Architect Abdalla Almulla and designer Aljoud Lootah reimagine the home

I’m sitting in the veranda of a café in Dubai. A hudhud lands on the perch, a once frequent visitor in my childhood home. For a moment, time folds in on itself, and I’m carried not backwards, but inwards, into a reverie about what turns structure into sanctuary.

Is it beams, or birds? Walls, or wind? Stone and sand, or silence? Courtyards, or cadence? Materials, or memory? I didn’t have the answers. But I knew who might.

I reached for my phone, thinking of Abdalla Almulla, architect and founder of MULA, a design practice whose work always feels like an interlude—one that listens as much as it speaks. His spaces aren’t built; they’re born. They’re not about boundaries, but about becoming.

I began to imagine: if sanctuary could take shape, what form would it take? And if Abdalla crafted its columns and contours, who would furnish it with poetry and presence? The name came instinctively to me: Aljoud Lootah, a multidisciplinary designer fluent in this visual language.

With Dubai-based practices that are culturally attuned yet utterly contemporary, Abdalla and Aljoud are among a new generation of Emirati creatives who view design not just as a frame for living, but also as a keeper of story. If one composes, the other completes.

I asked Abdalla: if you could bring a house to life from pure imagination, what would it look and feel like? “Simple in form, with raw, honest materials like concrete, stone, and wood,” he says without pause.  

“It would centre around a courtyard or shaded outdoor space, creating natural ventilation and privacy. The layout would be functional, with flexibility in how rooms are used over time,” he elaborates.

Picture this: a courtyard by Abdalla—verdant, airy, generous in proportion. It’s furnished not with formality, but with Aljoud’s ‘Falaj’ sofa: a piece that invites connection, as naturally as shade welcomes breeze. “I love designing furniture that’s people-oriented,” reflects Aljoud, referencing the UAE’s historic aflaj irrigation channels—winding veins of water that once brought life to the desert.

“I saw an image of the aflaj next to palm trees five years ago, and it stayed with me—until one day, the right way to tell that story revealed itself. That’s how it happens: naturally, and only when it feels right,” she shares.

“The idea was to conceive an open, inviting setting where families or guests could gather without the constraints of compact seating, fixed layouts, or armrests. A space should feel communal, not confined.”

It isn’t just Abdalla and Aljoud’s creative dialects that converge. There’s a deep reverence for each other’s design prism. “I admire Abdalla’s work immensely,” Aljoud says. “His approach, characterised by simplicity and impact, resonates with our philosophy: storytelling, material honesty, and cultural grounding.”

Their way of thinking suggests that creativity is a great unifier; a reminder that what’s made together often carries more weight than what’s made alone. “Collaboration is strongest with mutual respect,” Abdalla states. “I appreciate designers who understand spatial logic and preserve it without overpowering the architecture.”

To Aljoud, Abdalla’s brand of glamour is alluringly restrained. “His architecture opens up to nature,” she notes. “Our pieces are meant to feel at home in that kind of setting. Collectively, they could dream up worlds that feel both grounded and expansive.”

Abdalla sees the pairing just as clearly: “Aljoud’s work has a sculptural, quiet presence. We both draw from Emirati culture, but express it at different scales. Her creations could anchor the rhythm of the layout—whether indoors or on a shaded terrace.”

Both Abdalla and Aljoud have long honoured the outdoors, by design or by default. “I hadn’t thought of my practice as blurring indoors and out, but now I see how that happens organically,” Aljoud observes.

One of Abdalla’s most evocative residential commissions is an Emirati-inspired villa in Dubai’s Umm Al Sheif, featured as Sotheby’s International Realty ‘Property of the Month’ in August last year.

At the centre of the estate is a still, sunlit courtyard framed by arched arcades, opening onto a pool and garden visible from nearly every room. Inside, herringbone floors, glass doors, and onyx lighting lend a resort-like sensibility, but not without restraint.

“I study traditional spatial strategies and reinterpret them using modern construction and layouts,” Abdalla explains. “It’s about extracting the essence, not copying forms.”

This instinct to revive, not replicate, is something Aljoud shares. Her ‘Al Areesh’ line—a room divider, coffee table, stool, and table lamp—nods to traditional palm frond (areesh) structures, reimagined in oxidised metal. Heritage lingers beneath each surface, in a collection as sculptural as it’s culturally resonant.  

“Everything in furniture has existed in some way,” she remarks. “We reinterpret those timeless ideas through our own lens. If something doesn’t move me emotionally, it doesn’t make it through the studio. My pieces don’t shout, they whisper. They ask, ‘Can I tell you a story?’”

In our collective dreamhouse, Aljoud’s ‘Takya’ stools would certainly have something to say. They’re among my favourites—not just for their refined blend of walnut, ash, camel leather, and sumptuous fabrics, but because they’re stacked with nostalgia. As a child, I built cushion forts just like these.

“This was my first major breakthrough in furniture,” Aljoud states. “It taught me how form and proportion could create optical illusions while remaining rooted in cultural memory.”

And what’s a home without thoughtful vessels like Aljoud’s ‘Mudeem’ boxes for keepsakes? Wedding photos wrapped in linen, the gold bangle gifted at birth, a handwritten Eid card still scented with bukhoor, your grandfather’s prayer beads—each resting in boxes inspired by traditional mandoos chests, recrafted as modern heirlooms.  

In Abdalla’s architectural dreamscape, wooden louvres, floor-to-ceiling windows, and arched walkways are less ornamental and more integral, drawing the outdoors in with an arms-wide welcome.

“I align architecture with the environment,” he says. “Openings follow wind, light, and views—not just aesthetics. Shading devices offer air and light without sacrificing comfort or privacy. It’s about continuity, not just connection.”

Furniture also guides the flow. “Where each piece goes can completely shift a room’s character,” Aljoud elaborates. “A sofa in a kitchen may seem out of place, but within an architect’s vision, it becomes part of an open floor plan—intentionally connecting the living area to the kitchen.”

Abdalla composes his commercial projects with a palette inspired by the view: sunlight filtered through slats, desert tones in soft gradation, elemental details that engage the senses. There’s an artfulness to it—one that can translate seamlessly into a home.

In Al Ain, Esproses is part café, part floral boutique: where sinuous forms, sculpted arches, and a statement chandelier turn Abdalla’s design into dialogue. Paired with the scent of espresso and fresh blooms, it becomes a place that doesn’t just serve, but stirs.

There’s also Heaf Café—twice over. In Dubai’s Souq Badr, the ceiling dips and folds like a desert tent, its earthy palette echoing the warmth of Bedouin hospitality. Further along the coast, the Marsa Al Arab edition draws from the sea: a curved wooden ceiling recalls the hull of a dhow, and a wall sculpture refracts light like water.

“Emotional depth comes from how a space is experienced,” Abdalla notes. “I evoke that by framing views, controlling light and shadow, and shaping thoughtful transitions. Silence in materials and empty zones lets people slow down. These elements foster clarity and focus.”

These ideas of ritual, rhythm and relevance don’t end at architecture. They stretch well into the design stratosphere, where Abdalla crafts furniture, objects, and installations with the same contemplative precision and poetry.

I reckon our imagined home would be well served by Abdalla’s own ‘WOV’ coffee tables—walnut-topped, with interwoven spiral steel columns. Beautiful, yes, but unshowy. They have the poise of something built to belong, not to boast.

“The pieces I envision for this conceptual house would be grounded in Emirati culture, but distilled into functional, well-proportioned forms,” he reflects.

“I’d reinterpret traditional seating like the majlis using natural materials: palm fronds, wood, and woven textiles, treated in a refined way,” he continues. “The aim is to express hospitality, comfort, and a connection to place, while remaining modular enough to adapt to changing routines.”

Aljoud’s ‘Oru’ cabinet could also be nestled into a corner, its faceted teak a nod to origami. It doesn’t ask for attention, but the room listens anyway.

‘Intrinsic Flux’ by Abdalla belongs here too—because what are the walls of a home if not a canvas for memory and meaning? Its clay tiles evoke Islamic geometry and contemporary design logic, rippling across the surface in a pattern of your choice. Structured, but never still.

Beneath it all, perhaps Aljoud’s ‘Misnad’ carpet. Handwoven in wool by Afghan artisans, it reinterprets the geometric patterns of AlSadu weaving. Paired with a sleek leather bench, it invites layered ways of gathering—to sit, lean, or recline.

For the table, ‘Mese’ by Abdalla would set just the right mood: a vase that, get this, disassembles into six bowls inspired by the mezze platter: communal, generous, and endlessly versatile.

And then, a nook to anchor the room—where I imagine my daughter Noor spending her favourite moments: reading. Aljoud’s ‘Dana’ bench, a playful tribute to the UAE’s beloved Majid magazine character, features a tunnel-like build, hidden compartments, and cushioned mats made for storytime.

I wonder how the rise of Artificial Intelligence might impact an abode like this. Could it honour instinct, or risk dimming what makes a space feel human?

For Abdalla and Aljoud, AI isn’t a disruption, but discourse. “It can help optimise natural light, airflow, and energy use,” affirms Abdalla. “It can adapt systems throughout the day to bring indoor conditions closer to natural rhythms.”

Aljoud sees a more intuitive role. “AI reveals how people move, gather, and connect,” she says. “It’s not about replacing instinct; it’s about bringing us closer to nature—and to one another.”

Like all houses that last, this conceptual one begins not with trends, but with traces of real life—snapshots of meals, textures, and locations we love. “Such images reveal authentic preferences; what people naturally gravitate towards without curating,” Abdalla explains. “They help me design in a way that feels personal to them. It creates stronger emotional and functional alignment.”

But even the most poetic home must respond to place. In the UAE, that means working with light, accounting for climate, and honouring a culture where hospitality comes first.

“The main challenges are heat, sun exposure, and privacy,” Abdalla notes. “Solutions include thermal mass, shaded courtyards, deep overhangs, and layered façades. Culturally, residences should respect family structures and hosting traditions, while integrating modern routines.”

Aljoud sees a shift in how places are lived in today. “Traditionally, the design process began with the majlis, then the kitchen, followed by living and sleeping areas. The focus was always on the guest experience,” she begins.

“Now, I’d start with the living area, since it’s used the most. I also believe the majlis can evolve into a multi-use space, rather than being reserved solely for guests,” she continues. “Designing in a way that respects cultural values while responding to how people live is both the challenge and the opportunity.”

To Abdalla and Aljoud, the future of UAE homes is neither austere nor ornamental—it’s responsive.

“We’re moving towards more efficient, climate-responsive structures with flexible layouts,” Abdalla emphasises. “People want both privacy and connection—spaces that adapt to work, rest, and hosting. Locally, I think we’ll see a return to region-specific solutions that use less energy-intensive materials, and apply more thoughtful spatial planning.”

Aljoud also points to a changing current: residential furniture in the UAE is becoming less about aesthetics alone, and more about cultural relevance. “There’s a growing desire for homes that reflect identity,” she observes.

“A few years ago, we were introducing the idea of locally made tableware and small objects. Today, clients are approaching us for full majlis layouts, custom furnishings, and objects that reflect who they are. That trust is a major step forward.”

This cultural momentum brings a material reckoning: how do we create pieces that endure without excess? “We’re being challenged, in a good way, to think more sustainably. People want timeless, not trend-based design,” Aljoud says. “That’s pushing us to use long-lasting materials, embrace modular forms, and rethink how our creations age. I see the future as quieter—guided by story, heritage, and responsibility.”

And just as life evolves, so have Abdalla and Aljoud’s visual expressions: not in leaps, but in layers, favouring the thoughtful over the theatrical.  

“My journey into architecture began with a curiosity about how space affects behaviour,” shares Abdalla, who launched MULA in 2018, four years after beginning his practice. “Over time, my focus shifted towards cultural relevance, material honesty, and user experience.”

His previous collaborations with Hermès and Jaeger-LeCoultre channelled a muted kind of luxury—infusing regional nuance and discretion that whispered where others might declare. He’s currently focused on residential villas, hospitality destinations, and a cultural pavilion: each one a new creative threshold.

Just last year, Aljoud marked a quiet milestone: 10 years of her eponymous studio. A decade in, her work feels more distilled than ever. “Over the years, it has shifted from being form-driven to one led by storytelling,” she states.

She found her way to product design in 2012 through Tashkeel and Dubai Culture’s programme, now known as Tanween. “The first time I made a mock-up using toothpicks, I knew this was what I wanted to do,” she recounts.

A touchstone moment came in 2019 when Aljoud was commissioned by His Highness Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed Al Nahyan to produce the official gift presented to His Holiness Pope Francis during his visit to the UAE: a woven camel leather ‘Mandoos’, offering a lesson in the diplomacy of design.

She later created the ‘Takya’ sofa for the Presidential Office. “I keep a photo on my phone of His Highness Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed sitting on it. It reminds me what my work can mean beyond aesthetics.”

These may be public commissions, but their essence, like Abdalla’s architecture, finds its way home.

As I rise from the café, the hudhud is gone, but the trace remains. Not on the perch, but in the thought it left behind. Perhaps, this house we imagined together was never purely imagined. It’s already forming: in the proportions Abdalla draws, in the textures Aljoud chooses. It’s not a blueprint or a fantasy. It’s a way of living.