24.04.2026

Digital Design Literacy: Coding Becomes a Required Course

Building design

Rows of wine barrels are stored in the cellars of Vietti in Castiglione Falletto. Photo by Sue Winston

Digital Design Literacy—it sounds like a bunch of trendy buzzwords, but in reality, it’s the architectural profession’s survival strategy in a world where algorithms know more about building codes than many zoning plans do. Anyone who wants to stay in the game tomorrow must learn today: coding isn’t a hobby—it’s a required subject. And starting right now. The days when a fancy rendering was enough to win an innovation award are over. Welcome to the era in which digital literacy is becoming the benchmark for relevance.

Digital design literacy is not yet a given in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland—but it will soon have to be.
Algorithmic thinking, programming skills, and the ability to use data-driven design tools are the new core competencies for designers.
Digital transformation and AI are radically transforming design processes, competitions, and construction.
The greatest innovations emerge at the intersection of architecture, computer science, and engineering.
Sustainability by Code: Anyone planning sustainable buildings needs digital tools to truly understand complex life cycle assessments and life cycles.
The profession is grappling with overwhelming demands, tradition, and a lack of technical training—but also with visionary approaches and new educational pathways.
The global discourse has long since moved on: In Scandinavia, Asia, and the U.S., coding is standard in architecture programs.
Debates about open source, creative coding, and digital ethics are shaping the industry—and turning old power structures upside down.
Those who don’t change course now will be swept away by the digital tsunami hitting the construction industry.

From the drawing board to the algorithm—where does the industry stand?

It sounds like a cliché, but the image is accurate: While some are still drawing with a pencil, others have long since been programming with Python, Grasshopper, or Dynamo. In 2024, the architectural landscape in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland is more divided than ever before. On one side are the traditionalists, who long for the lost art of hand-drawn sketches and view BIM as a necessary evil. On the other side is a small but growing avant-garde that designs parametrically, juggles data, and treats algorithms as colleagues. The status quo? A patchwork quilt.

Many German universities have at least recognized the signs of the times and are offering their first courses in computational design or digital fabrication. But there is no sign of a comprehensive integration of digital design skills into the curriculum. In Austria, universities are indeed experimenting in an exemplary manner with interdisciplinary studios, but in the day-to-day work of architectural firms, programming usually remains a marginal topic. Switzerland, traditionally open to technology, is a step ahead in digital design literacy—but here, too, the vast majority of designers use software without truly understanding its logic.

The result: The industry continues to produce renderings and plans as if nothing had changed since 1995. Meanwhile, clients, competitions, and regulators are increasingly demanding data-driven documentation, simulations, and automation. Those who don’t know how to use digital tools today won’t be invited to participate tomorrow. Digital expertise is no longer just a “nice-to-have”; it’s the ticket to the world of projects. The bitter truth: As things stand today, architects are often further removed from true digital literacy than they are from their last drawing class.

This isn’t about being tech-obsessed. It’s about survival. With the global spread of Building Information Modeling, AI-based design tools, and automated review processes, digital competence determines competitiveness. Design services are becoming granular, interconnected, and internationally comparable. Those who don’t speak the language of machines will be managed by them—and faster than many would like. The question is no longer whether digital design competence will become mandatory, but only when and how painful the transition will be.

And no, retreating into the role of the “designer” won’t help. Those who do not understand how algorithms make design-related decisions can no longer credibly assume ethical and creative responsibility. The digitization of the industry is not a technical upgrade—it is a paradigm shift. And that requires digital literacy as a core competency, not just a specialized topic.

AI, Code, and Creativity—What the New Tools Are Really Changing

The latest innovations in digital design are breathtaking. Parametric modeling, algorithmic design, generative adversarial networks—these terms sound like they come from Silicon Valley, but they’ve long been part of everyday life in ambitious European firms. Platforms like Grasshopper, Rhino, Revit, and Blender allow designers to generate designs that respond in real time to climate, costs, material availability, and user behavior. But that’s just the beginning.

Artificial intelligence is revolutionizing the design process by recognizing patterns, generating variations, and suggesting optimizations. In Switzerland, pioneers are using machine learning to simulate facade structures that are optimized for both aesthetics and energy efficiency. In Vienna, AI-based tools are used to run through design variations for residential buildings until urban planning, social, and environmental goals are optimally balanced. In Germany, however, AI in design is still in the experimental stage—skepticism is too high, and experience is too limited.

What many underestimate is that digitalization does not simply create new tools for old processes; rather, it transforms the processes themselves. Design becomes an iterative, data-driven workflow. Variants are no longer drawn but generated. Decisions are no longer made based on gut feeling but on simulation, analysis, and feedback loops. Those who do not master this workflow will be overwhelmed by the speed and complexity of the projects.

What’s exciting is that the new tools also foster new creativity. Those who view algorithms not as a threat but as a partner will discover unimagined creative freedoms. Patterns, structures, geometries—everything becomes open to renegotiation. But that requires a radically different mindset. Anyone who believes code is inelegant is missing out on the opportunity for architectural innovation. The future of design is hybrid: a dialogue between human intuition and machine intelligence.

The biggest challenge here? Digital literacy isn’t a state of being, but a process. Those who know Python today will need to train neural networks tomorrow. Those who use parametric modeling today will be working with digital twins and real-time simulations tomorrow. The learning curve is steep, but there is no alternative. This is the only way architecture can remain relevant—and avoid being absorbed by construction conglomerates, tech giants, or startups.

Sustainability, Open Source, and Ethics—Digital Literacy as the Key

The sustainable transformation of the construction industry is illusory without digital literacy. Energy requirements, material cycles, CO₂ footprints—all of these can only be truly understood, optimized, and verified using data-driven methods. Anyone who wants to build sustainably must master digital tools that map complex interactions and simulate scenarios. In Austria, the first residential neighborhoods are being developed where the life cycle is digitally assessed even before construction begins. In Switzerland, building databases are used to plan circular material flows. In Germany? There are lone pioneers and pilot projects—but no nationwide standard yet.

Another key factor: open source. Those who merely consume digital tools remain dependent on software providers and proprietary standards. True innovation arises when planners write their own code, open interfaces, and develop their own tools. Open-source communities, such as those in the Blender or Grasshopper scenes, demonstrate how collective coding leads to better results—while simultaneously reclaiming control over processes and data.

But as the power of digital tools grows, so does ethical responsibility. Algorithms are not neutral. Anyone who designs with AI must understand how the data set, training logic, and optimization goals influence the outcome. The much-discussed “technocratic bias” is not a figment of the imagination—it is real. In Switzerland, research is therefore being conducted on the explainability and transparency of design tools. In Germany? It’s still rarely discussed—but that will change, at the latest when AI-driven contract awards and planning decisions end up in court.

Digital literacy therefore also means thinking critically, understanding the context, and not just applying technology but shaping it. Those who do not open the black box lose control over creative and social processes. The ethical debate surrounding algorithmic architecture, automated construction, and data-driven urban planning is only just beginning. But it will shape the industry just as the question of concrete versus steel once did.

The future of sustainability is digital. But it will only be so if the profession does not rely solely on software solutions, but instead views digital competence as a set of technical and intellectual tools. Those who learn to write code now are not only programming buildings—but also their own relevance for the future.

Learning, teaching, rethinking—how digital literacy is becoming a new core competency

Education in architecture, civil engineering, and urban planning is at a crossroads. The question is no longer whether coding and digital design skills belong in the curriculum, but how they can become natural tools within it. In Scandinavian countries, the U.S., Canada, and Asia, programming has long been a required course—in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, it often remains an elective module or an extracurricular activity. The consequences? The next generation of German planners is, at best, average in digital skills—and lagging behind in international comparison.

What is missing is the courage to embrace a paradigm shift. Digital literacy is not an additional qualification, but is as fundamental as structural analysis, building codes, or design theory. Universities must create structures in which programming, computational thinking, and critical reflection on digital methods are taught from the very beginning. This applies not only to teaching but also to exam formats, collaboration models, and the industry’s self-image.

The industry itself must also step up. Any firm that fails today to train its own digital experts, develop tools, or at least understand how data flows work will be relegated tomorrow to the role of a service provider for general planners or tech conglomerates. The era of one-man shows is over. Interdisciplinary teams comprising computer scientists, data analysts, and creative coders are becoming the norm—and are shifting the balance of power within architectural firms. Those who fail to keep up will watch as others rewrite the rules.

Yet the fear of “losing architecture” is unfounded. On the contrary: those who master digital tools with confidence can sharpen their creative signature, solve more complex tasks, and realize more sustainable projects. Digital literacy is not an attack on art, but rather its extension. Code is not the enemy of creativity, but its catalyst.

What is needed now are role models, networks, and pioneers who inspire a passion for digital literacy. The industry doesn’t need digital superhumans, but rather a new culture of learning, sharing, and experimentation. Anyone who wants to shape this transformation must become a learner themselves—and have the courage to make mistakes, try new things, and cast aside old certainties. The future of architecture lies in code. But it remains human—if we shape it.

Global Momentum, Local Inertia—and Why Waiting Is Not an Option

The international architecture market has long since overcome any reservations about digital design literacy. In China, planners are automating urban planning analyses using AI. In Denmark, parametric design models are becoming the standard for school buildings. In Canada, open-source platforms are emerging that simulate entire city neighborhoods in real time. And in the U.S., coding boot camps for architects are as commonplace as CAD courses were in the 1990s. Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, on the other hand, are still debating whether programming truly fits into the job description—and are losing valuable time.

The debate over the role of the architect is anything but new. Even the advent of CAD, BIM, and 3D printing divided the industry. But this time, the change is more fundamental. It’s not just the tools that are changing—it’s the entire logic of the process. Anyone waiting for the next standard, the next guideline, or the next grant will be left behind by reality. Global competition shows no regard for cultural peculiarities or bureaucratic hurdles.

What’s particularly precarious is that there is an enormous need to catch up, yet resources are scarce. Many firms are caught up in day-to-day business, struggling with a shortage of young talent, and have little time for digital training. The result is a dangerous inertia that, in the medium term, weakens the position of German-speaking architecture in the international discourse. Those who fail to invest will lose—not only contracts, but also influence over the design of the built environment.

At the same time, however, exciting initiatives are emerging here as well. Young firms are networking, founding coding collectives, experimenting with open source, and sharing their knowledge. Universities such as the Technical University of Munich, ETH Zurich, and the Vienna University of Technology are producing interdisciplinary teams that are leading by example in the digital transformation. There is hope—but it remains limited to local efforts as long as the broader industry fails to follow suit.

The lesson from this global comparison is clear: digital design literacy is not an option, but a necessity. Those who invest now will become part of the solution. Those who wait and see will be swept up by the digital transformation—and perhaps left behind. The future is programmed. The only question is: Who writes the code?

Conclusion: Those who don’t understand the code will lose the game

Digital design literacy is not a luxury, but a survival strategy. It determines the innovative power, sustainability, and social relevance of architecture in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. Those who do not understand the code will be ruled by it. The digitization of the built environment is not a passing trend, but a tectonic shift. Those who learn to code now will shape not only buildings but also their own future. The good news: It’s never too late to take this required course. The bad news: Those who continue to wait will become mere 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