An exhilarating outcome of biophilic design is the deeper role that 3D technology now plays in it. We can do so much more than just make our spaces look organic. We can create truly immersive environments that engage all the human senses, provoke a fuller range of emotional responses, and transition with ease from built to natural environments and back. If biophilia and technology are at the same intersection, they are certainly forming a potent partnership when it comes to discovering ways to enhance human well-being and performance in the physical spaces we inhabit.
Biophilic design transcends the mere addition of flora to a space. It gestures toward a broader ideal about the kind of environments we create for ourselves. Advanced technology allows us not only to replicate natural forms and patterns but also to understand the nature of them. Why do they resonate with us? How can we harness their power to enrich the human experience? At Biofit, we don’t just ask these questions; we explore the answers in our designs.
One of my favorite examples is how architects and designers are recreating the complex shapes of nature with 3D printing. Think about the way a tree canopy filters light and how the shadows that it casts silently change during the day. For a long time, creating the same dynamic effect indoors was much too complicated and far too ambitious an aim for modern design. But now, with the precision of 3D printing, we can use materials that are more like living organisms to build “trees” that will do the same kind of light-play as a real tree does. You don’t have to have a deep understanding of the principles behind all of this to appreciate the kinds of experiences that it can offer.
I was greatly influenced on a recent project by the 3D modeling that permitted us to make walls simulating the natural, almost organic, undulating curves of sand dunes. To walk past these walls is to experience a tactile quality that practically invites touch and exploration. This is what biophilic design is all about—evoking an almost primal curiosity and inducing a deeper and more meaningful connection with the environment. It’s incredible how technology can help us achieve this interaction and make an indoor experience feel very close to one in a natural setting.
However, 3D technology is not only transforming the art of design; it’s also changing something far more profound—how we conceive of sustainability in biophilic design. One of biophilic design’s cardinal principles is that it seeks to replicate the astonishing efficiencies of natural systems. “The efficiency of something like a tree is just mind-boggling,” says James. “In terms of its morphology, or form, and its chemistry, it’s doing an incredible number of things that allow it to thrive in a very harsh environment. And from our point of view, it’s doing three very wonderful things at once: It’s using materials incredibly efficiently; it’s using energy in a way that’s almost optimally; and it’s not creating any waste.”
Looking at biophilic design from the angle of 3D innovation, we see almost limitless possibilities. We can craft customized green walls that unfurl like the growth patterns of ivy or ferns. We can shape furniture that resonates with the flowing curves of riverbeds. And above all, we can harness technology to create immersive environments that are inspired by nature—in not just their looks, but in their very being.
I have always been intrigued by the focus that people place on the environments they inhabit. For me, the essence of biophilic design—that is, one that enhances well-being through connection with nature—has always served as a powerful template for understanding how both humans and other living beings thrive. Imagine what the power of 3D design and virtual reality could bring to these discussions. Using these still-emerging technologies, I and other advocates of biophilic design could forge immersive experiences that serve as a kind of prelude to inhabiting the spaces themselves.
Consider an office environment that resembles a forest, where every aspect has been carefully constructed to evoke nature. You might be able to experience such a space virtually before it is existent in the physical world. This potential holds for biophilic design, whose tools let one have an experience early in the design process—an experience that is imperative to an emotionally and sensorially impactful office. Shouldn’t that be the goal? Can’t we aim to create an office that is not just endured but enjoyed?
There was an occasion when we used 3D simulations to create the model of a rooftop garden for a workplace in an urban center. When we began the design, our team hoped to give employees a calm, restorative space in which to step outside and feel (at least for a moment) as if they were in nature, since it would be an urban oasis, in the midst of a thrillingly bustling city. That said, it was no simple task to create such a tranquil green space nestled among the demands of an urban workspace. Our first and most obvious design challenge was to fill the garden with enough greenery so that anyone stepping inside would immediately feel enveloped by nature. At the same time, though, we had to find a way to pack our plants into whatever space we had—the simulation didn’t create or violate any of the building’s structural limits—and make them last and look good without too much human intervention.
In my view, the most transformative aspect of 3D technology in biophilic design is its ability to not just visualize spaces but also to render the physical and psychological effects these environments have on humans. Biophilic design is no longer only about how spaces look, but also about how they feel, how they function, and how they engage inhabitants in genuine and life-affirming ways. We’re no longer decorating; we’re curating experiences—and 3D tools are an essential part of this transition from mere representation to rendering the “whole” space that constitutes an experience.
One project stands out where we designed a healthcare facility with intensive biophilic aspects. Environments such as healthcare can often feel too sterile and disconnected. Our space needed to promote a sense of healing and decrease stress. One way we approached this assignment was to work inside the 3D virtual reality environment. We could create walkthroughs as if we were in the actual space—it was easier for our design team to make these elements come together in a coherent way. Also, the power of simulation allowed us to see the many variations the space could assume under different conditions. We could almost feel the way natural light would flood the various spaces, how the sound of water features would bounce off the surfaces, and how well the colors we had chosen would really work under diurnal light conditions. This project underscored for me the cognitive and emotional potential of virtualization itself—not so much for the impressive visuals, but for the way it better allows for the experience of a design.
The potential of 3D printing to create custom biophilic elements is vastly growing. We have already been introduced to the possibilities of using 3D printing for facades and installations, but biophilic design is on the cutting edge of an even newer application for the technology. Picture a living wall irrigated in a whole new manner, thanks to the path of least resistance in the form of an algorithm that determines the very best way to route the tube to porous 3D-printed plants. And then think about biophilic design that is on a whole other level in using 3D printing to form not just architectural shapes but also flowing designs that resemble organic structures across any number of scales.
Three-dimensional technology enables us to investigate our concepts with a hands-on approach. We can build models, try out various substances, and observe the interactions of individuals with our creations—all in the same space and time. For biophilic design, 3D tech is an ideal experimental medium. Its tethering to physical reality, even when prototyping for potential futures, offers a safety net for the wildness of our creative impulses.
We keep extending biophilic design. We push it further and further so that it gets closer to nature in the built environment. What tools do we use? Well, 3D simulations and 3D printing, for one. These avatars of nature allow—no, require—us to seek out even more dynamic and, yes, even fantasy-filled ways (in the not-so-distant future) to represent the organic-rich, personalized, and responsive spaces our clients crave.
The Future of Biophilic Design with 3D Printing and Organic Forms
When I contemplate the future of biophilic design, I can’t help but think that 3D printing will be one of our era’s defining tools, particularly for producing organic, nature-inspired shapes that are both functional and aesthetically pleasing. I have had numerous discussions with colleagues about how this technology is catalyzing a rethinking of the built environment. We’re already witnessing a widespread renewal in appearance and purpose, and we’re seeing it happen at an incredible speed that’s only going to pick up from here.
What I find to be most awe-inspiring about 3D printing is its capacity to allow us to imitate natural systems, which have had millions of years to evolve and become both efficient and effective. Take the honeycomb. It is a form that is not only beautiful but also maximally functional and resource-efficient. Traditional design and construction would have found it impractical to create the structures necessary to mimic a honeycomb, yet with 3D printing, it is not only possible but also likely to yield a result that is lighter and potentially more sustainable than many conventional building materials.
I once worked on a project in which we used 3D-printed components to form a series of biophilic partition walls in a public space. The design took its cue from coral reefs, which grow in patterns that are both beautiful and functional, forming interlocking structures that provide all sorts of spatial divisions without losing the sense that you’re still in an open environment. These dividers were stunning. But we didn’t stop there. What if these dividers became more than just dividers? What if they could actually do something good for the environment? And so we gave them a job: to purify the air in that public space. To dilute, deaden, and otherwise accommodate sound so that in a next-door-by-way-of-the-dividers manner, the space felt both public and private.
I find the infusion of natural and technological worlds exhilarating. In the past, biophilic design was restricted by the availability and quantity of materials and methods we used to build structures. We could use wood, stone, and plants, but the level of emulating nature’s built environment was not there. Now, with 3D printing, we can make forms that mimic nature’s fractal patterns, fluid forms, and even the microscopic structures found in natural forms like bones and shells. Also, because 3D printing is such a precise “way of building,” we can do it all in an ecologically responsible and materially efficient manner.
I see a lot of potential for 3D printing in something that’s really near and dear to my heart: making personalized, responsive environments. Picture this: You walk into a space where the architectural elements—the walls, the furniture, the even lighting—have all been created just for you and your specific tastes. You get to set the mood, and the room responds in a way that you and no one else would probably think of, with 3D printing allowing for all sorts of weird and wonderful things to be done, not just with form but with function.
Suppose you are creating a workspace that has to support both collaboration and intense individual focus. With 3D printing, you could easily create modular, biophilic partitions that could be reconfigured even as you work. Popping in an element or two—like panels that absorb sound, tons of integrated greenery, and lighting that adjusts based on circadian rhythms—would make those partitions perfect, almost sentient, design for a workspace that accommodates collaboration and focus.
But “popping in” those elements to the partitions is not the far-out future of architecture; it’s already happening. It could just be happening more sustainably, thanks to the materials science of 3D printing.
Designing responsive, adaptive environments is something that biophilic designers are already putting into practice, even if it sounds a little science-fictiony. In recent years, a number of leading biophilic designers have begun to experiment with a truly ground breaking concept: the idea of creating structures that are not just informed by nature but also integrate advancements in technology to create “smart” spaces. These are spaces that monitor their own conditions and can even recalibrate themselves (or have recalibration done for them) with the “beneficial aspects” of the natural world—like humidity and all that good stuff.
One of the most motivating reasons to incorporate 3D printing into biophilic design is its capacity to further sustainability. Biophilic design strives to replicate the regenerative processes of nature. It seeks not only beauty and function in the spaces it creates, but also—and this is a key tenet of what we might call the “sustainability movement” within biophilic design—the spaces should be environmentally responsible. 3D printing is a perfect fit here because it allows us to replace inefficient construction practices with a method that has potential not only to reduce waste but also to utilize new materials that are more sustainable than those used in conventional construction.
I have been following numerous initiatives investigating the use of 3D printing with natural or recycled materials. The results of these exploratory projects are exceedingly exciting. One collaborative effort stands out in my mind. It created a pavilion strictly from 3D-printed, biodegradable materials. The design was inspired by the growth patterns of trees and plants. Yet I would be remiss not to mention that the 3D printing of the pavilion was done by robots (not by hand) in a closed-loop process: Each material was a natural component of the local ecosystem. Plants grow and decompose on Earth. Why shouldn’t structures do the same? Why shouldn’t our buildings and bridges return before the next building boom?
Naturally, overcoming hurdles is part of the process, and there are certainly some big ones to deal with if we want to scale up these innovative ideas for truly widespread use. 3D printing is so far a pretty new thing in architecture and design; like any new medium, it comes with questions of what actually can and can’t get built with it, and of what happens to the built stuff over time. It’s also still quite a costly process, with no accessible solutions in sight. But the rebirth of this technological medium in the past few years has shown that 3D printing has just as much potential for design innovation (and plenty of good reasons to stick with it) as any new-fangled sketching tablet or screen.
When I contemplate the future of biophilic design, I feel a sense of exhilaration and opportunity. Three-dimensional printing holds the promise of revolutionizing our concept of “the built.” If we think of the places where we spend our time as “the environment,” and project the current potential of this amazing technology onto what we could be doing with our materials in habitat construction, it’s quite mind-blowing. The very term “built environment” may become obsolete as we move toward something that’s fully dermophilic.
