The dead of winter sure isn’t the best time for taking care of plants; just ask me after I spent almost twenty grand on a moss wall. Absolutely murdered it. Just thinking about it makes me cringe.
That was for a boutique law firm that is located in the Pearl District. You know the type: those delicate, glassy-eyed places with seasonally rotating ‘art’ and concrete floors branded, ‘we’re creative lawyers, not like those stuffy downtown firms.’ They recently upgraded their setup and added an office for branding and marketing. When I say that, I mean it’s for PR – it used to be backroom jobs. Private equity clients use those bored lawyers to fire off text messages and staring blankly at walls; then they called in that amazing Elaine, founding partner, who steered the ship bringing in clients, building something amazing over there. She hired all her friends and then saw my moss pieces and reached out, “bro, I need some people to actually enjoy sitting in the lobby.”
“Bring some life,” or whatever; verbatim, and she pulled the photograph straight out of my I-Pad.
“Moss walls can really tie a place together,” she said. “That vibrant green will look stunning against our brick wall.”
I mean it would Das is literally in May. It was January in Portland. The air conditioning system’s gonna do 120+ all day, bone dry heating systems with constant gale like winds blazing.
The shrub space required massive view windows so the Portland spring rains came having floods of light pouring into the room. You know the glow, right? When it’s absolutely pouring but somehow still lights? And yes, restaurant. Chicago was stuffed with underwater-city former water stations and hallowed out rainforest with windows missing outside. The law firm was in an older building with the heating unit and caldron synthesized air turned from November functioning like convert steam The Sahara all the way through March.
But think I had given it any consideration? Nope. My only focus was the commission and the opportunity to showcase my work in one of the region’s newest legal firms. I acquired the preserved moss from the best supplier I could find — three types with different heights and textures to create this flowing green landscape for their entrance wall. I truly believe it was among my finest creations. The installation took 2 full days, and when I completed it, I was, even stunned at the extent to which it transformed the area.
Elaine and her partners were more than content, and I, for one, did receive payment.
Winter’s extreme onset.
Three weeks later, I received an extremely worried call from their office manager, Miguel.
“The wall is… changing,” he started, clearly struggling to uphold his decorum.
“Changing how?” I questioned, but the answer already seemed self-evident. Some answer to that question was already latent in my head, and I knew that anxious feeling bubbling up within me was indeed real.
“It’s changing into a darker hue. And pieces are coming off. And there is a… scent.”
I rushed over there only to find utter destruction. The once bright wall of moss was now a sad brown shattered patch dry disaster. Some parts had completely dried and were crumbling into pieces which were sadly dropping onto their highly overpriced furnishings for the reception area. Other patches had somehow gone putrid even moldy and devoid of moisture – it was captured in an overheated space because someone had tried to spray it with water.
The smell itself was… unique. It resembled rot, disappointment and elements of my career shattering into pieces.
“Disappointment,” she added.
I remained there with my mouth wide agape while Elaine strolled in with an awaiting client. Professional smile to horror in half a second. The client actually flinched and took a step back.
“What… happened?” Elaine asked in a whisper while seating the client in a conference room, likely apologizing in advance for their “overlapping installation.”
Honestly, I completely ignored any seasonal aspects. Like the preserved moss simile, winter’s bone-dry air would turn it into a parched desert. Or the way the heating system would create hot, dry zones right next to the ceiling where the installation’s top interfaces are. Or how spring and winter both have dramatically different conditions even when they are a city apart.
Real installations _breathe_ like organisms rather than ones suffocated by time. Buildings are not mere dead objects; they evolve throughout the seasons.
“I’ll fix it,” I assured her, even though I had no idea how I was going to do that. “This is completely my fault.”
In my professional career, nothing has scarred my reputation like the self-inflicted disaster of biophilic design; it cost nearly $7,000 on the spot to rectify. The most crucial lesson resonates clear off the incredible expense: the nature is anything _but_ static, and so are our environments amid illusions of stasis.
After that event, I became fixated on how to track the seasonal variations of an interior space. I began tracking the light quality, temperature, and even humidity levels—everything that could possibly affect the behavior of natural elements in a built environment. I found out that even the most climate-controlled structures have some seasonal fluctuations that greatly affect how biophilic elements perform and feel.
That obsession completely shifted my design approach, and in a positive way.
Rather than trying to battle the season changes, I figured out how to design environments that work with seasonal variations—environments that embrace nature’s shifting flow instead of resisting it.
As an example, look at my home. I have completely remodeled it to allow it to flow with the seasons. In winter, I bring in more textural elements like chunky-cast wool throws, sheepskin rugs, and velvet pillows in deep green and burgundy to foster the sense of warmth and coziness we long for during the dark months. The plant selection shifts too, with greater emphasis on sculptural plants such as snake plants and ZZ plants that flourish in drier winter air and lower light levels.
I switch out my wardrobe for lighter, more open arrangements, as well as actively blooming peace lilies and orchids during spring. The color scheme is also updated from the rich, deep colors to fresh greens and soft pastels.
However, it is not only about the aesthetics. In the previous month over coffee, my friend Nora who specializes in environmental psychology, shared with me how these changes truly impact the spaces we occupy physically and emotionally.
“Humans evolved with seasonal rhythms,” she stated. “Our ancestors did not experience the same environment year round. They migrated, adapted, or simply changed their surroundings with the seasons. If the world outside changes, while the indoor environment stays the same, there is bound to be subtle cognitive dissonance.”
That discussion was a light bulb moment for me. I noticed how clients enjoyed spaces that changed with the seasons, but this shift may be rooted in a deeper need for variety.
Despite the failure of my moss wall, I managed to positively bond with Elaine and her firm. For them, I created a whole new installation, unlike anything they had. It was a modular living wall system with removable pods that could be easily switched out seasonally. In winter, we use more drought-tolerant plants and add preserved elements like birch branches that don’t need humid conditions. We then, in spring and summer, rotate in more lush, moisture-loving species.
They now have a quarterly maintenance contract where we do not only maintain the care of the plants, but actively change the installation to reflect seasonal shifts. It costs more than a static installation would have, but, as Elaine says, it is worth every penny because it allows the space to feel fresh and alive with year-round dynamism.
Every time they visit, she explains, “Clients comment on it. ‘What’s going to be showcased next?’ they ask, as if it’s an art installation featuring not just wall art, but entire multidisciplinary cycles. We’ve had people schedule winter meetings in January specifically to view the wall.”
From the selection of plants to the planting of flowers, spring and autumn are equally catered to. Seasonality is not limited to plants; light is another factor which drastically changes internally through artificial means. I monitored light levels at home for a year and was shocked by the seasonal variation in light exposure – even in rooms without windows.
After an entire year. Incorporating seasonal lighting strategies into my designs came naturally for me. In winter, the lower inbound solar angle and scant natural light available prompt me to increase the quantity of bolstered light sources – table and floor lamps, and even candles. The same concept applies to placement: furniture must mimic sunlight direction and height. Warm amber tones are favored in winter while cool bright rays take the lead come summer.
My client Sarah has seasonal affective disorder, and for her, *a home with the right automation technology can do wonders to one’s mental health*. “Not only am I able to stay indoors in a comfortable environment, but the home gives me a feeling of connection with the world outside. The automated lighting system shifts throughout the day, making me feel more in tune with nature,” she says. *The lighting we installed is customized to match the rhythm of nature, which allows me to feel alive, even in the dreary, dark winters in Portland.*
The seasonal features materials are a profound step forward. I remember the first time I used the same materials all year round, and now it looks laughable. Think about wood. In the colder months, exposed wood does wonders for the visual appeal by warming up an area instantly. However, the same surfaces can feel *overbearing or heavy during the summer months.*
Last year, I worked on the fantastic beach house in Cannon Beach where we actually designed two different “material scenes.” In winter, they showcase more wood and textured ceramics alongside woven elements. In summer, they shift to glass and stone, which are more reflective and cooler to the touch, creating a more serene sensory experience. It’s not a full renovation—more of a strategic redesign using retro-element changes bi-annually.
As seasonal elements go, colors are the most obvious, but I’ve learned to go beyond “add autumn-themed pillows” to define the season. The psychology of seasonal colors is intriguing. Blues and greens that are refreshing in summertime actually lower perceived temperature during winter, making people feel colder than they actually are. In contrast, those warm hues of oranges and reds that are cozy in winter can make spaces feel uncomfortably hot in summer.
To better cater to my clients, I have begun creating seasonal color capsules—sets of textiles, accessories, and even artwork designed to be rotated these changes with the seasons. The investment may seem steep at first, but it ensures that the space remains engaging and versatile throughout the year.
Marcus, my client, is a bit of a minimalist and hated the thought of “seasonal decor” (his wording, complete with a dramatic eye roll). However, he became a believer after we made his first seasonal color capsule.
“But it’s so subtle—just a shift in the color temperature that makes the space feel right for the season. I actually look forward to making the switch each quarter,” he says.
In my world, everything has a season, even scent. After doing some reading on how our preferences for scent change with the seasons, I must say I became slightly obsessed with seasonal scent design. For instance, in winter, we are attracted to warmer scents like amber, vanilla and spices. Summer, on the other hand, has us prefer lighter, fresh smelling, citrus and herbs.
They’ve measured the difference in patient anxiety levels. For a dental office I designed in Lake Oswego, the difference in patient anxiety levels has been measurable—they tracked it as part of their patient intake and have seen a 22% drop in reported anxiety since implementing the full sensory seasonal program that includes scent, light, and biophilic elements.
Definitely, there are difficulties with this approach. One of the most obvious ones is the budget—designing for multiple seasons is essentially multipurpose design for the same space. Regardless, I’ve found ways to make it more attainable by emphasizing specific areas and features that provide the most value during a given season.
Where do you put items that are not in use off-season? Storage is another challenge. I personally went on to encapsulate an awkward staircase closet into labeled seasonal storage, where bags for textiles and sturdier boxes for delicate items are kept under vacuum seal. For every other project, I keep these repetitious seasonal containers hidden.
Ongoing Biophilic design is perhaps the largest restraint. Unlike traditional static design approaches, seasonal biophilic design requires constant attention, active adjustments, and maintenance. For clients that are busy, I developed what I refer to as ‘seasonal reset services,’ where my team comes quarterly to perform all adjustments. This has surprisingly ended up being one of the more profitable facets of my business.
But these challenges are far surpassed by the benefits. Spaces that shift with the seasons improve our connection to the world and in turn feel more alive. They keep our senses engaged in ways that static environments simply can’t provide. Most importantly, they foster our intrinsic biological necessity for change and variety.
The most surprising perk I have discovered is how every season offers moments of awareness. Encountering such shifts in nature instils a sense of being, unlike the world we live in where everything is carpeted and feels the same in January and July. Adjusting our surroundings to accommodate the new seasons makes us more aware and present in the world.
My seasonal redesign work with a local assisted living facility was an eye-opening experience. Participants and their relatives became deeply intersubjectively engaged, and staff noted how residents became much more responsive with the seasonal changes. At the cedar scent in Christmas, the specific quality of spring light, or the weight of a wool blanket in winter, many began recalling and sharing memories that some of the seasonal cues evoked.
“The activities director said seasonal changes tend to provide a temporal anchor, if you will. For people with memory problems, these sensory memory aids seem to assist in locating them both spatially and temporally.”
That moss wall disaster was the best thing that could have happened to my practice. I now understand that biophilic design is not about achieving flawless, polished natural features within buildings. It is about recognizing the ever-changing reality of nature.
Nature is not static, and it does not remain the same from January to July. It grows and dies back, adapts, and changes color, texture, and smell. If our biophilic designs incorporate these changes, they also incorporate the fundamental quality of engagement understood to be healing in nature—something that, without this fundamental quality, is stripped of its essence.
So if you are thinking of using biophilic design in your space, do not strive for that ideal Instagram shot and instead, tell your designer what the living wall will look like in harsh dry winter months, and how the perfect houseplants will be arranged as the light changes with the seasons, or how inviting these materials will feel year-round.
Even better, welcome and celebrate the changes instead of fighting against them. Plan for them. Design an area that flows along with the seasons.
Personally, I retain a small portion of that unsuccessful moss wall in my office—a brown little crispy note that serves as a reminder of the consequences inflicted when nature is overly ‘controlled’, even the delicate attempt to integrate it within a space needs to surrender to the prevails of the outside world . It’s not only a reminder of my failure. It further reminds me about nature and nurture- design can become entrapped if it forgets that the beautiful world it attempts to bottle is only celebrating the elusive attempt – chaos, and the symphony of change is the essence that defines it..
As I said, reminds me the elegant philosophy only few get to brainstorm about ”that biophilic design doesn’t encapsulate nature, but moves with it through every seasonal transformation” .
And yes, every January I review my burning ongoing projects a little more harshly because of the moldering moss’s unmistakable aged scent and Elaine’s unforgettable expression . Some lessons only require a single occasion to be truly valuable.
