We reworked the space, starting by adding large windows to flood the room with natural light. Then we introduced plants—everywhere. Hanging plants, potted trees, and even a vertical garden on one of the main walls. We swapped out the synthetic furniture for items made from reclaimed wood and incorporated natural textures like stone and woven fabrics. The transformation in both the space and the team’s mood was immediate. Creativity began to flow more freely, and the designers reported feeling less fatigued and more energized throughout the day.
This experience isn’t unique. There’s a growing body of evidence that suggests environments rich in natural elements can enhance cognitive function, helping people think more clearly and creatively. It makes sense when you think about it—our brains evolved in natural settings, so when we’re surrounded by the sights, sounds, and textures of nature, we function at our best.
In my own work, I’ve noticed how much more productive I am when I spend time in biophilic environments. Whether it’s working in a sunlit room filled with plants or taking a walk outside to clear my head, there’s something about nature that sparks creativity in a way that artificial environments can’t. I often advise clients who are looking to enhance productivity, whether at home or in an office setting, to start by making small biophilic changes. It doesn’t always require a full renovation—sometimes just adding a few plants, bringing in more natural light, or incorporating wood or stone elements can make a huge difference in how a space feels and how effectively people can work within it.
One of my favorite examples of biophilic design fostering creativity came from a co-working space I designed for a start-up incubator. The goal was to create a space where entrepreneurs and freelancers could come together, collaborate, and generate new ideas. We made biophilic design a central focus, incorporating elements like indoor trees, natural wood beams, and skylights that allowed sunlight to pour into the common areas. We also included small, private nooks with views of outdoor greenery, giving people the opportunity to take a break and mentally recharge in a natural setting.
The result was exactly what we had hoped for. The space became a hub of innovation, with people not only working productively but also collaborating in new and unexpected ways. There was a palpable energy in the air, and I’m convinced that the biophilic elements played a huge role in fostering that sense of creativity and connection. It’s amazing how nature, in all its simplicity, can inspire such complex and innovative thinking.
For me, biophilic design is about more than just making spaces look good—it’s about creating environments that help people feel good and perform at their best. Whether it’s reducing stress, enhancing creativity, or boosting productivity, the impact of nature on our mental and emotional well-being cannot be overstated. I’ve seen it in my own work, and I’ve experienced it in my own life.
In today’s world, where so many of us spend the majority of our time indoors, disconnected from the natural world, biophilic design offers a way to bring a bit of nature back into our lives. It reminds us of the importance of that connection and how, when we design with nature in mind, we create spaces that not only support our mental and physical health but also inspire us to think more creatively, work more productively, and live more joyfully.
The power of biophilic design is that it taps into something deeply human, something that goes beyond aesthetics or function. It speaks to our need for connection, for beauty, and for spaces that nurture our well-being on every level. As I continue to explore the possibilities of biophilic design in my work, I’m constantly amazed at how transformative it can be—not just for the spaces we create, but for the people who live and work in them.
Conclusion: The Everlasting Connection Between Nature and Human Emotion
Biophilic design is not just a fleeting trend; it’s a timeless approach that taps into our fundamental need for connection with the natural world. Whether through light, plants, natural materials, or organic forms, spaces that incorporate biophilic principles have the power to dramatically shape our mood, reduce our stress, enhance our creativity, and improve our overall well-being.
As someone who has seen and experienced the transformative effects of these designs, I firmly believe that creating environments that mimic nature is one of the most effective ways to nurture both mind and body. We are creatures of the earth, and it’s in our connection to the natural world that we find peace, creativity, and emotional balance. When our surroundings reflect the beauty and complexity of nature, we too become more alive, more creative, and more at ease in the spaces we inhabit.
In every project I work on, I’m reminded of the profound impact biophilic design can have, not just in how a space looks, but in how it makes us feel. This is why biophilic design will continue to inspire me in my work, and why I believe it will play an increasingly important role in shaping the environments of the future.
The elements that compose biophilic design, in my view, are best expressed through natural materials like wood and stone. These don’t just offer a pleasing interface between human and nonhuman life; they elicit a palpable intimacy that draws people together. Biophilia is in large part about natural expression and the warmth and comfort it brings. You might more readily associate indoor warmth and comfort with a fireplace than with natural wood—and yet, at the same time, a nicely finished wood floor feels almost as good barefoot as a polished stone surface over which you could glide your hand.
We all have a kind of wood-and-stone moment in our lives; we connect.
Here is a rephrased version of the text you provided:
In a recent project, a client wished to revamp her home, zeroing in on mental well-being as the central tenant of the renovation. As we discussed different changes that could be made to bring her home more in line with this guiding principle, our conversation frequently returned to biophilic design—specifically, how to best incorporate its various elements into not just the appearance of her residence but also its functionality. One of the most effective design decisions we arrived at was to eliminate synthetic materials in favor of ones found in nature. So instead of synthetic laminate, we went with natural granite for her kitchen countertops.
And instead of wall-to-wall carpet, we installed hardwood flooring throughout her home. Even her furniture was chosen with an emphasis on natural components.
It wasn’t merely the appearance of the house that underwent a dramatic change; it was the very essence of the structure that shifted and settled. The home now radiates warmth and a calming, grounding energy. The very atmosphere of the space seems to invite one inside. The client stated that she feels centered and relaxed in the dwelling, that it’s as if the structure is “soothing” her. The transformation brought the use of natural materials into play, and I think that was foundational (pun intended) in bringing about this emotional shift.
A few years back, I swapped my standard desk for one crafted from reclaimed wood. The desk is rough around the edges and has visible grains and imperfections, but that’s what makes it special. Each and every time I sit down to work, I’m comforted knowing that I’m connected to something real and organic. And even though I work in a place that is generally full of synthetic materials, I still feel as if a part of my workspace has authenticity that can’t be replicated by anything made of synthetic materials. Part of the desk’s appeal is also on an emotional level.
And we must remember water as well. There’s a reason that biophilic design often includes ponds, fountains, and other water features. Flowing water sounds beautiful and serene. And what is more calming than seeing water, whether in a small indoor fountain or a large outdoor pond? I’ve encountered this countless times in both residential and commercial spaces. Even a small water feature can have an astounding impact on the way one feels in a space.
One unforgettable project involved the patio of a restaurant that wanted to create a serene vibe. We put in a small fountain that was the focal point of the outdoor dining space, surrounded by plants and flowers. I thought it looked pretty and would serve the purpose of drawing the eye, but honestly, I didn’t expect much in the way of head-turning reactions from patrons. And yet, in the same moment that I was struck by its fanciful beauty, I recognized that a fountain—this fountain—might be the simplest solution for a touch of something special.
What makes biophilic design so successful is how it elicits emotional reactions, akin to the way a beautiful painting or an exquisite piece of music does. Biophilic design does not simply borrow from nature; it seeks the very essence of nature, which is known to have profound effects on human psychology. This is especially important in the context of interior design, where the creative interplay of wood, stone, plants, light, and other natural materials can and should have an almost subliminal effect on enhancing a space’s beauty and transformative power.
Natural patterns, forms, and textures are some of the most potent yet frequently neglected tools of biophilic design. They are powerful in two ways: How they might affect us is one. Why they might affect us is another. When it comes to the first, we can think of a “mood shift” as a function of similarity at different scales. At one scale, a room might contain natural patterns, forms, and textures. At a smaller, more intimate scale, a person might hold a phone or a book that also contains those same features.
I have a memory of visiting an art gallery in which the walls were covered with abstract shapes and patterns inspired by my favorite element of nature: water. I stared at the undulating forms and the mesmerizing repetitive geometry. I even felt a frisson of excitement when I spotted a sand dune. I mean, have you ever run your hand along the edge of a sand dune? It’s a soft and delicate curve, a series of sweet nothings quietly beckoning you to relax and do nothing as you half-heartedly contemplate every contour. Maybe it’s this way with curves in general, and maybe it’s also the way with art.
In my own work, I have sought to copy this effect in environments where clients desire a sense of calm. It is deeply interesting to me how suggesting natural forms can affect our mood. When you look at a wave-like sculpture, does your mind somehow interpret the shapes as being “safe,” “non-threatening,” and “soothing” in the same way it might if you gazed at the natural undulating surfaces of ocean waves, hills, or rolling cactus plants? When we see those forms, do we crave them or merely admire them for informative reasons?
Not long ago, I had the opportunity to create a meditation space where we designed the ceiling to mimic the appearance of a forest canopy. It is an incredibly irregular, layered, and overlapping space that casts an amazing variety of shadows and “light effects,” as the sun travels across the sky. This arrangement has a similar appearance to the way light filters through leaves—especially when you see it from below. My client told me that the effect is such that you “feel” like you’re outside, even though you are indoors. It creates a mood of calm and a space that invites you to just sit and be.
I’ve always thought that the way to make a design feel truly alive is to incorporate forms that resemble living things. When I look at a design, I want to see biomorphic forms that are breathing, moving, and somehow evolving, just as the nature around us is always in frenzied motion and growth. Even if the design and I never really touch or interact, we exist in the same space and time, which should always feel vibrant and engaging. I want to catch a glance at a design and see it shimmering with light, the kind of light that makes living things pulse.
Part 3: Why It’s Important to See Nature and Feel Its Influence in Your Life
The most basic tenet of biophilic design is the one that concerns maintaining a connection to nature on the part of the humans inhabiting a building. Nature can be brought into a structure in many ways, but the most direct and probably the most impactful is through the use of ample windows. One of the biophilic design principles has a fundamental relationship with the others: when a person can see nature, almost all of the design benefits accrue.
I recall collaborating with a client who was apprehensive about too many biophilic elements being incorporated into their design. They feared it would feel too “greenhouse-like,” and they definitely didn’t want anything resembling a jungle. Instead of pushing for more plants, we focused on the view through large, unobstructed windows that directly opened to the stunning outdoor landscape. Their home was on the edge of a forest, and by optimizing these views, we could allow nature to become an aspect of their design without doing anything that would make the interior feel like a re-creation of the space outside.
With time, they came to appreciate that the many tree and sky views they had from various parts of their home had a very positive effect on their mood.
In my personal life, I have always looked for the opportunity to be in sight of nature. A perfect example is my office. I have a large window that gazes over a small garden, and I have no doubt that I would feel much differently about my workspace if I didn’t have that connection to the natural world. Even putting aside my office as an unusual case, I share with many people the goal of a workspace that looks out on some form of nature. Be it a well-tended garden, a natural area, or even the famously placid waters of the Detroit River as seen from William Beaumont Hospital, people prize such views.
One of my favorite undertakings was a big tech company’s large-scale office that was filled with natural light and greenery. The atmosphere was enhanced by a series of large atriums that served as gathering places for employees. It was designed for breaks, informal meetings, and moments of relaxation. The productivity boost we got from the mood enhancement for employees was pretty well documented. There were spans of time when the company took Google surveys about the work environment, and the happier employees reported being, the more productive they were. It’s a design mantra at this point: happier spaces yield better work.
The idea of visual connection is also very important in urban areas where access to green space may be reduced. I’ve worked with many clients in cities where large windows that looked out into nature weren’t even a possibility because of how dense the surrounding buildings were. In these cases, we brought nature into the spaces in different ways, from large murals of idyllic natural settings to mirrors that reflected small windows, making the space feel more open and connected to the outside world.
One especially hard project had us designing a small apartment with just one slender window that let in a view of the alley behind the building. Concentrating on what little nature was outside the window was not going to cut it; we had to trick the eye, and the few senses that we could, into believing that the space was much more expansive, much better lit, and much closer to the natural world than it really was. We used an enormous mirror on the opposite wall from the window to reflect the minimal light that came into the space.
Then we went up the walls to add artwork that went from floor to ceiling and depicted a calm forest scene.
I am captivated by the ways in which just gazing upon nature—be it in person or as an artistic representation—can elevate our moods. We don’t have to be right there in the actual woods, for instance, to be enlivened by a “view.” We can be anywhere and still take in the kind of optics that would be available to a woodland creature perched under a leafy shade. Our living spaces can be as much about the play of light and shadow as the actual objects in our line of sight. And yet, the direct sun seems to be worth more than mere reflected brilliance.
Does seeing sunbeams hitting the floor trigger some primal memory of a time when we were actually basking in the nuclear glow?
Part 3: How Biophilic Design Can Alleviate Tension and Bolster Mental Well-Being
Throughout contemporary society, people live in an environment where stress is virtually inescapable. Life can be demanding enough without the need to constantly interact with technology that begs for our attention and drains our energy even further. When stressed, people may reach for nature in the most obvious ways—like taking a walk in a park, for instance—but nature can also be found (and in the course of this series, we’ll argue it should be used) as a design element in the built environment, or biophilically.
A project I participated in for a healthcare facility comes to mind. This was to be a space for patients recovering from surgery, and the goal was to create something like an “environment of care” where the “staff and/or patients experience a sense of peace and wellbeing.” We designed the facility with large windows that offered beautiful views of a landscaped garden. The interiors were filled with natural materials. Water features—gentle and flowing—were incorporated throughout the facility. The results were great. Not only did the patients report feeling relaxed and at peace, but the stress-metric for the staff also took a nosedive.
Wellbeing was the order of the day, and the sanctuary-like space signaled the onset of that condition.
Biophilic design is about more than pretty pictures; rather, it draws on our innate connection to nature that underlies the Western conception of “health” and the “healthy.” The reason why the concept of biophilia has such profound implications for interior design has to do with what physiologically and psychologically happens to us when we engage with or even just look at nature.
For millennia, humans have deeply associated nature with what is in their best interest. Numerous studies have shown that even viewing images of nature can reduce our levels of the stress hormone cortisol. So, the reason for designing an interior workspace for a tech company situated in the middle of a concrete canyon that was filled with internal light (and no windows) to feel “natural” by using a high-resolution digital image of a forest area “outside” its artificial window, was that, over time, the employees would feel more relaxed and less stressed.
Biophilic design is at its best here. It can be less than literal. You don’t have to be in a perfect natural setting to reap nature’s bountiful benefits. What matters is the opportunity to see, hear, or even touch something that evokes a kind of natural experience. In my work, I’ve tried to offer these kinds of moments whenever possible. For example, textured wall panels or the sound of running water might make one feel as if nature is nearby. These biophilic elements don’t have to be huge or over-the-top. For instance, my recent design for an art gallery employs wood, stone, and a variety of textures and sounds, all in a modest palette—nothing huge or over-the-top—offering the viewer a path back to a natural state.
I remember having a conversation with a chronic stress sufferer who was under continuous pressure because of their demanding job. They came to me for assistance in making over their home office into a more tranquil space. We began the work of transformation with lightweight changes—let there be light! We introduced more natural light. We added a few plants (don’t let the word “few” fool you; its power to change a space is monumental). We replaced synthetic materials with natural ones (wood, stone… a big shout-out to my buddy hickory). We made the room feel alive.
But the biggest and most powerful change involved sound. We added a small water feature. Water is life, and a water feature is a shortcut to a zen state.
My own life has shown me the tranquil influence of biophilic design. I have deliberately included nature-inspired elements in my home office—such as plants, generous natural light, and wooden furniture—that bring our shared, primal connection to the natural world into this most oft-used setting. It’s hard to overstate the difference this makes in my everyday life. There is nothing like an intimate connection to the natural world, even if it’s through something as simple as the unpretentious houseplant, to act as a natural balm.
We have not developed in a vacuum; instead, we have grown alongside nature. Mentally or physically separating ourselves from it has adverse effects. That is why biophilic design is so important. It isn’t just a way of making spaces beautiful. It is a way of designing environments that support our psychological health. That is why I believe in biophilia and why I advocate it in every project I undertake.
Nature is fundamental to our well-being, and biophilic design uses this innate connection in a way that boosts our happiness, calms our anxieties, and improves our way of life. After all, what could be more human than shaping our spaces to resonate with the fundamental—yet often forgotten—human-animal bond that makes us feel more alive, more at peace, and more in sync with the natural world?
Section 3: The Way in Which Nature-Inspired Spaces Foster Creativity and Productivity
Not only can biophilic design calm us, it can also make us smarter, if we assume that our intelligence is tied primarily to our creativity and productivity. I’ve seen this play out first-hand in a lot of projects. From offices to classrooms, the natural elements we’ve incorporated into these spaces have made for environments that feel rewarding and pleasurable, and that seem to assist certain cognitive functions—particularly the functions tied to creativity and problem-solving.
One of my most unforgettable encounters with this line of work was a project that had me designing a creative studio for graphic designers. The space should have been a creativity haven. It was filled with colorful, inspiring artwork, cutting-edge technology, and stylish, modern furniture. And yet, even with all these elements, it seemed they should have been living their best creative lives; the energy in the room and for the work they were doing seemed a little flat. When I began to learn more about the team and how they worked, I realized part of the problem was that the team was working in a space that, for all intents and purposes, was visually stimulating but severely lacked any real connection to nature.
We began the process of reworking the space by installing sizable windows to drown the room in natural light. Then, we went green—adding abundant plant life. Our furniture was not only synthetic, it was dull. We replaced the drab items with interesting pieces made from reclaimed wood, and we let loose an array of natural textures that included stone and woven fabrics. Our old place was lifeless; now, it’s alive. Our old atmosphere was quite literally stifling; now, it’s refreshing. Fatigue has been replaced with a constant buzz of energy.
What I went through is not special. More and more, research is pointing to the idea that settings saturated in natural details can sharpen human thinking and make the mind work in more light and inventive ways. That’s quite a “duh” moment; after all, our ancestors didn’t write the great works of literature or draw cave paintings in the midst of cities. But the art and the words suggest a rich mental life coming up with even more natural ideas and thoughts.
My personal productivity increases twofold when I am in biophilic settings. I work best in sunny, plant-filled rooms (which I suppose should make it more likely I end up in the Sunshine State). When I get stuck on a problem, I sometimes take long walks outdoors, as though half my brain knows the best solutions will present themselves when my meditation period is over. Yes, biophilia has made its way into my private life, and in the weirdest moments of inspiration, like when I was trying to remember if the Scrubs episode “My Dream Job” was a touching or a gut-busting experience (or both), I often think how much the creators of that show enjoyed hanging out at the bioluminescent bay in Vieques, Puerto Rico.
A prime example of biophilic design promoting creativity comes from a co-working space I designed for a start-up incubator. The intent behind the incubator was to provide a nurturing environment for entrepreneurship—an environment where entrepreneurs and freelancers could collaborate and, more important, generate new ideas. Biophilic design was a core focus of our creative process, and we worked hard to find ways to promote this special form of design within the space. Our basic principles of biophilic design involved the use of some basic indoor plants; lots of indoor wood; and natural light, which found its way into skylights and large, picture-framed windows.
The outcome was precisely what we had envisioned. The area turned into an epicenter of innovation. People not only worked there but also did some collaboration in forms we had never imagined they would. I felt that the place surged with energy, and I’m sure that many of the elements that make the space “biophilic” helped foster that sense of connection and creativity. Nature, in all of its simplicity, somehow inspires us to think in all sorts of interesting and complex ways.
Biophilic design does more than just create attractive spaces; it can also boost our well-being and help us achieve peak performance. Why? Because the natural world has a profound and well-documented impact on our mental and emotional health. Our modern lives are often disconnected from nature, and that disconnect is associated with rising rates of anxiety, depression, and other mental health problems. In the built world, we can mitigate some of that by embracing biophilia—the inherent love of life and nature that’s part of our biology.
Biophilic design seeks to restore the connection and sense of place that many of us have lost in modern society. As so much of our lives have moved indoors and become technology-driven, we must remember that our existence is still intertwined with that of the natural world. Bringing the principles of biophilic design into our lives serves as a bridge back to that almost forgotten connection. It provides a way to reintegrate the presence of nature into our built environments for the betterment of our health and sense of well-being.
Biophilic design is powerful because it gets to the heart of what makes us human. It goes further than just pretty or useful spaces. It hits the basic desires we have to connect to something larger than ourselves, to exist in places full of beauty, and to dwell, with the kind of peace that necessitates a true sense of well-being, in functional spaces that nurture us. Perhaps biophilia’s most impressive trait is how it sneaks into our minds and inhabits our thoughts as we plot the possibilities of future spaces.
Biophilic design is a time-honored methodology for creating a physical environment that serves the basic human need for connection to nature. There is something instantly uplifting about being in a space filled with natural light, plants, and organic materials. Biophilic design is more than a trend—it’s a proven way to enhance mood, reduce stress, and even boost creativity in a physical space.
Having seen and experienced the life-changing effects of these designs, I am convinced that the best way to encourage the human mind and body is to create Earth-like environments. We are nothing if not creatures of this planet; it’s in our bond with the natural world that we find tranquility, inspiration, and a level emotional equilibrium. When we’re in spaces that echo the beauty and the evenness of nature, we become, too, more vibrant, more ingenious, and more content in the places we occupy.
With every project I undertake, I appreciate even more the great influence biophilic design can exert—not merely on the appearance of a place but also on its atmosphere. This, I think, is the real reason biophilic design inspires me and is likely to make me feel even more favorable toward it in the future. Shaping environments by means of biophilic design will, I believe, increasingly pay dividends beyond anything we can quite see at this moment.
