In conversation with architect Jonathan Mizzi

Can you tell us about your journey into architecture?

It was actually science fiction that first sparked my interest in architecture—specifically the worlds and environments in Star Wars. I was completely captivated by the architectural design of the spaceships and cities—these immersive, imaginative landscapes that felt so real, yet so otherworldly. The way George Lucas’s universe blended the ancient with the futuristic had a magnetic pull on me, planting a seed in my mind about how architecture could transport people into different realities.

That fascination evolved into something more tangible when I did work experience with the Architecture Project in Valletta at 18. I got to see creativity coming to life through model-making, computer-aided design, and sketching alongside some very talented young architects. It was a super exciting and energetic atmosphere to be around, and it emboldened my decision to pursue architecture as an undergraduate. That experience gave me a general direction into design—while also knowing that film and science fiction were always a potential to still explore.

Your career began at architectural giants like Foster + Partners, but you eventually took the leap to establish Mizzi Studio. What motivated you to start your own practice?

Yes I was actually recruited by a senior partner at Foster + Partners during my external RIBA exam, which felt pretty surreal. Fosters was an extreme experience in every sense—from deadlines to projects, it was a crash course in high-intensity, high quality architecture.

The 2008 global financial crash changed everything; 400 of us were made redundant overnight. It felt like a slap in the face but I was fortunate to secure an internship at Cinimod Studio, where I discovered interactive design through media facades and kinetic installations, and worked on the Snog Frozen Yoghurt stores.

A few years later, through a chance meeting with the Colicci family who invited me personally to a competition to design The Pheasantry Welcome Centre at Bushy Park—which we won! This led to establishing Mizzi Studio. I didn’t have a master plan for my own practice; I simply seized the opportunity and ran with it. I was young, maybe too young to start a practice, but when a train like that arrives, you jump on and don’t look back!

Looking back at the early days of your career, how did those challenges shape the direction of your work today?

When I began my undergraduate studies in architecture, I felt free—driven by curiosity and imagination. But my first real job felt the opposite: rigid, boxy and creatively stifling. It pushed me to study Digital set Design at USC Film School and then a diploma in VFX and animation to escape into the limitless worlds of science fiction, however, I eventually came to the realisation that I didn’t just want to create digital art behind a screen all my life—I wanted to make fantasy a reality.

My experiences working with Jason Bruges Studio and Cinimod Studio, allowed me to blend my passions for media and architecture together—4th Dimensional interactive spaces blending digital storytelling with physical form. It was thrilling, but something was still missing.

It wasn’t until The Pheasantry Welcome Centre, a commission that was surrounded by and worked with nature, that I realised just how emotionally starved I had been. Contextual design felt intuitive—rooted in place and shaped by the landscape. It taught me that while technology can spark imagination, the natural world holds the answers to what truly matters. When I opened Mizzi Studio, that experience became our driving force. Our first mission statement read:“Mizzi Studio exists to make fantasy a reality, driven by a passion for nature and science fiction.”

Since then, the practice has matured. We’ve grown up—and we’ve made some fantastical things a reality which I am really proud of. Now, we are turning that mission towards tackling the most urgent challenges of our time—such as the climate crisis—while walking a more profound path through community, culture, and climate. We aim to channel imagination into solutions that don’t just reimagine the future but regenerate it with a positive spirit.

What inspired you to focus on nature-inspired and sustainable design as the core philosophy of Mizzi Studio?

My journey toward nature-inspired design was shaped by two opposing experiences: the joy of designing with nature at The Royal Parks and the heartbreak of seeing what happens when we don’t.

Returning to Malta was deeply unsettling, overdevelopment had erased its character. My roots taught me to protect what matters and I felt compelled to act. Witnessing Malta’s decline pushed me to propose the Malta Bus Reborn—a vision for cleaner transport and greener cities—which I later shared alongside our Tree Cycle Canopy Line in an integrated Regenerative Multi-Modal Plan in my TEDx talk, Designing Humanity Out of a Climate Crisis.  That vision—blending beauty, sustainability, and togetherness—is at the heart of my practice. It’s why I’m so proud that Malta Bus Reborn became a finalist for the New European Bauhaus Awards in 2024—recognised for helping regain a sense of belonging.

However, sustainability is no longer enough. We are beyond reducing harm—we must give back more than we take. That’s why we are no longer just a sustainable practice—we are a regenerative studio. Our mission is to design spaces that restore ecosystems, reconnect and help heal our relationship with the natural world.

Growing up between Malta and the UK, how did these contrasting environments shape your perspective on architecture?

Growing up between Malta and the UK gave me a deep appreciation for heritage and place. My mother was president of Din l-Art Ħelwa, Malta’s National Trust, and my grandfather founded the organisation. From an early age, they instilled in me the importance of safeguarding our natural and built heritage. Witnessing the rapid urbanisation and congestion in Malta — a small, finite island — was deeply unsettling. It made me even more aware of the delicate balance between development and preservation.

In London, I was equally inspired by the city’s ability to honour its architectural heritage while evolving with bold, contemporary interventions. One moment that stands out was seeing the old and new London double-decker buses side by side on Exhibition Road. I remember thinking, this is how heritage can evolve. London preserved its bus identity while modernizing the design. In Malta, we had even more beautiful, iconic buses, but they disappeared overnight. That was the spark behind Malta Bus Reborn — the realization that we could revive our identity and culture while moving forward with sustainable, future-proof transport solutions.

Your studio operates in both London and Malta. How do the two locations influence your approach to design and client collaboration?

Operating between London and Malta gives our practice a powerful dual perspective—one that shapes both our design approach and how we work with clients.

In London, we are immersed in cutting-edge technologies, materials, and progressive design culture. The city’s pace pushes us to innovate, experiment, and sharpen our craft.

In Malta, we are grounded by heritage, community, and nature. But Malta’s soul is under threat. Overdevelopment, congestion, and environmental neglect are eroding the island’s identity. The villages are vanishing beneath cranes and concrete. That loss drives us to design regeneratively—to restore balance and help protect what’s left before it disappears entirely.

This duality—London’s innovation and Malta’s urgency—defines how we design. We fuse technological precision with local heritage, ensuring every project is both future-focused and deeply rooted in place. Our approach to client collaboration reflects this balance. In London, clients expect efficiency, innovation, and technical expertise. In Malta, collaboration is more personal—and often, more educational. Many clients arrive unfamiliar with sustainable or regenerative design, so we guide them through the possibilities. We don’t just present solutions—we share why they matter, building partnerships that inspire change.

London sharpens our tools. Malta sharpens our purpose. Together, they not only shape our practice but also help us imagine a future that restores what’s worth saving.

How do you foster creativity and innovation within your team?

We thrive on cross-pollination. With a team spanning architects, product designers, interior designers, landscape architects, and cinematographers, creativity happens where disciplines meet. We foster creativity through curiosity, experimentation, and shared experiences. From CPD sessions to design retreats, we believe that stepping outside the studio—into nature, culture, and conversation—fuels what happens inside it. Recently, we’ve been in Bali, opening a studio base and immersing ourselves in the island’s craft and environmental wisdom.

We embrace experimentation, pairing cutting-edge tools with traditional craft. For the Royal Parks kiosks, we blended parametric design with Tom Raffield’s steam-bent woodwork, merging technology and nature into functional trees like sculptures Lately, I feel we are at an incredible intersection—a true recipe for innovation, where Nature is inspiring technology, whilst technology itself is allowing us to deepen our understanding of nature. Together, they are driving our creativity.

Technology isn’t just a tool—it’s a lens that deepens our understanding. LiDAR mapping and the discovery of the ‘Wood Wide Web’—nature’s underground carbon-sharing network—unveil nature’s hidden intelligence. These revelations inspire us to design not just sustainably, but regeneratively.

But above all, we keep it fun. Creativity blooms when people love what they do—because the best ideas often come from play.

The Studio’s mission emphasises reconnecting humanity with the natural world. Can you elaborate on how this translates into your architectural projects and client relationships?

Urbanisation has severed our bond with nature. Humanity has built concrete jungles that feel oppressive and disconnected and don’t live in harmony with the ecosystems that sustain us. Our mission is to rebuild that connection—through projects that breathe, evolve, and give back to the environment. In our architectural projects, we draw on biomimicry, permaculture, and natural forms to create spaces that feel alive. The Royal Parks kiosks are a perfect example: sculptural, organic forms crafted from steam-bent timber, sitting lightly in their Grade I-listed landscapes.

But our philosophy extends beyond structures into systemic design. Projects like the Malta Bus Reborn and Regenerative Multimodal Transport System are about more than mobility—they’re about restoring balance. Fewer cars mean more green spaces, safer streets, and healthier ecosystems. It’s design that reclaims land for nature and people.

Living and teaching at Green School Bali has been a profound influence. There, I experienced how bamboo buildings breathe—shifting, evolving, and growing with and from their surroundings. It showed me the opportunities that stem from working with natural materials, innovating with local craft and technologies and designing with the community.

This philosophy shapes our client relationships, too. We see ourselves as educators and collaborators, guiding clients to see regenerative design not as a constraint but as an opportunity to create lasting impact.

In every project, we aim to turn the built environment from a boundary into a bridge—because reconnecting with nature is how we reconnect with ourselves.

What are your thoughts on the current state of Maltese architecture?

Honestly? It’s heartbreaking. We’ve lost so much—our natural landscapes, our heritage, and even our spiritual centres. Once, our sightlines to our churches and piazzas anchored us all to the heartbeats of our villages and towns. Now, those sightlines are broken, and with them, our connection to place, community, and identity.

This overdevelopment has consequences beyond the visual—it’s biological, social, and psychological. Nature-deficit disorders are rising, especially in children. Walk through many parts of the island, and you feel the disconnection. Our architecture no longer reflects our roots that were once grounded in faith and community. Instead, it reflects a society that places more value in short-sighted profit-driven, generic, and soulless.

But I’m hopeful. If we can reclaim just 25% of our land currently occupied by cars—cars that sit parked for over 90% of their lives—we could regreen our towns, restore communal centres, and reimagine piazzas as true spaces of gathering and belonging.I believe we can build and grow differently. We can create architecture that restores our relationship with nature, honours our heritage, and revives our sense of community. The potential for transformation is there—if we choose to act.

Malta’s architectural landscape is steeped in history but faces increasing pressure from modern development. What’s your take on preserving heritage while embracing contemporary architecture?

Preserving heritage doesn’t mean freezing it in time. It’s about understanding the essence of a place—its proportions, materials, and rhythms—and evolving those principles into contemporary design.

I feel The Malta Bus Reborn is a good example. We didn’t replicate the old buses; we reinterpreted their charm and craftsmanship for modern needs—blending sustainable materials with contemporary engineering.

The same philosophy guided our design for  Barbajean in Dingli. The facade is contemporary, but its textures and fenestrations are rooted in Malta’s architectural language—from contemporary terrazzo architraves to a modern interpretation of the traditional ‘fuq l-ghatba’ bench. This project was a great example of transforming a modern non-descript development within the village core of Dingli to a more heritage-driven welcoming entrance, reflective of traditional Maltese craft, for its residents and visitors.

When heritage informs innovation, the result feels authentic. But cut that historical thread, and you end up with disconnected buildings that could belong anywhere. True progress comes from building with our heritage, not over it.

How do you approach designing in sensitive contexts where public sentiment may be divided?

Our approach is rooted in contextual design—immersing ourselves in the cultural, historical, and natural fabric of a place before making a single sketch. We begin by asking: What makes this place meaningful to the people who live, work, and play here?

We believe people embrace places where they feel a sense of  belonging. Architecture should feel human, with softer curves and natural forms that ease the eye and the spirit, dissolving the harsh edges that can provoke tension or anxiety. Soft, organic design has the power to naturalise and humanise spaces, making them feel both new and deeply rooted.

At the heart of our process is committed engagement. We design with people, not just for them, ensuring that all stakeholders—from private clients to local communities and NGOs—are part of the conversation. For us, the most successful designs don’t just serve the present—they honour the past, inspire the future, and belong to the collective.

How do you see architecture in Malta evolving in the next decade, and what role do you hope Mizzi Studio will play in that transformation?

I hope we’ll start to see a meaningful shift toward green infrastructure and regenerative design principles. Right now, Malta is experiencing a transition toward high-rise developments, but I believe we need to step back and question the necessity of these projects. While there may be scope for beauty on the skyline, the real focus should be on regenerating the Maltese landscape — bringing more harmony, joy, and nature back into our built urban environment.

Our work with the Regenerative Multimodal Transport System highlights how urban mobility and green infrastructure can coexist to create more livable, breathable communities. Through that project, we’ve proposed strategies like reducing car dependency, reclaiming urban land, and introducing more greenery into the heart of our towns and villages.

I’m also excited to hopefully be contributing more directly to the next generation of Maltese architects by teaching at the University of Malta. I hope that through education, mentorship, and real-world projects, we can influence a shift toward architecture that honours Malta’s rich traditions while embracing innovation and environmental responsibility.

The potential for positive change is there — we just need to act with more foresight and care.

Your award-winning café near Westfield and your work for The Royal Parks and Serpentine Coffee House are striking examples of your nature-driven designs. Can you tell us more about these projects?

All three projects share a common thread: they are expressions of nature-driven design, where organic form, storytelling, technology, and craft merge to create spaces that connect people with their surroundings. Each responds to its context—whether competing for attention in a commercial landscape or offering moments of wonder and embrace within nature.

At Westfield, the design had to do more than inspire—it had to compete. Amidst the chaos of a retail jungle, we used biomimicry to create beauty that thrives through attraction. The café’s form—a rising cobra, commanding attention, then softening into an orchid-like smile—blends boldness with invitation. Inspired by Colicci’s leaf motif from the Pheasantry Welcome Centre, we imagined that same leaf, blown from the park and landing in the city, becoming a copper-toned canopy, rich with autumnal patina. Computer-Aided Design (CAD) shaped its geometry, but craft brought the soul: the hand-hammered copper shingles, each carrying the artisan’s mark—where digital precision meets human imperfection. Westfield stands out because it merges commercial function with nature’s competitive beauty—attracting, competing, and thriving—like a flower in a crowded meadow.

The Serpentine Coffee House stands at Hyde Park’s entrance as a welcoming smile, inviting visitors into nature’s heart. It, too, seeks to stop people in their tracks, but its competition is more poetic than commercial. Inspired by manta rays and whale sharks, it evokes a meeting with a majestic creature—awe, then warmth. The stingray-like canopy, shaped through parametric design and CNC fabrication, finds its soul in the hand-patinated brass, textured with snakeskin dimples—where human touch brings life to digital precision. Serpentine stands out because it is more than a structure—it’s a moment of encounter with nature’s grace—soft, fluid, unforgettable.

The Royal Parks kiosks offer a hugging embrace, like sheltering beneath an oak tree—calm and timeless. Their flowing timber ribbons—sculpted through digital modeling—harmoniously created by the ancient craft of steam-bending, where heat, pressure, and intuition shape every curve. Royal Parks stands out as organic and intentional. Together, these projects show that nature-driven design isn’t just about form—it’s about purpose, emotion, and connection. They don’t just blend into their surroundings—they respond, attract, and engage.

Among all your projects, which one holds a particularly special place in your heart and why?

It’s so hard to choose. The Serpentine Coffee House, Hyde Park, was the first time we really got to express our biomorphic design approach at an architectural scale, so that one is definitely up there. But I’d say the Malta Bus Reborn holds the deepest significance. It’s been a 14-year journey, entirely self-initiated, and it represents a much bigger vision — one that ties together heritage, environmental impact, and societal change. It meant so much to be New European Bauhaus Award finalists, an opportunity that brought us closer to the EU’s ongoing future-driven initiatives where we became ambassadors for their vision of architecture and design driven by beauty, sustainability and for the collective.

Your studio has collaborated with high-profile clients like The Science Museum and The Royal Botanical Gardens. What are some of the most valuable lessons you’ve learned from these collaborations?

Working with institutions like Kew Gardens and the Science Museum has taught me the power of interdisciplinary collaboration. At Kew, for example, the Family Kitchen was a true marriage of science, nature, and design. We worked closely with botanists, mycologists, educators, artists, manufacturers, and builders to create a space that is not only whimsical and beautiful but also deeply educational and connected to its surroundings. Each perspective added richness to the design—from the interactive installations that teach children about ecosystems to the natural materials that seamlessly connect the interiors with Kew’s iconic gardens.

This project was a celebration of Kew’s mission to share the wonders of nature and science with visitors. Together with artist Tom Hare, we brought nature to life through giant, handwoven fungi sculptures that tell the story of mycelial networks, while vibrant zones representing the seasons showcase the cycles of life and growth. The interactive pizza-topping station, complete with red periscopes to peek into the oven, playfully teaches children about food origins, diversity and preparation.

Through projects like these, we’ve seen how institutions can play a crucial role in shaping public awareness of environmental responsibility. Designing spaces where organisations actively champion climate-conscious thinking—whether by promoting biodiversity, rewilding, or sustainable food systems—is essential. But beyond that, we believe architecture must act as a precedent, demonstrating how the built environment can teach, protect, and evolve alongside nature.

Every design decision carries weight in how people perceive and engage with their surroundings. If a space can reveal the intricacies of our ecosystems—how they function, how they’re under threat, and how we can safeguard them—it becomes more than just a building; it becomes a tool for advocacy. In the Family Kitchen, the ‘farm to fork’ concept introduces visitors to the importance of food diversity and the risks of monocultures, while natural materials and immersive storytelling ground them in the landscape. At the Science Museum, ‘Home Away from Hive’ turns architecture into a call to action, urging people to consider the fragile balance of pollinator populations and their critical role in sustaining life on our planet.

We saw the ‘Home Away from Hive’ project as an opportunity to highlight the importance of respecting the planet’s ecosystem. Bees are heroic protagonists in our natural world, essential to the way humans and other living creatures are sustained. Their role is under threat, and institutions like the Science Museum provide a vital platform for communicating this urgency. Dedicating this installation to bringing bees and other pollinators back into our urban environment felt like a significant and urgent reason to participate in this competition. ‘Home Away from Hive’ therefore contributes to a wider discussion on urban rewilding—allowing nature and wildlife to reclaim a rightful place within our built environment.

The most valuable lesson from these collaborations is that great design is a collective effort, but more than that, it has a responsibility to inform and inspire change. Architecture must not only accommodate human activity but also advocate for the landscapes and ecosystems it exists within. The impact of design extends beyond aesthetics—it becomes a catalyst for education, awareness, and long-term ecological resilience.

What do you see as the biggest challenge in creating truly sustainable architecture today?

The greatest challenge in sustainable architecture today is the construction industry’s immense environmental footprint. The built environment contributes approximately 43% of global emissions—more than transportation and industry combined. Yet, the industry remains trapped in a cycle of efficiency, cost, and aesthetics—often at the expense of the environment.

A major issue is our disconnection from the life cycles of materials. Modernist ideals—obsessed with permanence, industrial materials, and sterile forms—have distanced us from nature and the craft of building. With that loss came a disregard for maintenance and renewal. In Bali, at Green School, I witnessed a different philosophy: Thatching a roof with alang-alang, knowing it would need replacing in four years, was not a flaw but a rhythm of life. Growing, harvesting, and building with bamboo connected me to nature’s cycles—a humbling contrast to the industrial detachment that dominates modern architecture. This disconnection fosters emotional unsustainability. The solution is a shift in mindset. We must ask not just how to build, but why. Is this project truly necessary? If so, it must give back—restoring ecosystems, fostering connection, and inspiring care. Only then can architecture heal—people, places, and the planet.

What are your aspirations for Mizzi Studio in the coming years, both in London and Malta?

We’re in the midst of an exciting evolution—a full rebrand that will unite our diverse endeavours under one unified structure. Our vision is clear: to be at the forefront of regenerative design, crafting spaces that restore nature, celebrate heritage, and reconnect people with joy, beauty, and a deep sense of belonging.

In Malta, we’re focused on deeply meaningful projects that regenerate the island’s soul—restoring landscapes, rewilding urban spaces, and reconnecting communities  with their heritage and environment. We’re particularly excited to be collaborating with the Research Innovation Development Trust (RIDT) on the Malta Bus and Regenerative Multi-Modal System project, to create a green future, alongside university professors and experts to solve key mobility challenges.

In London, despite recent challenges—Brexit, the pandemic, and economic strain—we have not only survived but thrived, creating some of our most exciting work. Now, we look ahead with cautious optimism, ready to contribute positively to the city’s evolving cultural and architectural landscape.

We’re also expanding to Bali and Brussels, which is incredibly exciting. Opening a studio base in Bali aligns perfectly with our regenerative design philosophy, whereas Brussels places us at the heart of the European Union and I’m thrilled by the opportunities they hold. As part of this expansion, we’re exploring a team ownership structure, fostering a unified framework that empowers everyone to share in the studio’s growth and success.

Ultimately, our aspiration is to design a future filled with joy, love, and positive spirit—where architecture not only heals landscapes but also uplifts the human soul.