When I enter a biophilic space, I instantly connect with nature; it’s almost as if the architecture itself is beckoning me to relax and take a few deep, restorative breaths. This effect is so much more pronounced when I’m in a wellness center, which, thanks to biophilia, becomes an environment that isn’t just passive but actively engaged in promoting various kinds of healing—with equal attention to physical, emotional, and even spiritual well-being. It’s easy to see how natural light, soothing sounds, or even scents derived from plants can affect a person. But what about the effect of space itself, and how it can be designed to direct a person’s mind toward certain kinds of thoughts or even states?
Whether we’re conscious of it or not, a biophilic wellness center can influence our minds and bodies in ways that are nothing short of transformative.
Natural light is among the most crucial of components. I stepped into a room where the sunlight filtered through skylights and large windows, creating soft, dappled patterns across the floor. I’d been drawn with such immediacy into a sense of serenity that it felt as though the light itself was healing. The space wasn’t just beautiful—it was designed for wellness, and in spaces of this kind, natural light isn’t merely a pleasant effect; it’s a necessity. Research has shown that exposure to sunlight enhances mood and regulates essential biological rhythms, making us feel better and keeping our minds and bodies in sync.
An element I particularly favor is water. As a biophilic element, water brings a sense of calm and clarity. During a recent visit to a wellness center in Bali, I was impressed by a central courtyard feature more akin to a magnificent art installation than a typical water feature. Cascading down over, perhaps, 15 feet, the water poured over textured stone that was illuminated from within, producing a myriad of shimmering effects. The center’s meditation room was positioned directly across from this “waterfall,” and you could hear it from nearly every room on that end of the building.
Japanes zen meditation is all about getting into a state where you are not thinking but rather “being.” You could hear the sound of the waterfall from so many rooms, and that sound alone was an invitation to some kind of meditative state.
Wellness centers thrive on the presence of plants. However, their significance extends beyond mere aesthetics. Plants purify the air, alleviate stress, and even contribute to regulating blood pressure. This is something I was reminded of quite powerfully after visiting a wellness center in Singapore that had turned their reception area into a stunning display of greenery, where I was immediately enveloped in a warm, humid embrace that felt truly spa-like. Perhaps what caught my attention most was how the center had implemented an array of plants not just for looks but as functional elements, with some rooms containing medicinal herbs, like lavender and eucalyptus, lining the routes between spaces.
The idea was that potent little “walks of aromatherapy” could be enjoyed between beauty salon and massage room, with private spaces for quiet reflection dotted with plants that were, some might say, like nature’s own little medicine cabinets.
What it means to design a space biophilically goes far beyond injecting some houseplants or even the most cutting-edge green wall into a building. A building can look “natural” in many ways and still not have a design that is truly biophilic. A biophilic design choice is one that is, to some degree and in some way, nurturing the human inhabitants of a space—rooms with the right proportions to feel comforting and good to be in, for example; or the use of certain materials that, because of our embodied cognition, we experience as having a nurturing quality.
Biophilic design is not solely about foliage, luminance, and aquatics. When applied in contexts such as wellness centers, biophilic design’s applicability and impact are equally dependent upon the materials that compose the environment. Those materials can create a certain mood or quality that either aligns the space with a nature-relatedness philosophy or doesn’t. The resonance between a wellness center’s materials, a person’s auditory senses, and a person’s tactile and visual senses can just as easily align with biophilia as with a biocentric worldview.
A prime instance of a place that profoundly embodies natural wellness is a retreat center in Costa Rica that I had the pleasure to visit. This unique structure, using only locally sourced, sustainable materials, holds a striking presence in the area. The footprint of the buildings hugs the contours of the land and winds like a river. It was there that I received a treatment on a polished river stone bed (more on that in a bit). It was also in this center that I fully appreciated the harmony between the human and natural worlds and how that can affect one’s health.
From the sustainable materials used to create the center to the sustainable practices employed by the staff, this opportunity allowed me to find a deeper understanding of wellness and a renewed appreciation for my mental and physical health.
I like to create a connection to materials in biophilic wellness centers. I aim to have a tactile sense, like touch, play a role in their design. I absolutely love using natural wood in wellness centers. I once worked on a project where the entire interior of the building was clad in reclaimed wood. Oh, the interior space was so beautiful and had such great character! The space felt warm and inviting, and the imperfect walls helped it feel really authentic. I truly believe that the natural materials used in that project helped create a multi-sensory experience.
That experience would be groundless if the structure were entirely made of steel and concrete.
An incredibly strong aspect of biophilic design is that it integrates not just elements of nature but also closely resembles the patterns found in the natural world. Some scientists believe that the wellness benefits of biophilic design might even be linked to how well its structures approximate the mathematical forms of nature. These forms, which scientists call “fractals,” are everywhere—like the branches of a tree or the ripples in water. A wellness center in Arizona that I visited used fractal-inspired tiles throughout its design. The tiles were composed of intricate, nature-based patterns that closely mimicked the fractal forms of tree branches and leaf veins.
These subtle design choices had a measurable effect on the clients’ relaxation levels.
One of my favorite projects involved designing a spa in northern California that incorporated natural ventilation. Instead of relying on artificial air conditioning, the structure was designed to capture and channel the area’s natural breezes. The air moved through the building, thanks to a series of open-air courtyards and some strategically placed windows. I don’t know how or why it works, but the space felt so much more relaxed and calming than any perfectly temperature-controlled environment could ever feel. Maybe it’s because the space was so much more humid and “alive.” (Your skin can only get so dry when it’s 110% relative humidity and you’re sitting on a towel in the middle of the sauna.)
We shouldn’t overlook sound in biophilic design. In many of the wellness centers where we’ve worked, we’ve tried to mimic Mother Nature’s voice in sound. That’s not always easy. Our profession is filled with artists and designers who use not only the visual component of the senses to create space but also the tactile. We’ve tried to achieve a level of intimacy in the spaces we create and the places we design, whether that’s through touch or, more often, through sight. But in not one of those projects have I ever worked on, nor have I ever seen, a biophilic design that included sound: sound that mimicked nature, sound that complemented a visual experience, and sound that helped tie together the audial component of the sense of place.
Nonetheless, artificial sound is not a necessity. Several of the most successful wellness spaces I’ve visited have been designed to capture and amplify the natural sounds of their environments. One mountain wellness center I worked with in Colorado, for instance, actually built its structure to encapsulate the sound of the wind moving through the nearby pines. The sound of the wind became a treatment feature. My interpretation of this is that wind as treatment comes with a lot less baggage than swirling bowls or dissonance, and it also puts the space in perfect alignment with Biophilic design tenets.
What we design in biophilic wellness centers makes a statement about why we exist—for those who come to these spaces and for ourselves as designers. We exist to create environments that channel the healing power of nature. What we build is thoughtful and intentional in its amplification of this healing power, whether through the use of natural materials, the integration of sound, or the layering of texture, nature itself is the true architect of these spaces. And when we as designers embrace this, we render our environments relaxed and replete in real wellness.
I see biophilic wellness centers as much more than just spaces for individual healing. To me, they’re poised to be catalysts for the health of society and communities as a whole. Their potential kind of blows my mind. Not only can they help people achieve a kind of health that’s hard to come by in our current, unaffiliated healthcare systems, but they can also foster an environmental ethic that’s sorely needed in this moment—a bridge from the personal to the societal, and even the planetary. A biophilic wellness center is a good place to start imagining what this kind of more-than-human design could look like.
I’ve noticed that the new fad is not just to grow food at wellness centers but to have guests do the same. Some of the most high-end retreats have started featuring this trend: After a morning meditation, you can help pull weeds from the organic garden, learn about companion planting, and pick a handful of basil to take back to the cooking class you’ll join later that day. I get it. The act of gardening is nature therapy. But what’s with the obsession? After decades of wellness being synonymous with sanitized, white, hotel-style spas, why is the next big thing apparently dirt and vegetables?
And what does this have to do with biophilic design?
The escalating demand for sustainability in wellness centers aligns well with the tenets of biophilia. I see that many wellness facilities are incorporating energy-efficient technologies, green roofs, and water conservation systems as almost standard fare now. However, the most successful installations are those that do not call attention to their sustainable features, instead integrating them so naturally into the design that they seem to be a part of what makes the experience worthwhile. For instance, I recently toured a wellness facility in Switzerland whose rainwater collection system was almost completely hidden from view but whose water was omnipresent, animating a series of decorative pools and fountains around the property.
The system’s presence added to the way the facility’s gardens and common areas felt, and I can’t say that I would have immediately recognized the “water element” of the space as a sustainable feature. In my mind, this is biophilic design, and it’s just as much about aesthetics as it is about saving the planet.
Recognition is also steadily growing that centers for biophilic wellness can serve a role in building communities. A few years back, I was part of a project where this vision was very much at the forefront. We were taking an underutilized urban warehouse and transforming it—both physically and spiritually—into a wellness center that was oriented around biophilia. At its core, our design attempted to balance both privacy and community. This is no small feat since “wellness” often implies personal or secretive practices—think massages and facials. But we wanted the space to be a retreat and a community hub.
We put a yoga studio at the center of the layout, where the practitioners can see and hear but not be seen or heard. We are generous with “I am in my space, and you are in your space.” Buoyed by biophilic design principles, this is a nature-centered ecosystem of personal and communal wellness.
During the project’s opening week, we held a community event in which artists from the area displayed installations inspired by nature throughout the center. Families from the neighborhood came to explore the space. An older gentleman, a long-time resident of the area, approached me and said, “This place feels alive again.” His words seemed to touch upon the essence of the project—a design that is not only biophilic in concept but also alive in sensation and experience. That is, a wellness center that is much more than a space for individual retreat and meditation; it is a center that invites and encourages communal dynamics.
Our approach is especially significant when urbanization is intensifying and urban residents often feel disconnected from the natural world. Biophilic wellness centers can serve as urban oases, giving city dwellers access to the restorative powers of nature, even if just for a few hours. I recently visited such a center in downtown Tokyo. The facility had developed a rooftop forest, complete with meandering paths and small ponds, and I could see from the street below that the forest was designed to be visible, intentionally blurring the line between the urban and the natural environment. In my opinion, this design decision was a nod to the idea that even the most densely populated cities can and should have accessible, restorative nature.
The development of our new wellness centers is an opportunity to push biophilic design even further. We need to think beyond the traditional elements of plants, water, and natural light and consider how these spaces can serve as models for sustainable, integrated living. What excites me most is the idea that wellness centers can be living laboratories for biophilic innovation. Imagine a center that uses renewable energy to power not just its operations but also its surrounding community, or a facility that serves as a hub for environmental education, where visitors learn not just about their own well-being but also about how to protect and preserve the natural world.
Biophilic wellness centers are thriving, not merely as sanctuaries for personal rejuvenation and recovery, but as laboratories for our collective imagination. They allow us to envision a future in which humanity’s relationship with the natural world is anchored once again in biophilia—the love of life and all things living. Here, the primordial elements of fire, water, and earth are reinterpreted; natural materials and forms take center stage; and the plants, animals, and diverse ecologies with which we share this planet become integral to our built environments and our experience of them. Whether through its principles or its practice, biophilic design is about creating spaces that make us well, and doing so in ways that also make the planet better.
