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Barricades, as we know them today, are thought to date back to the European wars of religion. According to most historians, the first barricade went up in Paris in 1588; the word derives from the French barriques, or barrels, spontaneously put together. They have been assembled from the most diverse materials, from cobblestones, tyres, newspapers, dead horses and bags of ice (during Kyiv’s Euromaidan in 2013–14), to omnibuses and e‑scooters. Their tactical logic is close to that of guerrilla warfare: the authorities have to take the barricades in order to claim victory; all that those manning them have to do to prevail is to hold them.  The 19th century was the golden age for blocking narrow, labyrinthine streets. Paris had seen barricades go up nine times in the period before the Second Empire; during the July 1830 Revolution alone, 4,000 barricades had been erected (roughly one for every 200 Parisians). These barricades would not only stop, but also trap troops; people would then throw stones from windows or pour boiling water onto the streets. Georges‑Eugène Haussmann, Napoleon III’s prefect of Paris, famously created wide boulevards to make blocking by barricade more difficult and moving the military easier, and replaced cobblestones with macadam – a surface of crushed stone. As Flaubert observed in his Dictionary of Accepted Ideas: ‘Macadam: has cancelled revolutions. No more means to make barricades. Nevertheless rather inconvenient.’   Lead image: Barricades, as we know them today, are thought to have originated in early modern France. A colour engraving attributed to Achille‑Louis Martinet depicts the defence of a barricade during the 1830 July Revolution. Credit: Paris Musées / Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris. Above: the socialist political thinker and activist Louis Auguste Blanqui – who was imprisoned by every regime that ruled France between 1815 and 1880 – drew instructions for how to build an effective barricade Under Napoleon III, Baron Haussmann widened Paris’s streets in his 1853–70 renovation of the city, making barricading more difficult Credit: Old Books Images / Alamy ‘On one hand, [the authorities] wanted to favour the circulation of ideas,’ reactionary intellectual Louis Veuillot observed apropos the ambiguous liberalism of the latter period of Napoleon III’s Second Empire. ‘On the other, to ensure the circulation of regiments.’ But ‘anti‑insurgency hardware’, as Justinien Tribillon has called it, also served to chase the working class out of the city centre: Haussmann’s projects amounted to a gigantic form of real-estate speculation, and the 1871 Paris Commune that followed constituted not just a short‑lived anarchist experiment featuring enormous barricades; it also signalled the return of the workers to the centre and, arguably, revenge for their dispossession.    By the mid‑19th century, observers questioned whether barricades still had practical meaning. Gottfried Semper’s barricade, constructed for the 1849 Dresden uprising, had proved unconquerable, but Friedrich Engels, one‑time ‘inspector of barricades’ in the Elberfeld insurrection of the same year, already suggested that the barricades’ primary meaning was now moral rather than military – a point to be echoed by Leon Trotsky in the subsequent century. Barricades symbolised bravery and the will to hold out among insurrectionists, and, not least, determination rather to destroy one’s possessions – and one’s neighbourhood – than put up with further oppression.   Not only self‑declared revolutionaries viewed things this way: the reformist Social Democrat leader Eduard Bernstein observed that ‘the barricade fight as a political weapon of the people has been completely eliminated due to changes in weapon technology and cities’ structures’. Bernstein was also picking up on the fact that, in the era of industrialisation, contention happened at least as much on the factory floor as on the streets. The strike, not the food riot or the defence of workers’ quartiers, became the paradigmatic form of conflict. Joshua Clover has pointed out in his 2016 book Riot. Strike. Riot: The New Era of Uprisings, that the price of labour, rather than the price of goods, caused people to confront the powerful. Blocking production grew more important than blocking the street. ‘The only weapons we have are our bodies, and we need to tuck them in places so wheels don’t turn’ Today, it is again blocking – not just people streaming along the streets in large marches – that is prominently associated with protests. Disrupting circulation is not only an important gesture in the face of climate emergency; blocking transport is a powerful form of protest in an economic system focused on logistics and just‑in‑time distribution. Members of Insulate Britain and Germany’s Last Generation super‑glue themselves to streets to stop car traffic to draw attention to the climate emergency; they have also attached themselves to airport runways. They form a human barricade of sorts, immobilising traffic by making themselves immovable.   Today’s protesters have made themselves consciously vulnerable. They in fact follow the advice of US civil rights’ Bayard Rustin who explained: ‘The only weapons we have are our bodies, and we need to tuck them in places so wheels don’t turn.’ Making oneself vulnerable might increase the chances of a majority of citizens seeing the importance of the cause which those engaged in civil disobedience are pursuing. Demonstrations – even large, unpredictable ones – are no longer sufficient. They draw too little attention and do not compel a reaction. Naomi Klein proposed the term ‘blockadia’ as ‘a roving transnational conflict zone’ in which people block extraction – be it open‑pit mines, fracking sites or tar sands pipelines – with their bodies. More often than not, these blockades are organised by local people opposing the fossil fuel industry, not environmental activists per se. Blockadia came to denote resistance to the Keystone XL pipeline as well as Canada’s First Nations‑led movement Idle No More. In cities, blocking can be accomplished with highly mobile structures. Like the barricade of the 19th century, they can be quickly assembled, yet are difficult to move; unlike old‑style barricades, they can also be quickly disassembled, removed and hidden (by those who have the engineering and architectural know‑how). Think of super tripods, intricate ‘protest beacons’ based on tensegrity principles, as well as inflatable cobblestones, pioneered by the artist‑activists of Tools for Action (and as analysed in Nick Newman’s recent volume Protest Architecture).   As recently as 1991, newly independent Latvia defended itself against Soviet tanks with the popular construction of barricades, in a series of confrontations that became known as the Barikādes Credit: Associated Press / Alamy Inversely, roadblocks can be used by police authorities to stop demonstrations and gatherings from taking place – protesters are seen removing such infrastructure in Dhaka during a general strike in 1999 Credit: REUTERS / Rafiqur Rahman / Bridgeman These inflatable objects are highly flexible, but can also be protective against police batons. They pose an awkward challenge to the authorities, who often end up looking ridiculous when dealing with them, and, as one of the inventors pointed out, they are guaranteed to create a media spectacle. This was also true of the 19th‑century barricade: people posed for pictures in front of them. As Wolfgang Scheppe, a curator of Architecture of the Barricade (currently on display at the Arsenale Institute for Politics of Representation in Venice), explains, these images helped the police to find Communards and mete out punishments after the end of the anarchist experiment. Much simpler structures can also be highly effective. In 2019, protesters in Hong Kong filled streets with little archways made from just three ordinary bricks: two standing upright, one resting on top. When touched, the falling top one would buttress the other two, and effectively block traffic. In line with their imperative of ‘be water’, protesters would retreat when the police appeared, but the ‘mini‑Stonehenges’ would remain and slow down the authorities. Today, elaborate architectures of protest, such as Extinction Rebellion’s ‘tensegrity towers’, are used to blockade roads and distribution networks – in this instance, Rupert Murdoch’s News UK printworks in Broxbourne, for the media group’s failure to report the climate emergency accurately Credit: Extinction Rebellion In June 2025, protests erupted in Los Angeles against the Trump administration’s deportation policies. Demonstrators barricaded downtown streets using various objects, including the pink public furniture designed by design firm Rios for Gloria Molina Grand Park. LAPD are seen advancing through tear gas Credit: Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images Roads which radicals might want to target are not just ones in major metropoles and fancy post‑industrial downtowns. Rather, they might block the arteries leading to ‘fulfilment centres’ and harbours with container shipping. The model is not only Occupy Wall Street, which had initially called for the erection of ‘peaceful barricades’, but also the Occupy that led to the Oakland port shutdown in 2011. In short, such roadblocks disrupt what Phil Neel has called a ‘hinterland’ that is often invisible, yet crucial for contemporary capitalism. More recently, Extinction Rebellion targeted Amazon distribution centres in three European countries in November 2021; in the UK, they aimed to disrupt half of all deliveries on a Black Friday.   Will such blockades just anger consumers who, after all, are not present but are impatiently waiting for packages at home? One of the hopes associated with the traditional barricade was always that they might create spaces where protesters, police and previously indifferent citizens get talking; French theorists even expected them to become ‘a machine to produce the people’. That could be why military technology has evolved so that the authorities do not have to get close to the barricade: tear gas was first deployed against those on barricades before it was used in the First World War; so‑called riot control vehicles can ever more easily crush barricades. The challenge, then, for anyone who wishes to block is also how to get in other people’s faces – in order to have a chance to convince them of their cause.        2025-06-11 Kristina Rapacki Share

By CHRIS McGOWAN Images courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures. Final Destination Bloodlines, the sixth installment in the graphic horror series, kicks off with the film’s biggest challenge – deploying an elaborate, large-scale set piece involving the 400-foot-high Skyview Tower restaurant. While there in 1968, young Iris Campbell (Brec Bassinger) has a premonition about the Skyview burning, cracking, crumbling and collapsing. Then, when she sees these events actually starting to happen around her, she intervenes and causes an evacuation of the tower, thus thwarting death’s design and saving many lives. Years later, her granddaughter, Stefani Reyes (Kaitlyn Santa Juana), inherits the vision of the destruction that could have occurred and realizes death is still coming for the survivors. “I knew we couldn’t put the whole [Skyview restaurant] on fire, but Tony [Lazarowich, Special Effects Supervisor] tried and put as much fire as he could safely and then we just built off that [in VFX] and added a lot more. Even when it’s just a little bit of real fire, the lighting and interaction that can’t be simulated, so I think it was a success in terms of blending that practical with the visual.” —Nordin Rahhali, VFX Supervisor The film opens with an elaborate, large-scale set piece involving the 400-foot-high Skyview Tower restaurant – and its collapse. Drone footage was digitized to create a 3D asset for the LED wall so the time of day could be changed as needed. “The set that the directors wanted was very large,” says Nordin Rahhali, VFX Supervisor. “We had limited space options in stages given the scale and the footprint of the actual restaurant that they wanted. It was the first set piece, the first big thing we shot, so we had to get it all ready and going right off the bat. We built a bigger volume for our needs, including an LED wall that we built the assets for.” “We were outside Vancouver at Bridge Studios in Burnaby. The custom-built LED volume was a little over 200 feet in length” states Christian Sebaldt, ASC, the movie’s DP. The volume was 98 feet in diameter and 24 feet tall. Rahhali explains, “Pixomondo was the vendor that we contracted to come in and build the volume. They also built the asset that went on the LED wall, so they were part of our filming team and production shoot. Subsequently, they were also the main vendor doing post, which was by design. By having them design and take care of the asset during production, we were able to leverage their assets, tools and builds for some of the post VFX.” Rahhali adds, “It was really important to make sure we had days with the volume team and with Christian and his camera team ahead of the shoot so we could dial it in.” Built at Bridge Studios in Burnaby outside Vancouver, the custom-built LED volume for events at the Skyview restaurant was over 200 feet long, 98 feet wide and 24 feet tall. Extensive previs with Digital Domain was done to advance key shots. (Photo: Eric Milner) Zach Lipovsky and Adam Stein directed Final Destination Bloodlines for New Line film, distributed by Warner Bros., in which chain reactions of small and big events lead to bloody catastrophes befalling those who have cheated death at some point. Pixomondo was the lead VFX vendor, followed by FOLKS VFX. Picture Shop also contributed. There were around 800 VFX shots. Tony Lazarowich was the Special Effects Supervisor. “The Skyview restaurant involved building a massive set [that] was fire retardant, which meant the construction took longer than normal because they had to build it with certain materials and coat it with certain things because, obviously, it serves for the set piece. As it’s falling into chaos, a lot of that fire was practical. I really jived with what Christian and directors wanted and how Tony likes to work – to augment as much real practical stuff as possible,” Rahhali remarks. “I knew we couldn’t put the whole thing on fire, but Tony tried and put as much fire as he could safely, and then we just built off that [in VFX] and added a lot more. Even when it’s just a little bit of real fire, the lighting and interaction can’t be simulated, so I think it was a success in terms of blending that practical with the visual.” The Skyview restaurant required building a massive set that was fire retardant. Construction on the set took longer because it had to be built and coated with special materials. As the Skyview restaurant falls into chaos, much of the fire was practical. (Photo: Eric Milner) “We got all the Vancouver skyline [with drones] so we could rebuild our version of the city, which was based a little on the Vancouver footprint. So, we used all that to build a digital recreation of a city that was in line with what the directors wanted, which was a coastal city somewhere in the States that doesn’t necessarily have to be Vancouver or Seattle, but it looks a little like the Pacific Northwest.” —Christian Sebaldt, ASC, Director of Photography For drone shots, the team utilized a custom heavy-lift drone with three RED Komodo Digital Cinema cameras “giving us almost 180 degrees with overlap that we would then stitch in post and have a ridiculous amount of resolution off these three cameras,” Sebaldt states. “The other drone we used was a DJI Inspire 3, which was also very good. And we flew these drones up at the height [we needed]. We flew them at different times of day. We flew full 360s, and we also used them for photogrammetry. We got all the Vancouver skyline so we could rebuild our version of the city, which was based a little on the Vancouver footprint. So, we used all that to build a digital recreation of a city that was in line with what the directors wanted, which was a coastal city somewhere in the States that doesn’t necessarily have to be Vancouver or Seattle, but it looks a little like the Pacific Northwest.” Rahhali adds, “All of this allowed us to figure out what we were going to shoot. We had the stage build, and we had the drone footage that we then digitized and created a 3D asset to go on the wall [so] we could change the times of day” Pixomondo built the volume and the asset that went on the LED wall for the Skyview sequence. They were also the main vendor during post. FOLKS VFX and Picture Shop contributed. (Photo: Eric Milner) “We did extensive previs with Digital Domain,” Rahhali explains. “That was important because we knew the key shots that the directors wanted. With a combination of those key shots, we then kind of reverse-engineered [them] while we did techvis off the previs and worked with Christian and the art department so we would have proper flexibility with the set to be able to pull off some of these shots. [For example,] some of these shots required the Skyview restaurant ceiling to be lifted and partially removed for us to get a crane to shoot Paul [Max Lloyd-Jones] as he’s about to fall and the camera’s going through a roof, that we then digitally had to recreate. Had we not done the previs to know those shots in advance, we would not have been able to build that in time to accomplish the look. We had many other shots that were driven off the previs that allowed the art department, construction and camera teams to work out how they would get those shots.” Some shots required the Skyview’s ceiling to be lifted and partially removed to get a crane to shoot Paul Campbell (Max Lloyd-Jones) as he’s about to fall. The character Iris lived in a fortified house, isolating herself methodically to avoid the Grim Reaper. Rahhali comments, “That was a beautiful location [in] GVRD [Greater Vancouver], very cold. It was a long, hard shoot, because it was all nights. It was just this beautiful pocket out in the middle of the mountains. We in visual effects didn’t do a ton other than a couple of clean-ups of the big establishing shots when you see them pull up to the compound. We had to clean up small roads we wanted to make look like one road and make the road look like dirt.” There were flames involved. Sebaldt says, “The explosion [of Iris’s home] was unbelievably big. We had eight cameras on it at night and shot it at high speed, and we’re all going ‘Whoa.’” Rahhali notes, “There was some clean-up, but the explosion was 100% practical. Our Special Effects Supervisor, Tony, went to town on that. He blew up the whole house, and it looked spectacular.” The tattoo shop piercing scene is one of the most talked-about sequences in the movie, where a dangling chain from a ceiling fan attaches itself to the septum nose piercing of Erik Campbell (Richard Harmon) and drags him toward a raging fire. Rahhali observes, “That was very Final Destination and a great Rube Goldberg build-up event. Richard was great. He was tied up on a stunt line for most of it, balancing on top of furniture. All of that was him doing it for real with a stunt line.” Some effects solutions can be surprisingly extremely simple. Rahhali continues, “Our producer [Craig Perry] came up with a great gag [for the] septum ring.” Richard’s nose was connected with just a nose plug that went inside his nostrils. “All that tugging and everything that you’re seeing was real. For weeks and weeks, we were all trying to figure out how to do it without it being a big visual effects thing. ‘How are we gonna pull his nose for real?’ Craig said, ‘I have these things I use to help me open up my nose and you can’t really see them.’ They built it off of that, and it looked great.” Filmmakers spent weeks figuring out how to execute the harrowing tattoo shop scene. A dangling chain from a ceiling fan attaches itself to the septum nose ring of Erik Campbell (Richard Harmon) – with the actor’s nose being tugged by the chain connected to a nose plug that went inside his nostrils. “[S]ome of these shots required the Skyview restaurant ceiling to be lifted and partially removed for us to get a crane to shoot Paul [Campbell] as he’s about to fall and the camera’s going through a roof, that we then digitally had to recreate. Had we not done the previs to know those shots in advance, we would not have been able to build that in time to accomplish the look. We had many other shots that were driven off the previs that allowed the art department, construction and camera teams to work out how they would get those shots.” —Nordin Rahhali, VFX Supervisor Most of the fire in the tattoo parlor was practical. “There are some fire bars and stuff that you’re seeing in there from SFX and the big pool of fire on the wide shots.” Sebaldt adds, “That was a lot of fun to shoot because it’s so insane when he’s dancing and balancing on all this stuff – we were laughing and laughing. We were convinced that this was going to be the best scene in the movie up to that moment.” Rahhali says, “They used the scene wholesale for the trailer. It went viral – people were taking out their septum rings.” Erik survives the parlor blaze only to meet his fate in a hospital when he is pulled by a wheelchair into an out-of-control MRI machine at its highest magnetic level. Rahhali comments, “That is a good combination of a bunch of different departments. Our Stunt Coordinator, Simon Burnett, came up with this hard pull-wire line [for] when Erik flies and hits the MRI. That’s a real stunt with a double, and he hit hard. All the other shots are all CG wheelchairs because the directors wanted to art-direct how the crumpling metal was snapping and bending to show pressure on him as his body starts going into the MRI.” To augment the believability that comes with reality, the directors aimed to capture as much practically as possible, then VFX Supervisor Nordin Rahhali and his team built on that result. (Photo: Eric Milner) A train derailment concludes the film after Stefani and her brother, Charlie, realize they are still on death’s list. A train goes off the tracks, and logs from one of the cars fly though the air and kills them. “That one was special because it’s a hard sequence and was also shot quite late, so we didn’t have a lot of time. We went back to Vancouver and shot the actual street, and we shot our actors performing. They fell onto stunt pads, and the moment they get touched by the logs, it turns into CG as it was the only way to pull that off and the train of course. We had to add all that. The destruction of the houses and everything was done in visual effects.” Erik survives the tattoo parlor blaze only to meet his fate in a hospital when he is crushed by a wheelchair while being pulled into an out-of-control MRI machine. Erik (Richard Harmon) appears about to be run over by a delivery truck at the corner of 21A Ave. and 132A St., but he’s not – at least not then. The truck is actually on the opposite side of the road, and the person being run over is Howard. A rolling penny plays a major part in the catastrophic chain reactions and seems to be a character itself. “The magic penny was a mix from two vendors, Pixomondo and FOLKS; both had penny shots,” Rahhali says. “All the bouncing pennies you see going through the vents and hitting the fan blade are all FOLKS. The bouncing penny at the end as a lady takes it out of her purse, that goes down the ramp and into the rail – that’s FOLKS. The big explosion shots in the Skyview with the penny slowing down after the kid throws it [off the deck] are all Pixomondo shots. It was a mix. We took a little time to find that balance between readability and believability.” Approximately 800 VFX shots were required for Final Destination Bloodlines. (Photo: Eric Milner) Chain reactions of small and big events lead to bloody catastrophes befalling those who have cheated Death at some point in the Final Destination films. From left: Kaitlyn Santa Juana as Stefani Reyes, director Adam Stein, director Zach Lipovsky and Gabrielle Rose as Iris. (Photo: Eric Milner) Rahhali adds, “The film is a great collaboration of departments. Good visual effects are always a good combination of special effects, makeup effects and cinematography; it’s all the planning of all the pieces coming together. For a film of this size, I’m really proud of the work. I think we punched above our weight class, and it looks quite good.”

This edition of the Venice Biennale includes 65 national pavilions, 11 collateral events, and over 750 participants in the international exhibition curated by Italian architect and engineer Carlo Ratti. Entitled Intelligens: Natural Artificial Collective, its stated aim is to make Venice a ‘living laboratory’. But Ratti’s exhibition in the Arsenale has been hit by mixed reviews. The AJ’s Rob Wilson described it as ‘a bit of a confusing mess’, while other media outlets have called the robot-heavy exhibit of future-facing building-focused solutions to the climate crisis a ‘tech-bro fever dream’ and a ‘mind-boggling rollercoaster’ to mention a few. It is a distinct shift away from the biennale of two years ago twhen Ghanaian-Scottish architect Lesley Lokko curated the main exhibitions, including 89 participants – of which more than half were from Africa or the African diaspora – in a convincing reset of the architectural conversation.Advertisement This year’s National Pavilions and collateral exhibits, by contrast, have tackled the largest themes in architecture and the world right now in a less constrained way than the main exhibitions. The exhibits are radical and work as a useful gauge for understanding what’s important in each country: decarbonisation, climate resilience, the reconstruction of Gaza, and an issue more prevalent in politics closer to home: gender wars. What's not to miss in the Giardini? British Pavilion (photography: Chris Lane) UK Pavilion The British Pavilion this year, which won a special mention from the Venetian jury, is housing a show by a British-Kenyan collab titled GBR – Geology of Britannic Repair. In it, the curators explore the links between colonialism, the built environment and geological extraction. Focusing on the Rift Valley, which runs from east Africa to the Middle East, including Palestine, the exhibition was curated by the Nairobi-based studio cave_bureau, UK-based curator, writer and Farrell Centre director Owen Hopkins and Queen Mary University professor Kathryn Yusoff. The pavilion’s façade is cloaked by a beaded veil of agricultural waste briquettes and clay and glass beads, produced in Kenya and India, echoing both Maasai practices and beads once made on Venice’s Murano, as currency for the exchange of metals, minerals and slaves. The pavilion’s six gallery spaces include multisensory installations such as the Earth Compass, a series of celestial maps connecting London and Nairobi; the Rift Room, tracing one of humans’ earliest migration routes; and the Shimoni Slave Cave, featuring a large-scale bronze cast of a valley cave historically used as a holding pen for enslaved people.Advertisement The show also includes Objects of Repair, a project by design-led research group Palestine Regeneration Team (PART), looking at how salvaged materials could help rebuild war-torn Gaza, the only exhibit anywhere in the Biennale that tackled the reconstruction of Gaza face-on – doing so impressively, both politically and sensitively. Read more here. Danish Pavilion (photography: Hampus Berndtson) Demark Pavilion A firm favourite by most this year, the Danish exhibition Build of Site, curated by Søren Pihlmann of Pihlmann Architects, transforms the pavilion, which requires renovation anyway, into both a renovation site and archive of materials. Clever, simple and very methodical, the building is being both renewed while at the same time showcasing innovative methods to reuse surplus materials uncovered during the construction process – as an alternative to using new resources to build a temporary exhibition. The renovation of the 1950s Peter Koch-designed section of the pavilion began in December 2024 and will be completed following the biennale, having been suspended for its duration. On display are archetypal elements including podiums, ramps, benches and tables – all constructed from the surplus materials unearthed during the renovation, such as wood, limestone, concrete, stone, sand, silt and clay. Belgian Pavilion (photography: Michiel De Cleene) Belgium Pavilion If you need a relaxing break from the intensity of the biennale, then the oldest national pavilion in the Giardini is the one for you. Belgium’s Building Biospheres: A New Alliance between Nature and Architecture brings ‘plant intelligence’ to the fore. Commissioned by the Flanders Architecture Institute and curated by landscape architect Bas Smets and neurobiologist Stefano Mancuso, the exhibit investigates how the natural ‘intelligence’ of plants can be used to produce an indoor climate – elevating the role of landscape design and calling for it to no longer serve as a backdrop for architecture. Inside, more than 200 plants occupy the central area beneath the skylight, becoming the pavilion’s centrepiece, with the rear space visualising ‘real-time’ data on the prototype’s climate control performance. Spanish Pavilion (photography: Luca Capuano) Spain Pavilion One for the pure architecture lovers out there, models (32!), installations, photographs and timber structures fill the Spanish Pavilion in abundance. Neatly curated by architects Roi Salgueiro Barrio and Manuel Bouzas Barcala, Internalities shows a series of existing and research projects that have contributed to decarbonising construction in Spain. The outcome? An extensive collection of work exploring the use of very local and very specific regenerative and low-carbon construction and materials – including stone, wood and soil. The joy of this pavilion comes from the 16 beautiful timber frames constructed from wood from communal forests in Galicia. Polish Pavilion (photography: Luca Capuano) Poland Pavilion Poland’s pavilion was like Marmite this year. Some loved its playful approach while others found it silly. Lares and Penates, taking its name from ancient Roman deities of protection, has been curated by Aleksandra Kędziorek and looks at what it means and takes to have a sense of security in architecture. Speaking to many different anxieties, it refers to the unspoken assumption of treating architecture as a safe haven against the elements, catastrophes and wars – showcasing and elevating the mundane solutions and signage derived from building, fire and health regulations. The highlight? An ornate niche decorated with tiles and stones just for … a fire extinguisher. Dutch Pavilion (photography: Cristiano Corte) Netherlands Pavilion Punchy and straight to the point, SIDELINED: A Space to Rethink Togetherness takes sports as a lens for looking at how spatial design can both reveal and disrupt the often-exclusionary dynamics of everyday environments. Within the pavilion, the exhibit looks beyond the large-scale arena of the stadium and gymnasium to investigate the more localised and intimate context of the sports bar, as well as three alternative sports – a site of both social production and identity formation – as a metaphor for uniting diverse communities. The pavilion-turned-sports bar, designed by Koos Breen and Jeannette Slütter and inspired by Asger Jorn’s three-sided sports field, is a space for fluidity and experimentation where binary oppositions, social hierarchies and cultural values are contested and reshaped – complete with jerseys and football scarfs (currently a must-have fashion item) worn by players in the alternative Anonymous Allyship aligning the walls. Read Derin Fadina’s review for the AJ here. Performance inside the Nordic Countries Pavilion (photography: Venla Helenius) Nordic Countries Pavilion Probably the most impactful national pavilion this year (and with the best tote bag by far), the Nordic Countries have presented an installation with performance work. Curated by Kaisa Karvinen, Industry Muscle: Five Scores for Architecture continues Finnish artist Teo Ala-Ruona’s work on trans embodiment and ecology by considering the trans body as a lens through which to examine modern architecture and the built environment. The three-day exhibition opening featured a two-hour performance each day with Ala-Ruona and his troupe crawling, climbing and writhing around the space, creating a bodily dialogue with the installations and pavilion building itself, which was designed by celebrated Modernist architect Sverre Fehn. The American pavilion next door, loudly (country music!) turns its back on what’s going on in its own country by just celebrating the apathetical porch, making the Nordic Countries seem even more relevant in this crucial time. Read Derin Fadina’s review for the AJ here. German Pavilion (photography: Luca Capuano) Germany Pavilion An exhibit certainly grabbing the issue of climate change by its neck is the German contribution, Stresstest. Curated by Nicola Borgmann, Elisabeth Endres, Gabriele G Kiefer and Daniele Santucci, the pavilion has turned climate change into a literal physical and psychological experience for visitors by creating contrasting ‘stress’ and ‘de-stress’ rooms. In the dark stress room, a large metal sculpture creates a cramped and hot space using heating mats hung from the ceiling and powered by PVs. Opposite is a calmer space demonstrating strategies that could be used to reduce the heat of cities, and between the two spaces is a film focusing on the impacts of cities becoming hotter. If this doesn’t highlight the urgency of the situation, I’m not sure what will. Best bits of the Arsenale outside the main exhibitions Bahrain Pavilion (photography: Andrea Avezzù) Bahrain Pavilion Overall winner of this year’s Golden Lion for best national participation, Bahrain’s pavilion in the historic Artiglierie of the Arsenale is a proposal for living and working through heat conditions. Heatwave, curated by architect Andrea Faraguna, reimagines public space design by exploring passive cooling strategies rooted in the Arab country’s climate, as well as cultural context. A geothermal well and solar chimney are connected through a thermo-hygrometric axis that links underground conditions with the air outside. The inhabitable space that hosts visitors is thus compressed and defined by its earth-covered floor and suspended ceiling, and is surrounded by memorable sandbags, highlighting its scalability for particularly hot construction sites in the Gulf where a huge amount of construction is taking place. In the Arsenale’s exhibition space, where excavation wasn’t feasible, this system has been adapted into mechanical ventilation, bringing in air from the canal side and channelling it through ductwork to create a microclimate. Slovenian Pavilion (photography: Andrea Avezzù) Slovenia Pavilion The AJ’s Rob Wilson’s top pavilion tip this year provides an enjoyable take on the theme of the main exhibition, highlighting how the tacit knowledge and on-site techniques and skills of construction workers and craftspeople are still the key constituent in architectural production despite all the heat and light about robotics, prefabrication, artificial intelligence and 3D printing. Master Builders, curated by Ana Kosi and Ognen Arsov and organised by the Museum of Architecture and Design (MAO) in Ljubljana, presents a series of ‘totems’ –accumulative sculpture-like structures that are formed of conglomerations of differently worked materials, finishes and building elements. These are stacked up into crazy tower forms, which showcase various on-site construction skills and techniques, their construction documented in accompanying films. Uzbekistan Pavilion (photography: Luca Capuano) Uzbekistan Pavilion Uzbekistan’s contribution explores the Soviet era solar furnace and Modernist legacy. Architecture studio GRACE, led by curators Ekaterina Golovatyuk and Giacomo Cantoni have curated A Matter of Radiance. The focus is the Sun Institute of Material Science – originally known as the Sun Heliocomplex – an incredible large-scale scientific structure built in 1987 on a natural, seismic-free foundation near Tashkent and one of only two that study material behaviour under extreme temperatures. The exhibition examines the solar oven’s site’s historical and contemporary significance while reflecting on its scientific legacy and influence moving beyond just national borders. Applied Arts Pavilion (photography: Andrea Avezzù) V&A Applied Arts Pavilion Diller Scofidio + Renfro (DS+R) is having a moment. The US-based practice, in collaboration with V&A chief curator Brendan Cormier, has curated On Storage, which aptly explores global storage architectures in a pavilion that strongly links to the V&A’s recent opening of Storehouse, its new (and free) collections archive in east London. Featured is a six-channel (and screen) film entitled Boxed: The Mild Boredom of Order, directed by the practice itself and following a toothbrush, as a metaphor for an everyday consumer product, on its journey through different forms of storage across the globe – from warehouse to distribution centre to baggage handlers down to the compact space of a suitcase. Also on display are large-format photographs of V&A East Storehouse, DS+R’s original architectural model and sketchbook and behind-the-scenes photography of Storehouse at work, taken by emerging east London-based photographers. Canal Café (photography: Marco Zorzanello) Canal café Golden Lion for the best participation in the actual exhibition went to Canal Café, an intervention designed by V&A East Storehouse’s architect DS+R with Natural Systems Utilities, SODAI, Aaron Betsky and Davide Oldani. Serving up canal-water espresso, the installation is a demonstration of how Venice itself can be a laboratory to understand how to live on the water in a time of water scarcity. The structure, located on the edge of the Arsenale’s building complex, draws water from its lagoon before filtering it onsite via a hybrid of natural and artificial methods, including a mini wetland with grasses. The project was recognised for its persistence, having started almost 20 years ago, just showing how water scarcity, contamination and flooding are still major concerns both globally and, more locally, in the tourist-heavy city of Venice. And what else? Holy See Pavilion (photography: Andrea Avezzù) The Holy See Much like the Danish Pavilion, the Pavilion of the Holy See is also taking on an approach of renewal this year. Over the next six months, Opera Aperta will breathe new life into the Santa Maria Ausiliatrice Complex in the Castello district of Venice. Founded as a hospice for pilgrims in 1171, the building later became the oldest hospital and was converted into school in the 18th century. In 2001, the City of Venice allocated it for cultural use and for the next four years it will be managed by the Dicastery for Culture and Education of the Holy See to oversee its restoration. Curated by architect, curator and researcher Marina Otero Verzier and artistic director of Fondaco Italia, Giovanna Zabotti, the complex has been turned into a constant ‘living laboratory’ of collective repair – and received a special mention in the biennale awards. The restoration works, open from Tuesday to Friday, are being carried out by local artisans and specialised restorers with expertise in recovering stone, marble, terracotta, mural and canvas painting, stucco, wood and metal artworks. The beauty, however, lies in the photogenic fabrics, lit by a warm yellow glow, hanging from the walls within, gently wrapping the building’s surfaces, leaving openings that allow movement and offer glimpses of the ongoing restoration. Mobile scaffolding, used to support the works, also doubles up as furniture, providing space for equipment and subdividing the interior. Togo Pavilion (photography: Andrea Avezzù) Togo Pavilion The Republic of Togo has presented its first pavilion ever at the biennale this year with the project Considering Togo’s Architectural Heritage, which sits intriguingly at the back of a second-hand furniture shop. The inaugural pavilion is curated by Lomé and Berlin-based Studio NEiDA and is in Venice’s Squero Castello. Exploring Togo’s architectural narratives from the early 20th century, and key ongoing restoration efforts, it documents key examples of the west African country’s heritage, highlighting both traditional and more modern building techniques – from Nôk cave dwellings to Afro-Brazilian architecture developed by freed slaves to post-independence Modernist buildings. Some buildings showcased are in disrepair, despite most of the modern structures remaining in use today, including Hotel de la Paix and the Bourse du Travail, suggestive of a future of repair and celebration. Estonian Pavilion (photography: Joosep Kivimäe) Estonia Pavilion Another firm favourite this year is the Estonian exhibition on Riva dei Sette Martiri on the waterfront between Corso Garibaldi and the Giardini.  The Guardian’s Olly Wainwright said that outside the Giardini, it packed ‘the most powerful punch of all.’ Simple and effective, Let Me Warm You, curated by trio of architects Keiti Lige, Elina Liiva and Helena Männa, asks whether current insulation-driven renovations are merely a ‘checkbox’ to meet European energy targets or ‘a real chance’ to enhance the spatial and social quality of mass housing. The façade of the historic Venetian palazzetto in which it is housed is clad with fibre-cement insulation panels in the same process used in Estonia itself for its mass housing – a powerful visual statement showcasing a problematic disregard for the character and potential of typical habitable spaces. Inside, the ground floor is wrapped in plastic and exhibits how the dynamics between different stakeholders influence spatial solutions, including named stickers to encourage discussion among your peers. Venice Procuratie (photography: Mike Merkenschlager) SMAC (San Marco Art Centre) Timed to open to the public at the same time as the biennale, SMAC is a new permanent arts institution in Piazza San Marco, on the second floor of the Procuratie, which is owned by Generali. The exhibition space, open to the public for the first time in 500 years, comprises 16 galleries arranged along a continuous corridor stretching over 80m, recently restored by David Chipperfield Architects. Visitors can expect access through a private courtyard leading on to a monumental staircase and experience a typically sensitive Chipperfield restoration, which has revived the building’s original details: walls covered in a light grey Venetian marmorino made from crushed marble and floors of white terrazzo. During the summer, its inaugural programme features two solo exhibitions dedicated to Australian modern architect Harry Seidler and Korean landscape designer Jung Youngsun. Holcim's installation (photography: Celestia Studio) Holcim x Elemental Concrete manufacturer Holcim makes an appearance for a third time at Venice, this time partnering with Chilean Pritzker Prize-winning Alejandro Aravena’s practice Elemental – curator of the 2016 biennale – to launch a resilient housing prototype that follows on from the Norman Foster-designed Essential Homes Project. The ‘carbon-neutral’ structure incorporates Holcim’s range of low-carbon concrete ECOPact and is on display as part of the Time Space Existence exhibition organised by the European Cultural Centre in their gardens. It also applies Holcim’s ‘biochar’ technology for the first time, a concrete mix with 100 per cent recycled aggregates, in a full-scale Basic Services Unit. This follows an incremental design approach, which could entail fast and efficient construction via the provision of only essential housing components, and via self-build. The Next Earth at Palazzo Diedo (photography: Joan Porcel) The Next Earth At Palazzo Diedo’s incredible dedicated Berggruen Arts and Culture space, MIT’s department of architecture and think tank Antikythera (apparently taking its name from the first-known computer) have come together to create the exhibition The Next Earth: Computation, Crisis, Cosmology, which questions how philosophy and architecture must and can respond to various planet-wide crises. Antikythera’s The Noocene: Computation and Cosmology from Antikythera to AI looks at the evolution of ‘planetary computation’ as an ‘accidental’ megastructure through which systems, from the molecular to atmospheric scales, become both comprehensible and composable. What is actually on display is an architectural scale video monolith and short films on AI, astronomy and artificial life, as well as selected artefacts. MIT’s Climate Work: Un/Worlding the Planet features 37 works-in-progress, each looking at material supply chains, energy expenditure, modes of practice and deep-time perspectives. Take from it what you will. The 19th International Venice Architecture Biennale remains open until Sunday, 23 November 2025.

“I want to make a big announcement,” said Faryar Shirzad, the chief policy officer of Coinbase, to a nearly empty room. His words echoed across the massive hall at the Bitcoin Conference, deep in the caverns of The Venetian Expo in Las Vegas, and it wasn’t apparent how many people were watching on the livestream. Then again, somebody out there may have been interested in the panelists he was interviewing, one of whom was unusual by Bitcoin Conference standards: Chris LaCivita, the political consultant who’d co-chaired Donald Trump’s 2024 presidential campaign. “I am super proud to say it on this stage,” Shirzad continued, addressing the dozens of people scattered across 5,000 chairs. “We have just become a major sponsor of the America250 effort.” My jaw dropped. Coinbase, the world’s largest crypto exchange, the owner of 12 percent of the world’s Bitcoin supply, and listed on the S&P 500, was paying for Trump to hold a military parade.No wonder they made the announcement in an empty room. Today was “Code and Country”: an entire day of MAGA-themed panels on the Nakamoto Main Stage, full of Republican legislators, White House officials, and political operatives, all of whom praised Trump as the savior of the crypto world. But Code and Country was part of Industry Day, which was VIP only and closed to General Admission holders — the people with the $199 tickets, who flocked to the conference seeking wisdom from brilliant technologists and fabulously wealthy crypto moguls, who believed that decentralized currency on a blockchain could not be controlled by government authoritarians. They’d have drowned Shirzad in boos if they saw him give money to Donald Trump’s campaign manager, and they would have stormed the Nakamoto stage if they knew the purpose of America250. America250 is a nonprofit established by Congress during Barack Obama’s presidency with a mundane mission: to plan the nationwide festivities for July 4th, 2026, the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. “Who remembers the Bicentennial in 1976?” the co-chair, former U.S. Treasurer Rosie Rios, asked the crowd. “I remember it like it was yesterday, and this one is going to be bigger and better.” But then Trump got re-elected, appointed LaCivita as co-chair, and suddenly, the party was starting earlier. The week before the conference, America250 announced that it would host a “Grand Military Parade” on June 14th to celebrate the U.S. Army’s 250th birthday, releasing tickets for prime seats along the parade route and near the Washington Monument on their website, hosting other festivities on the National Mall, and credentialing the press covering the event. (Their celebrations and events are a different operation from the U.S. Army, which had never planned for a parade to celebrate its 250th birthday, much less a military parade, but is now spending up to $45 million in taxpayer dollars to make the parade happen.) According to the most recent statements from Army officials, the parade will include hundreds of cannons, dozens of Black Hawk and Chinook helicopters, fighter jets, bombers, and 150 military vehicles, including Bradley Fighting Vehicles, Stryker Fighting Vehicles, Humvees, and if the logistics work out, 25 (or more) M1 Abrams tanks. Trump had spent years trying to get the government to throw a military parade — primarily because he’d attended a Bastille Day parade in France and became jealous — and now that he was back in office, he’d finally eliminated everyone in the government who previously told him that the budget didn’t exist for such a parade, that the tank treads would ruin the streets and collapse the bridges, that the optics of tanks, guns and soldiers marching down Constitution Avenue were too authoritarian and fascist. June 14th also happens to be Donald Trump’s birthday.And Coinbase, whose CEO once told his employees to stop bringing politics into the workplace, was now footing the bill — if not for this military parade watch party, then for the one inevitably happening next year, when America actually turns 250, or any other festivities between now and then that may or may not fall on Trump’s birthday. (This wasn’t the first party they helped fund, though. Earlier this year, Coinbase wrote a $1 million check to Trump’s inauguration committee. One month later, the SEC announced that it was dropping an investigation into Coinbase.) I had to keep reminding myself that I was at the Bitcoin Conference. I’d been desperately looking for the goofy, degenerate party vibes that my coworkers who’d covered previous crypto conferences told me about: inflated swans with QR codes. Multimillionaires strolling around the Nakamoto Stage in shiba inu pajamas. Folks who communicated in memes and acronyms. Celebrity athletes who were actual celebrities. “Bitcoin yoga,” whatever that was. Afterparties with drugs, lots of drugs, and probably the mind-bending designer kind. And hey, Las Vegas was the global capital of goofy, degenerate partying. But no, I was stuck in a prolonged flashback to every single Republican event I’ve covered over the past ten years – Trump rallies, conservative conferences, GOP conventions, and MAGA fundraisers, with Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” playing on an endless loop. There was an emcee endlessly praising Trump, encouraging the audience to clap for Trump, and reminding everyone about how great it was that Trump spoke at the Conference last year, which all sounds even stranger when said in an Australian accent. In addition to LaCivita, there were four GOP Congressmen, four GOP Senators, one Trump-appointed SEC Commissioner, one Treasury Official, two senior White House officials (including David Sacks, the White House crypto and A.I. czar), and two of Trump’s sons. All of them, too, spent time praising Trump as the first “crypto president.” (Vice President J.D. Vance would be speaking the next day to the general admission crowd, but he was probably going to praise Trump, too.) The titles of the panels seemed to be run through some sort of MAGA generative AI system: The Next Golden Age of America. The American Super Grid. Making America the Global Bitcoin Superpower. The New Declaration of Independence: Bitcoin and the Path Out of the U.S. National Debt Crisis. (Speaker: Vivek Ramaswamy.) Uncancleable: Bitcoin, Rumble & Free Speech Technology. (Speaker: Donald Trump Jr.) The only difference was that this MAGA conference was funded by crypto. And if crypto was paying for a MAGA conference, and they had to play “God Bless the USA,” they were bringing in a string quartet.Annoyed that I had not yet seen a single Shiba Inu — no, Jim Justice’s celebrity bulldog was not the same thing — I left Nakamoto and went back to the press area. It hadn’t turned into Fox News yet, but I could see MAGA’s presence seeping into the world of podcasters and vloggers. A Newsmax reporter (great blowout, jewel-toned sheath dress, heels to the heavens, very camera-ready) was interviewing White House official Bo Hines (clean-cut, former Yale football player and GOP congressional candidate, nice suit), right before he was hustled onstage for a panel with a member of the U.S. Treasury. Soon, Rep. Byron Donalds (R-FL) was doing an interview gauntlet while his senior aides stood by, one wearing a pink plaid blazer that could have easily been Brooks Brothers. Over on the Genesis Stage, the CEO of PragerU, a right wing media company that attacks higher education, was interviewing the CEO of the 1792 Exchange, a right-wing nonprofit that attacks companies for engaging in “woke business practices” such as diversity initiatives. (Leveraging Bitcoin’s Values to Shift the Culture in America.) I walked into the main expo center, past a crypto podcaster in a sequined bomber jacket talking to a Wall Street Journal reporter. For some reason, his presence was a relief. Even though he was clearly a Trump supporter — his jacket said TRUMP: THE GOLDEN AGE on the back — there was something more janky and homegrown, less corporate, about him. But the moment I looked up and saw a massive sign that said STEAKTOSHI, the unease returned. A ghoulish-looking group of executives from Steak ‘n Shake, the fast food company with over 450 locations across the globe, had gathered under the sign in a replica of the restaurant. They were selling jars of beef tallow, with a choice of grass-fed or Wagyu, and giving out a MAKE FRYING OIL TALLOW AGAIN hat with every purchase an overt embrace of the right-wing conspiracy that cooking with regular seed oils would lower one’s testosterone. (Relevant to the conference: they were also advertising that their restaurants now accepted Bitcoin.)Andrew Gordon, the head of Main Street Crypto PAC, had been to five previous Bitcoin Conferences and worked on crypto tax policy since 2014. He’d seen Trump speak at the last conference in Nashville during the election, and the audience – not typically unquestioning MAGA superfans – had melted into adoring goo in Trump’s presence. But now that Trump was using his presidential powers to establish a Bitcoin reserve, roll back federal investigations into crypto companies, and order massive changes to financial regulatory policies — in short, changing the entire market on crypto’s behalf with the stroke of a pen — Gordon clocked a notable vibe shift this year. “There are people wearing suits at a Bitcoin conference,” he told me wryly back in the press lounge. (He, too, was wearing a suit). The change wasn’t due to a new breed of Suit People flooding in. It was the Bitcoin veterans the ones who’d been coming to the conference for years, dressed in loud Versace jackets or old holey t-shirts – who were now in business attire. “They’re now recognizing the level of formality and how serious it is.”According to the Bitcoin Conference organizers, out of the 35,000-plus attendees in Vegas this year, 17.1 percent of them were categorized as “institutional and corporate decision-makers” — a vague way to describe politicians, corporate executives, and the rest of the C-suite world. Whenever they weren’t speaking onstage, they were conducting interviews with outlets hand-selected from dozens of media requests that had been filtered through the conference organizers, or in Q&A sessions with people who’d bought the $21,000 Whale Pass and could access the VIP Lounge. (Yes, the industry-only day of the conference had an even more exclusive tier.) They were sidebarring with crypto CEOs outside the conference for round tables, privately meeting Senators for lunch and White House officials for dinner. Gordon himself had just held a private breakfast for industry insiders, with GOP Senators Marsha Blackburn and Cynthia Lummis as special guests. And for the very, very wealthy, MAGA Inc., Trump’s primary super PAC, was holding a fundraising dinner in Vegas that night, with Vance, Don Jr., and Eric Trump in attendance. That ticket, according to The Washington Post, cost $1 million per person.It was the kind of amoral, backroom behavior that would have sent the General Admission attendees into a rage — and they did the next day, when the convention opened to them. During one extremely packed talk at the Genesis Stage called Are Bitcoiners Becoming Sycophants of the State?, a moderator asked the four panelists what they’d like to say to Vance and Sacks and all the politicians who’d been there yesterday. And Erik Cason erupted.“‘What you’re doing is actually immoral and bad. You hurt people. You actively want to use the state to implement violence against others.’ 
That’s like, fucked up and wrong,” said Cason, the author of “Cryptosovereignty,” to a crowd of hundreds. “If you personally wanna like, go to Yemen and try to stab those people, that’s on you. But asking other people to go do that – it is a fucked up and terrible thing.” He grew more heated. “And also fuck you. You’re not, like, a king. You’re supposed to be liable to the law, too. 
And I don’t appreciate you trying to think that that you just get to advance the state however the fuck you want, because you have power.”“These are the violent thugs who killed hundreds of millions of people over the last century,” agreed Bruce Fenton of Chainstone Labs. “They have nothing on us. All we wanna do is run some code and trade it around our nerd money. Leave us alone.”The audience burst into cheers and applause. Bitcoin was the promise of freedom from the government, who’d murdered and stolen and tried to control their lives, and now that their wealth was on the blockchain, no one could take their sovereignty. “Personally, I don’t really care what they [the politicians] think,” said American HODL, whose title on the conference site was “guy with 6.15 bitcoin,” the derision clear in his voice. “They are employees who work for us, so their thoughts and opinions on the matter are irrelevant. Do what the fuck we tell you to do.
 I don’t work for you. I’m not underneath you. You’re underneath me.” But the politicians weren’t going to listen to them, much less talk to them. The politicians spent the conference surrounded by aides and security who stopped people from approaching – I’m sorry, the Senator has to leave for an engagement now – or safely inside the VIP rooms with the $21,000-dollar Whale Pass holders and the million-dollar donors. By the time American HODL said that the politicians worked for him, they were on flights out of Vegas, having gotten what they wanted from Code and Country, an event that was closed to General Admission pass holders.Coinbase’s executives were at Code and Country, however. Coinbase held over 984,000 Bitcoin, more coins than American HODL could mine in a lifetime. And Coinbase was now a sponsor of Donald Trump’s birthday military parade. The Nakamoto Stage during Code + Country at the Bitcoin Conference.After David Sacks and the Winklevoss twins finished explaining how Trump had saved the crypto industry from Sen. Elizabeth Warren (or as one Winklevoss called her, “Pocahontas”), I was jonesing for a drink. A few other reporters on the ground had told me about “Code, Country and Cocktails,” the America250 afterparty held at the Ayu Dayclub at Resort World, and I signed up immediately. Reporters at past Bitcoin Conferences had promised legendary side-event depravity, and I hoped I would find it there. As I entered the lush, tropical nightclub, I saw two white-gloved hands sticking out the side of the wall, each holding a glass of champagne at crotch level. I reached out for a flute, thinking it was maybe just a fucked-up piece of art, and gasped as the hand let go of the stem, disappeared into the hole, and emerged seconds later with another full champagne glass. Past the champagne glory hole wall — there was really no other way to describe it — was a massive outdoor swimming pool, surrounded by chefs serving up endless portions of steak frites, unguarded magnums of Moët casually stacked in ice buckets, the professional Beautiful Women of Las Vegas draped around Peter Schiff, the famous economist/podcaster/Bitcoin skeptic. When not booked for private events, the crescent-shaped pool at Ayu would be filled with drunk people in swim suits, dancing to DJ Kaskade. No one was in the pool tonight. Depravity was not happening here. In fact, there was more networking going on than partying, and it was somehow more engaging than Bone Thugs-N-Harmony suddenly appearing onstage to perform. And it was distinctly not just about making money in crypto. A good percentage of this crowd wore some derivative of a MAGA hat, and anyone who could show off their photos of them with Trump did so. This, I realized, was how crypto bros did politics — a new game for them, where success and influence was not necessarily quantifiable. “Crypto got Trump elected,” Greg Grseziak, an agent who manages crypto influencers, told me, showing me his Trump photo opp. “In four years, this is going to be the biggest event in the presidential race.”Grzesiak walked off to do more networking, I finished my glory hole champagne, and in the meantime, Bone Thugs had started performing “East 1999”. A fellow reporter leaned over. “Who do you think those guys are?” he asked, pointing to a group of extremely tall white men in suits and lanyards, standing behind a velvet rope to the left of the stage.I walked over to investigate. They looked like the group of Steak ‘n Shake executives I met at the Expo Hall — the ones with the beef tallow jars and derivative MAGA hats — and they were lurking next to the stage, watching the rappers like vultures but barely moving to the music. This scene was too preposterous to actually be real: Steak ‘n Shake executives, at the Bitcoin Conference, attending a party for America250, in the VIP section, during a Bone Thugs-n-Harmony set? “Shout out to Steak ‘n Shake for being the first fast food restaurant to accept Bitcoin!” announced one of the Bones. The company logo appeared on a screen above his head.No flashy Vegas magic (or dancers in cow costumes, now shimmying onstage with Steak ‘n Shake signs) could mask what I just saw. This party was co-sponsored by a MAGA-branded fast-food chain owned by Sardar Biglari, a businessman who had purchased Maxim, became its editor-in-chief, and used the smutty magazine to endorse Trump in 2024. So was Frax, the stablecoin exchange, and Exodus, one of the biggest crypto wallet companies in the market. Bitcoin Magazine’s logo flashed across the stage at one point, as editor-in-chief David Bailey, in his own derivative MAGA hat, tried to hype up the crowd for J.D. Vance’s speech the next day. (“You only get to live history once,” he said, to faint cheers.)For some unknown reason, these companies were all putting their money into America250, and as I had to keep reminding myself, America250 — the government nonprofit in charge of planning the country’s celebrations of the 250th anniversary of the Declaration’s signing — was currently working to get tanks in the streets of Washington DC for Donald Trump’s birthday. I went for one last champagne flute from the glory hole, just for the novelty, and as the hand disappeared back into the wall, I caught something I’d missed earlier: above the hole was a logo for TRON, the blockchain exchange run by billionaire Justin Sun. He had faced several fraud investigations from the SEC that magically disappeared after he invested $75 million in a Trump family crypto company, and seemed more than happy to keep throwing crypto money at Trump. Recently, he won the $TRUMP meme coin dinner, spending over $16 million on the token in exchange for a private and controversial dinner with the president.TRON was also cosponsoring the America250 party.Earlier, I’d run into the Australian emcee in the elevator of The Palazzo. She’d spent the day teetering across the Nakamoto Stage in dainty kitten heels, a pinstriped blazer and miniskirt suit set, and given the gratuitous Trump praising and the fact she was blonde, I had stereotyped her as MAGA to the core. But the program was over and she was holding her heels by their ankle straps, barefoot and sighing in relief. This was not her usual style, she told an attendee. She’d take a pair of sneakers over heels if she could. But the conference organizers had told her to dress up because there were senators in attendance. “Tomorrow, the real Bitcoiners are coming,” she said, and she’d get to wear flat shoes. And the next morning, on the day of Vance’s speech, I found myself stuck outside the conference with the “real Bitcoiners.” In spite of all the emails that the conference had sent me reminding me of how strict security measures would be, possibly to overcorrect from last year’s utter shitshow around Trump’s appearance, I’d woken up too late, eaten my bagel too leisurely, got sidetracked by a police officer-turned-Bitcoin investor excited I was wearing orange (whoops), and barely missed the cutoff for the Secret Service to let me in. But the conference had set up televisions with a live feed of Vance’s speech, and the rest of the general admission attendees were remarkably chill about it, opting to mingle in the hallways until the Secret Service left. I found myself in a smaller crowd near the expo hall door, next to a young man carrying a live miniature Shiba Inu (“It’s a tiny doge!” he said proudly), and the podcaster I’d seen earlier in the sequined bomber jacket. He introduced himself as Action CEO, and with nothing else to do but wait — “You can watch the [Vance] replay,” he reassured me, “these events are mainly about networking” — we got to talking. “I’m actually excited that Trump isn’t even here, I’ll be honest with you,” he said, speaking with a rapid cadence. Trump was ultimately just one guy, and the fact that he sent his underlings and political allies — the ones who could actually implement his grand promises for the crypto industry — proved he hadn’t just been paying lip service. That said, it had come with some uncomfortable changes, including the re-emergence of Justin Sun. “It’s a little bit concerning when you say, All right, we don’t care what you did in the past. Come on out, clean slate,” he continued. “That’s the concern right now for most people. Seeing people that did wrong by the space coming back and acting like nothing happened? That’s a little concerning.” And not just that: Sun was back in the United States, having dinner with Trump, and giving him millions of dollars. “If you’re sitting in a room and having a conversation, people are literally gonna go, yeah, it’s kind of sketch that this guy is back here after everything that’s happened. You’re not gonna see it published, because it’s not a popular opinion, but we’re all definitely talking about it.” If Action’s friends weren’t comfortable talking about it openly, that fraudsters with enough money were suddenly back in the mix, it was certainly not the kind of conversation the CEOs were going to have in front of the General Admission crowd. (Though it did mean that the emcee, looking much happier than she did the day before, got to wear low-heeled boots and shorts.) But behind closed doors — or at least at the Code and Country panels, where the base pass attendees couldn’t boo them — they gave a sense of what their backroom conversations with the Trump administration did look like.“I was actually at a dinner last night and one of the things that someone from the admin said was, What if we give you guys everything you want and then you guys forget? Because there’s midterms in 2026, and hopefully 2028, and beyond,” said Sam Kazemian, the founder and CEO of Frax, which had sponsored the America250 party. “But one of the things I said was: We as an industry are very, very loyal. The crypto community has a very, very, very strong memory. And once this industry is legalized, is transparent, is safe, all of the big players understand that this wasn’t possible without this administration, this Congress, this Senate. We’re lifelong, career-long allies.”“Loyalty” is a dangerous concept with this president, who’s cheated on his three wives, stopped paying the legal fees for employees who’d taken the fall for him, ended the careers of sympathetic MAGA Republicans for insufficiently coddling him, withdrew security for government employees experiencing death threats for the sin of contradicting him in public by citing facts. It was only weeks ago that he and Vance were publicly screaming at Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky, who was at the White House to request more aid in the war against Russia, for not saying “thank you” in front of the cameras. It would be less than a week before he began threatening to cancel all of Elon Musk’s government contracts when the billionaire criticized the size of Trump’s budget, even though Musk had given him millions and helped him purge the government. And if you were to find a photo of any political leader, billionaire or CEO standing vacant-eyed next to Trump and shaking his hand, the circumstances are practically a given: they had recently made him unhappy, either for criticizing him, making an imagined slight, or simply asserting themselves. The only way they could avoid public humiliation, or their businesses being crushed via executive order, was to go to Mar-a-Lago, tell the world that the president was wonderful, and underwrite a giant party for his birthday military parade. Maybe Kazemian knew he was being tested, or maybe the 32-year old Ron Paul superfan had no idea what the administration was asking of him. Either way, he responded correctly. At least one person at the conference was thinking about ways that the government could betray the Bitcoin community. As the panel on Bitcoiners becoming sycophants of the state wrapped up, and the other panelists finished telling the government pigs to go fuck themselves and keep their hands off their nerd money, the moderator turned to Casey Rodarmor, a software engineer-turned-crypto influencer, for the last question: “Tell everyone here why Bitcoin wins, regardless of what happens.”“Oh, man, I don’t know if Bitcoin wins, regardless of what happens,” he responded, frowning. He had already gamed out one feasible situation where Bitcoin lost: “If we all of a sudden saw a very rapid inflation in a lot of fiat currencies, and there was a plausible scapegoat in Bitcoin all over the world, and they were able to make a sort of marketing claim that Bitcoin is causing this — Bitcoin is making your savings go to zero, it’s causing this carnage to the economy — 
If that happens worldwide, I think that’s really scary.” The moderator froze, the crowd murmured nervously, and I thought about the number of times Trump had blamed a group of people for problems they’d never caused. An awful lot of them were now being deported. “I take that seriously,” Rodarmor continued. “I don’t know that Bitcoin will succeed. I think that Bitcoin is incredibly strong, it’s incredibly difficult to fuck up. But in that case… man, I don’t know.” I had asked Action CEO earlier if Kazemian, the Frax CEO, was right — if the crypto world was unquestioningly loyal to Trump, if their support of him was unconditional. “Oh, it’s definitely conditional,” he said without hesitation, as his Trump jacket glittered under the fluorescent lights. “It’s a matter of, are you going to be doing the right things by us, by the people who are here?” We walked down the expo hall, past booths promising life-changing technological marvels, alongside thousands of people flooding into Nakamoto Hall, ready to learn how to become unfathomably rich, who paid $199 to be there.The audience of “Are Bitcoiners Becoming Sychophants of the State?”, Day Two of the Bitcoin ConferenceSee More:

Type foundry F37 has launched a new typeface inspired by one of Manchester’s last wooden street signs. And they worked with designer Craig Oldham and copywriter Ellen Ling to bring it to life on a series of billboards celebrating the city’s particular brand of pride. F37 Mancunio is based on the typeface on the sign underneath the railway in St Michael’s Place. F37 founder Rick Banks was drawn to the uneven stroke endings on the ‘C’ and the ‘S’ and designer Rodrigo Fuenzalida worked it into a full typeface with nine weights and “a width axis for flexibility.” Mancunio is named after the Roman fort that once stood in present-day Castlefield. “Rick found the reference ages ago and always wanted to turn it into a font,” says F37’s Keelin Wright. “We wanted to take something from the city, and create a font that represents the history of Manchester, but still feels quite modern as well.” The sign in St Michael’s Place that inspired F37’s Mancunio typeface Wright explains that although there are a lot grotesque sans serif fonts in the F37 library, the “quirky” letter endings and old-style numerals create “ a more human type of grotesque.” When it came to launching the typeface, Wright says they wanted to celebrate its connection to Manchester – where F37 is based – in the right way. “We thought because we’ve taken something physical from the city in terms of the sign, we want to give something physical back,” she explains. “We felt that the billboards would give something typographic to the city, especially around springtime, when Manchester is coming out of the gloom.” F37’s Mancunio typeface Banks and Oldham had worked together on several previous projects and bought in Ling to develop the copy-led campaign. She admits it was a daunting brief in some ways, given some high-profile misfires with localised campaigns in Manchester in recent years. In 2022, locals ridiculed a Magnum advert which misrepresented one of the city’s more insalubrious squares, while a recent Adidas billboard for Manchester United proclaiming that “Manneh is Red” was equally derided. Writing on LinkedIn, designer and United fan Andrew Whitehead said he had never once heard the club referred to as Manneh. “It’s not a nickname. It’s not Manchester United. It’s just… off,” he wrote. “This is what fake authenticity looks like.” “There is all this localised stuff that just bombs,” Ling says. “The pressure is on not to do something that feels tired and out of touch.” F37’s Mancunio typeface The team all felt it was important to steer away from many of the well-worn Manchester motifs, which many people feel have been co-opted by commercial interests looking to exploit the city’s creative soul. “When we were putting the brief together, we found pages and pages of reference for things that we didn’t want,” Wright says. “It was much harder to find things that showed what we actually wanted.” “A lot of this stuff feels like it was made by outsiders,” Oldham says. “History didn’t start here in the 1980s – there’s a wealth of culture and community spirit.” It was exciting, he says, to avoid cliches around Tony Wilson, the Hacienda stripes, and the city’s bee symbol and try and capture “the stoicism, the acerbic wit and the self-deprecating pride.” Some of the posters do take familiar topics – like the city’s famously bad weather or Ian Brown’s quote that Manchester has “Everything but a beach” – but Ling says they worked hard to find “a sting in the tail” and “reclaim” these tropes. Ellen Ling and Craig Oldham’s posters to launch F37’s Mancunio typeface. Photo by Tim Sinclair. Other references are extremely local and deliberately perplexing to outsiders, such as the celebration of Boombox Barry, an iconic local personality. “He’s part of our everyday experience of being in Manchester,” Ling says. “It was nice to give him his flowers in terms of the joy that he brings, and the enigma that he is.” One poster even references the Magnum-advert debacle, celebrating “alfresco tinnies on a piss-soaked Piccadilly G.” For the design, they tried several approaches, including using acid colours, but Oldham says he and Banks realised at one point they were “trying too hard.” The stark white text on black background was the perfect way to showcase the typeface, Oldham says, and stands out in the cityscape. “This dense spot of black cuts through this ocean of visual clutter,” he explains. “It confronts people, and forces them to read the words.” Ling adds that the design works perfectly to communicate the deadpan tone of her copy lines. Ellen Ling and Craig Oldham’s posters to launch F37’s Mancunio typeface. Photo by Tim Sinclair. Manchester’s creative scene has been struggling with the changes wrought by the city’s rapid growth and development in recent years. Designers have even taken to remixing the city’s famous visual language to protest against “incessant gentrification.” Oldham recognises the tension, although he thinks it’s happening in many cities. “I think as cities grow and change rapidly, you get to a crossroads,” he says. “What are we going to change into? What are we going to take with us? And what have we got to leave behind? “I think that’s a universal worry, but Manchester’s very much at that point in its life cycle right now.” Ling agrees. “It’s not that the city’s independent spirit is being crushed, it’s more like it’s being Last Of Us fungi-d,” she says, in reference to the hit HBO show. “It does feel that everything that you know in your bones makes Manchester great is being commoditised.” F37’s Mancunio typeface Ellen Ling and Craig Oldham’s posters to launch F37’s Mancunio typeface. Photo by Tim Sinclair. Ellen Ling and Craig Oldham’s posters to launch F37’s Mancunio typeface. Photo by Tim Sinclair. Ellen Ling and Craig Oldham’s posters to launch F37’s Mancunio typeface. Photo by Tim Sinclair. Ellen Ling and Craig Oldham’s posters to launch F37’s Mancunio typeface. Photo by Tim Sinclair.

Joao-Pierre S. Ruth, Senior EditorJune 2, 20255 Min ReadJG Photography via Alamy Stock PhotoProviding services to steel mills and mines around the world can call for real-world, heavy lifting. So when Phoenix Global decided it was time for digital transformation as new leadership took the helm, it needed a fresh plan to embrace the cloud.Jeff Suellentrop, chief information and technology officer for Phoenix Global, says the company works with some 17 steel mill sites in the US and abroad, offering slag remediation and metals recovery. “We operate all the heavy equipment, large loaders, dump trucks and basically all the heavy equipment in the steel mill,” he says. “We help process the byproduct of slags.”Slag is the byproduct of steelmaking, in which impurities are removed from the metal. Suellentrop says his company works with slag to help reclaim precious metals to return to the steelmaking process. The part of the byproduct not returned to steelmaking gets crushed and sold to construction and other industrial agencies. “It’s a very renewable process,” he says.Removing the Weight of Legacy TechServicing steel mills is Phoenix Global’s main business, Suellentrop says, with contracts that can last from five through 20 years. “It’s a fairly unique business, fairly complex compared to traditional order-to-cash type of process.Related:That includes very large asset purchases at the onset with tens of millions of dollars spent on equipment to initiate a contract, he says. “We manage all that equipment, all the personnel, and we also maintenance all that equipment.”This all requires a fairly long selling process, with each site built independently. Phoenix Global had a legacy ERP system in place, Suellentrop says, but the unique needs of the sites led to fragmented data that was not very integrated. “Our goal was to get what we call activity-based management, near real-time activity-based management,” he says.The company wanted to start fresh, jettison all the tech debt, and process debt to have a fully integrated, modernized organization. “We’ve replaced every technology in the company in the last two years,” Suellentrop says.Unfettered by the CloudThe core of that change, he says, was cloud-based SAP ERP software, for all of Phoenix Global’s finance, purchasing, processing tech, supply chain, contract management, plans, and telematics. Phoenix Global tapped Syntax Systems to transition to SAP S/4HANA Cloud.Suellentrop says his company is still deploying SAP at its sites, working toward 100% deployment, which will include mobile assets such as connecting loaders and dump trucks. “You can imagine all the telematics data, hours, fuel consumption,” he says. The system includes connecting some 1,700 associates around the world, integrating data, inventory, and managing maintenance shops through SAP. “We’ve taken out all of the hand offs; it’s all automated," Suellentrop says. “We’ve literally taken days out of the turn-around time and driven up utilization of the equipment, saved millions of dollars on inventory.”Related:Maintenance, for example, has been streamlined to let technicians work directly through SAP to order repair parts that would be available that same day. “It’s a fairly high volume of data when it comes to all the information around the assets, asset maintenance, and then obviously tracking of all the different activities and resources,” he says. “Our goal with activity-based management basically is to see near real-time P&L by site to allow us to make near real-time decisions which help us service our customer better.”In prior years, Phoenix Global saw spot implementations of new solutions for certain needs. After Suellentrop joined the company in March 2023, he was asked to architect the complete digital overhaul and digital transformation for the company. “I’m responsible, from the executive team, for that digital transformation and beginning this activity-based management,” he says. “Digital to me is really delivering it at the speed of business and creating a force multiplier. We literally changed every technology, jettisoned almost all of the legacy processes, and displaced them with best practices.”Related:That allowed Phoenix Global to get rid of unintegrated and poor processes, Suellentrop says, and leapfrog to best practices. “More importantly, it allowed us to standardize the whole data set,” he says, which meant not much data grooming was needed, quickening its use with AI. “We basically took out a whole challenge with deploying AI.”New Leadership, New StrategySuellentrop joined Phoenix Global as it emerged from a reorganization, which he says gave the company the chance to start fresh with a new leadership team that had a goal of driving improvements across the board. That included the adoption of AI and a reimagining of the business model. “The steel industry has not embraced digital quite at the pace of some other industries,” he says.The transformation plan aimed for increased safety, profitability, and efficiency. “We went into this with very distinct outcomes, how we saw this business running in the future, and then we basically align the technology to deliver those outcomes,” Suellentrop says. “I can’t stress the importance of that enough, because we had a very clear vision from the leadership team … it takes immense sponsorship, obviously, to jettison all old processes and go to best practices.”That type of change management, he says, included telling staff that processes they followed day to day, perhaps for as long as 15 years, would change. This included digitizing everything, Suellentrop says, including analog records, even for operators driving trucks. “We got rid of all the paper and pencils,” he says. “We’ve deployed tablets; we automated so they didn’t have to enter some things. We want to minimize the human data entry.”Maintenance technicians now use tablets, he says, which allows them to manage work orders, order parts, and plan their workloads.Phoenix Global plans to finish deploying the new system and operating model in the US this year with international sites to follow in 2026, Suellentrop says. “We’re doing financial planning. We have several new AI value-adders that we’re layering on this year in the plants that are deployed … we can hyper tune our processes and our profitability because we’ve got a much higher level of detail.”About the AuthorJoao-Pierre S. RuthSenior EditorJoao-Pierre S. Ruth covers tech policy, including ethics, privacy, legislation, and risk; fintech; code strategy; and cloud & edge computing for InformationWeek. He has been a journalist for more than 25 years, reporting on business and technology first in New Jersey, then covering the New York tech startup community, and later as a freelancer for such outlets as TheStreet, Investopedia, and Street Fight.See more from Joao-Pierre S. RuthWebinarsMore WebinarsReportsMore ReportsNever Miss a Beat: Get a snapshot of the issues affecting the IT industry straight to your inbox.SIGN-UPYou May Also Like

As long as I can remember, my wife has started each day with 30 minutes of a Candy Crush game. As long as she can remember, I have started each day by telling her it is pointless casual gamer cack. Now I write for the Guardian, I need to find a more eloquent way of putting that, so I thought I would have a go myself. I am begging you: do not do the same. Candy Crush Soda Saga nearly ruined me in a week.I like the game mechanics. As Oscar Wilde said, the man who doesn’t love sliding stuff to form chains of three or more matching shapes does not love life itself. This one is wrapped in a cute candy veneer, all fizzy bottles and gummy bears. And that makes the visuals so alluring. When you slide a Colour Bomb into a Candy Fish all the candies that colour get Candyfished and your eyes are treated to a bazillion of them fizzing around the screen destroying everything, while the firm yet gentle haptic feedback makes it a multisensory burst of pure, effervescent joy.“What’s that clicking noise?” my wife asks.“Don’t you play it with the haptic feedback on?”“Oh, I turned that off because I thought it was hurting my phone.”“In what way?”“I felt it was putting too much … pressure on it.” She says, like her phone is the USS Enterprise and she is Scotty diverting a dangerous amount of power away from the shields.We had many chats about Candy Crush while we both played the game in bed. I’m all for increased interspousal communication, but we used to do this kind of thing with broadsheet newspapers and now we’re matching jelly beans on phones. Luckily, you just need one hand to play, so the other is free to punch yourself repeatedly in the face as you realise how pointless your life has become.skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Pushing ButtonsFree weekly newsletterKeza MacDonald's weekly look at the world of gamingPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionYou are so hooked by the mechanics you hand over your few quid for some extra virtual bobbins quicker than those kids getting drugs in The WireAnd this game is utterly pointless in the long run. There is no story, no real achievements. It uses a board game path to fake big-time progression, but whether it’s me on level 150 or my wife on level 8,452 (gulp!) the pattern is the same: a few easy levels then a super hard one which, if you haven’t accumulated enough power-ups, is virtually impossible.That’s when the game drops its trousers and flashes its microtransactions. And by that stage you are so hooked by the mechanics and the colour you hand over your few quid for some extra virtual visual bobbins quicker and easier than those crazy kids getting drugs in The Wire. Oh yes! Candy Crush Soda Saga is the game Stringer Bell went to business school to invent. The cigarette was once hailed as the most efficient poison delivery system ever invented. Not now.This game “suggests” moves to you. These are frequently not the best ones. That is no accident. This is a game designed to make you fail. It’s a compulsion loop, sure, but one that encourages you to pay for the pleasure. It’s not gambling per se, because you know what you are buying, but, while gambling company ads now scream about setting limits and walking away, this game screams at you to have one more go.I have been addicted to so many things in my life that I stopped counting. (I became addicted to counting my addictions as well.) But this ranks as one of the worst. It only takes three days until I am dangerously hooked. Last Sunday I played Candy Crush Pop Saga for three solid hours. I nearly missed the Scottish Cup final as a result. Unlike my wife, I was dipping into it during the rest of the day as well, thinking, “Oh it’s been 15 minutes, I may have ended up getting a power-up via the Bake a Cake sub game my Candy Crush team are helping me with.”The self-loathing of the addict envelopes me. I know this is not nurturing me in any way, but I cannot stop. At least cocaine was quick. In terms of time? In one week I wasted what could have been, in Zelda terms, one third of a Breath of the Wild, one half of a Twilight Princess or an entire Majora’s Mask. And at least they tell stories. If the deadline for this article hadn’t made me stop, I would have had to have buried my phone in a lime pit and set it on fire to escape from Candy Crush.The irony is that there’s no real difference between this and the arcade offerings that made me fall in love with gaming as child. Pacman, Frogger, Space Invaders et al were all designed to make you pump another coin in the slot when it winked CONTINUE Y/N at you. They were even more repetitive. So I guess by the definition detailed in this Candy Crush castigation, those games were also a waste of time.But why didn’t they feel like that?Because back then, all I had was time. It wasn’t the dwindling commodity it is in my 50s. Maybe if I played Galaxian now it would feel like playing Candy Crush: a descent into a gaming horror world so uncomfortable it’s like watching that Event Horizon movie on treadmill while wearing Lego pants. A game that offers nothing repeatedly. Waiting for Godot with gummy bears instead of tramps. Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes – it’s awful.