Throughout my exploration of the design world, I have discovered no process more fulfilling than the act of creating a space that allows nature to fill every nook and cranny. Biophilic design boasts the kind of beauty found in simplicity—its profundity is unquestionable, yet it is so often overlooked. This room is not just a space where plants are sited with appropriate sunlight; this room has natural materials that are used in ways that are more than just tokenistic. This room has hardwood inlays in the floor that are stronger than the metal fasteners in the construction of a house. But what is a room, really, without emotionality? You cannot inhabit a space that has been designed in such a way without feeling something, as if the very molecules that make up you and the space between them are vibrating in harmony. Every biophilic room is a potential sanctuary.
The Magic of Natural Light and Airflow The very first principle to consider in biophilic design is natural light. While this may seem straightforward, the crux of the matter is what happens to light as it flows through a space. Natural light comes from windows that work well with the architecture of the room. These windows are placed so that light can penetrate well into the interior, without artificial means, to the depth of the room. That allows the occupants to experience the full effect of changing light throughout the day. Most understand the concept of “daylight,” meaning the kind of spiritual, uplifting, and even energizing effect we can experience when we are illuminated by morning or midday sun. But there is also the liquid light of sunset and the twilight that follows, when both artificial and natural lighting interact in the room and sort of “coast” to that very comfortable and cozy place where we are halfway to dreamland—if we’re ever fortunate enough to be able to find that kind of room in a city, which was the challenge in this particular project.
The presence of fresh air is equally as crucial as light for any space. That is why, whenever possible, I try to ensure that my designs employ natural ventilation through operable windows or skylights. I connect with the outside world every time I feel the fresh breeze of outdoor air coursing through my personal space. It is hard to quantify how invigorating fresh outdoor air is, but I believe it is truly central to a healthy and productive atmosphere.
In several of my most favorite designs, I have actually incorporated large sliding doors that, when opened, allow the breeze and sounds of the outside—like birds or rustling leaves—to become a part of the room itself. In addition, I design with plants—often used in biophilic design—as a key indoor element because they are living components of the space that beautify it and influence air quality in a dramatic way.
I am also a huge proponent of clustering plants together, almost like small ecosystems, in a room. It’s not that I have anything against scattering individual plants around, but I find that grouping plants together—creating dedicated little “plant walls” and “plant shelves”—makes a bigger statement. Something I tried in my own living situation, and something anyone can do relatively easily, is to take a corner of a living room and turn it into a small “jungle” with such plants as the fern, the peace lily, and the fiddle-leaf fig. Anytime you step past a small pocket of nature like that, you feel, well, at peace. The science of just clustered plants making you feel better has yet to be confirmed, but I’ve got a hunch that it’s a thing.
I recall a client who desired an utterly calm bedroom, a place to unplug after the stresses of daily life. We did not heed the modern way of sleek finishes. Our choice for the bedframe and bedside tables was rustic wood. For the bedding, we chose linen; and for the floor, a wool rug. These materials, with their uneven textures, embody the grounding quality that is the very essence of calm. We achieved a serene room through minimalist design. Unpolished and “imperfect,” the room enacts the calmness of nature. Natural materials may be “imperfect,” but they exude that famous quality of being comfy-cozy.
Using recovered wood is one of my fixations. It is not just eco-friendly; it is also diverse. And what story wood could tell! I nearly fell off my stool when I found out one of the pieces I was working with for a project was part of the body of a barn more than 100 years old. Imagine that piece of wood. It had lived through a century of weather—a century of the sun, rain, and wind that had surely shaped it. Imagine the biophilia of such a wood room—be it as wall paneling, furniture, or flooring. You are not just incorporating floorboards; you are giving it a second life in your space.
Water and Soundscapes: The Essentials Often Neglected
One element that can greatly improve a biophilic room is water, yet aquatic features are often disregarded. I have experience working with various forms of water, from a simple fountain atop a table to a water wall built in to a room. With any of these, the low-intensity, barely audible sound of water flowing is the room’s “music.” Water features have a captivating ability to engage both visual and aural senses, pulling you into a moment of tranquility that somehow feels like a space enhancer and a time enhancer.
I recall the initial occasion when I added a water feature to a home office. The client wasn’t entirely convinced at the outset—who, after all, envisions water in an office? But after a handful of days operating with the gentle backdrop of a burbling fountain, they couldn’t picture the area without it. The feature deftly obscured the ambient noise of the metropolis just beyond the window, bestowing upon the space a concentrated, almost trance-like atmosphere that was ideal for serious mental labor.
Biophilic design does not require water to bring nature into the home. One of the natural forces that can create a serene interior is sound. In fact, the most sustainable sound I can think of is that of the wind. Buildings are often designed to create wind-sheltered spaces, but a little wind makes a lot of sound. For the sounds of nature to be biophonic, they do not need to be audible within earshot of an open window. The sounds can come from a room (or as the French say, sa place), and they can use the auditory illusion that a space is somehow open to the outdoors.
Designing Personalized, Biophilic Spaces Biophilic design can be very personal. You won’t find a universal solution if you search for one. Instead, you need to find the nature-near room that resonates with you. For some, that might translate to a room filled with greenery. For others, it might be a room that centers on the sound of water or the visual impact of fire. Those are just some of the elemental opportunities nature presents to us. Whatever route you take, be open to the different interactions that various (natural-looking) elements might have with each other and with you.
For instance, in one of my own domiciles, I’ve carved out what I denominate my “quiet corner.” It’s a little nook beside a window where a not-too-distant fountain murmurs and a collection of my favorite houseplants flourishes. The light here is soft and warm and filtered by a giant fern, and the materials—wood, linen, and wool—welcome me to come in, lean back, and lose myself in my almost infinite number of reading hours. It’s an intimate space that perfectly captures and personifies my nearness to my plants and the nearing of nature, something I’ve often called biophilia. And every time I’m in my corner, I know that “quiet corners” everywhere—and the plants that make them possible—are precious and increasingly rare.
Creating a biophilic room is more than just putting together an aesthetically pleasing design. It involves building a space akin to a sanctuary: one that provides refuge for the body, mind, and spirit. Biophilic rooms are meant to be calming. To achieve this effect, they employ various elements that one might find in a natural landscape. These might include living plants, abundant light, organic forms, and most importantly, water. Indeed, the incorporation of trickling water is the trademark of a biophilic room. But with or without water, these specialized spaces are built for healing.
Adjusting biophilic design to fit contemporary ways of living is an important aspect of its application. Creating biophilic rooms is certainly pleasurable, but it is incumbent upon us to create those rooms in a way that balances nature with the kind of environment in which we would typically flourish. Most of us don’t enjoy spaces that require us to keep up with a huge number of plants. We also want spaces that allow for easy movement and the kind of light that can make us feel satisfied, even if we’re stuck in a room for long periods of time. When we take these things into consideration, it makes more sense to apply biophilic design in a way that sees us not as befuddled with concerns of what plants need to thrive, but sees us as having control over nature in a way that makes it feel nice to us, no matter what sort of hold it has over our senses.
I remember working on a project for a little apartment in the middle of a busy city. The client wanted to create a biophilic room. They thought it might be impossible because of the size and location of their space. But, I said biophilia isn’t just for the big, open spaces of the natural history museum. You can make it work in an apartment. You can make it work in a closet. Biophilia is for everywhere you are, and it enriches the experience of just being in a place. It’s about connecting with nature. My little apartment client loves the idea of biophilia. But I didn’t have to convince them that it could be achieved in their space. We worked together to do that. And here’s how we did it…
I prompted my client to add features to their “nature-inspired” office that held personal significance. For example, being an enthusiastic hiker, they took me to several of their favorite places in Montana. For many of these places, we had long discussions about what made them special. Over the course of these discussions, a few elements in particular emerged that we decided to use in the room: Framed photographs of some of the hikes they’ve taken, in places like the Bob Marshall Wilderness, really evoked the sense of being in those landscapes.
Biophilic design increasingly might seem incongruous for urbanites: our concrete jungles are not known for their natural beauty. Yet, paradoxically, it is in cities that we might most need this kind of design, for it serves as a counterbalance to the vertiginous sensation of being surrounded by walls of glass and steel. And, indeed, biophilic urbanism is on the rise. New York City, for instance, has launched a series of nature-based initiatives under the banner of “the biophilic city,” and it hardly seems like an anomaly; cities can, after all, be reengineered. Still, can technology in our hands truly serve as an ally of evolution? Or must we choose between serving either the prime directive of our biology or the interests of economic growth?
A tiny alteration can make a world of difference in the mood of a room, particularly for anyone who might spend the majority of their time indoors. Yet, what’s next—the soundscape? A smart speaker or white noise machine can play all sorts of natural sounds (like flowing water or birdsong) to complement your color palette and aromatherapy. Sure, you could walk outside for that experience, but if you live in a studio apartment in downtown Cleveland, good luck! One project I worked on took an old guest room on the seventh floor and transformed it into a cozy nook. Not only did I use plants and other natural materials to fill the space with a vibe that transported you to the outdoors, but I also had a sound system playing the sounds of a forest at a low volume throughout the day. That room really felt like a natural space.
Common Challenges in Biophilic Design Biophilic rooms come with their own set of project-related challenges. The three I face most often are these: They tend to be low-light environments. They lack space. They need to be the kind of environments that require low maintenance. Inspiration and resourcefulness help me make sure these conditions don’t compromise biophilic principles. Biophilic design is about creating spaces that are closer to nature; it’s fundamentally about plants and light—both of which are generally in much lower supply in the spaces where I work. So, I place plants that are in a lower-light range into those spaces. “Low-light tolerance” has to be a characteristic of any plant I choose to use. Good candidates: pothos, ZZ plants, philodendrons, etc.
When dealing with limited square footage, vertical gardens present an efficient solution. Plant walls or any number of shelf-like arrangements allow you to invite an appealing amount of greenery into the space without overcrowding it. I’ve even added hanging planters to some of my projects. A hanging planter can be used to great effect in a truly limited space, and it creates a fun, almost sight-gag way to maximize the top of the room. But don’t worry; this is not a tutorial on how to plan for a living wall. … For those folks who might assess this situation and say, “Ain’t nobody got time for that,” and hence don’t imagine themselves in the rewarding routine of tending to a large number of plants, let me say this: start small.
A large sculptural plant—like a monstera or fiddle-leaf fig—can act as a room’s statement piece while requiring almost no upkeep. Place that commanding figure alongside a few easy going succulents or air plants, and you have a high-design space that nonetheless feels kind of lived-in. Biophilic design proponents think of it as a bridge to a more nature-filled environment, and we were excited to learn what they have in store for the future of the biophilic room.
I’m especially intrigued by the trend of biophilic design being integrated into multi-functional spaces. More people working from home mean a greater need for rooms that can double and even triple in their uses—a sort of Home Office/Lounge/Bedroom setup where one can more or less work and unwind as needed and where the room itself seems to encourage both productivity and living in it. Transition spaces—with better air circulation, better light, and the sort of natural views that would seem to perk up a room—are in increasing demand. And there’s no reason to coffin these kinds of rooms in either a Swedish or a Japanese design aesthetic. Biophilia answers just as well for the Arts and Crafts style as for “modernist” styles.
The boundless potential of biophilic design is exciting—likely no architectural aspirant can resist it. I am captivated especially by the unfolding concept of rooms that house such design becomes places of singular tranquility in a modern, crazy world. Even with knowledge of many forms, even virtual, what makes a human feel nature’s real presence—say, the soft rustle of leaves, the crooning of a breeze—is elusive. But designers keep pushing the envelope, using some instance of “like-ness” to serve, as the architects of ancient Rome and Greece understood, as a space to step into a more divine state of existence. In the end, that’s the best function of biophilic design—a room in which one’s vitality is nurtured.
