28.03.2026

Architecture as a Streaming Platform: Temporary Spaces Available for Digital Booking

Building design

An urban street scenario with a cyclist between impressive skyscrapers. Photo by Gerrit Stam.

Architecture as a streaming platform? If you’re now thinking of Netflix for floor plans, you’re only half wrong. In a world where even pop-up stores are booked via app and temporary spaces are becoming a digital series format, the architecture industry is facing an uncomfortable question: Are we ready to treat spaces like data streams? Or will we end up back with the monolithic concrete block that dozes away, vacant for 30 years?

Today, temporary spaces can be planned, booked, and operated digitally—“streaming” meets architecture.
Germany, Austria, and Switzerland are experimenting with platforms for flexible space offerings.
Digital tools and AI are revolutionizing the brokerage, use, and management of architecture.
Sustainability: Between resource conservation and digital overkill—what remains, what’s next?
Technical Skills: BIM, API, IoT, and the platform economy are essential reading for planners and operators.
Impact: Temporary architecture challenges traditional job roles, business models, and building codes.
The Commercialization Debate: Who owns the space when it is treated as a service?
Vision: The city as a dynamic, bookable system—but who’s pulling the strings?
Global Context: What’s booming in Asia or the U.S. is met with skepticism and regulatory hurdles here.

From Pop-Up to Stream: The New Logic of Temporary Spaces

The idea of viewing architecture as a service is not new. Pop-up stores, mobile pavilions, and temporary structures have existed for decades. What is new, however, is the degree of digitalization inherent in these processes. Today, all it takes is a smartphone to book a workspace, an event space, or even an entire exhibition structure for hours or weeks. Platforms that once brokered apartments or desks have long since begun offering modular space solutions. The idea: Space isn’t built—it’s streamed—based on demand, time slots, and user profiles. This is revolutionizing not only the real estate industry but also the way architects work. Anyone who still plans space as a static asset today will be left behind by algorithms and booking systems tomorrow. It is a paradigm shift that demands new skills, business models, and regulatory responses.

In Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, the concept has taken hold, even if the level of enthusiasm varies. While in Berlin, the first urban platforms are brokering temporary spaces for art, culture, or startups, Swiss cities like Zurich and Basel are focusing on flexible office and learning spaces. Vienna is experimenting with bookable neighborhood rooms and mobile pavilions in public spaces. The demand is there, but the supply often remains fragmented, legally fragile, and technologically immature. Much of it feels like a real-world beta test. Anyone who books must be willing to tolerate mistakes—or have the courage to help develop the system further themselves.

The biggest hurdles? Legal gray areas, a lack of standardization, and the fear of losing control. Cities and municipalities are hesitant to make their spaces available on open platforms. Operators fear liability issues. Architects wonder whether their profession is being reduced to a service. At the same time, new players are emerging: PropTech startups, platform operators, and digital general contractors who view space as a flexible asset—and distribute it. Anyone who wants to play a role here must not only be able to build but also to stream.

The platformization of space raises fundamental questions: Who owns the space if it is permanently booked? Who is responsible for operations, safety, and quality? What would a building code look like that accounts for short-term usage cycles, modular systems, and digital booking logic? The answers to these questions are anything but trivial. They require a balancing act between innovation and regulation, between the market and the public good.

What remains is the realization: Temporary architecture is no longer a niche phenomenon. It is the logical consequence of digitalization, urbanization, and changing user needs. Those who continue to treat spaces merely as real estate are missing the opportunity to rethink them as a service, an experience, and a resource. Architecture as a streaming platform—that’s more than just hype. It’s the beginning of a radically new approach to built space.

Digitalization and AI: The New Infrastructure of Temporary Architecture

Without digital infrastructure, the vision of temporary, bookable spaces remains nothing more than a pretty PowerPoint slide. Only through the consistent digitization of all processes—from planning and management to user interaction—can the concept become a reality. This begins with the integration of BIM models into booking platforms, continues with IoT-based access systems, and by no means ends with AI-powered demand forecasting. Platforms offering temporary architecture must be capable of more than just displaying pretty renderings. They need interfaces to facility management, energy supply, security systems, and payment processing. Everything in real time, everything scalable, everything compliant—at least in an ideal scenario.

Artificial intelligence, in particular, offers new tools here that go far beyond traditional space allocation. Algorithms optimize space utilization, forecast demand, identify usage patterns, and even control climate and lighting systems in real time. In Munich, for example, a pilot project is underway in which AI adjusts the booking and occupancy of temporary learning spaces—depending on the weather, event density, or user feedback. In Zurich, experiments are underway with automated check-ins for mobile pavilions that open and close on their own. The technology is here, acceptance is growing—only the legislation is lagging behind.

Digitalization is changing not only operations but also planning. Architects work with parametric models that adapt to user specifications in real time. When someone books a space, they select the size, amenities, and time period—the design responds dynamically, and the BIM model updates in real time. What began as science fiction has long since become standard practice at international startups, for example in Asia or the U.S. In Germany, skepticism persists: data protection, liability, copyright—the list of concerns is long. Nevertheless, planners who do not master the language of APIs, databases, and the platform economy will become mere bystanders in their own professional field.

The interface between temporary architecture and the digital economy is highly complex. It involves more than just the digitization of individual processes. What matters most is the ability to conceive of and build holistic platforms that integrate various stakeholders, data sources, and systems. This requires technical expertise, strategic foresight, and a healthy dose of risk-taking. Those who rely on technology without understanding the social and spatial complexities will ultimately produce nothing but digital wastelands.

The biggest challenge remains interoperability. Different platforms, operators, and cities each work with their own standards, data formats, and system architectures. What is referred to in tech jargon as “API compatibility” is, in practice, often a patchwork of siloed solutions. This slows innovation, increases costs, and prevents scalability. Anyone serious about the architecture as a streaming platform must finally create open interfaces and common standards.

Sustainability in the Streaming Age: More Than Just Greenwashing?

Temporary spaces promise flexibility, resource conservation, and better utilization of existing space. But does the concept hold up to a critical sustainability review? At first glance, the math is simple: those who use space more efficiently need fewer new buildings, save on gray energy, and avoid vacancies. Mobile modules, reusable components, and adaptive systems are considered prime examples of circular architecture. Platforms tout CO₂ savings, urban mining, and digital space management. But the reality is more complex. Operating temporary systems requires energy, logistics, and—not infrequently—a considerable IT footprint. Server farms, cloud services, and smart sensor technology are no eco-fairy-tale forests. Anyone who takes sustainability seriously must evaluate the entire life cycle—from modular construction to data streams.

In cities like Vienna and Zurich, pilot projects show that digitally bookable spaces can indeed be more sustainable than traditional real estate. Shared use, short distances, and flexible adaptation to demand not only reduce material usage but also traffic volume and operating costs. At the same time, new challenges arise: How can modular systems be recycled? Who takes responsibility for maintenance, dismantling, and disposal? And how can we prevent the digital overhead from ultimately consuming more resources than conventional construction?

The use of AI and digital platforms opens up opportunities but also poses environmental risks. Algorithmic control can optimize space utilization, reduce energy consumption, and extend maintenance cycles. Yet every new app, every cloud-based booking system, and every smart access system consumes electricity, resources, and bandwidth. The question of the environmental footprint of digital infrastructure is far from answered. Anyone who makes temporary spaces bookable online must also grapple with the downsides of digitalization.

Another problem: the commercialization of public space. When spaces are allocated primarily based on booking logic and willingness to pay, social equity risks falling by the wayside. Cities like Berlin are responding with quotas, public welfare criteria, and participatory allocation processes. But the logic of platforms is ruthless: those who pay get what they want; those who don’t pay are left watching. Sustainability must not be reduced to a mere marketing cliché but must integrate social, ecological, and economic dimensions.

Ultimately, the conclusion remains: Temporary spaces are not a magic bullet for sustainable architecture. They offer opportunities, but they also harbor new risks. Those who drive the platformization of space bear responsibility—not only for user comfort and profitability, but also for the common good and the environment. This is uncomfortable, but unavoidable.

Architectural Identity and the Future of the Profession: Between Streaming and Substance

It sounds tempting: spaces on demand, flexible, scalable, digitally managed. But what remains of architectural identity when spaces are reduced to mere services? Where does the craftsmanship, the genius loci, and the cultural depth go? Critics warn against a “streaming architecture” that becomes arbitrary, interchangeable, and contextless. Those who merely shift modules and program interfaces lose their sense of place, history, and materiality. The danger: architecture degenerates into a digital consumer product that no longer creates lasting value.

But that is only half the truth. Digitalization opens up new possibilities for combining spatial quality, user experience, and contextual relevance. Platforms can promote architectural diversity if they are curated, programmed, and thoughtfully designed. Temporary spaces do not necessarily have to be soulless containers. They can become experimental fields, laboratories, and catalysts for new forms of design. Those who seize these opportunities can develop new architectural typologies, forms of use, and narratives based on the streaming principle.

For the profession, this means a radical expansion of the skill set. Architects are becoming platform designers, process managers, and data strategists. They must master technical, legal, and economic issues just as much as design, communication, and outreach. The professional profile is becoming more fluid; roles are shifting. Those who resist platformization risk losing their relevance. Those who shape it can give substance to the transformation.

However, the debate over the commercialization of space remains heated. Who does the platform serve? Who benefits from this flexibility? How can architectural quality be defended against short-term profit motives? The answers to these questions are hotly contested. Some see platformization as an attack on the common good; others see it as an opportunity for democratization and participation. What matters is who defines the rules of the game—and whether the platform becomes an end in itself or serves as a tool for sustainable, diverse, and inclusive urban development.

A global comparison reveals that while Asian and American cities have long been experimenting with streaming architecture, the German-speaking world remains cautious. Regulation, historic preservation, and building codes slow down innovation but also offer protection against arbitrariness. The balancing act between tradition and progress will be the defining issue of the coming years. Those who master it can preserve architectural identity in the digital future—without sacrificing it.

Conclusion: Architecture as a Service—Opportunity, Risk, Reality

The idea of streaming spaces like data is radical—and inevitable. Digitalization makes temporary architecture more predictable, bookable, and operable than ever before. But it also raises questions: about sustainability, the common good, identity, and responsibility. Planners, operators, or cities that dare to take the leap onto the platform today can rethink, use, and design spaces in new ways. Those who hesitate will be overtaken by their own inertia. The future of architecture lies somewhere between streaming and substance—and it begins now. Those who embrace it can help shape the rules of the game themselves. Those who don’t will remain spectators in their own professional field.

06.09.2025

Industry news

De Wit: Vapors that defy time

Building design

The De Wit tapestry manufactory in Mechelen, Belgium, is world-famous. Here, antique tapestries from all over the world are cleaned and restored with the utmost care. © De Wit

Light, dust and insects are their enemies: antique tapestries are restored at the Royal Tapestry Manufactory De Wit in Mechelen thanks to a self-developed and patented cleaning system. […]

Light, dust and insects are their enemies: antique tapestries are restored at the Royal Tapestry Manufactory De Wit in Mechelen thanks to a self-developed and patented cleaning system.

Even in the early Middle Ages, they were mostly used to decorate ecclesiastical buildings. The motifs of the tapestries made in monasteries were religious, but changed in a courtly context when the tapestries were also made for the aristocratic class. During state visits and ceremonial celebrations, the ornate tapestries were hung in interior rooms and on exterior façades. They were also used as room dividers to improve acoustics and insulate castle walls from the cold and draughts. As commissioned works, they were based on the dimensions of the respective rooms; large-format tapestries could even decorate entire sequences of rooms. For a long time, they were reserved for the rich and powerful, as they could take several years to produce. After all, tapestries were easy to transport when rolled up and could be hung anywhere for display purposes.

A contract between the client and the tapestry dealer, which set out the conditions for the workshop, contained information about the function, material and size of the tapestry. The client chose the painter and determined the motifs with him. If silk, gold or silver threads were to be used, this increased the price. First, a small sketch was made on paper. This was then enlarged into a drawing. The workshops then translated the design into a textile image. In the late Middle Ages, the cities of Constance, Basel and Strasbourg were among the most important centers of warp knitting. From Brussels to Tournai, the southern Netherlands, which controlled the wool trade due to its proximity to England, then became the main production area. Incidentally, only tapestries from the Manufacture des Gobelins in Paris are considered “tapestries”.

Today, Mechelen to the north of Brussels preserves the tradition of Flemish tapestry art. The Royal Tapestry Manufactory De Wit is located in the brick building of Tongerlo Abbey dating from 1484. It has been run by the fifth generation of the De Wit family since 1889. The founder, Theophiel De Wit, learned the tricks of the trade as an apprentice at the French company Braquenié in Mechelen. He achieved his first successes by adapting to local taste, which demanded only reproductions or variations of the most famous tapestries of the past. Within a few years of handing over responsibility to his son Gaspard, the number of looms and employees had tripled. Contemporary artists were commissioned with the motifs and, with state support, the company survived the economic crisis of 1929. In the early 1980s, the concept was finally changed due to a lack of demand and the focus shifted to trading, collecting and, above all, the techniques of conserving and restoring historical pieces. At this time, the company also acquired the Tongerlo Abbey in the old town to set up the workshops there.

Thanks to its unique infrastructure, which concentrates all aspects of the treatment of antique tapestries within the same laboratory, the manufactory is now a world leader in the preservation of ageing wool and silk tapestries. It also plays a pioneering role in the development of new techniques. Damage is usually caused by the effects of insects, dust, water and light. Nails and screws also leave their mark. Added to this are improper previous repairs and incorrect storage, for example when the fabrics have been folded instead of rolled.

In the past, it was common practice to wash tapestries in temporary baths made of polyethylene and plastic pipes. Cleaning required large quantities of softened and deionized water as well as sufficient drainage. The tapestry was completely immersed in the bath. Mechanical action in the form of a sponge was also essential. To ensure that the entire surface of the tapestry received the same treatment, it was rolled on a roller in the bath. The repeated rolling and unrolling exposed the fabric to considerable stress. The mechanical action could damage delicate threads. The process was lengthy and drying could take between 12 and 24 hours, allowing potentially volatile dyes to spread.

Pierre Maes, the son of Yvan Maes De Wit, leads a team of 15 restorers and art historians as they move through rooms full of colorful balls of wool. Women in white coats bend over long restoration chairs on which centuries-old tapestries are stretched. They have a handful of spools of fine wool and silk in countless shades: ochre, bronze green, blue and crimson. They were selected to match the colors of the damaged weaving. “Our work consists of stabilizing the fabric with a linen cloth placed on the back, which is sewn with these silk threads. In the case of larger gaps, we try not to rework the tapestry identically, but to integrate these gaps into the composition through minimalist interventions,” says Pierre Maes. “When we restore tapestries, we don’t simply weave gold or silver underneath just to make it look better or appear more valuable. Each piece gives us the broad outline of its composition – and we follow it.”

The manufactory sometimes dyes the silk and cotton threads used itself in its laboratory with hundreds of synthetic pigments in order to preserve the colors of the tapestries and guarantee their quality. Before they can take these steps, however, the pieces must first be cleaned. The aerosol suction cleaning method used here was patented over 30 years ago. The suction method has since established itself throughout the museum world as the benchmark method for cleaning antique fabrics. Washing is a risky step: over the years, the cotton has often frayed and the silk has often been pulverized by the effects of time and light. The scientific approach, in which every step is carefully recorded and documented, has set standards.

The system uses a combination of aerosol spray and vacuum suction. It is equipped with integrated sensors to control the pH value, temperature, water flow and pressure. The system consists of a closed chamber with glass panels. The base is a large 5 x 9 meter suction table. There are 45 aerosol sprays attached to the ceiling, approximately 1.75 meters above the platform. During the cleaning process, the tapestry is held in place by continuous suction. When the aerosol is switched on, the chamber fills with water vapor, which is drawn evenly through the entire tapestry. A low concentration of a non-ionic detergent is introduced into the aerosol system for as long as it is deemed necessary for soil removal. This is replaced by softened and then deionized water during the rinsing process.

The subsequent drying process takes place at 30 degrees. Unstable colors flow into the collecting basin. This procedure, including drying, takes around eight hours and is controlled by a series of computers and chemical tests. Famous pieces such as the “Lady with the Unicorn” from the Musée de Cluny in Paris, “Los Honores and Los Paños de Oro” from the Patrimonio Nacional in Spain or the “Le Dais” tapestry by Charles VII from the Louvre have already undergone the process. Regular customers also include private collectors and important collections, such as Spain’s Patrimonio Nacional, the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, France’s Mobilier national and the Louvre, the Bavarian National Museum in Munich and the UK’s National Trust. “We are in the fortunate position of being able to carry out the most important and most beautiful restoration commissions that are awarded internationally,” says Pierre Maes. And in his hands and those of his highly focused team, they receive the care that these treasures, which are highly prized at art fairs such as TEFAF in Maastricht or BRAFA in Brussels, deserve.

19.12.2024

Artful interlocking

Building design

Living

“Building on” was the motto for the extension of a semi-detached house in Aachen. With a keen sense for the existing, the Amunt architectural office has created an extension that artfully combines the old with the new.

The small house, which is located in a workers’ housing estate on the northern outskirts of Aachen, was purchased by a family of three in 2010. As the floor space of 70 square meters proved to be too small, it was clear from the outset that an extension was needed. The solution was a two-storey extension that cleverly picks up on the cubature of the existing building and at the same time generates an open, independent structure.

The architectural theme of interlocking is a common thread running through the building. Both the shaping of the volume and the spatial organization follow this principle. While the extension on the first floor is clearly recognizable as a new part of the building thanks to the exposed concrete skeleton, on the upper floor it takes up the roof shape of the existing building and creates a polygonal roof sculpture that links old and new.

The floor plan works in the same way. The additional living and dining room is designed as an open “garden room”. The extensive glazing provides a view of the garden, while the brick façade of the existing building becomes an interior wall. The floor above accommodates four bedrooms, two of which are in the extension. Due to the spatial overlap at the intersection of the roof surfaces, the interior bathroom can be naturally lit via a light well. At the same time, its ceiling serves as a sleeping gallery for the adjoining children’s room. The staircase, which forms a transition zone, is of particular importance. An air space has been added to it, making the wooden beam ceiling of the extension visible on the upper floor, as well as the brick wall of the existing building.

The theme of interlocking is most evident in the façade. The unrendered pumice lightweight concrete brick of the extension merges with the clinker brick of the existing building at the verge. Both parts of the building merge into a single unit, but at the same time can be distinguished from each other by the resulting “seam”.

The architects wanted to take away the “hard newness” of the building and incorporate the character of the estate into their design. Thanks to precise interventions, they succeeded. They have created a homogeneous structure whose history remains legible.

Photos: Filip Dujardin