Stairs offer a certain enchantment when it comes to their invitation to us, in a spatial sense, to move through our environments and to dictate our movements upward or downward, in a way that is so comfortable and fluid that we often take it for granted. But stairs can be so much more than functional; they have the potential to be deeply immersive and transformative spaces when infused with biophilic principles. From my experience, biophilic stairs do not just create a path between two levels but a journey through nature itself.
The first time I faced a flight of stairs that truly followed this philosophy, it was in a large office building. Rising from the ground floor to the second, I became engulfed in plants and warm sunlight billowing down from a skylight above, which was situated just perfectly. I was on the steps, and it was as if I were in the kind of relaxed, meditative state that often comes when you’re in a pleasant natural environment, but I was in an office complex! I lingered, taking the moment as a sign that things could be different, that architecture could surprise and delight instead of just be something you rush through to get to where you’re going.
Part 1: Incorporating Nature into Upward Structures
Stairs in biophilic design can act as essential design elements in a building, making the natural world evident even when one is moving vertically. Biophilic stairs can introduce surprising elements where one doesn’t expect them, making them potentially powerful design opportunities.
Consider the staircase. A design opportunity hidden in plain sight, the stair exists primarily for function, serving as a means of egress when the elevators are full and a secondary path to take in a building. But if you elevate the stair, both literally and in your way of thinking about it, it can serve as a pseudo-exposure to nature in a building and become a good path to take design-wise.
My favorite instance of this is the use of natural resources in stair construction. I’ve been drawn to timber stairs that gracefully age over time, their texture changing as they withstand the seasons. A stunning example displays itself in a residential project I visited that used local oak to craft the stairs. Each step was a liturgical experience, grounding me in the nebula of the natural environment. What made the wooden stairs even more stunning was their interaction with light—sunlight that filtered through a nearby narrow wall (think of the spaces between timber framing) and cast shadows that danced along the grain.
I’ve become especially interested in the incorporation of plant life into staircases. Imagine a spiral staircase that is alive with plant life; or a central staircase that has vertical gardens climbing alongside each step. These sensorial, “breathing” staircases are rare in most built environments. The texture of the plants, the near-substantial presence of the light that plays along the plant life, and the nearly undetectable difference in humidity as you move past the greenery—I think it all works together to create a staircase that is (forgive the language!) a more conducive, nearly pleasant, experience for the stair climber.
However, visual allure is only part of the story. Stairs are quite literally touchy. We interact with them on a bodily level, as we go up and down, with a kind of flow that moves not just our bodies but also our minds between levels—so much so that the building in which the stairs exist becomes almost an ascent-descent zone in human terms. The way the materials used to make the stairs feel and sound and even smell—if they do—connects us to a way of being that’s more primal. I can’t help but think of the ways our ancestors must have experienced going between levels in their habitats, using rudimentary stairs made of materials close to what we might now consider “biophilic,” even if they didn’t have a name for it.
And then I think of the hotel in which I stayed recently, with stairs made of smooth river stones embedded in resin. It was a sweet, tactile experience—almost as good as a foot massage.
Part Two: Improving Vertical Structure for the Sake of Well-Being
What makes staircases so special is that they encourage people to move—up or down. This seems to me to be a clear invitation to be fit and well. I also am drawn to the idea of biophilia. If “biophilia” means that when people engage with or are near plants and animals or the natural world in general, they tend to feel better, then no surprise that with plants, light, and nature sounds, stairs can also help us feel fit and well, especially in the presence of attractive, comfortable handrails.
Natural light is incredibly important for our well-being, influencing everything from our mood to our biological clock. I was once in a coworking space with such a magnificent staircase. Natural light spilled onto the stairs from an enormous skylight overhead. They were framed in light-colored wood, and the natural light flooded the entire space. It was, quite simply, a radiant experience. As I ascended or descended the stairs, I felt as if I were in some kind of uplifting, energizing stairwell sun deck. I could see why the architects had made such an open, inviting space around the stairs.
You would want to take the stairs in a space like that!
Staircases can be an essential part of creating a biophilic space, but they don’t have to be over-the-top to achieve that. A staircase can provide a view of the outside world. I’ve seen stairs alongside magnificent renovations where they are positioned beside nearly floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over a garden filled with fragrant flowers, a dense forest, or a wonderful cityscape. When you are in the busy urban core, calisthenics for descending or ascending a staircase while focusing on the outside world can provide a much-needed break in your day.
Innovative biophilic elements that enhance user experience can be found in unusual places. For instance, a stairwell is not a typical setting for a sound installation, but it’s a place where sound can elevate the user experience and take the concept of biophilic design to another level. Sound is often an underappreciated part of stair design and experience. Most people may not even think of the audible part of ascending or descending a stair. Yet, for me, the stair that is part of an indoor waterfall is unequaled. I thought I would only have such an experience outdoors.
To have the soothing sound of water, the soft rustle of leaves, or the gentle murmur of a mountain stream accompany me on a stairway to the next level of my contemporary office building is-what’s the phrase-finger-licking good.
Natural ventilation can be enhanced using a biophilic design staircase. When we hear biophilic design, we often think of aesthetics— but it’s also about the basic health of a building’s occupants. Stairs designed with open risers, for example, can help circulate fresh air throughout a structure. I’ve also seen buildings where staircases are positioned near operable windows or skylights, creating a natural ventilation system where cool breezes waft through the space. And those breezes really do have a “feel factor.” It’s refreshing to walk through a space where the air is in motion, as well as an invigorating ascent and descent of the vertical pathways (a staircase is a good place to get your heart rate up).
I remember a public library where the central staircase served as both a way to go up and a way to catch a breath. The stairs were made of steel and glass, and surrounding them were layers of plants in varying shades of green that lived in the vertical space where fresh air flowed. That entire atrium was an assembly of fresh air and green plants—far from a conventional “quiet space” in a library. The air there was light and easy to breathe. I felt good being in that space and even better ascending the stairs.
It was like ascending through two very different yet complementary layers of the building.
Biophilic stairs often carry an emotional power that makes them feel like an invitation to discover and explore—to seek out hidden and indirect paths in the environment around us. They lead us up or down in ways that don’t always allow us to see the immediate payoff at the end. Stairs that pull us along toward some light- or air-filled opening at the top. Stairs that integrate a hidden turn or two as they wind around a kind of thing that might not be an enclosed garden but still has plant life in it. Designs that don’t always ask us to pay attention to the features of what we’re happening upon but instead encourage us to see how the features can transform the very act of climbing into something meditative, like a version of the time we take in a waterfall.
Staircases can be biophilic—artful structures that express vitality and connect us with nature in ways that lift our spirits as we ascend. The best staircases do not merely function as a means to reach the next floor; they invite us up and even give us reason to pause between levels. When a staircase has a rhythm, a light quality, and a generous feel, it is no mere coincidence.
One of the most striking biophilic staircases I’ve navigated is in a university building that encourages collaboration. These stairs were expansive and wide enough to accommodate not just foot traffic but also seating areas carved into the steps. The seating areas were filled with cushions made from natural fibers. Small planters containing ferns and mosses were tucked between the seating areas. Crossing the stairs felt less like a climb and more like a leisurely stroll, with the seating inviting you to take a (quasi) break before launching into whatever lies beyond the next door. Indeed, the steps were functional amphitheater seating, and the plants and the views through the stairs added to the experience of moving through the building.
My appreciation of stairs as a potential showcase for biophilic art has deepened. They’re often a pretty good place to put art, given how many people must view a stairwell at some point. Biophilic art is when you make art. That reminds people of nature. Who doesn’t want to encounter something that reminds them of nature when climbing up to the 20th floor? I was taken with a recent corporate space that veered from the all-glass, all-steel, all-concrete aesthetic of the average skyscraper, with a stairway that culminated in a living wall, a moss wall, climbing up alongside the balustrade, artwork at each landing—seriously, it was like some twisted biophilic art gallery, which is maybe what took me up the 20th floor, not to mention all that invigorating vertical ascension!
Another museum offered an equally impressive example. The very stairs that led to the museum’s entrance were a work of art. Stone, carefully chosen, had been carved into their shapes. The textures and colors of the stairs mimicked the natural forms of the nearby cliffs. As you walked up the stairs, you were almost tricked into thinking you were a guppy traveling upstream, with the rock stairway wall alongside you serving as your tunnel vision. The museum experience was properly set up. One was transformed into a geode to be gone through step-by-step in order to get to the other side.
You wouldn’t want to rush through this thing.
When it comes to involving the community, biophilic staircases are a splendid way to work in elements that are local, ecological, and cultural. For one, I love the idea of using stairs as a stage for storytelling. At the cultural center I visited, for instance, each step bore inscriptions that told me about the indigenous plants and animals of the region. This center’s handrails were made from sustainably harvested wood, carved with local wildlife motifs, and by the time I ascended to the top, I felt as if I’d gained a deeper appreciation for this space’s local environment.
I was. Of course, this center had a budget for such hive mind architectural thinking. But when it comes to working with nature, insights like these and others I’ve gleaned in researching this post are accessible to all at little or no cost.
The success of biophilic staircases largely depends on lighting, which can dramatically adjust the feel of a space. I’ve seen projects where designers have employed natural and artificial light in such a way as to mimic the sun’s movement, but I think the most striking example I’ve been privy to is a staircase lit by soft dappled overhead light that came filtered down from slats designed to mimic a tree canopy. When I was on the staircase during the day, it felt almost as if I were outside. I can only assume the designers had tuned into the light levels of a late afternoon, as the light coming down was just warm enough to create a pretty decent illusion without actually coming close to the real thing (which is hard to do, as most lighting designers will tell you).
At night, the warm, amber glow of the staircase’s lighting made it feel even more inviting, as if the stair itself were an actual biophilic element.
In my view, biophilic stairs fulfill their function when they make a sensory impact and create a meaningful place. Whether through materiality, art, or social space, biophilic stairs engage us and encourage a line of sight that is not merely…
Integrating biophilic design into staircases may call for some imaginative planning, but the benefits can be bounteous. A well-designed stair not only serves its basic purpose but also acts as a portal to nature. Stairs invite us to pause, perch, and appreciate the view, connecting us not only to the floors above and below but also, in some way, to the natural world.
I am eager to keep witnessing how biophilic design can change even the most basic forms of architecture—like stairs—into experiences that speak powerfully to our most primal forms of intuition and that also meet our most fundamental human needs.
