By Yermys Peña
On May 8, 2025, the world once again looked toward one of the most iconic balconies in history: that of St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican. Following the death of Pope Francis, it was there that the newly elected Pope Leo XIV first appeared before the faithful. The image of the new pontiff greeting the crowds from that height, with the square filled with expectant faces, reminded us of something essential: a balcony is never just a structure. It is a symbol. It is a presence. And its emptiness also speaks volumes.
That same balcony has sometimes fallen silent. Like when there's no election, like when a Pope dies. The space feels different. The air is heavy. Absence becomes architecture.
Balconies possess that power: they are stages for the intimate made public. From Juliet's balcony in Verona, symbolizing romantic love, to Eva Perón's balcony at the Casa Rosada, transformed into a political and emotional platform, or the balcony of the King and Queen of Spain waving from the Royal Palace. Even in our Caribbean, there was the balcony of the racetrack where Trujillo presented himself as a central figure of power. In all cases, these balconies were much more than a railing: they were narrative tools. Messages of power, of encounter, of affection, of authority, or of farewell.
And if we transfer that perspective to contemporary urbanism, the balcony remains a boundary laden with intention.
Architecture of the link
Designing a balcony is much more than calculating overhangs. It's about asking yourself: Does this space face the world or is it shielded from it? Do I connect it to the street or conceal it within the facade? Will it be used or purely decorative? What does it say about living?
In many cities, balconies are disappearing in the name of minimalist aesthetics or construction efficiency. In others, they are sealed off with glass for fear of noise, dust, or other people. But every time a balcony is eliminated, something is severed in the relationship between the private and the public.
As Jane Jacobs wrote in * The Death and Life of Great American Cities *, “there must be eyes in the street, eyes belonging to the so-called natural owners of the street.” She understood that urban vitality and safety depend in part on the natural observation that occurs from windows and balconies. They are points of connection, of gentle surveillance, of shared presence.
Balconies that observe or hide
In tropical architecture, balconies are spaces of shade, of climate, of daily life. But they are also places of emotional resilience. During the pandemic, we saw how they regained their relevance: from there, people applauded medical personnel, sang, and greeted one another. They were a refuge, but also a bridge. They connected us without touching.
Some balconies allow you to observe without intruding, to breathe without fleeing, to offer companionship without being inside. Others reveal the opposite: fear, confinement, disconnection. The decision to close or open them always speaks volumes.
Designing the border
From an urban planning perspective, we should rethink the balcony not as an accessory, but as a piece of emotional infrastructure. Its presence can change how a street is perceived. It can make a building engage with its surroundings, or render it indifferent to them.
A balcony, however small, is also a part of the city. It's a story told from above. It's the scene where everyday life becomes visible. Where a plant grows, a chair waits, a gaze keeps watch.
Today, as the world observes the Vatican, that balcony reminds us once again that space has memory. That the gesture of leaning out, of showing oneself, of speaking from a visible place, is not neutral. It is a decision with symbolic and cultural impact.
In everyday architecture, that impact is also present. In every house that connects with the street or hides from it. In every building that opens a dialogue with its surroundings or closes it off.
The balcony is the exact point where the city touches the inhabitant… and where the inhabitant can decide whether to look out or stay inside.
The author is an architect and construction entrepreneur. Member of the Forbes Business Council.
