The biophilic movement is more than just a trend; it is a way of redefining the relationship between people and the built environment. And this increasingly popular way of designing spaces offers a powerful antidote to urbanization, one that goes beyond just adding greenery to our hard-built world. As someone who has practiced architecture for more than two decades, I have seen firsthand how biophilic architecture can transform spaces from the traditional to the biophilic. Interior offices full of corporate branding that promised plenty of natural light became windowless, fluorescent-lit workspaces when I joined them in the mid-1990s. Nevertheless, I still sought out natural light, working near a pair of huge south-facing clerestory windows that lit my drafting table with RAMI illumination. Even when I was in design mode—a mode in which I would go deeper and deeper into a kind of Perfect Storm of intense concentration—my poor, modernist office aesthetics informed by a long-gone, Midwestern studio mentality were suddenly saved whenever I encountered light, natural or otherwise.
My career took a sharp turn. I started incorporating biophilic principles into every kind of structure I designed, whether for the home, the office, a hospital, or a school. I realized that biophilic architecture was not just about sticking a few house plants into a space. It was about creating a responsive environment that took “our innate desire to connect with the natural world” into account and, in my eyes, fully embraced it. In this blog post, I would like to share the experience I have had with biophilic architecture. I would like to offer you some insights that come from that experience. I will do so using a few real-world examples that showcase the kind of profound impact I believe biophilic design can have.
The first real exploration I undertook in biophilic architecture happened on a project where a couple asked me to design a house on the edge of a forest—a place, they assured me, where nature could take center stage. They wanted their home to feel as if it were part of the forest, trees and all, rather than a place reluctantly tolerated by the environment, like so many other houses that “stand out” against a natural backdrop. The woman’s family had lived in the area for generations, and she wanted to honor its history. I immediately thought of Frank Lloyd Wright’s “falling water” concept and imagined how the couple’s house might open up to the wild world just outside. I envisioned a set of huge, operable glass walls that could be swung open, although that was clearly an illogical idea.
The outcome was nothing less than amazing. As you moved through the house, you felt as if you were traversing the very woods that surrounded the abode. Vision aside, the home featured exquisite nature-based auditory experiences: the sound of wind through trees, birdsong, and other familiar forest noises. How did the Biophilic House accomplish these feats? Unlike so many environmentally sound structures that had preceded it, the Biophilic House could not afford to be dull or drab; it had to engage the senses fully if it was going to succeed at all. On top of that, the Biophilic House had a particular architectural vocabulary—design features and elements—that expressed, rather than concealed, its sustainable methods and materials. Hearing, seeing, and sensing in other ways were critically important to the house’s encounters; in terms of some of the best thinking about biophilic design, to be immersed in a peaceful forest environment is good for our health.
Natural light is, hands down, the most universally impactful element of biophilic architecture. I have seen a number of projects turned around completely by paying close attention to how light—especially natural light—enters a building and behaves within it. There is an almost magical quality to how sunlight interacts with our built environment. It can wash over a surface and show its true quality, or it can not make it over a surface, thereby hiding the true quality of the surface. One project I worked on was an office building in an area of such dense urbanity that one couldn’t find outdoor green space within a reasonable walking distance. To help offset that psychological problem, we paid a near-manic amount of attention to bringing natural light deep into the space while also washing the interior with low, indirect light that made the space feel both open and larger than it really was.
The advantages stretched far beyond mere appearance. Staff members said they felt far more energized and focused and, by junking up their workplace’s primitive interior, the designers had effectively given the editors a few extra hours in the day. They didn’t seem to be working harder; they seemed to be working better. And productivity numbers went right along with it. Eric Hu, who runs the bay area office for the San Francisco company, told me anecdotally that employee morale seemed to have gone way up. One guy told him that he was now “looking forward to coming to work,” and remembered hating it when the workspace was just some old building.
Biophilic Materials: Making Nature Part of the Indoor Experience The Heart of Biophilic Design: Materials That Connect Us to Nature. When it comes to biophilic design, the use of appropriate materials is extremely important. For natural materials like wood, stone, and clay, even a casual encounter has a way of drawing me in. It’s not just that they seem to have an immediate warmth and beauty that synthetic materials don’t have. It’s also that they seem to be imbued with an intelligence and a kind of hidden art.
One of our projects involved creating a wellness center in a city with scarce natural resources. The client wanted a building that felt like a refuge from the urban hustle—a place that would provide relaxation and recharging, just as the very word “wellness” implies. We designed an inviting space filled with as much nature as the architects could summon. The floors and walls are made of reclaimed wood, with furnishings to match. The exterior is natural stone. Greenery abounds. In planters, large enough to allow for impressive specimens, native plants are stationed so as to be seen as soon as one walks into the building. The corridor that leads into the central part of the building also leads into a number of spaces where indoor treatment is given.
This project serves to remind me how potent biophilic materials can be. They can create an unrealized connection to nature within an interior, instilling some of the senses typically associated with being outdoors. In turn, these human-to-nature connections made indoors can have an outsized impact on our mental and emotional well-being. A recent National Institutes of Health study concluded that biophilic design—the use of natural elements and associated senses indoors—can serve as a potent antidote to healing. The study also recorded “significant” reductions in stress levels in subjects who were placed in environments with natural elements designed to replicate the senses they would experience outdoors. Hearing the “natural sounds of nature” was especially powerful in this regard.
There is one project that stands out for me from the years I worked on architecture. A corporate campus we designed for a technology company located in the high-stress, fast-moving world of tech. The leadership of this company really wanted a place that would promote relaxation and creativity, and encourage their staff to think outside the box. To achieve this, we designed a large, central courtyard, with the centerpiece being a water feature, sort of like an elongated artificial stream, with similar stones at one end, so the water cascades down, creating a very serene park-like atmosphere. The water’s “music” fills this very noisy space with a much more pleasant sound. We’ve not done a study on this, but we’ve heard that the company is doing really well in terms of a much more relaxed corporate culture. And also, the water feature has become a real focal point for both the relaxation of employees and for situations when staffers have to interact with one another, whether it’s for a plein air conference or for some other kind of social interaction.
Biophilic architecture has a unique aspect that engages multiple senses at once. Water creates sound, movement, and even changes the air quality by increasing humidity levels. This aspect of biophilic design makes profound statements about well-being. Water’s appearance, sound, and movement engage our senses and have a direct association with our well-being. While finding ways to incorporate biophilic design into the relentless urban environment is undoubtedly one of my highest and most rewarding challenges, it is also a Sisyphean task in some respects. The work of incorporating biophilic design into increasingly dense and hardscape urban environments is a direct response to the increasingly cold, impermeable structures that typify so much of the living and working space found in our cities.
One of the projects of which I am most proud was a high-rise apartment building in a major metropolitan area. The developer wanted to create something that felt like a vertical forest—an oasis in the middle of the city. We designed a series of terraces and balconies that are filled with greenery. This space became a living, breathing façade—one that brought life to the building. The key to making the biophilic principles work was integrating them at every level. From the native plants to the well-thought-out irrigation system, we made choices that ensured the plants not only lived but thrived without straining the local water resources.
The end product was a vibrant, living structure. The plants and trees softened the architecture’s rigid lines and provided a tactile, visual relationship with Mother Nature on both sides of the building. Residents reported an unprecedented calm and peace inside their homes. And somehow, the building became a beacon in the city. Its very form began to exude an essence that said, “This is what modern health-focused, nature-connected architecture can be.” One pathway to reaching this fabulous destination is biophilic design. My biophilic design journey has made me a different kind of architect. Instead of just focusing on creating beautiful spaces, I now design environments that significantly boost human health and well-being. After all, shouldn’t the places we occupy resemble a health spa instead of an ill-fated prison cell?
I am convinced that biophilic architecture will play a crucial and even more important role in the built environment as the world becomes increasingly urbanized.
We must hold fast to these truths as we encounter those obstacles: Biophilic design works. It’s not just a good idea; it’s an evidence-based design methodology that undergirds all my work today. When we embrace nature—both on the building scale and in the landscape design surrounding our structures—we dramatically increase the chances that our buildings will make the people inside them healthy, happy, and well-adjusted. Biophilic design really does help heal the wounds of the prevailing archi- negative that too often afflict modern humanity.
