You had a very international upbringing, living in Norway, Italy, Scotland, and then the U.S. How did that mix of cultures shape your early worldview and influence your path into architecture?
It had a huge impact on me both personally and professionally and it continues to influence how we work as an office. Being exposed to so many different cultures and environments during those formative years gave me a deep curiosity about place. Even now, when I visit or revisit somewhere, there’s always something new to observe or learn. I hope that sense of curiosity has filtered into the ethos of our studio: how we approach projects, how we research and design. It’s certainly shaped our desire to work beyond just our bases in Oslo and San Francisco.
That global mindset is part of the reason we’ve worked with a wide range of clients, often in very different settings. Each location demands its own response, and that’s both exciting and enriching. It keeps us learning, adapting, and striving to find the right way to engage with the character of each place.
What are your memories of your time at School in Scotland? Were there any teachers or experiences that particularly stand out?
I have a lot of fond memories of my time at school in Scotland, and I’m still in touch with close friends from those years. A few teachers really stand out. David Orem, in particular, made a strong impression on me. He was incredibly kind when I first arrived, which meant a lot as I was adjusting to such a different environment.
Before that, I’d attended a small countryside school in Italy where most of the pupils came from very simple backgrounds, and their parents were often nearly illiterate. The contrast when I arrived at Stewart’s Melville was striking, especially academically. In between, I’d also attended school in Norway, where the educational culture is very different: you don’t receive grades until you’re 12, and even in sports like football, there’s no ‘winner’ until after that age. So coming to Edinburgh was quite a shock. The level of education in the UK felt so far ahead of what I was used to. I had to work incredibly hard just to catch up. But that experience taught me a lot about perseverance, and I’m grateful for the support of my parents and the teachers.
I remember Mr Cruickshank and Mr Elder, my very patient English teacher, who really helped me with the language and were very understanding of my background. There were a few other international students, and the school was great at offering support where it was needed. One particular highlight was the trip to Carbisdale. It felt like a real adventure. Being out in nature reminded me a bit of Norway, and it was exciting to finally mix with students from MES for the first time!
Was there a specific moment or project that sparked your interest in architecture?
I get asked this question quite a bit, and the stereotypical answer is usually LEGO, but for me, it came about in a more roundabout way. I don’t think I fully realised I was interested in architecture until much later. What really sparked it was travelling. Before I started university, I bought a round-the-world ticket and just explored. I remember being in Nepal and visiting a temple. Next to it was a detailed architectural drawing showing all the intricate features. It struck me how different it was from anything I’d seen before, and how buildings reflected their culture and context. That moment stayed with me, and over time it helped steer me toward architecture. I also think my background played a role. My father was a diplomat and my mother was a fine artist, so I’d always been surrounded by conversations about culture, art, and aesthetics. But it was that experience of travelling and really seeing the diversity of built environments that set something in motion for me.
What drew you to study architecture at the California College of the Arts, and later pursue postgraduate studies at Columbia?
Interestingly, I only applied to one school, California College of the Arts, because it offered both architecture and fine art. At the time, I wasn’t completely sure which path I would take, so that flexibility was important. CCA has a structure where in the first year you’re encouraged to explore a wide range of art subjects before declaring your direction in the second year. That model suited me perfectly.
I actually discovered architecture through a pre-college summer programme at CCA, where I tried both architecture and painting. That experience helped me realise where my true interest lay. It was a bit of a happy accident, but once I found it, I never looked back.
Later, after working for several years, I decided to pursue postgraduate studies at Columbia. Because I had studied architecture at an art-focused college, I wanted to broaden my education. Columbia, being an Ivy League school, offered a different perspective. It was more grounded in humanities, theory, and critical discourse. I was looking for a challenge, and I wanted to become better at what I was doing. That desire to push myself and keep learning is something I trace back to my time at Stewart’s Melville, it really instilled that drive in me. Studying on the East Coast was also a very different experience from the West Coast; the contrast itself added a lot of richness to my academic journey.
How did your time at Columbia shape your approach to design and architecture?
My time at Columbia marked a significant shift in how I thought about architecture. What stood out most was being introduced to research as a foundational part of design thinking. That was new to me. I hadn’t encountered architecture in that way before. People don’t typically associate architecture with research, but Columbia taught me that understanding a problem deeply, exploring its historical and cultural context, and then researching possible solutions is an incredibly powerful approach. It’s about feeding your curiosity with purpose, looking to the past and projecting into the future to respond more intelligently to place and need.
The methodology I developed there, thanks to being challenged and pushed by some excellent professors, has stayed with me. It gave me a structure to work within, and it underpins how we operate in the office today. Without that experience, I don’t think we’d be working in the way we are now. And beyond the academic side, just living in New York City at that stage of life was incredible. It’s such a dynamic, culturally rich place. It offered so much exposure, stimulation, and inspiration for a young designer.
Were there any architects, buildings, or movements that had a major influence on your early career?
Like many young architects, I was initially drawn to the iconic figures of the field. I remember a Norwegian architect who had won an international prize, Sverre Fehn. It made a big impression on me, and it gave me something to aspire to. Most of us were schooled in modernism, which left a lasting imprint, but what’s exciting now is how much that’s being re-examined. We’re at a point where we’re rethinking modernism and beginning to see a wider range of possibilities.
What’s influenced me most over time is seeing how architecture can be deeply rooted in place. How different cultures create their own architectural languages specific to their context. That exposure to a diversity of styles and approaches has shaped how I think about design. It’s helped me move beyond a single narrative and think more broadly about what architecture can be, and how it should respond to its environment.
You started your own firm, Mork Ulnes Architects, not long after finishing your studies. What gave you the confidence to take that leap at such a young age?
I think I always had the intention of trying to start something on my own. What really gave me the confidence to take that leap was having a very supportive life partner, my wife, who encouraged me and believed in me. At the time, she had a stable job, and we were about to become parents. Our daughter was born in 2006, and I started the practice in 2005. I was fortunate to land a fairly large project on the East Coast early on, which gave me a bit of financial security to take the risk. That particular project didn’t end up being built, but it opened the door to others, and things began to flow from there.
It was definitely a scary thing to do with a young family, but I’ve always believed that if the will and desire are there, you can make it work. Starting a practice is never easy, but having that personal and emotional support gave me the push I needed.
What were the biggest challenges you faced in those early years of running your own practice?
The biggest challenge was undoubtedly the uncertainty. Unlike a salaried position, there’s no regular salary, and with a young family, our children were born in 2006 and 2008, that pressure to provide and succeed was intense. I often worried about where the next project would come from, and how to maintain momentum.
Another significant challenge was convincing clients to take a chance on me. When you’re young and starting out, your portfolio is naturally limited, and in architecture, people tend to put a lot of weight on experience, especially in the U.S. and UK, where there’s often a hesitancy to trust younger architects with large-scale projects due to the financial stakes involved. Overcoming that scepticism and proving that I had the ability and skills to deliver was a constant uphill battle in the early years.
Your firm now works across San Francisco and Oslo. How did you manage that international expansion, and what have you learned from working in such different contexts?
The expansion actually happened in a fairly organic way. In 2011, my wife, who’s American, a mother of two, and had a demanding career in corporate America, suggested we move to Norway. We’d spent a lot of time there on holidays, and we’d always admired how well young families were supported, especially in terms of work-life balance and flexibility. I couldn’t say no to that.
At the time, the San Francisco office had a few employees and things were going well, so I felt confident that we could keep it running while starting something in Oslo. I didn’t want to give up what we had built in California, so we maintained the office there, and it has continued to grow quite organically. In many ways, it wasn’t an intentional ‘expansion’, it was more a response to life and opportunity.
What really drives the work across both offices is a curiosity about place and culture. I’m not interested in growing the practice for the sake of growth, but in growing through the kind of work we do, responding to different environments and learning from each one. Even within California, the geographic variation is enormous: from the coast to the wine country, the Sierra Nevada mountains to the desert. So working in diverse conditions was already part of our learning curve. That adaptability has been key. Each project, regardless of location, teaches us something new and helps us evolve as a practice.
Looking back, did you have any mentors who helped guide or shape your career?
Yes, definitely. One of the earliest influences was my art teacher at Stewart’s Melville College, who used to say “not yet” when we’d try to jump into drawing before fully understanding the instruction. That phrase has stayed with me. It was a lesson in patience, observation, and learning to look closely before acting.
Throughout my life, I’ve been fortunate to have a number of mentors. One of the most influential was a professor at California College of the Arts, Peter Pfau, who later hired me to work in his office. I stayed with that firm for nearly a decade. During that time, I had the unique opportunity to watch the practice grow from just three or four people to a team of twenty-five. That kind of exposure taught me an enormous amount, not just about design, but about the day-to-day realities of running a studio.
I really believe that mentorship is something you can find at any stage of your career, as long as you’re open to it. It’s important to recognise the value of those relationships and how much they can help you grow both professionally and personally.
Do you now play a mentoring role yourself, and if so, what do you enjoy about it?
Absolutely! I make a conscious effort to be a mentor in the office. My own experience with mentorship, particularly from my former professor in San Francisco, made me very aware of how important that support can be. I try to dedicate time to the younger members of our team, especially those who are just a few years out of school. Our studio is quite young, at 51, I’m actually the oldest person here, so I see it as my responsibility to help guide and support the next generation of architects.
What I really enjoy about mentoring is that it’s not a one-way relationship. Some of our most exciting ideas and research come out of conversations between generations. There’s a real energy in those exchanges. Technology also plays a role in making mentorship a two-way street; younger architects often bring new tools and ways of thinking that benefit the whole office. It’s a dynamic process, and I get as much out of it as I put in.
How has your design philosophy evolved as your practice has grown?
With age and experience, I think my approach has become more focused. Early on, we tended to cast a wide net, exploring many directions and trying to solve every challenge at once. Over time, and through working on over a hundred projects, I’ve learned to pare things back. Now I try to identify and focus on the most essential qualities of a project, what really matters.
It’s about understanding the core themes that define your work as a practice. As that clarity has developed, it’s shaped how we approach projects, and that’s part of what led us to publish a book about our work. The goal was to reflect on those recurring ideas and share them with others. The process helped us articulate our philosophy and see how it has evolved, and continues to evolve, with time.
Are there any projects that you’re particularly proud of or that hold special meaning for you?
That’s always a tough question, like being asked to choose a favourite child! Every project has its own meaning and place in the journey of our practice. But if I had to pick one that holds personal significance, it would be a cabin we designed for my family. It wasn’t for a client, but for us, for our own use, and that made it quite special.
What’s meaningful about it is seeing how my children interact with the space. They’re not particularly interested in architecture, but I can tell how much the cabin means to them. Watching how they experience the building and how it makes them feel reminds me that architecture has the power to shape people’s lives in subtle, lasting ways. That project made me feel that I could contribute something meaningful to the world, however small.
What role do you think architecture plays in shaping cities and communities today?
Architecture plays a vital role in shaping how we live, but I think its power is often underestimated. When done well, architecture can make a city more liveable, more equitable, and more human. Planned cities, those that have thoughtfully integrated public spaces, transport, and housing, can dramatically improve quality of life and create stronger communities.
Unfortunately, I’ve also seen how that influence has been eroded in some places. In Norway, for instance, architects today often have less say in shaping cities due to the increasing dominance of economic interests and property developers. That’s troubling, because we have the tools and training to design spaces that serve people, not just profit. I believe architects have a responsibility to step back into a leadership role and advocate for better, more thoughtful urban development. There’s still hope, and I do think we can reclaim that role.
How do you balance aesthetic vision with practical constraints in your projects?
For us, practicality and aesthetics aren’t separate, they’re deeply interconnected. We don’t begin with a fixed aesthetic vision. Instead, we start by addressing the practical needs of a project: the site, the climate, the user’s requirements, the budget. Through that process of research and problem-solving, the design begins to take shape, and the aesthetic grows out of those decisions.
One example is our family cabin. We raised it off the ground to allow the natural animal paths to continue beneath it. The form and materials were inspired by local agricultural buildings, which helped it sit comfortably in its landscape and minimise its environmental impact. Clients can sometimes be surprised by this approach, but as we guide them through the process, they come to see how design evolves organically. It’s a process of discovery, not prescription.
With the rise of AI and new technologies, is the architectural profession changing? If so, how is your practice adapting?
Absolutely! Architecture is changing every day, and AI is a significant part of that shift. I tend to take a longer-term perspective on it, having experienced a similar moment of transformation early in my career. When I graduated from undergrad, the field was transitioning from hand-drawing to computer-aided design. I see today’s developments in AI as a comparable paradigm shift.
We’ve embraced this change in our practice by forming a small task force in San Francisco led by two very sharp young team members. They’re exploring how AI can help us design more effectively and streamline our processes. I’m learning from them, and I find it energising to see how new tools might enhance what we do. That said, I believe the human role will always be essential. We still need people to ask the right questions, make decisions, and direct the work. Roles will shift, as they did with CAD, but the core of architecture, creative, critical thinking, remains deeply human. I’m optimistic, but I also believe in staying thoughtful and critical as we adopt these tools.
Architecture can be demanding. How do you maintain a sense of work/life balance?
If I’m honest, I don’t always get the balance right. Architecture is such an integral part of my life that it doesn’t really feel like a job. It’s something I love, and it excites me every day. But there’s no denying it’s demanding. The business side, in particular, is something few architects enjoy, and managing offices in both San Francisco and Oslo, with a 9-hour time difference, adds another layer of complexity. I often find myself bridging the gap between time zones, which can mean very long hours.
That said, being a parent helps ground me. Family time becomes the non-negotiable space in the week. Even if leisure sometimes takes a back seat, I make a conscious effort to prioritise moments with my children and my wife. They bring me back to what matters most.
When you’re not working, what do you enjoy doing to relax and recharge?
We retreat to our cabin as often as we can. In the winter, I ski, both alpine and cross-country, and I usually manage around 40 to 50 days on skis each season. It’s a great way to disconnect and be in nature. In the summer, I love fly fishing. I grew up in the countryside in Italy and Norway, and that connection to the land has stayed with me.
More recently, my brother and I have taken over our father’s family farm. It’s become a new passion. There’s always something to do, and I enjoy the physicality of the work. My kids are starting to help out on weekends too, which has been a nice way to teach them about responsibility and work ethic. Before I became an architect, I thought I might be a farmer or a painter. In some ways, that part of me never left, and maybe one day, I’ll return to it more fully.
What advice would you give to students who are thinking about a career in architecture or aren’t sure what they want to do yet?
It really depends on the source of their uncertainty. I often hear students say they’re interested in architecture but worry because they’re “bad at maths.” I’m a good example of why that shouldn’t stop you. I got a middling grade in maths, and I still made it. Architecture offers many paths: you can lean more into the creative or more into the technical, depending on your interests.
That said, it is a demanding profession. It takes a lot of hard work and perseverance. But it’s also an incredible education with a wide range of transferable skills. Architecture teaches you to think critically, solve complex problems, collaborate, and be both creative and analytical. Even if you don’t end up practicing as an architect, those skills can take you anywhere. For example, one of the founders of Airbnb studied Architecture.
If students are unsure, I highly recommend doing a pre-college architecture programme. It’s a great way to get a taste of what the field involves and can help you decide if it’s the right path for you.
Your book The Craft of Place explores your design approach in depth. What inspired you to write it, and what do you hope readers, especially aspiring architects, take away from it?
The book had several purposes. First and foremost, it was something we created for ourselves, as a team, to reflect on where we had been, where we are now, and where we want to go. It served as a tool to help articulate and structure our design philosophy, and to document the ideas and influences that have shaped our work over the years.
But it was also written with peers and students in mind. I wanted to share not just the finished projects, but the thought process behind them, the research, the historical and cultural references, and the context that informs our design. We tried to show how our work is connected to broader architectural traditions, from modernism to Norwegian design from specific eras, and how we interpret those influences today.
I’ve always cared about students at the start of their architectural journey. I remember being inspired by the books I discovered early in my career, many of which still sit on my office bookshelf. The Craft of Place is our way of giving something back to that shared body of knowledge, and hopefully inspiring others in the same way.
The title suggests a strong emphasis on context and locality. How does “place” shape the way you design, and has that philosophy evolved over time?
Absolutely “Place” is at the heart of everything we do. That emphasis comes, in part, from a deep curiosity I’ve had since childhood. It’s not just about geography or the physical environment, but also about the cultural, social, and historical context. Understanding those layers is what allows us to create architecture that is rooted in its setting, not just physically, but emotionally and culturally.
Our design process begins with asking questions: Where are we? What’s the history here? What are the local materials, traditions, or even climate patterns that might shape this project? Whether it’s a fishing shack in northern Norway oriented to avoid harsh winds, a temple aligned for ritual, or a village in Italy sculpted into the hillside, I’ve always been fascinated by how people across the world adapt architecture to their environment.
The book is structured around themes that reflect this philosophy. Each chapter explores a different facet of how “place” influences our work. Ultimately, I believe good architecture should feel like it belongs, and that’s what we strive for. It’s about creating something that speaks to its time and location, while also contributing meaningfully to the lives of the people and communities who engage with it.
