Biophilic design brings multiple aspects of nature into our built environment, which is especially valuable in urban areas where nature is often hard to come by. Think of vertical gardens. Indoor trees. Even water features that let you get close to nature. But one thing you might never have considered is the very stuff you’re standing on: flooring. It seems like a functional afterthought, but flooring plays an important role in your connection to nature. What if your floor radiated the warmth of the sun, like a rock you might find on a beach? What if it felt cool and smooth, like a stone you might find in a mountain stream?
What if it had the heft and strong, sturdy feel of a wood floor, like you’d find in a cozy cabin? That’s biophilic flooring, and I think it could change the way we think about nature in our built environment and the relationship humans have to nature.
Biophilic flooring—whether it exists in homes, offices, or public venues—gives us a chance to connect with the natural world. Textures, colors, and materials found in biophilic flooring are reminiscent of what nature has to offer, making us feel closer to the outdoors. Take wood: As I walk barefoot across the planks of my second-floor studio—a space custom-built for me by my husband—I say hello to the half-log I see when I rise to my full height. I love this studio and its biophilic design. My first-floor bathroom is encased in spectacular reclaimed barn wood.
The water closet has a door with a milled half moons visible from either side; it’s a nod to the appearance of a petrified half moon in Carolyn Forché’s battery-operated light in “The Angel of History.” But I digress. The whole studio is a work of art with me lucky enough to live inside it.
Elegance and sensory richness are not qualities only present in biophilic wood flooring. Biophilic design can also involve natural stone. One of the projects I worked on had an entire ground floor that was beautifully, grounding-locally-covered in slate. Just imagine: a wide-open layout along the front of the house where natural light is pouring in through oversized windows, and you’re standing in this absolutely stunning space that feels quite alive with the natural light, the way the natural (locally sourced) slate colors and textures seem to shimmer in contrast to the natural light—with the way the slate has a weight to it (a grounding presence).
It’s not simply the materials themselves; it’s also how they’re used to echo the natural world. Shapes and spaces that approximate those found in nature—functioning as a kind of organic architecture for people—do much to establish a healthy interior biophilia. And textures. The multitude of textures available these days in everything from wall paneling to flooring (not to mention in any object or fixture you might bring into the space) can help make a space feel more alive. To make it feel less like you’re trapped inside an over-sterilized laboratory and more like you’re wandering through a lush, unkempt landscape (or at least the remade version thereof).
The element of randomness in biophilic design has always attracted me. Nature is never perfect, never predictable, and that makes it all the more appealing. Flooring that reflects this unpredictability—through materials like cork, bamboo, or especially textile-inspired designs—adds so much richness and so many layers to the spaces you inhabit. Look at the way nature’s inspired flooring unfurls across a space, and you can’t help but contrast it with more rigid options. Flooring that captures that irregular beauty found in nature—say, the same quality you get looking into a campfire—guarantees that no matter how you interact with a space, your experience will be unique.
Another captivating dimension of biophilic flooring revolves around the potential it has to impact our sense of movement in a space. The very floor beneath our feet beckons us to some level of interaction—though we rarely muse about it. That interaction is so subliminal as to be nearly invisible, but it nonetheless holds tremendous influence over not only our behavior within a space but also our experience of it. Can you, for example, change your pace from a walk to a jog when transitioning from a soft carpet to a hard, cold floor?
Once, I had a client—the Mountain Wellness Retreat—that wanted to design its spaces in a way that would lead guests on a kind of journey, evoking different moods as they moved from space to space. The first area guests would approach was the entryway, constructed of natural stone, lending a kind of rugged elegance to the retreat’s outward appearance. The next area was a huge open space that had oak floorboards wide enough to carry guests’ steps through to a kind of rhythm, almost a dance, as they were led to the third room: a quiet meditation chamber with a soft, woven bamboo mat that cradled their bare feet just enough to be noticed.
The “design intent” of the space was to create a tactile experience that would lead guests through the wellness center with a sense of purpose and flow.
Flooring and movement have an essential connection that is often underappreciated in biophilic design. Creating spaces where people can move about in an intuitive and harmonious manner ought to be a major consideration in any form of architecture, especially when those spaces are meant to serve the purposes of “living” and “working.” Why should flooring be any different from the walls or ceiling when it comes to the types of materials chosen? Materials that are holistic, that benefit both the human body and brain are what biophilic flooring is all about, and that’s why I’ve always considered it to be a great example of “good design.”
One unique and creative example of biophilic flooring I have seen recently is something called living floors. These floors are naturalistic in both their appearance and their construction. A living floor could be as simple as a thick, soft mat of green moss that one might walk across inside a warm, humid space. (Besides Scandinavia, I’ve also seen plant life effectively deployed in areas of hotels in Japan where the climate is also quite humid.) Or a living floor could be as complex and constructed as a zen pebble pathway, only “more” because a living floor has frankly more life in it than a simple mimicry of nature (or any way nature is mimicked in flooring).
Biophilic flooring does not need to be as literal as floor to ceiling windows that allow for views of the forest. Neither does it need to echo in captured sounds like water trickling down a rock wall in a shower. Sometimes, the natural effect can be achieved in more abstract ways, using patterns and forms that only suggest nature. For instance, I have worked on projects where the flooring design mimicked the flow of water or the patterns of a forest canopy. In one office space, we used a carpet that had been dyed in swirls of deep blues and greens reminiscent of a river winding through a landscape.
The effect was subtle, but it charged the room with a dynamic essence and made it feel alive.
It fascinates me how biophilic flooring can be merged with contemporary technology to maximize its benefits. Take radiant heating, for example. When natural stone or tile floors are paired with radiant heating, one can savor the luxury of walking barefoot over a floor that is as warm as the sun-kissed earth, a sensation that is so physically pleasurable it’s hard to imagine anyone not blissfully enjoying it. This arrangement is also a “floor is lava” scenario that is much safer than the “floor is lava” scenario in infinite foam pits. I think one of the lights above should be dappled sunlight, as well.
Either lighting an actual dappled effect in the flooring or overhead lighting that mimics the way sunlight pours through a canopy of trees would be a further step toward being biophilic and making this place a more pleasurable one to inhabit.
Sustainable materials have become a big part of biophilic design in flooring, and for excellent reasons. The environmental impact of our choice of materials is something we cannot ignore, and it is exciting to see more and more products coming to market that combine biophilic design with sustainability. Flooring made of bamboo, for example, is a fantastic renewable resource; it grows quickly, and it is incredibly durable. Moreover, its natural texture and appearance are perfect for creating warm, welcoming spaces. Another favorite of mine is reclaimed wood. Using it not only reduces waste but also adds a rich sense of history and character to a space.
Let us also consider the importance of color in nature-based flooring. Colors in the natural world can be pretty uneven. Take a forest, for example: Most of the colors won’t be earth tones, let alone in harmony or along a spectrum. A “natural” color palette can be anything but. Yet in biophilic design and flooring, using colors that somewhat mimic what’s found outside can’t help but evoke a calming. It’s in our brains’ wiring to respond positively. One office I visited in San Francisco had designed its biophilic flooring to resemble a forest floor in autumn, with a palette of rich browns and golds that was very much a seasonal selection.
Biophilic flooring holds the potential to be deeply meaningful and life-altering for each of us. A floor might seem like a pretty basic element of design. It might appear deceptively straightforward. But a floor has to invite you to step across it. It has to entice you to trace the curvatures of your movement across its surface. Flooring designed with biophilic principles welcomes this kind of attention. It encourages you to notice the textures, the colors, the patterns, the motifs—the details. And as you notice, as you slow down, as you engage fully with the space in which the floor resides, you’re in large part engaging with the art of nature that the flooring embodies.
One of the most remarkable instances of biophilic flooring I have seen was at a cultural center in Kyoto, Japan. The ceiling beams reaching to the heavens above the center’s main hallway were a deep, rich hue that mirrored the soaring bamboo forest just outside the building’s windows. On either side of the hallway, there were small alcoves. One featured a large folk art piece that was apparently some kind of interior structure for a traditional Japanese performance, and the other was set up like a living room, albeit a very minimalist one. The centerpiece was a low table made of the same kind of wood as the room in which the table sat.
The table’s surface was artistically incised, which matched the sort of atmosphere you would expect from an interior space used for a performance by a folk musician.
Linking to a location is something I strive for in my own works, whether they be homes, offices, or other public spaces. Designing an interior can often feel like, well, isolating an interior. That’s because we work in a vacuum—drawing on a canvas that’s bordered by four walls. But what if that canvas was stretched out across the local geography? And what if the materials used to create the scene inside were sourced locally, too? Biophilic flooring offers a good example of both those ideas in action.
Of course, sustainability is a vital part of this equation. The flooring choices we base our design decisions on have a critical impact on the environment. It is our responsibility—mine, in this case—to choose materials for our projects that look great and reduce the environmental impacts typically associated with flooring products. One of the most thrilling developments in recent years has been the growing availability of reclaimed and recycled flooring materials. I’ve worked with reclaimed wood from old barns, recycled glass tiles, and even flooring made from repurposed rubber tires. These materials reduce waste and add a unique, story-rich texture to the spaces they inhabit.
I also consider biophilic flooring’s future and how technology will affect it. Concrete biophilic design job profits are elusive, and the imagined makeover of the flooring industry will surely be slow and gradual. But if this miasmic setup is a challenge to the interconnected designs of the present, what hope is there for a better tomorrow? In biophilic flooring’s vision, smart technology can be used in ways that enhance understanding of our place within the natural world. If innovation in biophilic design requires in part the reevaluation of how materials, like flooring, can be sustainable, biodegradable, or kind to the eye and ear, then what we’re up against now in the flooring industry is a bit of a test case for how to design matter that can serve life well.
Altogether, these are the kinds of advancements that will take the idea of biophilic design to new heights, and technology is where I see churning possibilities.
An additional aspect that is truly captivating is the potential of biophilic flooring to be adapted to particular settings. For instance, in an environment such as a healthcare facility, flooring that hews closely to biophilic design can serve, quite literally, to ground patients and staff in a less stressful, more healing atmosphere. Biophilia principles state that humans have an inherent attraction to nature and natural phenomena. Researchers have found that even the simulated presence of nature—be it through what’s known as “directed attention,” viewing artworks that depict natural scenes, or images of nature in digital form—can lead to a significant reduction in heart rate and blood pressure.
Human beings are also powerfully affected by the sensory experience of nature: the feel of different types of soil and stone, the sound of wind and water, the sight of light dancing through the leaves of a tree or the glitter of a smooth stone, the taste of wild plants, and the smell of moss during a rainstorm. These experiences are mixed with good old evolutionary biology. Our species spent most of its history surrounded by natural landscapes. We are wired to take pleasure in the experience of being in such places.
Biophilic flooring is equally promising in boosting productivity and well-being in corporate settings. I worked on several office projects where the flooring was intentionally designed to mimic outdoor environments. One space used a combination of carpeting and hardwood to create the sensation of walking through a park. The “wood” floors in the workspaces were so convincing that every employee who passed through said they could feel the sunlight coming through the “wooden” slats. In the common areas, the soft, green carpets made us all feel more relaxed and comfortable. The employees reported feeling more energized and focused, and many commented on how the design helped break up the monotony of a typical office environment.
Finally, we must consider how essential maintenance is to biophilic flooring, especially because natural materials demand a level of care that artificial ones do not. This means we must pay attention to the flooring materials we choose, just as we would to the plants in a biophilic space. Otherwise, what’s to stop us from choosing materials that look good at first but require us to ignore them when they’re not looking good? Ask yourself this: should wood be left to weather unprotected in a garden? Should stone be left in an unfinished state? Should cork be used as flooring with no way to preserve its surface?
Should sustainable materials lie rotting in the garage? These are questions prompted by biophilic flooring, which, in my ideal vision, would require us to maintain it not only with the appearance of fastness but also with an attention to the sorts of practices that make us responsible and mindful of the spaces we inhabit.
To sum up, flooring with life-loving qualities offers never-ending opportunities to create spaces that are not just utilitarian and visually appealing but also connect us to the natural world. We can achieve that in a number of ways, including using natural materials, employing organic patterns, and through the use of innovative technologies that serve the dual purpose of looking good and giving us an intimate relationship with what is underfoot and, by extension, the environment as a whole.
Biophilic flooring encompasses more than you might think. It’s also an overlooked opportunity in biophilic design. For the flooring industry, moves toward biophilic flooring could mean a not-so-small revolution when you consider the potential for interior designers and architects (and flooring manufacturers) to reinterpret how flooring can connect us to nature in ways that maybe we haven’t fully explored yet. Flooring with life-loving qualities also enriches us emotionally and spiritually.
