# How African Design Elements Changed My Understanding of Healthy Spaces
I never expected to fall down a rabbit hole about African design patterns, but here I am, three months later, completely obsessed with how certain symbols can actually make you feel better just by looking at them. It started when I was scrolling through Pinterest (as one does at 2 AM when you can’t sleep) and kept seeing these gorgeous geometric patterns that somehow made me feel… calmer? I couldn’t explain it, but there was something about the way the shapes fit together that felt almost therapeutic.
That late-night browsing session led me to reading article after article about Adinkra symbols from Ghana, and honestly, my mind was blown. I mean, I knew decorative patterns had cultural significance, but I hadn’t really thought about how they might affect wellbeing on a deeper level. There was this one article about how these symbols aren’t just pretty designs – they’re like a visual language that’s been used for centuries to communicate ideas about health, harmony, and how everything in life connects.
I started looking more closely at the few African-inspired pieces I had in my apartment. There was this small wooden bowl I’d bought at a craft fair years ago, carved with spiral patterns that I’d never really paid attention to. After reading about how spirals in African art often represent life cycles and spiritual growth, I found myself actually noticing the bowl differently. It sounds weird, but it started feeling less like random decoration and more like… I don’t know, a reminder of something deeper?
The more I researched, the more I realized how much Western design misses when it comes to incorporating meaning into everyday objects. Like, we’ll put a plant in a corner and call it biophilic design, but these African aesthetic elements take it so much further. They’re not just bringing nature indoors – they’re creating visual representations of entire philosophies about balance, protection, and community health.
I came across this fascinating documentary about Maasai beadwork, where each color and pattern has specific meaning related to different stages of life and spiritual wellbeing. The precision isn’t accidental – the way the beads are arranged actually communicates messages about strength, fertility, and protection. It made me think about how sterile most of our modern spaces are in comparison. We’ve stripped away all the symbolic richness that could be supporting our mental and emotional health.
One thing that really stuck with me was learning about Moroccan tile patterns and how they’re designed based on mathematical principles that create visual harmony. There was this article explaining how certain geometric relationships in Islamic and North African art naturally feel calming to the human eye because they echo patterns found in nature. It’s like they figured out centuries ago what we’re just starting to understand about how our brains respond to different visual stimuli.
I decided to try incorporating some of these ideas into my own space, though obviously I wanted to be respectful about it. I’m not trying to appropriate symbols that aren’t part of my cultural background, but I was curious whether some of the underlying design principles might work in my apartment. I found a small textile with Kente-inspired patterns – not authentic Kente cloth, just something that used similar color combinations and geometric relationships – and hung it where I could see it from my desk.
The difference was subtle but real. I can’t explain exactly why, but having those warm golds and deep reds in repeating patterns within my field of vision seemed to make my workspace feel more grounded. It wasn’t like a dramatic transformation or anything, but I noticed I felt less scattered when I was working. Maybe it was just placebo effect, but the research I’d been reading suggested there might be more to it.
I read about this study – I think it was mentioned in an article about healthcare design – where they found that patients recovered faster when their hospital rooms included certain types of cultural artwork. The theory was that familiar symbols and patterns provide psychological comfort that actually supports physical healing. Obviously my apartment experiment wasn’t the same thing, but it made sense that surrounding yourself with meaningful visual elements could affect how you feel.
What really fascinated me was learning about how these design traditions developed specifically to support community wellbeing. Like, I read about Ndebele house painting in South Africa, where the geometric patterns painted on homes aren’t just decorative – they communicate information about the family and serve as a way of maintaining cultural identity and community connection. The act of creating and maintaining these patterns becomes a form of social bonding that supports mental health.
That got me thinking about how isolated we can feel in modern living situations. I’ve been in my apartment building for three years and barely know my neighbors. But in many African cultures, the visual elements of homes and personal decoration serve as conversation starters and ways of sharing values and identity with your community. The design isn’t just about making something look nice – it’s about creating connection and mutual understanding.
I started noticing examples of contemporary African design influence in my city. There’s this coffee shop downtown that uses mud cloth patterns in their wall decoration, and I realized why I’d always felt particularly relaxed there. The patterns create this sense of rhythm and flow that feels different from typical café decor. It’s more grounding, somehow. I read that traditional mud cloth designs often incorporate symbols related to fertility, protection, and abundance – concepts that probably do create a subconscious sense of comfort and safety.
I also discovered that some of the houseplant arrangements I’d been drawn to actually echo traditional African design principles without me realizing it. Like, the way certain plants are grouped together in my living room creates the same kind of balanced asymmetry that shows up in traditional textiles and pottery. It made me think that maybe some of these aesthetic preferences are more universal than we realize – patterns and arrangements that feel naturally harmonious to humans regardless of cultural background.
There’s this book I found about Yoruba aesthetics that talks about how traditional art aims to create balance between opposing forces – rough and smooth textures, light and dark colors, geometric and organic shapes. The idea is that this visual balance reflects and supports psychological balance. Reading that, I looked around my apartment and realized how one-note everything was. Mostly smooth surfaces, mostly neutral colors, mostly right angles. No wonder it sometimes felt sterile.
I’ve been experimenting with adding more textural contrast and color variation based on what I’ve learned about these design principles. Nothing dramatic – I found some cushions with earthy, geometric patterns and added a few ceramic pieces with more sculptural, organic forms. But the cumulative effect is that my space feels more alive and engaging. There’s more visual interest without being overwhelming.
What strikes me most about African aesthetic traditions is how they view design as inseparable from health and spirituality. Western design tends to prioritize function and appearance, but these cultural approaches see visual elements as active participants in wellbeing. Patterns and symbols aren’t just decoration – they’re tools for creating psychological comfort, spiritual connection, and community bonds.
I’m not claiming to be an expert on any of this, obviously. Most of what I’ve learned comes from articles, documentaries, and online resources, and I’m sure I’m missing tons of nuance and deeper meaning. But even this surface-level exploration has changed how I think about the visual environment in my own space. Instead of just trying to make things look nice, I’m starting to consider what feelings and associations different design elements might create.
The research I’ve come across suggests that humans have deep psychological responses to certain patterns, colors, and shapes that go way beyond personal taste. Many African design traditions seem to have developed with this understanding built in – creating visual environments that naturally support emotional regulation, social connection, and spiritual grounding.
It makes me wonder what we might learn by paying more attention to how traditional design systems approach the relationship between aesthetics and wellbeing. Not to copy them inappropriately, but to understand the underlying principles that might inform how we create healthier, more supportive living environments for ourselves.
Jeff writes about bringing bits of nature into everyday living spaces — not as a designer, but as a curious renter who experiments, fails, and keeps trying again. He shares what he’s learned about light, plants, and small changes that make big differences for real people living in ordinary apartments.
