I have always held the belief that the spaces we occupy can deeply affect our emotions, thoughts, and interactions with the surrounding world. This belief of mine was what drew me initially to consider biophilic interior design, which leans heavily toward nostalgia for a pre-modern existence, as the next big thing in “natural” design. It is worth noting that biophilia is a concept introduced by German-born American biologist Ernst H. Woelfel around 1973, and that half a century before Woelfel, John Muir was espousing some of the same ideas about humans and their relationships with natural places in his wild writings.
Biophilic design intrigues me because of its adaptability. Biophilic design principles can be applied in the tiniest of spaces, like a studio apartment, or in vast swathes of land, like the rooftop of a skyscraper. Indeed, biophilic design is most effective when it occupies multiple scales—from a city’s adaptability as a living space in both winter and summer to an individual room’s capacity to circulate air, light, and sound. Filling a space with plants can help a room achieve that elusive quality of liveliness. However, mimicking the natural world through the engagement of all five senses—taste, touch, smell, sound, and sight—achieves a truer form of biophilia.
Natural light is one of my favorite design elements. However, I don’t just like it personally; I also believe it’s the best choice for interior spaces based on my understanding of biophilia. Every room should have it to the extent that it’s possible based on the space’s orientation, the nearby structures, and other people’s light-sucking trees. It has a revolutionary power that no artificial lighting can replicate within a biophilic context to transform a space. There are large windows, skylights, and mirrors. These are the tools I use to try to get more natural light into the spaces I design. One place I worked that had an unfortunate long, narrow living room shape with only one window at the end got a series of mirrors installed and saw some very successful light gains.
However, it is not only the quantity of light that matters. According to Andrea Oppenheimer Dean, an architecture professor at Ball State University, “most people aren’t aware of color and how a space can be transformed by mixing colors. The same is true for light: most people recognize that light is an important element of design but consider it in terms of just amount and location.” I try to look beneath those surface qualities. For instance, in my home office, the late morning light is more intense than the early morning light. Yet the early morning light, with its cooler color temperature, is better for the kind of work that requires a lot of focus because it feels more “light-saber intense.” Afternoon light, which my office doesn’t receive, is actually much warmer and feels softer in comparison, even though what my office does receive is pretty much “full sun.”
There’s an element that I infuse into biophilic interiors: natural materials. Wood, stone, and organic textiles create a deeply comforting feel that’s hard to replicate with synthetic materials. When I designed a family’s mountain vacation home, the entire concept revolved around making a connection between the indoors and the surrounding forest. We worked with reclaimed wood for the floors and ceilings, used locally sourced stone for the fireplace, and chose wool and linen for the upholstered furniture and drapery. The feel of the house—both the look and the way it makes you feel—is so forest-like that you’re left wondering how it could not have been built with the same materials as the surrounding trees.
I frequently tell clients that when they choose natural materials, it is about more than just surface appearance. It is about creating a genuine sensory experience. With natural materials, there is something you can feel deep down—like when you glide your hand along a beam of wood, for instance. Materials like that connect you with the earth in a way that synthetics just can’t replicate. I know this because in one of my renovation projects, I replaced a cold, hard, sterile countertop with a soapstone slab. The moment I touched that stone, I knew it was the right choice for our kitchen; it has warmth, and it immediately feels much more inviting. And over time, its surface is developing a natural patina that adds to its character.
Natural patterns and shapes are an important—if subtle—aspect of biophilic interior design. This is because, in nature, straight lines and rigid grids are rarely encountered; beauty often lies in the organic forms and fractal patterns that are so common in living things. Of course, this is reflected in many a design project through curved archways and soft, rounded furniture. And why not? We humans, after all, tend to feel more at ease when surrounded by such gentle forms. But for me, the interesting thing is that natural patterns and shapes can also be reflected—quite readily—in the patterned surfaces of the materials we choose, from flooring to wall surfaces, to upholstery and window treatments. And what makes this even more interesting—and perhaps slightly subversive—is that these patterns can appear to be random and still register as “natural” in our brains.
An exceptionally gratifying project I completed was for a wellness center that wished to establish an environment where clients would feel restored and renewed even before the start of treatments. We concentrated on natural elements, using wood, stone, and water throughout the center. One of the main showpieces was a vertical garden contained within a central atrium, which has seen vigorous growth over the past two years. Along with the vertical garden, we designed a space where sound—especially the sound of falling water—works in harmony with the natural environment. The center is an oasis of calm that not only looks natural but also feels completely organic.
Including water in a biophilic design concept is something I have found to be highly effective, especially in areas where concentration and relaxation are most desired. People often say, and I would agree, that the presence of water has a naturally calming effect. I have used it in designs from the very small—like my own home office fountain—to much larger features in public spaces. Its use in interiors can span from very loud to very quiet, but I find that almost any sound of water can work wonders. One friendly colleague even suggested that I was taking “an acoustical approach to biophilia.”
Improvising a Healthy and Sustainable World Through Loving Interior Design
Interior design that favors a biophilic approach does not merely concern artworks, ornaments, decorations, or cosmetics; it aims to embrace well-being. It connects the human mind and body to surroundings that brim with nature and creativity. Research shows that even slight, artful gestures of biophilia can help invigorate and nurture spaces. Mindfulness, appreciation, and the utter joy of living and working amid such interior spaces—we hope to foster all that.
One of my favorite spots to unwind is my biophilic living room. This space is filled with natural light, which spills in through giant windows framing the mostly-wooded world beyond. And yes, I realize I don’t have ferns, figs, or pothos growing out in the wild—those impressive trees (or whatever they are) next to my living room aren’t even close to the ceiling of my biophilic living room. Still, my use of multiple textures, the unfurling of that enormous “leaf,” and the presence of a few tall, skinny “trunks” do evoke some kind of “impression” of being in the presence of some really fantastic plants (and living organisms) in nature. Cooking this up in my mind as I write, I can taste a bit of “inspiration.”
Biophilic design is an interesting aspect of cognitive function and stress relief. It is found that the environments we inhabit can profoundly affect our ability to concentrate and our mental stability. One recent study has even shown that bank employees who worked in a biophilic-designed space had lower blood pressure and were markedly more productive than their counterparts in a non-biophilic space. Another study by Harvard University found that workers in a biophilic space had a significantly higher cognitive function. I recently had the opportunity to work on a project with the tech company SAP that wanted to rethink its office space and how its employees interact with that space, to improve overall employee well-being and, as a bi-product (pun intended), improve workplace productivity.
The project’s success hinged on the use of green walls, which are one of my favorite features of biophilic design. Living walls might just be the best instant “wow” factor I could think of when it comes to bringing nature indoors. My firm, TMG, installed a living wall in the break area for this office. While the employees might not have the time to walk through a forest during the workday, they do have the opportunity to chill in front of a wall that’s bursting with life. Our break areas often double as the office’s main art gallery, and the living wall is definitely a head-turner.
One frequent challenge I encounter in biophilic interior design is creating an aesthetic balance with function—especially when it comes to incorporating living elements, like plants. Plenty of light, the right amount of humidity, and care with a level of commitment suitable to the spontaneous human condition are the not-so-secret seeds to the success of indoor greenery. But what makes plants a crucial part of the design in this apartment?
Well, this couple asked for us to design their space so that it felt like a greater extension of the outdoors. Since they live in a low-light situation, we chose plants specially bred for low-light conditions. In that design, the plants fulfill both a biophilic function and a reason-to-be-there aesthetic.
Biophilic design has at its core the value of sustainability. For me, that translates into designing interiors that are mindful of not just the appearance but also the impact of the materials we use. It is so uplifting to see reclamation, recycling, and local sourcing of materials becoming increasingly common in contemporary interior design! In my own work, I take great joy in selecting materials that I can genuinely feel good about—both aesthetically and environmentally. One recent interior renovation makes an excellent case study. For this project, in which my husband and I were wholly involved, we specified reclaimed wood for the space’s flooring and cabinetry. Much to our delight, that decision led to an outcome in which we could both see and feel the beauty of the appearing materials; ours is an interior set up for making sense through both sight and touch.
Biophilic design can be sustainable on two different levels. The first is in the selection of materials. The second is in their assembly and use in buildings. I have worked on projects in which the design team made a commitment to biophilic principles and a separate commitment to sustainability, and both were integrated throughout the design and construction processes. We felt those principles particularly keenly in our selection of materials—density at the bottom and lightness and airiness at the top were the goals for two different high-performance, energy-efficient homes. That felt like a sustainable achievement. But when those homes were occupied, the inhabitants reported a number of health benefits, including decreased wintertime depression and greater summer comfort. One could argue that those are biophilic benefits, because the people living in those houses are enjoying an enhanced connection to the natural world.
A rural wellness retreat that I had a hand in designing stands out as one of my more notable projects. Conceived by an architect who specializes in natural building, the retreat makes use of materials and methods that are either locally available, ancient, or both. The vision for the structure was that it would serve as an embodiment of the meditation that its users would practice within its walls. Stone walls sourced from local quarries, timber from a local sawmill, and clay from a nearby geological formation were some of the primary materials used to construct the retreat. On the inside, the use of wood, plant fibers, and wool brought warmth to the space while also making the structure a resonant contributor to the soundscape of silence within which the users were to experience a form of enlightenment.
Biophilic design is a powerful tool in the hands of the designer, and for one good reason: it reintroduces nature into the lives of people who have become disconnected from it, and it does so dramatically and effectively. But biophilic design is, of course, much more than a series of ornamental displays of nature. In commercial interiors, for example, biophilic design fundamentally changes how people interact with the spaces they inhabit. It provides inviting places that encourage social interaction and, when necessary, intimate connectivity. In office environments, for example, biophilic design does not promote brainless work in cubicle farms. Instead, it is a catalyst for work that—when it has to—requires obvious social interactions among employees. It is an environment that is designed to provide connective experiences.
Ultimately, biophilic interior design does more than merely beautify a space. It creates environments that favor the well-being of their inhabitants, their connection with the natural world, and even the ecological balance of the planet. In both residential and commercial settings, biophilic design might employ natural materials, vegetation, light, or organic forms to fulfill its mission. Those and other methods effectively recalibrate our rhythms, reestablish our sense of place, and promote an atmosphere of health and comfort in spaces where we live and work.
