Biophilic design in contemporary architecture embodies a precarious balance between structure and nature. It is a balance, I think, that requires modern designers to be both hard and soft in their thinking, simultaneously imagining their materials as efficient, beautiful, and life-giving. Can contemporary architecture achieve this? I think it can, and I think it must. And when it happens, we will stop simply moving through biomes and ecosystems, iterations of the same structures we inhabit now, and start actually living in them.
What I value most about biophilic modern design is how it blurs the lines between what is inside and outside. I have been to a house perched on the edge of a deep woods. From the street, it looked like a sleek, minimalist home of concrete and steel. But inside, it was a different story. The architecture revealed a much deeper connection to the surrounding landscape. Glass walls, floor to ceiling, created the illusion that the deep woods was part of the living space. The design also made for a constant flow of natural light, so that the house felt alive with the sun’s movement and the shadows it cast.
The hallmark of biophilic design in modern settings is the use of natural materials. In my own work, I am naturally drawn to the use of wood, stone, and even plants—though always in ways that lean more toward integral function than ornamental excess, it could be said. I once worked on a modern office building where reclaimed wood beams formed structural elements. The beams weren’t polished up to perfection, and every knot and grain that showed through read as a natural sign of authenticity and warmth, countering and balancing the otherwise sleek glass and metal exterior.
Biophilic modern design has a simple beauty when it considers the aspect of temporality. Nature is not static; it ages, grows, and changes—all qualities that biophilic modern design mirrors. How a well-placed tree grows and changes over time in an outdoor space is something too often ignored in an indoor space. The light in a room where a tree is well placed will change with the seasons; is that not the same as how light changes in a room at different times of the day? Biophilic modern design acknowledges and embraces these differences as well as the fact that indoor spaces can also host plants that might choose to climb walls.
Biophilic modern design serves as a bridge between two often-separate worlds.
Among the projects I have been involved with, one stands out as exemplary of biophilic design. It is a high-rise apartment building that integrates biophilic principles in a deep way, not just as a gesture. The architect actually left atria as part of the building. In between floors, every few stories, there are open-air spaces that reach up toward the sky. In good weather, these spaces are open; in bad weather, they are protected. Each is filled with water, plants, and natural stone seating areas. You wouldn’t want to spend an hour in one of these spaces, but as a resident, if you took a little break from the rigors of city life, it would be a good place to spend a minute or two.
The atria became your personal pocket of nature.
I frequently contemplate the way that spaces impact our emotions. When we rush to create innovative designs or to satisfy the most recent aesthetic trends, this aspect can be overlooked. But it is precisely this emotional engagement that makes biophilic modern design “work.” If you visit a space designed by someone who adheres to this philosophy, you will feel something—hopefully, something good! One of the reasons this approach to design is so compelling to me is that it seems to target not just our visual comfort, but also our overall psychological comfort.
I recall entering a hotel lobby designed with modern biophilic principles. The exterior of the hotel was very sleek and urban, with a sharp and angular facade and a steel-clad exterior that had a definite edge to it. But once I stepped inside, I was taken aback by the immediate shift in my surroundings. The architects had embraced the elements of nature as a part of the biophilic design. They had living walls and huge plants stationed throughout the lobby that were nearly as tall as I was. There were subtle water features everywhere, but I think the most impactful aspect was the serene, calm atmosphere I was enveloped in from the moment I entered.
When the natural world colludes with modern design, it creates what I call “the living calm” of spaces, and people have an instinctual response to it. More and more, research backs up the notion that our environments—whether in nature or in spaces that mimic nature—affect our well-being, even down to the level of the cells in our bodies. The effects of what we encounter in our everyday environments are profound. I’ve seen this play out in offices. The workspaces I’ve been part of that integrate a biophilic design—meaning they are reminiscent of nature—have a more calm and at times even a more productive atmosphere than those that do not.
A contemporary co-working environment that really impresses me is one that adopted biophilic design principles to the maximum extent. The designers didn’t simply sprinkle some plants throughout the space; they transformed the entire environment into a green sanctuary amidst the concrete edifice that houses both the co-working space and its neighbors. Biophilic design—that is, design that seeks to bring the natural world into modern buildings to foster a connection with nature—was taken to an audacious extreme within these walls. The co-working space is pervaded by plants and the sounds of water, and it offers views of a green courtyard.
Its workspaces use living, vertical walls as partitions in order to allow for both sight and sound privacy, while also providing each worker with a thing of beauty and, one can assume, a soothing experience.
What is intriguing is that the nature-infused design did not interfere with the modern vibe of the office; it in fact enhanced it. Also, it is not clear why, but what is clear is that all who entered the office experienced a feeling of peace. They may not have been able to articulate it, but it was as if that was the purpose of the space. And it can either be luck or design that led to that outcome.
The significance of biophilic contemporary design in crafting environments that bolster well-being goes well beyond the commercial realm; it extends to our residences. Too many homes, for my taste, are woefully deficient in their biophilic expression. One residential renovation I worked on closely embraced this set of values and used them to create a kind of shelter for its inhabitants. The house occupied a hillside, and the design reached out to the surrounding nature. Instead of trying to dominate the scene, we allowed the house to cognate with the kind of nurturing embrace that nature is capable of.
Through the design, the inhabitants were allowed to feel more a part of the nature that surrounded them.
We adopted a different philosophy regarding the materials chosen for the abode. We used natural stone for the floors and walls, but polished it only lightly, so that it felt right in the space—almost “like it was supposed to be there,” as the kids like to say—and still modern. Inside, we crafted biophilic water features, including a small stream in the main hallway, that the kids have claimed as their personal favorite. What stood out most was how much the home seemed to replenish the spirit and nourish the inhabitants. One walked in and felt the difference immediately.
You don’t just live in the home; you inhabit its quiet magic.
I’ve noticed that people react uniquely to the illumination in modern biophilic spaces. While natural light is vital to our appreciation of architecture, it can be even more powerful when harnessed in the biophilic design. I visited a modern art museum that had been designed with biophilic principles in mind. The architects had created a series of light wells and strategically placed skylights that brought natural light deep into the building. The effect was truly mesmerizing. As you walked through the museum, you could see how the light changed throughout the day, creating a dynamic, and almost spiritual, experience that shifted from morning to afternoon to evening.
Biophilic modern design at its core encompasses natural elements that can greatly influence our feelings within a space. Well-designed environments that include light, air, water, and plant life can boost our wellness. Unfortunately, many of us mostly inhabit spaces where these elements exist only in a shadowy semblance of their true forms, spaces where the “natural” aspects of these core elements are under constant duress.
Biophilic modern design in a sustainable future—this is Section 3.
When we look ahead, biophilic modern design seems to offer something far more important than aesthetics or mere emotional appeal: a path to sustainability. We must reduce the types and amounts of materials we use, not to mention our energy consumption, in the buildings we inhabit. This kind of reduction, using natural materials, energy-intensive plants, and so forth, constitutes the kind of bridge to a deeper partnership with the planet that’s something more than a mere visual ecstasy of something but green.
Biophilic modern design has the potential to be something truly special in terms of sustainability. A project I observed in Singapore—a city often heralded as the epitome of green architecture—demonstrated the potential of this design style perfectly. While this structure isn’t the only one in Singapore that embodies this principle in practice (I could have picked many others), the Biopolis in One-North is the stand-out example in my mind. It provides an extraordinary visual statement of how modernity and biophilia can work together to create not just beautiful but also efficient and energy-abiding structures.
Upon first pulling into the One-North area, the Biopolis is the building that commands attention the most.
The kind of coexistence between natural systems and constructed environments I have a real interest in and am equally concerned about is that which occurs when living things appear to be separate but maintain a constant relationship of mutual benefit. Nowadays, I prefer working with clients who are modernists at heart but are enthusiastic about trying new technologies and exploring how contemporary biophilic design can integrate systems of natural benefit into their homes or buildings. My argument to them is that, done well, sustainability should feel like a bonus, not a compromise. Features like the green roof, living wall, and water reclamation system truly are bonuses because they are thoroughly beautiful and functional.
We designed a residential structure that functions almost completely off-grid. The home was constructed mainly with modern techniques, featuring sharp details and an open floor plan. Yet it was an assemblage of elements, some quite innovative, that made the house operable without tying it to the municipal grid. The most prominent of these were the solar panels that adorned the roof and were also integrated into a pergola (well, the house possesses a lot of solar potential, but I’d argue this too).
Besides serving an environmental function, these innovations vivified the emotional experience of inhabiting the home. The family was intimately tied to their immediate environment, spending a lot of time outdoors, and getting to know the plants and animals that lived around them. They lived in a modern, minimalist house so well designed that it fostered a deep sense of peace and connection to the world. I wish everyone could have the chance to live in an environment like that, especially as climate change and resource scarcity challenge the very concepts of home and place.
When it comes to children, I have noticed how modern biophilic design is affecting our conceptions of educational environments. For a long while, schools and other kinds of learning places were largely built for function. Now, some architects and designers want to include biophilic principles in their designs of educational spaces.
Through the window of a classroom at a school in California, I saw a tree. My host that day said I could have an even bigger view of the natural world surrounding the school. She opened a sliding door that led to a deck overlooking the woods. I could have stood there for a while, but instead I headed back into the room to continue the tour. Downstairs in the auditorium, I marveled at the use of wood, the natural light, and the warmth of the space.
The educators informed me that the learners were certainly more tranquil, steady, and dedicated to their studies after the school’s renovation. They ascribed this to the soothing effect of the school’s nature elements and the way the new layout urged students to investigate and interact with their surroundings. This was a potent reminder that biophilic modern design is about more than just looks—it’s about making spaces that enrich us mentally and physically.
When I discuss the future of biophilic modern design, I often emphasize that it is not merely a case of putting plants in predominantly traditional spaces. Instead, it is a case of rethinking, fundamentally and comprehensively, how we relate to the built environment. I see modern biophilic design as having more to do with flexible, adaptable spaces that can accommodate natural variables—changes in weather, day length, and even the seasons. For instance, the growing trend of flexible floor plans and the designs of windows that work in concert with the sun’s path are two examples of how modern biophilic design is rethinking the functionality of living spaces.
I am convinced that as an ever-increasing number of people take up biophilic design, we will see a change in how architecture engages with the environment. Rather than construction that commands or cuts up the natural world, we might imagine architecture that coexists—indeed, collaborates—with the ecosystems where it is built. That could mean urban farming, wind and solar power, extensive cantilevers that let structures float above wetlands, or design that mimics natural processes like photosynthesis or water filtration. The possibilities are endless, and for my part, I couldn’t be more delighted to help realize them.
Since my university days, I have believed that design can influence the world, not merely in terms of aesthetics but in terms of the lived experience it provides. And if modern design can exert an influence, countering today’s ecological crises, it must be biophilic design—that is, as I call it, “the modern architecture of the future,” “a necessary evolution in how we think about our spaces and our planet.” I wouldn’t have the nerve to assert all this if I hadn’t spent the past five years looking for some way to stop the existential threats unfolding before us.
Ultimately, biophilic contemporary design transcends architecture and optics. It addresses core matters of life. It aspires to construct settings where existence is more convivial, sustainable, and intertwined with nature. And that is what I will always care about profoundly, for design and nature’s sake and for life itself.
