Architecture & Design

Architecture & Design | 27 C A S A U R S U L A " This project came from a kind of rage, watching these buildings disappear, seeing them reduced to façades or erased entirely, and knowing we're losing far more than just stone. We're losing knowledge, craftsmanship, and a way of living that understood space, climate, and material in a way we seem to be forgetting how it stands, how it works." When construction finally began, it did so quietly and deliberately. For three years, Aaron worked alongside just one other person, shaping the building piece by piece. This was not just about realising a design, it was about understanding it fully. The structure was conceived as entirely load-bearing, avoiding unnecessary reliance on concrete or steel. Walls support walls. Every element serves a purpose. There is no excess, no illusion. This approach is deeply rooted in Aaron's lifelong connection to vernacular architecture, a connection formed long before Mulberries was ever imagined. As a child, he would accompany his father, a property developer, to old farmhouses and rural buildings at a time when they were widely undervalued. Many were being demolished to make way for new developments. Aaron remembers not just seeing these spaces, but feeling them, recognising their quiet intelligence, their craftsmanship, their sense of place and tradition. "This project came from a kind of rage, watching these buildings disappear, seeing them reduced to façades or erased entirely, and knowing we're losing far more than just stone. We're losing knowledge, craftsmanship, and a way of living that understood space, climate, and material in a way we seem to be forgetting." He began salvaging fragments where he could: a piece of stone, a detail, a memory. What stayed with him most, however, was not just the loss of these buildings, but the loss of understanding. Over time, architecture seemed to shift toward surface, toward façades preserved for appearance, while the spatial integrity behind them was erased. Mulberries became, in many ways, a response to that loss. Rather than replicate the past, the building draws from it. Certain elements are direct echoes of structures that no longer exist. The main entrance arches, for instance, are inspired by a farmhouse in Żabbar that was destroyed despite its beauty. The upper portion of the building recalls a pigeon tower that once stood nearby, also lost. These references are not nostalgic gestures, they are acts of continuity, quietly restoring what has disappeared. "It's not just about the stone, it's about the space, the way you move, the air, the proportions. That's what we're losing. The design is also inseparable from its environment. Orientation plays a central role: the building shields itself from the cold northwestern winds in winter while opening inward to a courtyard that captures sunlight during the colder months. Its form rises and falls with intention, higher on one side for protection, lower on the other to allow for shade. These are not technological solutions, but architectural ones, rooted in observation and tradition. Inside, the material palette reinforces this philosophy. Local limestone defines the structure, while natural wood and water-based finishes create a tactile, grounded atmosphere. There is a noticeable absence of synthetic materials, not out of nostalgia, but from a belief that materials influence how a space feels. The result is subtle but unmistakable: a sense of calm, of balance, of being held within the space rather than imposed upon by it. Mulberries also embraces passive design principles, resisting the need for excessive mechanical intervention. Openings are carefully proportioned, not expansive, but purposeful, allowing for natural ventilation and temperature regulation. Thick stone walls provide thermal mass, stabilising indoor conditions throughout the year. In a time when architecture often relies on systems to correct itself, this building works with its environment instead. And yet, for all its grounding in tradition, Mulberries is not a retreat into the past. It functions as a contemporary space, designed for modern hospitality. Its rooms, circulation, and spatial logic respond to present-day needs while remaining faithful to principles that have endured for generations. Perhaps what defines Mulberries most is not its form, but its intent. It is not simply a building, but a statement; quiet, yet firm. It suggests that progress does not have to mean erasure, and that the knowledge embedded in traditional architecture still holds value today. Mulberries stands as a kind of living memory. Not frozen in time, but carried forward, stone by stone, space by space, into something that feels both timeless and entirely present.

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