Year” (multiple occupancy) at the Emirates Glass LEAF Awards (2012) in London. Its interlocking concrete design and cascading vegetation are truly remarkable. Daylight enters through huge oculi in the roof, and the windows and cantilevered staircases, wood panelling, and balustrades all play with the shadows. This home not only invites Mother Nature, but insists on a healthier style of living, a more sensory experience, where, as the architect advises, you can “just let it all be”. Its layered spaces, enclosed in a natural island overlooking an internal pond and lush greenery, are not merely beautiful, they actually facilitate meditation – leading us into the “nothingness” – so you quite literally leave your exhaustion at the front door and become instantly oblivious to the cars, CNGs and rickshaws outside, snaking their way till all hours, and eventually spilling into the sea of traffic that separates Gulshan from Dhanmondi, on the other side of the city. Azam’s green ideology stems from his many local loyalties and social commitment, rather than an expedient adherence to the latest architectural trends. He is always looking for an ethically coherent and natural alternative, geared to address social disconnection and deprivation, notwithstanding the meterage, as with his Khazedewan Apartments in the cramped Noor Fatah Lane of old Dhaka. On the day we visited a charming orange-bearded man, the building’s self-appointed caretaker, and welcoming tenants were all clearly proud of their homes and grateful to their architect.

One of Azam’s main objectives is to create living oases; places to “rest the mind and protect the spirit” from the invasive and often oppressive mayhem of society; to solicit the intervention of an infinitely generous natural world; and to restore harmony, despite the frequently antithetical and dehumanising contexts afforded by contemporary living, which are obviously not exclusive to Dhaka or South Asia. Indeed, in several ways this monograph is a tribute to Rafiq Azam’s own reinterpretation of the “poetics of space”, a term coined by French philosopher Gaston Bachelard (1884–1962), who urged architects to focus on the “lived experience of architecture” rather than its abstract or rational components. I found this same intrinsic, palpable, and uplifting resonance while climbing the plinths of the majestic Somapura Mahavihara Buddhist monastery in the northern Naogaon district of Bangladesh. The largest vihara in the Subcontinent and a World Heritage Site, this eighth-century structure still manifests the Sanskrit and Pali notion of “a secluded place in which to walk”. A place of pilgrimage, it owes its careful proportions to the cosmic order of the mandala, and its four-faced Sarvatobhadra-type shrine forms the centrepiece of the entire complex. Terracotta sculptured plaques all around its circumambulatory path depict the daily lives of countless gods – with strangely familiar faces – playing out the drama of human existence. To integrate the pearls of one’s cultural legacy as well as the realities of climatic and economic conditions, actively applying them to contemporary consciousness, is to participate in a living heritage, as opposed to embalming, glorifying or imitating a particular cultural history. Azam’s work is unique in that it strives to attain this elusive “spiritual” quality, and originates from an urban and environmental context that is surely like no other on earth. His exquisitely simple and personal applications of nature’s own logic and poetry showcase what is creatively liberating and logistically possible outside the usual parameters of mainstream thinking.

Rosa Maria Falvo is a writer and curator, specialising in Asian contemporary art and photography.

[1] 1 F. L. Wright, An Organic Architecture: The Architecture of Democracy (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1970).

[2] Alam’s social activism is driven by a deep commitment to rebalancing geopolitical and cultural perceptions. His coining of the term “majority world” in 1990 was an attempt to counteract the pejorative notions of a “third world”, giving talented photographers from non-Western realities an opportunity to recount their own stories. His life’s work is featured in Shahidul Alam: My Journey as a Witness (ed. Rosa Maria Falvo, Milan: Skira-Bengal Foundation, 2011). Rafiq Azam designed Alam’s Drik Picture Gallery in 1993, for which he won an Aga Khan nomination, and is currently designing the Drik/Pathshala Complex at Panthapath in Dhaka.

Architecture for Green Living

Fifth book in the series on Bangladeshi Fine Art

Rafiq Azam

Earlier books have been by Shahidul Alam, Kazi Ghiyasuddin, Safiuddin Ahmed and Zainul Abedin.

With a foreword by Kerry Hill. Texts by Kazi Khaled Ashraf, Philip Goad, Rosa Maria Falvo, and Syed Manzoorul Islam Continue reading “Architecture for Green Living”

Live Between Buildings: Narrow Micro-Homes Fill City Gaps

By Urbanist
narrow home competition entry

Playful yet thought-provoking, this project asks: what do we do with small leftover spaces in cities … particularly in urban areas where even a few square feet of real estate can cost a fortune? Continue reading “Live Between Buildings: Narrow Micro-Homes Fill City Gaps”

Rafiq Azam Architecture for Green Living

by Rosa Maria Falvo (Editor), Kerry Hill (Foreword), Kazi Khaled Ashraf (Contributor), Philip Goad (Contributor), Syed Manzoorul Islam (Contributor)

The first ever monograph on contemporary architectural practice in Bangladesh, dedicated to international-award-winning architect Mohammad Rafiq Azam.

Rafiq Azam is a world-renowned architect. He recently received the Residential Building of the Year Award at the 2012 Emirates Glass LEAF Awards, which took place during the 2012 London Design Festival.

He has a holistic approach to design, which not only incorporates the elements of nature but also harnesses its beauty and potential in a practical way in order to enhance the personal experience of a building. From his uniquely Bangladeshi perspective, the human form has two parts—the body as shell and thoughts as soul—and his architecture is similar, where the building manifests as the shell and nature as its soul. Considering the socioeconomic and city-planning conditions of Dhaka, Bangladesh’s capital, Azam’s architectural vocabulary is kept simple and essential, with traditional spaces like the courtyard, pond, and ghat (steps leading into water) and ample internal and external greenery that merge both urban and rural typologies in an intensely urban context. He arranges water courts as swimming ponds in the middle of homes, natural light rooms, and unfolding wall systems to emphasize the interrelationship between form and space.

With more than 200 color and black-and-white plates, exquisite design sketches, and aerial views, as well as watercolor paintings and inspirational phrases, this exceptionally beautiful book is a unique introduction and insight into a visionary architect and Bangladeshi contemporary living and culture.


Rafiq Azam designed the Drik Gallery in 1993, which was his first major project. It won him an Aga Khan nomination. Later he designed the Pathshala Guest House. He is currently designing the Drik/Pathshala complex at Panthapath.

Architect Rafiq Azam shortlisted for LEAF Awards 2012

LEAF Awards – 2012 : Building + Architect Information

Rafiq Azam the architect for the Drik Gallery and Terrace as well as the upcoming Pathshala Building has been shortlisted for the Emirates Glass LEAF Awards.

12 Jun 2012

LEAF Awards 2012 Shortlist

Mixed – Use Building of the year
– Steven Holl Architects, with Daeyang Gallery & House, Seoul, South Korea
Daeyang Gallery and House Building
image : Iwan Baan
Daeyang Gallery and House
– Pollard Thomas Edwards Architects, with Tidemill Academy & Deptford Lounge, Deptford, UK
Residential Building of the year (Single Occupancy)
– Studiomk27, with Cobogo House Sao Paulo, Brazil
– Sou Fujimoto Architects, with House like a single Tree, Tokyo, Japan Architectureburo Govaert & Vanhoutte, with House Roces, Bruges, Belgium Sanjay Puri Architects, with Courtyard House, Rajasthan, India
– Peter Rose & Partners, with East House, Chilmark, Massachusetts, US
Residential Building of the year (Multiple Occupancy)
– Studio Daniel Libeskind, DCA Architects PTE Ltd, with Reflections at Keppel Bay, Singapore
Reflections at Keppel Bay
image ? Courtesy of Keppel Bay Pte Ltd
Reflections at Keppel Bay Singapore

2012-Leaf-Awards-Shortlist-05 Rafiq Azam

– Rafiq Azam, with SA Residence, Dhaka, Bangladesh
Continue reading “Architect Rafiq Azam shortlisted for LEAF Awards 2012”