The recent upsurge in biophilic interior design has always struck a chord with me—it’s beautiful and, in my view, very important. But to go beyond beauty, biophilic design is really about the kind of fundamental transformation that happens when torpid aesthetics are replaced by invigorating ones. And in 2024, I see it in my mind’s eye—a kind of design movement that doesn’t just happen to the eye, but transforms the very different kind of experience one has in a given space. Biophilic design is, in this sense, good social science.
In 2023, biophilic interior design more than ever is befriending technology—not in stark or sterile ways, but in manners that make for a more nature-hugging built environment. A superlative instance of this is the advent of intelligent lighting. Lighting that’s both controllable and preferably “tunable” (as in can be altered to different settings for different effects) is now a mainstay in the built environment. This isn’t just for the sake of the building’s occupants, but also for the sake of any flora and fauna that are supposed to be enjoying this space alongside its human inhabitants.
I recently assisted in the design of an office environment that made good use of this technology. Some employees had to work long hours in a space devoid of windows, so we implemented a lighting system that would vary throughout the day. It was cool and bright in the “morning,” with an intensity that one would expect in a naturally lit dawn. It then shifted in hue and brightness to resemble the warm, soft “evening” light one experiences in an office as the workday naturally winds down. The change in the ambiance of the space was almost immediately discernible. The employees in the space reported feeling less and less like zombies as they adapted to the “daytime” lighting.
A trend I see for 2024 is the heightened usage of natural materials that extend beyond just visual appeal. Designers are now focusing on the experience of these materials in an environment—what they feel like, what sounds they make, and even what they smell like. For one of my recent projects, we employed a variety of organic textures in the design to stimulate the senses of everyone who entered. The walls were covered in reclaimed wood, which was not only stunning but also radiated a sense of warmth and a tactile quality that many have commented on. We used several woven textiles and natural fibers to fulfill our cushion and rug needs, and we had polished stone for the flooring, which made a sound and provided a sensation that wasn’t too far off from what an echo does.
A boutique hotel I visited last year perfectly captured the kind of calm space I enjoy. From the moment I entered, I could smell cedar wood, cool stone beneath my feet, and a gentle trickle of water nearby. I was in the middle of a busy city, but this was the most urban-forest experience I’d had. It reminded me of how powerful multi-sensory has in connecting us with nature and how potent an effect calm has on us.
At home, I’ve begun to implement some of these ideas in the tiniest of ways. Though I’ve always favored natural wood finishes, I’ve done more to introduce tactile fabrics into my living spaces—cotton, linen, and wool—that invite touch and make the room feel more comfortable and grounded. Alongside my collection of myriad rocks and shells, I’ve seriously considered purchasing a mostly decorative bowl of pebbles to keep on display on a wooden tray next to my bed, so at least half my living area would be a tactile wonderland.
The development that excites me most for biophilic interior design in 2024 is biophilic acoustics. Designers have historically paid little to no attention to the sounds of a space, but now we’re starting to consider how enhancing—or detracting from—the connection to nature through sound can impact a person’s experience of a space. I’ve always enjoyed thinking about the different ways something can sound, like a forest’s rustling leaves, a stream’s trickling water, or a bird’s distant call. Including those same types of natural sounds in an interior can significantly impact how a person feels and behaves in that space.
One project I worked on used sound in an intentional, craftsman-like manner. This was a wellness center designed to provide a cocoon-like escape from the crude urban world just outside its propped-open doors. The sound system we installed played barely-there natural soundscapes—soft rain and wind through trees—that seemed to emerge from walls and ceilings made up of a series of nested boxes inside a hushed main space. With all that natural sound and mostly incongruous language in the air, I half expected to find a sign at the entrance that said “South Entrance to the Forest.” The key was to make it almost imperceptible, a background element that became part of the fabric of the space rather than a dominant feature.
We see an attempt to bring natural elements indoors in a new, larger, and more immersive way in 2024. Living wall installations and other vertical gardens are rapidly becoming must-have features in high-end residential and commercial architecture. This trend reflects our deepening desire to commune with lush, green life—and the very act of integrating these structures into our homes and offices speaks to a powerful connection between plants and people. My friend Heather, for example, recently worked with an interior designer to add what’s called a “living wall” to her home office. The structure is filled with a variety of tropical plants that do well in low light and don’t need much maintaining. And you can bet that Heather’s space is an air-purifying powerhouse that also conveniently serves as her video backdrop.
Indoor gardens and living walls are becoming the norm even in private homes, gracing our otherwise sterile interiors with an organic touch. I recently worked on a project that created an entire courtyard in the middle of a building. It was an enclosed space, but we filled it with trees; there was a small waterfall; and we had natural light coming in from above—a skylight that, thank God, didn’t rain on us. The courtyard was meant to be a communal space; it was intended to be a point of refuge for the employees. The hallway outside the courtyard, by contrast, was intended to be a thoroughfare; the employees should be moving through it quickly, not stopping for any water cooler chatter. By repurposing that hallway, which was intended to be the dead space between two living walls, into a path to a transformative shared experience, we forced the employees to become at least momentarily attentive to their surroundings.
I’ve also seen a movement toward incorporating water features into interior spaces, and I think it’s a good thing. I’m a sucker for all things aquatic (Hello, Atlantis). Whether it’s a simple tabletop fountain, a reflecting pool, or a whole watery wing to a museum like the Getty, indoor water is very appealing to me. And I’m not the only one who has noticed this trend. It seems to have picked up some momentum over the past year or so, at least in the places that I frequent.
Biophilic interior design is being focused on more than ever as the environmental crisis worsens. December 2021 was the warmest recorded in the Western world since records began, pushing atmospheric carbon levels far beyond the 300 parts per million level at which Earth’s current climate became stable. As we learned from Ken Burns’s recent documentary on the history of the National Parks, nature itself has an inherent awesome power to do the opposite, which is to enrich life when it is allowed to perform untrammeled. Interior biophilic design takes the core concepts of design that can be called inwardly focused—that is, focused within human brains, bodies, and biologically primary senses in the architecture and interiors of the parts of the design disciplines that create built environments.
A recent standout project is a loft apartment renovation in which we used only sustainable materials. The floor was made of recycled barn wood, the counter was made of recycled glass, and the wall paint was organic. What made this project biophilic was not just the sustainable nature of the materials, it was the way the materials connected the homeowners to a larger narrative. The wood had a story, the glass had a texture and shimmer that could not be replicated, and the overall aesthetic was one of an “organic” design that felt more meaningful because of the smart choices in the materials and the way those materials connected the homeowners to a past and a substance that the wall didn’t have when it was painted with a “green” paint that was not more or less sustainable than the paints used in the past.
To combine the principles of biophilic design with sustainability is something I am deeply passionate about. Interior designers have long been sourcing natural materials to create beautiful, nature-inspired spaces. But now, the field has the opportunity—and, I believe, the responsibility—to take it a step further and ensure that the natural materials and the interiors they create are environmentally responsible. In 2024, I look forward to seeing even more interior designers embrace this principle and create stunning interiors that meld beauty, kind-to-the-Earth materials, and responsible sourcing.
One definite trend in biophilic interior design for 2024 is adaptability—rooms that can be transformed with ease to meet the varied demands of their occupants. Modular furniture is one answer to this call, allowing for easy assembly, disassembly, and reconfiguration of pieces that can serve multiple functions throughout the home. Movable walls and partitions offering similar flexibility can be found in several installations at this year’s Salone del Mobile, pointing to a growing recognition among designers and architects that spaces (like nature) should be capable of constant change.
Not long ago, I collaborated on a design project for a private residential client. That project was all about adaptability—how the house could shift to accommodate everyday living and special occasions, large and small. I’m not sure how well we succeeded, but I can tell you what we did. We made an open-plan first floor, one with an array of large, sliding glass walls that could, in various arrangements, open the interior up to the garden outside. We made the furniture modular; it could be in various arrangements most of the time, in some kind of offset to suggest conversation and not just the equation “some people + some chairs = a gathering.” We even made the house’s planters modular.
The outcome was a space that lived and breathed a continual transformation. In the daytime, sunlight streamed through the nearly absent walls, making the whole room an infiltration of the garden. Come nightfall, there could be a closing of the walls that created a snug cocoon while still offering a clear view of the sunless world outside—the room, with glass as a key component, felt like a wind instrument. The client has since told me that the way this space operates has changed their way of living in it, making them feel more connected to the outdoor world, more in tune with the rhythm of day and night, and pretty much commandeering the whole space to their liking.
The concept of adaptability is closely linked to another biophilic trend I’m enthusiastic about: incorporating the natural world into our living spaces. This is what we mean when we say “bringing the outdoors in.” We’re seeing this more commonly in our designs. We’re also seeing it in what’s being built. Strong examples of incorporating the natural world into our living spaces can be found in Cliff May’s designs for California ranch-style homes of the 1940s and 1950s. …The design of these homes works in large part because they utilize natural materials throughout. In one of Cliff May’s flagship ranch homes, located in the Long Beach neighborhood of Naples, a generous-overhang roof structure buffers inhabitants from the sun and rain while providing them with a comfortably shaded and dry space that also functions as a semi-outdoor room.
An unforgettable instance is a California project. The house sat in a dry, coastal region, its yard populated with native, drought-tolerant plants that included succulents and sagebrush. In terms of design, the interior architecture of the house resonated with these natural features. Soft, sandy colors articulated organic lines, and textured materials sang the same notes as the home’s outward environment. The patio that extended from the living room was a silhouette of the room itself, and when the living room doors to the patio were opened, the very idea of a “room” dissolved in favor of the freedom that the coastal space afforded.
In my designs, I pay greater attention these days to the integration of the interior with the landscape outside. I’ve used large windows that frame views of trees and gardens, and I’ve carefully selected materials that echo the colors and textures of the natural world. One of my favorite space additions is window seating that invites you to pause en route and take in the view. Whether it’s a slight recess with a good-size window or a “room” with floor-to-ceiling windows, these natural views become living artwork.
In 2024, biophilic interior design continues to rely on plants as a fundamental element. Yet there is something exhilarating about how designers throughout the industry are incorporating the essential life force of plants into interiors. Rather than sticking with the usual potted plants, they’re bending the rules of gardening. Rooms can now feature suspended gardens, walls of moss, and built-in planters that create seamless little earthy pockets within spaces. Take that, typical “green wall.” And the magic of plants is still the same: They purify the air, reduce stress, and can bring vitality to any space that nothing else quite can.
A particular project captured my attention; it used hanging gardens to devise a leafy overhead for a dining area. The result was stunning, with light filtering through the many leaves. The clients were smitten and gushed that the plant life gave them a true connection to nature and made the indoor space feel like an outdoor dining experience. They also mentioned being even happier with the project after the installation when they learned that biophilic design could make the indoor climate of a room feel cooler and more comfortable.
I, too, have seen a surge in clientele wishing to cultivate technicolor micro-naturescapes within their private spaces—few concepts seem to resonate with my architectural clients as potently as biophilia. Yes, we are designing more edible gardens than ever, but these gardens are also happening indoors, up and down the kitchen, and stark divides between spaces for meal prep and spaces for sin (though to be fair, the latter often has its own imperative to sustain a degree of order) are gone. Fresh herbs, vegetables, and even citrus trees are becoming commonplace in our designs.
Interior biophilic design is evolving—more immersive, more holistic, and more integrated into everyday life. Adding plants or using natural materials is one thing; creating spaces that truly reflect the dynamic, ever-changing beauty of the natural world is quite another. To design such spaces requires negative space, the identification and honoring of one’s space, which may at times feel like the design of absence, and the freedom to use nature as an inextricable part of a given ecosystem, be it wild or cultivated. In biophilic design, the degree to which practitioners can create the illusion of presence relies on two primary factors: the first is their ability to convince the beholder that the illusion of the natural world has a place in their interior; the second is the realization that with or without plants, the practical interior space can support a biophilic pathway.
