Step into a space designed according to the principles of Japanese biophilic design, and an unmistakable sense of calm envelops you. This isn’t just biophilia at the basic level of aesthetics—natural materials and skillfully arranged plants. A space embodying this principle immerses one in something that feels much more like an experience than a mere visual. It combines the realms of nature and architecture in a way that, for many, creates a kind of tranquility and balance that is rarely encountered outside of this design philosophy. This intentionality radiates throughout a Japanese biophilic interior. Each element, served up with a heaping dose of mindfulness, is placed with the purpose of achieving harmony between the world of the indoors and the natural world just outside.
I still remember moments of walking through the ryokan where I stayed in Kyoto.
Biophilic design is something I explore deeply in both my work and personal life, and in this regard, the Japanese ethos continues to inspire me, particularly because of its minimalist aesthetic and its almost spiritual engagement with the natural world. In this post, I will share some of the core elements of biophilic interiors in the Japanese context and some of the insights and experiences that make these principles resonate so profoundly with me. One foundational aspect of Japanese aesthetics that beautifully complements biophilic design is the so-called wabi-sabi, which at its core is a celebration of the beauty of imperfection, transience, and simplicity.
While Western design often champions sleek lines and ‘perfect’ finishes, wabi-sabi encourages us to see beauty in the natural world’s unpredictability and imperfections.
In a previous life, I used to apply the principles of wabi-sabi when designing interiors. This was especially true when I worked on a small urban dwelling that had been my home for a short time. The spaces I occupied were artfully arranged but rather bare—lacking ornamentation or any pieces crafted in the gaudy, unrealistic ideal of well-made, shiny, new, or perfect furnishings. Very few items were in fact “perfect.” But in terms of how well each piece served its function, “good enough” was the ideal. The interior was a quiet, simple, and calm space that managed to feel warmly inviting while also embodying an aesthetic in which the age, wear, and imperfections of materials could be appreciated.
When you envision the interiors of Japan, wood, stone, and paper are perhaps the first materials to come to mind. These natural materials are the cornerstone of biophilic design, but the way they are presented in Japanese interiors adds another level of serenity and reverence. Whether it’s the soft glow of a shoji screen, the incredible smoothness of a hinoki bath, or the stark beauty of an unadorned stone, the materials are chosen equally for their for aesthetic and functional qualities. One of my favorite materials to work with is hinoki wood (a kind of cypress). Hinoki wood’s light fragrance permeates the space, especially if you use the wood for a facade element or an interior door.
Despite its lightness, hinoki is incredibly resilient. It’s also resistant to water, making it a great choice for bathrooms and wet spaces.
I have employed hinoki in projects that involve soaking tubs and bench seats, and on each occasion, clients have commented on the tranquil ambience it engenders. There’s something about stepping into a space where the very materials used seem to pulse with vitality—each component of wood or stone mindfully chosen to celebrate its inherent character and provenance. I also revel in the use of washi paper, often applied to shoji screens, in construction, and in lampshades. Washi possesses the fragile, translucent quality of a snowflake—when illuminated, the light shines through it to create a soft, serene atmosphere.
The interplay of light and natural materials in Japanese biophilic design is so important. Every beam of sunlight or shadow is accounted for, and spaces feel as if they are living and breathing entities that change the way they look and feel from day to night and season to season.
Water is more than a mere visual component of Japanese design. It is an experience. Whether used in small, indoor fountains or larger outdoor ponds, water is the central element for relaxation and contemplation. Japanese culture uses water in a quiet manner, the way they would use biophilic design, as a container for a small, simple arrangement of rocks in the entryway of a home. They are subtle, and as he teaches, they are also serene. When planning a trip to Japan, one might consider seeking out the judicious use of water in homes, temples, and gardens as part of that experience of interior architecture.
The waterscape in the garden reminded the homeowner of a traditional Japanese garden, where water has an important symbolic role. “In a Japanese landscape, the water is the ‘important part,'” she told me. “If you have a pond, you have a ‘ku’ (空), a space that offers that essence of water being alive; you can see it, hear it, even smell it.” … In a recent project housing the waterscape diverted from a DIY backyard fountain or something similar, I staged a small waterfall across stones to create what a Japanese garden practitioner might call a “mini waterfall.”
Illumination is perhaps the most important aspect of our perception of spatial environments. In traditional Japanese biophilic design, this perception is carefully molded. “Shoji” in Japanese means “to diffuse,” and shoji screens or doors are made of a wooden frame and translucent paper. These traditional elements of Japanese homes serve to diffuse natural light into an almost ethereal glow. They are a beautiful and calming way to manage not only the quality but also the quantity of light that enters a space.
I stayed in a tea house where the shoji screens were central to the room’s ambiance. As the sun rose, its light filtered through the paper screens, creating soft, moving patterns on the tatami mats. I can’t recall ever seeing a living canvas before that day, but I can tell you now that the light and shadow in the tea house certainly had a “living” quality. That experience has stayed with me, and I’ve incorporated shoji screens in several of my designs, even in modern contexts. There’s a timelessness to their function.
Interior Gardens and Plants
An examination of biophilic design would be insufficient if it did not consider the role of plants and greenery. Japanese biophilic interiors often seem like a cross-section of nature, with carefully styled indoor gardens, pristine water features, and varied topography. They range from the simple, such as a small but well-maintained bonsai on a low table, to the more exotic, such as an elaborate indoor-outdoor garden that completely removes artificial divider walls between so-called inside and outside spaces.
In my dwelling, I have integrated aspects of a tsuboniwa, a minuscule garden often found in traditional Japanese residences, that has made my home feel more open. Viewers will see me extending the concept of a traditional courtyard. Tsuboniwa are designed to be viewed from the inside; they create a living picture of what the Japanese call “the three friends of winter”: pine, plum, and a few other age-old botanicals. Even in the limited space that my tsuboniwa occupies, I have incorporated this art concept, and it has worked wonders for me on the mental health front.
These tiny gardens are beautiful in their simplicity. Whether there is a lone bonsai or a monolithic stone formation, they suggest the vastness of the natural world. There is something about their smaller scale that makes them seem, almost paradoxically, more expansive. The indoor plant arrangements I’ve made have been spaces of both visual and physical beauty. They are more than just aesthetic objects; they are objects with which I could experience beauty.
Linking to the Great Outdoors: Introducing Nature Indoors
At its core, Japanese biophilic interior design seeks to forge profound ties between humans and the natural environment. This goes way beyond simply bringing in some houseplants or Natural Design materials. It’s about forming spaces that are cocoon-like and protective, but also interactive; that are constructed from Natural Design elements and are mostly transparent, allowing light to enter in various ways, and flexible, so they can be inhabited in a variety of ways.
In my projects, I have often sought to bring nature indoors by dissolving the traditional separation of indoor and outdoor spaces. The Japanese have long had an efficient way of making the appearance of a garden part of household life. Even in modern homes, this idea can be adapted by creating expansive views through large windows or glass walls. I worked on a home whose dining area extended into a small Zen garden, with only a meager stone path and a few well-placed plants as evidence of that space’s “outdoor” status. The dining presence in that home was at once modest and grand, not because of any visible size or sheen but because of its direct, intimate connection to the well-ordered natural space just beyond it.
The Japanese Way of Living: Mindfulness and the Art of Living Spaces
What distinguishes Japanese biophilic design is the extraordinary care taken with mindfulness—that state of being in which one pays full attention to the moment and engages not only the mind but also the body and spirit. Each design element in Japanese biophilic spaces is chosen not only for its beauty but also for its ability to stir the senses, making you ever so subtly more aware of your surroundings. In the Japanese approach, forms and materials are used artfully but sparingly, creating spaces that are not cluttered but instead replete with a handful of meaningful features.
A Japanese notion comes to mind: ma. It represents the distance between things. It’s the intentional gaps, pauses, and periods of stillness that make a space feel like something worthwhile without defining it with objects. Ma is largely about how to make energy flow in a room. In my earlier meditation room project, I took this principle to heart, leaving almost too much room around the pieces of furniture. Yet, stepping into the room, one feels the peace with which it imparts, even if its only distinguishing characteristic is that it is clutter-free.
I consider ma not only in physical spatial design but also in a life context. The spaces between tasks, dialogues, and even thoughts are where we connect to ourselves and the world at large. We live more mindfully when we embrace these pauses. In my view, the Japanese biophilic design is an invitation to do just that.
Experiencing the tatami mat: A down-to-earth feeling
Another vital aspect of Japanese interior design is the tatami mat. Traditionally made from rice straw and woven rush, these mats deliver a grounding experience—both physical and metaphoric. Sensuously, they are hard to beat. Walking barefoot on tatami is as close as one gets to walking on earth—a not-so-fortuitous human sensory pathway when one contemplates millennia of evolution. Besides that, the mats are even more tactile when one considers the permutation of experiences one could have: their warmth on a cool morning, their slight springiness coming out of a deep squatting position, and their softness when a body flops down after a long day.
During one of my journeys, I came across a traditional Japanese tea house. All the floors inside were covered with tatami mats. The moment I stepped inside and onto the mats, I felt the calming and centering energy that the space exuded. I became acutely aware of the arrangement of the room, the soft light, and the warm and inviting atmosphere. The tea house had a slight chill, but that was offset by the well-placed fire heater near where the tea was served. I marveled at the way my body seemed to have an internal thermostat that automatically adjusted in response to the ambient conditions of the space.
It wasn’t just that I was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the fire; the entrance mats leading into the tea house helped to regulate temperature, too.
The purpose of minimalism in Japanese design is unmatched in the world. Japanese interiors exemplify this concept because they perfectly exhibit the art of omitting the non-essential. At some Japanese aesthetics’ best, they provide a rare moment of clarity in which the viewer can appreciate the pure, unadulterated beauty of the object in front of them. In Japanese design, each element must be counted on to express meanings, maintain a certain harmony, or create a certain rhythm, hence the frequent use of the word “intentional” to describe Japanese design. All elements “speak.” If any one element is muted or omitted, the whole “conversation” changes.
In this sense, Japanese design is not minimalist for simplicity’s sake. It is not a “deprivation” of decorative items or furniture but an aesthetic that finds solace in the pure expression of each item and its essential role in any space.
Japanese interiors also concentrate on function, and this is apparent in their furniture design. Much of the furniture is quite low to the ground, which not only makes it more versatile but also encourages types of living that bring you closer to nature. I’ve visited several homes in Japan, and I can say from personal experience that the kinds of spaces you can inhabit there—whether sitting, standing, or reclining—definitely give you a sense of relaxation. Their interiors may not seem like much on the surface, but their simplicity speaks volumes.
Reflections in Zen Gardens No account of Japanese biophilic design would be complete without a nod to the iconic Zen garden, or karesansui. These dry landscapes—composed of rocks, gravel, and sand—function as models of nature, evoking the very essence of the natural world without water or plants.
A Zen garden is simple, but its design can be layered with meaning. It might have just a few carefully placed rocks that stand in for boulders or mountains; a ripple in the sand that represents a wave; or some other unobtrusive feature that hints at a riverbed, a forest, or any number of natural forms. You might walk up to a 6-foot-tall (1.8 m) wooden screen on which 1/2 inch (1.3 cm) of sand has been poured and work your way from the top to the bottom, using a 4-inch (10 cm) wooden rake to make abstract patterns that will be as visibly zen in a hundred years as they are today.
A client of mine who was first doubtful about the concept of a dry garden later claimed it to be her most beloved part of the house. “It’s like having a piece of the natural world right outside my window,” she said. “Even though there are no plants, it still feels alive.” This notion of harnessing the essence of nature with few straightforward components is the basis of Japanese biophilic design—a design philosophy so special that it could use a little spotlight.
Fusuma doored: flexibility and flow. Another feature I appreciate about Japanese interiors is the use of fusuma—sliding panels that can be used to partition or open up spaces. Fusuma doors are made of wood and paper and are somewhat like shoji screens, but they are often opaque, offering more privacy. What’s remarkable about fusuma, to my mind, is their versatility. They allow you to reconfigure a space depending on occasion or event, much as the Japanese garden allows you to glimpse many scenes in a single view. In one of my earlier projects, I used fusuma doors to separate a dining area from a living room.
When the doors were closed, we had an intimate, cozy dining space. When the doors were opened, the living room and dining room flowed together, next to, and more importantly, with one another.
Biophilic design is not just about visual aspects; it is also about focusing on what can be smelled, heard, and touched, and even what can engage the body in motion. Many biophilic structures, regardless of their country of origin, tend to favor a minimalist aesthetic. This allows sense-rich features to command attention—not jarringly, but in a seamless, natural way. No one does this better than Japanese designers, who have a long tradition of incorporating sound, scent, and multiple textures into their interior designs.
Japanese interiors subtlety utilize scent through the long-standing tradition of incense. The specific fragrances of kōdō are chosen for their almost magical qualities. When I first began studying Japanese design, I was struck by the power of certain scents—like sandalwood or hinoki—to transform a space. I had already known, intellectually, how sense could make a person feel something that wasn’t quite a memory but was instead an association, and how it could alter the perception of space. I had even used this knowledge in my designs before venturing into the Japanese aesthetic arena, where I discovered a kindred spirit.
I began incorporating incense and essential oils into my designs, especially in spaces meant for relaxation.
An auditory connection to the natural world can be achieved even in what seems like the most mundane of moments. Take, for instance, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. They create a subtle yet rewarding sound that beckons beyond the windows of a home. It’s a biophilic moment if there ever was one. My choice for a client’s home was to place bamboo just outside a very livable room. Imagine the presence of the graceful stalks, swaying this way and that. With the sounds of their leaves tumbling down in any short breeze making even Converse sneakers, the sounds issuing from my laptop, or any folding chair fall woefully short in comparison.
But there’s also the grain of that wood close by, the strong stoutness of the bamboo. The moment is so rich it makes me want to sing.
A former client explained to me how tracing the contours of a rough-hewn wooden beam served as something of a tactile meditation for her—a grounding moment she could access during her day. Japanese biophilic design is more than a visual aesthetic; it is a path toward holistic wellness. Embedded in this way of perceiving space is the understanding that our environments influence us on mental, emotional, and physical levels. By designing spaces that strengthen our connection to the natural world, we also design for more relaxed, mindful, and well users.
The benefits of living in a space that aligns with biophilic principles are ones that I have enjoyed myself. There is a plethora of natural light in my home, and I have filled it with indoor plants and water features. It would not have occurred to me to consider this when I made my choices, but I now realize that I was living biophilically. I have always known that my home makes me happier and that it gives me a sense of well-being. But I have come to understand that living in a space like this also helps me to concentrate and to feel invigorated.
On days when I am really feeling the stress, I gravitate toward my little indoor garden and the two water features I have in my house.
When I work with clients, I frequently suggest they begin with minimal changes—say, adding a few natural components or more daylight to their everyday spaces. These small but meaningful shifts tend to impress upon people the idea that environmental and biophilic design are not just for the realm of the new build or remodel; they are also for the existing and the everyday. One busy executive I know told me that the addition of a vertical garden to her office has helped her feel calmer and more focused throughout the day. The sights and sounds of nature, she said, are a welcome contrast to her decision-driven, high-pressure job.
Adapting Nature and Living Harmoniously The Japanese biophilic design is the perfect blend of tradition and innovation, and it is what I admire most about it. Drawing on centuries-old traditions, it nonetheless evolves with the times—using modern technologies and materials in ways that honor the natural world. Living with modern materials in a natural way is something I value and strive for in my work, both in my interiors and during my time in nature.
One recent undertaking involved adding solar panels to the roof of a contemporary dwelling designed with Japanese biophilic principles. The project aimed to create a home that was both sustainable and connected to nature. The solar panels, which are visible in the photo above, blended sustainably into the minimalist roofline and did not detract from the home’s aesthetic. The use of natural materials such as bamboo (flooring) and recycled wood (used as structural beams) gave the home a cozy, warm, and inviting atmosphere. The dwelling upheld the tenet of “kawaii” (which means “cute” in Japanese)—another biophilic principle—when it came to the home’s personal nature (how it looked from the outside).
Biophilic design in today’s world can utilize smart technology to create a connection to nature. One project I worked on was to install smart shades that adjusted automatically to the time of day and the angle of the sun. These shades allowed the home to be filled with natural light while fulfilling the privacy and comfort needs of the inhabitants. It is innovations like this that really excite me. They push toward the ideal of living sustainably and with a connection to nature without sacrificing the conveniences of modern living.
For people who want to include Japanese biophilic design in their own spaces, I recommend starting with small projects but thinking in a big-picture way. You don’t have to remake your whole home to have a biophilic environment, but you do need to make some identifiable changes. Focus on parts of your home—and life—that can serve as biophilic touchpoints, and let those serve as the basis for your transformations.
Introduce wood, stone, and natural fibers into your space. A wooden table, a stone accent wall, or linen cushions will give your home warmth and a natural feel.
Bring life into your home with plants. Even a small bonsai tree or potted fern can do the trick. If you have outdoor space, consider turning a small area into a Zen-inspired rock garden.
Layout and Openness: Be mindful of the flow of your space, both up and down as well as side to side. Consider whether you can create more openness and connection to the outdoors. If you cannot add an actual window or door to your layout, think about whether you can create the illusion of more space or visualize an increased connection to the outdoors in some other way, perhaps through artwork, for example. Water and Sound: If you can, incorporate the sound of water into your space, whether through a small water feature indoors or through some sort of outdoor water feature.
Illumination: Whenever feasible, use sunlight and consider shoji screens or light-diffusing materials to tame bright sunlight. The way light interacts with a space influences it immensely, and setting the right tone can work wonders. By using these aspects as a jumping-off point, you can begin to alter the atmosphere of your home and concentrate on your well-being.
The Enduring Allure of Japanese Biophilic Design
Japanese biophilic interior design is not merely about surface beauty. It is a way of living. It sets forth a philosophy of life in which one is constantly reminded to be “mindful” and “natural.”
Japanese biophilic design is not merely about space or surface; it is interior design with a bigger picture in mind—engendering well-being in those who occupy its realms. In this, it is similar to modern biophilic design but also very different.
No matter where you live—be it a busy urban center or a peaceful rural setting—you can invoke these three elements in your home. They can help create a profound sense of peace and ease that one often finds in a retreat. For the last decade, I have journeyed through the design world, looking for clues to this elusive sense of calm and haven, and biophilic design keeps coming back as a leading contender. Of all the places that I have found biophilic design at work, Japan remains my greatest source of inspiration.
I hope looking into Japanese biophilic interior design has prompted you to consider your own space differently and think about the possibility of incorporating some of these principles into your life.
