Having been involved with biophilic design for more than a decade, I have seen our movement to reconnect with nature nicely fix itself in our built environments. Our desire is no longer just a passing trend. Kitchens, baths, and living rooms now enjoy more than a makeover; they experience a transformation of elemental proportions, thanks to the redesigning hand of biophilia. It is my resolve to integrate biophilic principles not only into the professional spaces of my life but also into the private corners of domesticity that I walk. Biophilia invites the natural world back into the everyday life of its practitioners. I find that crucial for our well-being.
The biophilia term was brought to the forefront by biologist E. O. Wilson in the 1980s. Humans, he proposed, have a natural affinity for the world outside: the plants, animals, and ecosystems of our environment. This affinity, or love of life, is etched in our very being, perhaps dating from a time when our survival depended on understanding and interacting with the natural world. However, as modern civilization has pushed farther and farther into the natural spaces that used to be our homes, it has also, ironically, pushed us toward a life lived mostly inside—some 90% of the time for most of us. This inside life is unhealthy in both body and spirit.
An impact that biophilic design can have is, to me, one of the most unforgettable memories I have of working with an office for a tech startup. They wanted a space that was not only visually breathtaking but that also sparked and sustained the kind of creativity that would make them competitive in their industry. The first thing that struck me about their initial setup was how unbreathable the air seemed and how cold the lighting was. Between the fluorescent lights and the nonstop ambiance of humming machines, it felt like the perfect space for creations of silicon and metal but not of carbon-based lifeforms. On my recommendation, they brought in multiple elements of biophilic design, and the transformation of the space was as remarkable as anything Marvel Studios has made for its superhero films.
Workers who had previously appeared tired and unmotivated began to seem energized and inventive. It wasn’t solely about the addition of houseplants or the presence of beautiful views; it was about the transformation of the very essence of the space into one that felt alive. Desks made from reclaimed wood now occupied the area. A living wall teemed with greenery. Color choices mimicked earthen tones and hues of the sky. The renewed office being breathed had a more invigorating aura. One employee expressed that the office now felt more like a “sanctuary” and less like a “chore.” Indeed, there is something invigorating about this space. It feels alive; it was almost as if we had turned on some hidden circuit within the office.
Rather than merely filling a space with natural objects, biophilia is about establishing a sensory communion that draws us back to nature. A biophilic environment is not just a collection of pretty pictures, plants, and lovely scents—it is a well-planned assault on all five senses with the aim of achieving some aspect of homeostasis between us and our environment. Biophilia is nature’s counterpane. I once worked on a project where a family was pathologically stressed despite being residents of a beautifully appointed house. The nature of their affliction became evident during the course of a conversation. Their home was gorgeous but nature-impoverished. It was not a biophilic environment.
I chose to use some biophilic design techniques, one of which was establishing a direct visual connection to nature by way of large sliding glass doors that opened into the garden. Prior to this, the living room felt like a stuffy box, with walls on all sides and only one way in or out. But the addition of those doors made it feel like there was a constant breeze flowing inside, connecting both spaces. Now, the family has a connection to the outdoors in a way they simply didn’t before. They can see the sunlight, hear the island songbirds, and enjoy the stunning overlapping views of both gardens—front and back—that our design allows.
During my consultations, I frequently highlight what I’m convinced is the vital role that natural materials play in fostering an earthly sense of place. There are so many wonderful opportunities to create soulful spaces when one incorporates just a few simple elements. For instance, during a recent project for a wellness spa, we were able to include a small indoor waterfall feature. It was an excellent way to use the sound of water to create a natural focal point, encourage deep breathing, and, basically, give people a really good excuse to chill out. The combination of “organic” materials and “calming” sounds significantly enhanced the soothing atmosphere of the space.
Equally vital to the senses of sight and sound, texture contributes to humans’ primal interactive experience. The materials we choose—flooring, wall coverings, furnishings—establish a baseline level of connection (or disconnection) for anyone entering the space. As I once told a group of early childhood educators who invited me into their pristine, uninviting work environment for an afternoon, choosing natural textures over synthetic, uniform ones is a no-brainer if you want to connect better with young children in the space. Watching these same children work with and around play materials that are safe but are also indeed “natural” in form and texture makes the value of this choice even clearer.
Biophilic design can have an effect on a person’s wellbeing and productivity. One often-overlooked aspect in this regard is biophilic lighting. We know that natural light affects our circadian rhythms, but how often do we really think about or notice this? How often do we label the lighting in our homes and workplaces as biophilic? The office where I worked as a rehab contractor was on its way to an LED lighting upgrade when we got the call for a total remodel instead. We found a salvage operation that promised to deliver biophilic LED lighting that would project a nice light to fulfill the visual connection with nature. Despite our intentions, I cannot help but think that some factor of the convenience lighting we were putting in place created an environment of work lighting that the department of labor would endorse for maximum productivity.
Designing with biophilic elements also means being cognizant of sensory diversity. This is not just a visual medium; it is about how people interact within a space. The library I worked on not only featured greenery but also different curated sensory experiences. Imagine stepping along the path just outside the library to a “scent garden,” where the fragrant herbs might momentarily transport you to Provence. Or picture being inside the library and hearing sounds specially chosen to mimic natural environments—like a gentle brook trickling over stones or birds happily chirping away in a nearby tree. After all, serenading the patrons with sounds that soothe is a way to set the right ambience for our “mini escape” from the urban jungle.
I’ve also discovered that biophilic design isn’t merely about making large, dramatic changes. Oftentimes, it is the smallest of touches that make the biggest impact. I think back to a healthcare facility I worked with, where the patients faced long and stressful stays. Here, biophilic design was employed in subtle yet meaningful ways: botanical prints adorn the walls; small potted plants rest on the window ledges; headboards and cabinetry made from natural wood make appearances near the psychiatric patients. Even the staff has mentioned how plants in their work environment have improved both patient and staff morale. It seems that a decreasing number of people have little to no contact with natural elements. And as we continue increasing our urbanized society, so too will this trend continue.
I recall another project centered on a couple’s desire to rework their tight city dwelling. We used the wall in their living room to make the vertical garden a centerpiece of sorts in that space. They took the herbs and various plants in that garden and expanded their reworking of that room to let in more light and make the living room a comfortable, even more “alive,” space—while also enhancing the kitchen in ways that made it a more enjoyable space in which to prep and cook. They had just returned from a trip to the Pacific Northwest, and the colors and textures of the garden were channeling the experiences they had up there.
If you’re considering adding biophilic design to your space, you don’t need a huge budget or a design firm to bring it to life. From my experience, some of the best and most effective biophilic touches are simple and accessible. You can start putting them into action right away. So, with that in mind, here are a few practical ideas that you can incorporate into your own space.
First, think about incorporating plants into your work atmosphere. It might sound trite, but using live plants is one of the easiest methods to recreate a more natural environment. I don’t mean just having a tiny, ornamental plant on your desk. Instead, think about creating opportunities to really interact with plants as part of your workspace. When I was designing a community workspace, I added an indoor herb garden as part of the break room. The idea was to have an area where people could really interact with nature and, in some small way, take responsibility for maintaining the plants, which as herbs would be used in their cooking. The feedback I got was overwhelmingly positive. People loved using the herbs to improve their cooking and bragged about how they kept the mint, for tea, and the basil, for a faux caprese salad, growing. There was no way to brush off that kind of interaction with plants as “work.”
Vertical gardens can be an excellent means of incorporating rich, green plant life—without sacrificing too much in the way of floor real estate. In my own apartment, I have a living wall where ferns, philodendrons, and trailing ivy flourish. While a vertical garden might not yield the same kind of profuse plant growth that a standard shrine to St. Fiacre might, my nascent wall has improved the air quality in my living space. More importantly, I enjoy the simple act of watering plants and tend to find the texture and coloration of green plants—and even, in some cases, the eye-watering nature of very densely packed plants—to be aesthetically pleasant.
When attempting to establish a sensation of nature within your environment, biophilic design principle number four offers a great opportunity. This principle encourages the use of natural materials in the built environment, as well as the incorporation of plants, animals, and ecological systems. But let’s focus on a part of that first—natural sounds. The auditory landscape of the natural world is as rich as the visual one. It only makes sense to try to replicate that with natural sound in a biophilic office.
Another crucial aspect that can easily be overlooked is natural lighting, which profoundly influences how we perceive a space. If it’s at all possible, maximize your natural light sources by keeping your windows free from heavy draperies and other obstructions. Sunlight streaming into a room changes not only the brightness of the space but also the emotional quality. When my clients have serious renovations to undertake on their apartments, I often advise them to treat the added obstructions in much the same way one would an art installation. Heavy, gorgeous drapes can add serious texture and layers to a space as one walks through it. They can also serve as a kind of sound barrier if one is living in a space where that is necessary. If one is going to have a space in “poor” natural lighting with windows, then the texture and acoustics behind those designated windows are even more crucial. My clients often ask me about artificial lighting, and I will get to that in a later section.
The role of texture in our environments cannot be overstated. And yet, it is often the most overlooked element of design. In our screen and smooth surface-dominated world, touching something natural can be grounding. I finally added a wool rug to my bedroom. When I mounted the subfloor in 2020, it kind of felt like college. I acquired and built furniture, put up art, and achieved, at least in part, a kind of interior design, absent any sensory allergies. I had clearly lived in a tight, upstairs studio, where synthetic materials had won. But this monotonous texture was eliminated when I put my woof on having a rug made of natural wool and hang onto what tactile richness (along with visually perceived color) I can while having that rug.
Yet another biophilic element that holds substantial untapped potential is the use of natural forms and patterns, often termed “biomorphic forms and patterns.” These are shapes and designs that have been inspired by nature and are intended to elicit an association with natural forms. Such patterns may be used effectively in healthy buildings, since they tend to engage our innate attraction to biologically-inspired designs. My office consults frequently with an architectural firm, and for one project, the use of wall coverings in the corporate office was taken quite seriously. Above all, the forms and patterns used in that office were very carefully selected to convey a healthy appearance.
Let’s wrap up with a discussion on biophilic design’s potential to create retreat spaces. These require little more than a slight shift in perspective. We often associate coziness and comfort with a bed or a chair, but what if we imagined these spaces built more into the home’s framework? What if the entirety of a space felt like a hug? Elizabetta Kasza and Iain Morrison illustrated this idea in a recent issue of the architectural journal “Quercus.” What if you could retreat anywhere in your home, and it felt as comforting as being in a hammock suspended between two trees?
Today’s world of ever-advancing technology offers little but illusion. Within that illusion, designers of the workplace, home, and public spaces design for both beauty and aesthetics, but there is something far more significant underpinning biophilic design in every context: well-being. Evidence abounds to support the claim that mental health is imperiled within the enclosed spaces into which we retreat. Yet the antidote is almost within our grasp. By incorporating elements evocative of our natural environment, we can transform space in a way that does not just dazzle the eye (as do many of the technological solutions attempting to substitute for the experience of nature) but also uplifts the spirit and optimizes performance—in whatever kind of space we inhabit.
If you’re seeking to effect changes, begin with simple steps. Introduce a plant, a rug with texture, a view that draws the eye to nature. Every addition nudges your space toward a wild yet ordered state, a holistic, natural environment that feels right.
