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  • Jaime Jackson on Art, Nature and the Power of Creativity

    Jaime Jackson on Art, Nature and the Power of Creativity
    2026/11/03
    For artist Jaime Jackson, creativity is more than a way of making things. What happens when we stop seeing ourselves as separate from nature and begin to recognise that we are nature? For artist Jaime Jackson, the answer lies in creativity, collaboration and the simple act of paying attention. It is a way of rediscovering our place in the living world, bringing communities together and imagining a more hopeful future. Through his socially engaged art practice, Jaime brings together children, communities, scientists and fellow artists to explore our relationship with the living world. His work offers a refreshing perspective on the ecological crisis: rather than beginning with fear, guilt or a list of things we must change, it starts with our innate capacity for wonder, empathy and connection. Jaime describes himself as a relational artist. His practice is rooted in the idea that we are all related, not only to one another but to the plants, animals and wider living systems around us. It is Biophilia embodied. Drawing, painting, animation and collaborative workshops become ways of exploring those relationships, giving people the opportunity to express what nature means to them in their own words and images. We do not have to be professional artists to benefit from making art. Nor do we need to produce something beautiful or technically accomplished. The value lies in the experience itself. Nature connection and broadcastingJaime's relationship with nature began early. As a child, he joined Nature Trail, a local radio programme exploring the natural world with experts. Those formative experiences gave him the opportunity to encounter nature with curiosity, openness and a child's eye view. That sense of wonder remains central to his work today. He believes that our connection with nature never really disappears; it can simply become buried beneath the habits, expectations and pressures of everyday life. Art offers a way back to nature and to ourselves. When we slow down to draw a leaf, observe a tree or explore the patterns of the natural world, we become more present. We engage our senses and make space for a different kind of awareness — one that is felt as much as understood intellectually. Jaime suggests that creative practice can help us move beyond the assumptions we carry about ourselves and the world. Instead of being told what to think about climate change, we are invited to explore our own feelings and experiences, discovering connections through the act of making something together. This matters particularly when working with young people. Discussions about the climate and ecological crisis can provoke anxiety or leave children feeling powerless. A collaborative creative process offers another possibility: the chance to imagine solutions, exercise agency and experience the satisfaction of making something meaningful with others. The result can be a sense of wellbeing, belonging and, crucially, hope. A comic created by children, for childrenOne of Jaime 's most inspiring projects began when he took a group of children to a park and asked them what they wanted to create as a way of exploring climate change.Their response – let’s make a comic. Working over several months, Jaime helped the children turn their ideas into a story, using their own words, drawings and imagination. The result was a comic and animation featuring an extraordinary cast of characters, all conceived by the children themselves.The story follows a girl called Hope Spring, who wakes to the sound of a bird warning her of an emergency. As she begins to understand what is happening, she confronts a polluting factory run by the aptly named Mr Smoke. When she is dismissed for challenging him, the bird directs her towards a different kind of factory, where she meets Mr Breeze Carbon Cutter. There, she encounters characters inspired by the elements of nature — earth, wind, water and fire. These are not distant superheroes who arrive to solve everyone's problems. Their powers are innate in each of them and connected to nature itself, and to qualities that the children recognise within themselves. The children were not imagining that somebody else would rescue the world. They were exploring how transformation might begin within us and how we might work together to bring it about.Through a process involving around a hundred drawings, collage, storytelling and animation, the children built a world in which pollution could be challenged, wisdom could emerge, and change was possible. Their story moves towards resolution through awareness, action and the possibility of redemption. The response was deeply moving. When the animation was shown to the school's headteacher, she began to cry. For Jaime, the children's excitement and their feeling that the work genuinely represented their voices were equally significant.The project was subsequently featured by The Nature of Cities Festival, demonstrating how children's ...
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    41 分
  • Mindful Designing - Freyja Sewell on Biophilia, Neurodiversity and Positive Futures

    Mindful Designing - Freyja Sewell on Biophilia, Neurodiversity and Positive Futures
    2026/10/21
    There are many places where we can feel an overwhelm, for some of us, the overwhelm can be, well, overwhelming and trying to find somewhere to recalibrate can be difficult. So how can design help us feel safe, connected and able to participate in the world? Designer and interdisciplinary artist Freyja Sewell begins with nature, sensory experience and a willingness to imagine things differently. As a neurodivergent designer herself, Freyja is founder of HUUS Design, where she brings together art, technology, nature and sensory design to create gorgeous woven soft felt pods and other products including digital capability to help create environments that support human experience better. Her work is also woven by an ambition to make positive futures tangible. From lived experience to inclusive designFreyja’s journey began with her own experience of feeling overwhelmed by certain environments. As an autistic designer, she understands how noise, stimulation and a lack of privacy can make everyday spaces difficult to navigate. Rather than treating this sensitivity as a limitation, she has increasingly come to recognise how it can inform her creativity. That perspective led to the development of the HushPod, a freestanding, closable felt structure that creates a small, private retreat within a larger environment. Developed after university, the original concept emerged from her need to find somewhere peaceful to go when the world became too much. Freyja experimented with different materials before discovering thick wool felt. Its combination of strength, softness and tactility offered the qualities she was seeking, namely a beautiful object that could provide both physical enclosure and a sense of calm. Inspired partly by the womb-like quality of the form, the HushPod offered an alternative to retreating to a toilet (which a lot of people do!) or withdrawing entirely from public life! The response from others was also positive. People recognised their own need for quiet, privacy and space to regulate their emotions and senses. A personal design solution had revealed a much wider need. Bringing the forest into our everyday spacesNature has been a constant source of inspiration for Sewell, and biophilic research and principles now underpin both her artistic and design practice. She describes the forest as a genuinely immersive experience. The sensation of walking on the ground, the smells, the sounds, the air and the textures all contribute to an encounter that engages the whole body. Yet not everyone can easily access these experiences. Physical barriers, socioeconomic circumstances and the realities of urban life can all limit opportunities to spend time in nature. Her approach seeks to distil some of nature’s qualities into environments to meet people where they are. Through sensory spaces, including an art therapy pod developed in collaboration with Ebony Easley, she explores how design can bring elements of nature into settings where people may need additional support. These spaces can offer an introduction to nature’s restorative qualities, while encouraging a deeper connection with the living world beyond their walls. A different vision of the futureFreyja’s thinking is also shaped by her experiences in Japan, where she has lived three times. She is fascinated by approaches that understand nature and technology as interconnected rather than opposing forces. For her, a positive future is one in which these relationships become reciprocal: technology exists in ways that support a healthier balance between people and the natural world. This vision depends on creativity and diverse ways of thinking. Repeating familiar approaches, she suggests, is unlikely to produce fundamentally different outcomes. That makes neurodiversity an important part of the conversation about the future of design. Making room for everyoneWhere would she like to see her designs make the greatest difference? In restaurants and bars, where quieter retreats could help neurodivergent people participate more comfortably in social life; in educational settings, where young people could find opportunities to regulate and contribute; and in hospitals, where patients, families and staff may need moments of calm amid stressful surroundings; and environments in which more people feel able to belong. Perhaps that is one of the most important lessons biophilic design can offer, noteably designing for wellbeing means looking beyond how a space appears to consider how it feels to inhabit it. By listening to different experiences of the world, embracing sensory diversity and drawing inspiration from nature, we can begin to imagine places that work for more of us. Find out more about HUUS Design and Freyja’s work visit: www.huus.design Explore further: Discover the Journal of Biophilic Design’s Neurodiversity Issue, featuring research, science and inspiration for creating spaces that work for everyone. To learn more...
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    29 分
  • Dusty Gedge - What if we put Life back onto every Roof in our Cities?

    Dusty Gedge - What if we put Life back onto every Roof in our Cities?
    2026/10/26
    What if every roof in London that could support nature became a living habitat? What if, instead of recreating the gardens and meadows we have always known, we designed our cities around the life that can actually thrive in them? For Dusty Gedge, pioneering green roof advocate and urban biodiversity expert, this is more than an appealing idea. It is a practical vision for the future of our cities, challenging the way we think about green roofs, urban nature and the role of biophilic design. As climate change brings increasingly extreme temperatures, heatwaves and intense rainfall, we need to rethink what we plant, where we plant it and what we expect nature to do. In our conversation for the Journal of Biophilic Design, Dusty made one thing clear: the objective is not just to make our cities “green”, it is to put life back into them. And just like the Journal here, he encourages us to go back to the original meaning of Biophilia to help us understand the bigger picture. Dusty’s journey began with a rare bird in Deptford. His interest in birdwatching led him to brownfield habitats and the possibility of recreating them on rooftops. This inspired the concept of the “brown roof”: not necessarily brown in colour but designed to replicate habitats that support wildflowers and wildlife. Yet, too often, green roofs are treated as products designed to deliver a particular appearance. We imagine lush meadows, manicured lawns and verdant gardens lifted into the sky. But these are not always the most appropriate habitats for rooftops, particularly as our climate changes. Dusty points instead to vegetated shingle, cockle-shell beaches, sand dunes and alluvial river gravels. These environments are exposed to wind and sun, with limited nutrients, much like many rooftops. Their vegetation may be sparse, but it can be remarkably well adapted to challenging conditions. A cockle-shell beach in Kent, he suggests, provides an excellent model for an extensive biodiverse roof in London. Nature does not always need to look lush to be thriving. A roof that appears brown in places may be supporting plants adapted to survive heat and drought, without constant irrigation. Designing for a changing climateAs heatwaves intensify and rainfall becomes increasingly unpredictable, our approach to urban planting must evolve. Landscapes that depend on regular watering to remain verdant may become less sustainable, while buildings and cities need better ways to manage intense rainfall. Dusty argues that we must start by understanding the conditions plants will face. Substrate depth, drainage, water retention, exposure and structural loading all matter. So does choosing plants that can survive the environment rather than those selected purely for their appearance. Some of the most resilient plants are small and understated. Others grow much taller than a designer might expect. Rather than forcing plants into rigid planting schemes, we should create the right conditions and allow nature to find its own balance. This requires a shift in thinking, from controlling nature to working with it, to make design more intelligent, informed by ecology and the realities of a changing climate. Biophilia is about our connection to lifeFor Dusty, biophilia is about how people connect with nature. He recalled meeting a man in Saudi Arabia who spoke emotionally about wanting to touch a palm tree in Riyadh. The palm represented an oasis, something meaningful in a predominantly desert landscape. The story illustrates why nature cannot be reduced to a single aesthetic. A desert can be beautiful. So can a windswept rooftop filled with wildflowers, or a patch of vegetation supporting insects and birds among concrete and glass. Biophilic design should respond to the nature of a place, its climate and its cultural context, rather than impose an idealised image of an English garden everywhere. A truly biophilic city is a city that makes room for life.Dusty encourages us to see a city as a network of habitats rather than a collection of isolated buildings. He compares the urban landscape to a mountain range, with different conditions at different heights. Higher roofs are exposed to more wind and sun and may suit dry, sparsely vegetated habitats. Lower levels can support different planting, including shrubs and trees. Balconies, courtyards, gardens and roadside verges all contribute to the wider picture. By creating a mosaic of habitats, we can support greater biodiversity while helping to cool cities, manage rainfall and improve building performance. There are opportunities to combine these benefits with renewable energy, too. Dusty describes projects exploring biodiverse roofs alongside solar panels, showing how energy generation and habitat creation can work together when designed from the outset. The challenge is to consider these benefits collectively, rather than maximising one at the expense of everything else. Designing ...
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    40 分
  • The Glasshouse - Helping women in custody grow

    The Glasshouse - Helping women in custody grow
    2026/10/07
    The Glasshouse is using horticulture, employment and a deep connection with nature to give women leaving prison something they often desperately need: dignity, confidence and the chance to build a different future. I am joined by co-founder Kali Hamerton-Stove alongside Ri, who came through the programme herself and now works on the senior team. A plant needs the right conditions, nourishment, care, light and time. Give it those things and given the opportunity, it grows. For Kali Hamerton-Stove, co-founder of The Glasshouse, this has become the foundation of an extraordinary social enterprise supporting women approaching the end of their prison sentences. The Glasshouse began with disused greenhouses at HMP East Sutton Park, an open women's prison in Kent. Kali's friend Melissa had visited the prison and was struck by how difficult life could be for women approaching release. Finding safe housing and employment was a huge challenge, while the stigma attached to having been in prison created another barrier to rebuilding a life. The unused greenhouses suggested a possibility. Could they become somewhere women could learn horticultural skills, gain work experience and begin to imagine life beyond custody? Kali, whose own background is rooted in horticulture and a lifelong relationship with plants, helped develop the idea into a business plan. The proposal was put to the Ministry of Justice in 2020, and within around six weeks the first cohort of women was working with the Glasshouse. The organisation has since developed into a commercial social enterprise, growing and nurturing houseplants and providing interior landscaping and plant maintenance for corporate clients. Women receive horticultural training and experience while still in custody, and the Glasshouse continues to support them after release with employment and the transition back into society. But the story of the Glasshouse is about much more than horticulture. It is about what happens when someone is given the conditions in which they can rediscover their own value. Ri knows this from experience. She joined the Glasshouse programme while she was in custody, initially coming out on day release to work either in the shop or at the growing facility. It was in the growing facility that she says she "found her feet". Her explanation of why is particularly revealing. "When women find themselves in custody," she explained, "I think what we lose is dignity, privacy and value." In the growing facility, something changed. She could work alone. She could care for plants that needed her. She could organise them, nurture them and watch them grow. The plants gave her a sense that she was needed, and therefore that she had value. "I could be alone there, so I could be brave enough to allow certain thoughts to come to the forefront that I might not be able to do whilst in custody," she said. And yet she was not really alone. "Although I was alone, I was surrounded by plants, so I had company." It is difficult to think of a more succinct description of the human value of nature connection. Ri went on to explain that the Glasshouse invests in the woman rather than simply assessing the skills she already possesses. The organisation does not assume that a woman's previous life tells you what she is capable of becoming. Through the work, Ri discovered transferable skills she had never recognised in herself. She gained a City & Guilds qualification in horticulture and eventually moved from participant to employee. She has now worked with the Glasshouse for more than two and a half years after release. Her journey is not presented as a neat transformation in which prison is followed by an uncomplicated new life. Ri is candid that coming out of custody was difficult. Having choices again was challenging. But she had something many women leaving prison do not: continuity, a workplace, people who understood what she had experienced, and the opportunity to develop her skills within an environment where she was already known. That experience now enables her to support other women coming through the programme. The most moving part of our conversation came when Ri described how her relationship with nature itself had changed. In custody, she explained, women can be almost completely removed from the natural world. Some may spend as much as 23 and a half hours a day in their cells. Exercise yards can be concrete spaces surrounded by razor wire. Some women may not even be able to see the sky from their rooms. Then comes The Glasshouse. Suddenly there are plants. Soil. Growing things. Trees. Green. "I see green differently," Ri told me. "I also see trees differently." Then she said something that was really touching, and it is something that underpins the principle flowing through biophilia: "I know that I'm held by it." Held by nature. She described knowing that on a difficult day, during a difficult hour, or even during five difficult minutes, nature holds her....
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    39 分
  • The Bath, the Bins and the Biology of Light

    The Bath, the Bins and the Biology of Light
    2026/09/28
    Our bodies evolved under changing natural light. So what happens when we spend our lives beneath a ceiling of artificial illumination? Dr Shelley James, known as the Light Lady, explains why light may be one of the most important — and overlooked — elements of biophilic design. We often talk about biophilic design in terms of plants, timber, water, natural materials and views of nature. But there is another fundamental element of the natural world that is so pervasive we can easily overlook it: light.Dr Shelley James, founder of Age of Light Innovations, lighting consultant, educator and advocate for healthier environments, believes we need to rethink our relationship with it. Her message is both simple and profound: light isn't merely something that allows us to see. It is information. Our bodies are constantly reading it, interpreting it and responding to it. “Every cell in your body is responding to light one way or another.”Light is one of the strongest signals our bodies receive about what time it is. Deep within the brain, the body's internal clock uses light and darkness to coordinate a remarkable sequence of physiological processes — from alertness and appetite to heart rate, hormones, blood chemistry, muscle function and sleep. Our internal clocks are not perfectly 24 hours. Left without environmental cues, they tend to drift. Natural daylight — changing in intensity, colour and spectrum from dawn through midday to dusk — continually resets that internal timing system.This is where biophilic design has an extraordinary opportunity. We evolved with changing lightNatural light is not static. Morning light is different from midday light, which is different again from the low, warm light of evening. Yet much of the built environment gives us something remarkably unlike this: a uniform ceiling of artificial light that may remain essentially unchanged from morning until night. And the consequences go far beyond aesthetics. Shelley explains that the eye is effectively an extension of the brain, and that processing visual information is energetically expensive. The visual system is constantly working out what something is, where it is, whether it matters and whether we need to respond.There is also another pathway through the eye, involving specialised cells containing the light-sensitive protein melanopsin. These cells are particularly responsive to blue wavelengths associated with the sky and help regulate the body's non-visual responses to light — including the circadian system, mood, attention and pupil response.In other words, we don't simply see light. Our bodies use it to understand the world around us. Think beyond brightnessFor designers, this means that specifying light cannot simply be a question of achieving the required number of lux. Shelley argues for the right quality of light, in the right place, for the right person, at the right time.That means thinking about daylight first: how can it be brought deeper into a building, reflected from surfaces or borrowed from adjacent spaces? It means considering the quality of artificial light too — including its colour rendering, spectrum, flicker and distribution. Colour temperature is measured in Kelvin. A higher Kelvin value produces a cooler-looking light: around 6,500K appears much closer to a cool daylight sky, while 2,700K is warm and associated more closely with evening.But Shelley makes an important distinction: colour temperature is not the same as colour rendering. A 6,500K 'daylight' lamp can still render colours poorly. High-quality light should reproduce the spectrum of daylight as closely as possible, allowing materials, skin tones and colours to appear naturally.This matters particularly in healthcare, where poor-quality light can make people appear unnaturally green or grey, but it matters everywhere. If our environments are telling our brains that something is wrong or unfamiliar, we are asking them to work harder than necessary. Light can help the body put the bins outPerhaps Shelley's most memorable analogy is the idea of the body needing to “take the bins out.”Our bodies accumulate biological by-products throughout the day. Sleep is not simply switching off: it is a period of restoration and maintenance. Adenosine builds up with activity, creating what Shelley describes as a kind of pressure for sleep, while melatonin helps prepare the body for rest. Think of it as a bath filling throughout the day. As we sleep, the plug is gradually pulled and the level drops. By the early hours of the morning, the system is particularly vulnerable to being disturbed. But if we repeatedly override those signals — staying stimulated, working late, eating at inappropriate times or exposing ourselves to the wrong light at the wrong time — the processes that should happen during rest can become disrupted. “Nature it kind of goes, hmm, what can I do here? And it just grows gradually and it tries ...
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    40 分
  • Nature Preserved - The Ultimate Guide to Preserved Plants

    Nature Preserved - The Ultimate Guide to Preserved Plants
    2026/09/23
    This week, the Journal of Biophilic Design is excited to announce the launch of our latest monograph, Nature Preserved: The Definitive Guide to Preserved Plants, written by Edgardo Rossi, known in the industry as The Green Man. The book takes a close look at preserved plants not simply as beautiful botanical material, but as a serious medium within interior and biophilic design. For Edgardo, the starting point is: go to the space before choosing the plants. His experience has taught him that the material is rarely the real problem. The problem is often the project. A beautiful render can make almost anything look possible, but a designer needs to understand what the building is actually asking of the vegetation. Where does the sunlight fall? Where are the heat zones? What is the humidity doing? Where are the air-conditioning vents? Where will people touch, brush past or knock into the installation? How will the space behave throughout the year? “You cannot use any plant in any space,” Edgardo explains. His own experience—including a challenging hotel project in Milan—taught him that plant selection has to respond to conditions rather than hope that the material will somehow adapt.This is also why he is careful not to position preserved plants as a replacement for living plants. If a space can genuinely support living vegetation, with the light, water, care and ownership model required to keep it healthy, then living plants should be used. The problem begins when living plants are forced into environments that cannot sustain them without constant intervention. Edgardo calls this “anti-forcing” rather than anti-living plants. Preserved plants have a particular role: bringing real botanical material into spaces where living vegetation would become difficult, wasteful or operationally burdensome. Deep interiors, difficult-access areas, ceilings, columns and other challenging locations can sometimes benefit from this approach. And, importantly, preserved plants can coexist with living plants within the same project.But perhaps the most important part of Edgardo’s work lies behind the greenery. The Green Lock System begins where plant preservation ends. Preserved botanical material arrives as an ingredient; the designer still has to build something with it. Edgardo’s approach considers the complete assembly: preserved plants, a bio-based carrier and bio-based adhesive where required. His system uses expanded cork as the carrier, with the botanical material mechanically inserted and locked into the structure rather than simply being hidden behind a petrochemical-based substrate. For Edgardo, this is about more than sustainability. It is about material honesty. “If the greenery is real and behind there is a plastic carrier,” he argues, “there is no coherence.” The carrier becomes part of the material claim, part of the indoor environment and part of the eventual end-of-life story. Because the assembly can be taken apart, elements can potentially be refreshed, reused or repurposed rather than simply discarded. That thinking extends to human health. Preserved plants are not air-cleaning machines, and Edgardo is careful not to make claims they cannot support. Their value is their real botanical presence: texture, materiality, experience and a connection to nature within the spaces where people spend so much of their lives. Those spaces include schools, offices, hospitals and retirement homes—places where designers are making decisions that affect many people every day.This is ultimately what Nature Preserved sets out to do. It brings greater clarity to a category that Edgardo believes is still widely misunderstood, challenging exaggerated claims while giving designers, specifiers, growers and manufacturers a shared language for discussing preserved plants more professionally. And perhaps his most memorable vision comes at the end of our conversation. Asked what he would do with a magic brush of biophilia, Edgardo says he would skip the lobbies—the places that are already photographed—and take nature to the people who rarely get to experience it: the child in an urban school, the resident of a retirement home, the worker on a floor where daylight barely reaches. Not an image of nature. Not plastic. Real vegetation. Nature Preserved: The Definitive Guide to Preserved Plants is available as a free monograph from the Journal of Biophilic Design. Download your copy here: https://journalofbiophilicdesign.com/shop/nature-preserved-the-definitive-guide-to-preserved-plants-monograph-2Find out more about the free Monographs we publish : https://journalofbiophilicdesign.com/biophilic-design-monographs What is Biophilic Design? https://journalofbiophilicdesign.com/what-is-biophilic-design Want a free copy of the Journal? Visit: https://journalofbiophilicdesign.com/free-materials-issue Credits: with thanks to George Harvey Audio Production for the calming biophilic ...
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    50 分
  • Nature, Nervous Systems and the Places that help us heal

    Nature, Nervous Systems and the Places that help us heal
    2026/09/21
    What happens when we step away from the noise of everyday life and enter a space designed to help us restore and reconnect? For holistic wellbeing expert Ali Oetjen, the answer begins with something fundamental: safety. Ali is founder of Ali Wellness in Australia and an internationally recognised holistic wellbeing expert. Through meditation, breathwork, retreats and immersive experiences, she helps people reconnect with themselves, each other and the natural world. Her work explores personal transformation, nervous-system regulation and the relationship between human wellbeing and the environments we inhabit. Ali creates retreats and workshops designed to help people step out of their habitual routines and reconnect with themselves. She describes what happens when people leave behind the familiar cues and patterns of everyday life and enter an environment consciously designed for restoration. “They come into a new space and this space is usually designed for safety, for regulation, for healing, for their optimum health,” she explains. Once those familiar environmental cues are removed, people can begin to make more conscious choices, question old habits and, importantly, reconnect with what they are feeling within themselves. And nature is central to that process: “Nature is so healing and it really resonates safety within us,” she says. We are not separate from nature, she argues; our relationship with it is fundamental to how we experience the world. That connection doesn't necessarily require an elaborate retreat or a journey into the wilderness. Looking up at the sky, hearing birdsong, feeling natural materials beneath our hands, noticing the smell of trees or simply walking outdoors can all become sensory reminders of connection. “Simple things can even regulate our nervous system,” Ali says. Looking up at the sky, she suggests, can send signals to the nervous system associated with the parasympathetic, restorative state. Natural sounds, fresh air and the sensory qualities of the outdoors can similarly contribute to a feeling of safety and calm. This has important implications for the spaces we design. Light, temperature, air quality, acoustics, materials, smell and even silence are not merely aesthetic considerations. They form the sensory environment in which our bodies and minds operate. Ali points to natural light as particularly important, both for circadian rhythms and mood, while comfortable temperatures and fresh, clean air can help create an environment in which people can relax rather than remain on alert.“It’s all a sensory experience,” she says. Natural wood, the smell of eucalyptus, essential oils, fresh air and the textures of natural materials can all provide cues that remind us of something deeply familiar. “It’s all that connection. That keeps reminding us of home.”That word — home — feels significant. The most restorative environments are those that allow our bodies to recognise something familiar, safe and deeply human. The relationship between nature and wellbeing is also, for Ali, much more than a question of what nature can do for us. It is reciprocal. When she walks among trees, she doesn't think only about what she might receive from the natural world. She thinks about what she can give back. She describes walking among the trees on the Sunshine Coast, greeting them and noticing the different environments around her. Nature becomes a relationship rather than a resource — something to engage with, listen to and care for. Nature, she believes, can also act as a mirror for our own lives: “When we see the chaos and the beauty expressed in nature, we can also see that within ourselves,” she says. Trees and landscapes remind us that growth isn't always linear. Trees shed their leaves. Seasons change. Landscapes transform. There are periods of dormancy, darkness and renewal. Nature offers a different rhythm from the constant pressure to perform, produce and remain switched on. This is particularly important in our lives increasingly dominated by screens, traffic, artificial light and constant stimulation. Ali's vision of the ultimate wellbeing retreat captures this philosophy perfectly: huge trees, sleeping among the canopy, bamboo and natural materials, flowing water, foraging, swimming, natural sounds and waking with the sunrise. Even the exercise would involve giving something back to the local environment and community. It is an almost entirely sensory experience — and a reminder that wellbeing isn't something that happens only in the mind. This is what biophilic design can do. It helps us create places that help us remember what it feels like to be human, and ultimately, remember the connection we have with the natural world: “We are not separate, we are nature.” International Design ConversationsThese ideas will form part of a wider conversation at the upcoming International Design Conversations, convened by ...
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    1分未満
  • Designing for How We Feel - Robert Hopkins on Biophilic Architecture

    Designing for How We Feel - Robert Hopkins on Biophilic Architecture
    2026/09/09
    What happens when we stop designing buildings only for what they do, and start designing them for how they make us feel?For architect and sustainability leader Robert Hopkins, it is a question that has shaped more than 25 years of practice. From the Spine for the Royal College of Physicians to the extraordinary forest at the heart of the Thrive Health and Wellbeing Centre in Salford, Robert’s work brings together sustainability, health, nature and people in ways that feel both deeply considered and surprisingly intuitive.His journey began at university, when a group of students watched the Bullring shopping centre in Birmingham being demolished to make way for another shopping centre and thought: “This is absolutely potty.” They wondered whether there was another way, and set up their own sustainability studio, exploring the reuse of buildings and the environmental issues that mattered to them.That instinct to question the obvious has stayed with him. Initially focused heavily on building performance, Robert says that around ten years ago he began to refocus his efforts on a different question: how do people actually feel when they are in these really interesting buildings?That shift towards people and health has become central to his understanding of biophilic design.“For me, biophilia was actually about accessibility,” he explains. Not whether people can physically get into and around a building, but whether they can access it neurologically: whether they can feel comfortable, feel themselves and feel happy in the space. “It was actually just about taking a step back and thinking what really makes people feel really good somewhere.”The Spine, in Liverpool, became an extraordinary opportunity to put that thinking into practice. The building was developed with the Royal College of Physicians, a client that challenged the design team to provide evidence for the decisions they were making. Robert introduced the WELL Standard, but the process quickly became something much deeper than collecting accreditation points.Because the College’s own members and fellows had authored much of the medical research underpinning the standard, Robert and his team were able to speak directly to the people behind the research — and challenge it.Although both The Spine and Daphne Steele have both achieved WELL platinum, “we weren't actually that bothered about the score that we got at all,” he said. Instead at each stage, his team kept asking why it mattered to people.That thinking filtered down into thousands of decisions. Materials is something that we in Biophilic Design focus on. On the Spine, they set rule: “If you could touch it, it's real.” Materials were chosen for their authenticity, biophilic quality and longevity, recognising that spending a little more at the outset could create an interior that would remain good for decades.Other rules they worked to was that nobody would sit more than seven metres from a window and a view. Light was carefully considered, including a façade designed to create the effect of dappled light associated with Japanese forest bathing. Plants were selected for their ability to help remove toxins from the atmosphere based on research from NASA. Air filtration, food, lighting and even the possibility of birdsong were considered as part of the wider experience.The result is a building where, Robert observes, people behave differently. “Everyone's really nice to one another. And everyone talks to one another.” That matters. This is evidence that Biophilic Design can change behaviour.The same principle runs through Thrive, the University of Salford’s Health and Wellbeing Centre, where Robert and his team approached trauma-informed design from the very beginning. The brief started with a blank sheet of paper and a request to create an environment that encourages and supports trauma-informed care.The team explored the research and broke the idea down into practical principles, beginning with a felt sense of safety. That influenced everything from how people arrive at the building to the routes they can take through it.Putting people firstRather than automatically placing people into a large, dramatic entrance space, Thrive offers alternative routes. There are different kinds of waiting spaces, different acoustics and different levels of enclosure. Choice and empowerment become part of the architecture.In consultation rooms, patients can adjust the lighting themselves. They can even choose to move to an outdoor terrace during a consultation. These are small interventions, but Robert is interested in what they do psychologically. The point is not to tick a WELL requirement for adjustable lighting but is to give someone control.“It’s not for me to say what makes you feel comfortable,” he says. “All I have to do is have an adjustable light.”That empathy extends beyond individual buildings. When master planning around the Daphne Steele Building in ...
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