The texture often gets overlooked in biophilic design. While we might be tempted to think biophilia is all about visuals and spatial relationships, it’s also about the tactile experience. For much of human history, we have had only the most rudimentary forms of design. Even today, in many societies, the outward appearance of a building is prioritized over what lies inside. And yet, invest in texture and a structure becomes a biophilic one. Touch is the most immediate and primal way to establish an intimate connection with something. For instance, when you walk barefoot or stand on a surface, it plays a very significant role as you experience that space. Biophilic touch is especially potent with texture since there is so much variation in how we experience different surfaces.
I recall a job I had working on a residential project for a family intent on cultivating a more tranquil atmosphere throughout their living quarters. They had already steeped their home in biophilic design, with plants, natural vistas, and ample light, but still the spaces felt coldly beautiful, lacking warmth and intimacy. Seeing that, I proposed a focus on texture. Our plan was to evoke the indescribable feeling of nature’s embrace by carefully choosing the right tactile design elements to fill their rooms. My guiding principle was this: the only human-made materials that should be in direct contact with the skin should be the kind that please all five senses.
The first element we addressed was the living room’s floor. They had standard hardwood flooring—adequate but lacking anything resembling character or charm. The flooring was your basic, no-frills hardwood. While I saw no reason to change it for functionality’s sake, I thought we could definitely up the ante on aesthetics. I suggested a large area rug (hugs even more ground), and I opted with them for one of earthy colors and tones. When it arrived, the kids helped me unroll it. As I think about that moment, the kids collectively (and almost instinctively) ran their fingers over the new fibers of this horizontally flat-woven work of art. One of the children sat down, took off her shoes, and began wriggling her toes into the rug. That’s what I call a “well-grounded” family.
The bedroom was another space where the effect of texture was clearly felt. The family had been living with a synthetic bedspread that epitomized the elegant-but-not-so-comfortable aesthetic. When I encouraged them to switch to linen bedding, I was doing it for the sake of the high road lowdown. There’s nothing like the handmade authenticity of linen, with its slightly irregular and rough texture, for a hug of a sort that comes with new sensation, an electric jolt to the playful part of the brain that’s supposed to revel in the unexpected. The family loved the feel of it against their skins, especially in close quarters during the summer. I visited them a few months later to see how my ideas were playing out in real life, and they told me they were sleeping “like pros.”
When chosen appropriately, textures can elicit rich, specific emotions. One of my most unforgettable commercial projects was designing the lobby of a boutique hotel. The proprietors wanted the space to convey luxury and approachability, as something guests would feel relaxed and welcomed in upon entering. I proposed a more-than-mundane set of textures to bioemote the feelings sought—specifically, biophilic ones. The reception desk was natural stone, with all its internal veins and imperfections on display precisely because it had been polished to the nth degree. Our choice was a warm, welcoming, and almost casually loungy set of soft leather chairs for guests. The tactile experience of harmonizing those two as a contrasting set of textures was to unfurl in the merry-making midst of the lobby.
After the redesign, I had a conversation with a woman working at the front desk. She said that guests frequently remarked on how “natural” the space felt, but no one ever seemed able to say exactly what made it feel that way. I was started to haze over the whole thing—I mean, could it just be the overabundance of plants that are so in vogue right now? But then, in what must have been a moment of extreme clairvoyance, I thought to ask the front desk staff what natural even meant.
I also engaged in a captivating project for a wellness center that, despite its location in the heart of a bustling city, was meant to be an immersive escape for visitors seeking rejuvenation. When you entered the center, you were meant to feel completely surrounded—enveloped, really—by the calming, sensory atmosphere that the designers (myself included) had created, which was meant to induce a trance-like state during your transition from the pressures of the city to the serenity of the center. Textures played an invaluable role in this design strategy.
One of the things we needed to address was the spa’s relaxation room, a space where guests often sit between treatments or come to unwind. The room was at the time designed with modern chairs and glossy surfaces. While undoubtedly stylish, it did not invoke the tranquil feeling essential for a wellness setting. We wanted guests to feel as though they had stepped into a natural oasis, so I began incorporating natural textiles. We now have the same structure but with wood and plenty of natural fiber coverings and decor. They have an inherent coarseness that, surprisingly, many people find comforting, as it is reminiscent of rustic, natural surroundings.
The room’s walls provided another chance to bring biophilic texture into the space. We could have gone with flat, painted, monotonous surfaces, but we used the opportunity to add surprising and delightful elements. The first wall we tackled was, improbably, the one next to the door. Wood paneling was installed, but not in a way that made it seem “finished.” The panels had been salvaged from a barn. Yes, a real barn. The barn was in North Carolina.
To deepen the experience of the Relaxation Room, we included more than just the reconstructed altar. The room holds a number of other features that could also contribute to the way it delights the senses. A variety of organic, hand-knitted, and hand-crocheted wall hangings—which all have their own rich stories—were also part of the room’s design. One guest who visited the space shared how much the wall hangings reminded her of the textured childhood of her visits to the rustic, wood-beamed walls of her grandmother’s home. She said the wall art reminded her of that formative experience in which everything around her was a storytelling surface—nothing slick, nothing shiny—the way the wall hangings are anything but smooth and polished.
It is not only touch that textures enhance; they also influence our hearing and seeing. Textured surfaces assist with noise, and that’s important in spaces like this. I saw it in action when we installed a moss wall in the relaxation room as part of a design intended to help reduce the room’s echo and create a more cocoon-like environment. Moss happens to be one of the best sound-absorbing materials in nature, and the instance at hand wasn’t merely a design choice. It was a step in health-enhancing architecture.
Biophilic texture can work wonders in residential settings, giving everyday moments a sense of significance. Recently, I worked with a couple living in an urban apartment who wanted to transform their home into a refuge. They were interested in the idea of biophilic texture, after having a similar experience during their travels. I directed them to think about the spaces they inhabit the most, particularly in the kitchen and bathroom. These areas can feel lifeless and industrial, but with better texture, they could feel as inviting and sensually delightful as any space in an upscale spa.
For the kitchen, we chose hand-glazed ceramic tiles for the backsplash. Each tile was unique and unlike any other, varying in color and texture so that all together they caught the light differently at different times of the day. The effect is stunning; it gives the kitchen a kind of feel that is the opposite of our otherwise modern appliances. A kind of “artisanal” vibe that is way more “in” than “out,” if you get my drift. The way that these tiles work with the light is truly special.
We substituted the usual bathroom assemblage for something altogether more elegant and elemental. Everything now is crafted with nature’s materials. Even the shower controls have a rustic feel. Should you be in Washington, D.C., anytime soon, stop in at the home of this couple and ask if you might use the bathroom. You’ll get a direct line to the marriage of art and nature that has no equal.
In every one of these instances, you can see how biophilic texture has the power to take a setting from simply functional to something that restores you on a deeper level. Using raw materials—like wood, stone, wool, or clay—creates an environment that, quite simply, is good for our sensory selves. And it’s not just because these materials are being used in ways that have the act of “touch” in mind. Even the act of looking at these natural textures is something our brains are wired to appreciate.
Biophilic textures are not simply materials chosen for their beauty or even, as is often the case, for the obvious relationships they might have to nature. From a biophilic perspective, these materials are chosen for something that goes beyond their immediate visual or tactile qualities: how they might work on the level of deeply held human preferences for the kinds of environments in which we feel most at home. The almost primal urge we seem to have for these preferences speaks to their importance in our evolution as a species, and the textures of biophilic environments are a big part of that.
In the end, biophilic design aims to create an even tighter bond between humans and nature. When we add a biophilic texture to an environment, we’re making a statement about what it means to be truly human—or, more accurately, what it means to be human in a world that is trying to more fully express its many textures. Whether that texture is seen or felt, it’s an invitation to step a little closer and make just a little more contact than might typically be made. And isn’t that the very heart of what biophilia is all about?
