Tag: naturism

The aletheic garden part 2. The sensory palette

In this post, I examine the sensory dimensions of aletheic garden design, advocating for an holistic approach that engages sight, touch, scent, sound, and light. I discuss the psychological benefits of nudity and naturism in natural settings, emphasising the importance of creating immersive environments that foster emotional connections and wellbeing through careful design considerations.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of nudity and naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

Designing a garden for all of the senses

Most garden design is, at its core, visual. We talk about colour schemes, structural planting, focal points, and seasonal interest – all of which are perceived primarily through the eyes. This is understandable. Vision is our primary sense, and a garden that looks good is easy to understand and relate to. It is also easy to sell, photograph, and describe.

But an aletheic garden is designed for the whole body, and that requires thinking about all of our the senses – maybe in a different order of priority.

The skin is in constant conversation with the garden environment in a way that the eyes are not. As our largest sense organ, it registers air temperature and humidity, the movement of a breeze, the warmth of a surface that has been sitting in the sun, the coolness of shade, the texture of a path underfoot, the brush of foliage against an arm or leg. These inputs arrive continuously and often below the level of conscious awareness. They accumulate into what we experience as comfort (or discomfort) or that particular quality of ease that a good outdoor space can produce. That might be difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t felt it.

When the body is unclothed, this conversation becomes significantly richer.

Planting for touch and feel

Research by Chevalier et al. (2012), published in the Journal of Environmental and Public Health, found measurable physiological effects – including reduced cortisol and improved sleep markers – from direct skin contact with the ground, a practice the researchers termed earthing or grounding. The proposed mechanism involves the transfer of electrons from the earth’s surface through the skin. This research remains an area of active investigation and is not fully developed, so the findings should be treated with some caution.

What is harder to dispute is the lived experience itself: bare feet on grass, warm stone, or cool earth seem to draw us into a quality of presence and attention that is simply lost when we put our shoes back on.

Designing for the skin means thinking carefully about surfaces – not just their appearance, but their thermal properties, their texture, and the way they change across the day and the season. A stone terrace that feels cold and unwelcoming at nine in the morning can be the most pleasurable surface in the garden by mid-afternoon. Gravel paths offer a different quality of feedback underfoot than close-mown grass or bark mulch. Wooden decking warms quickly and retains heat well. Each of these is a design choice with sensory consequences that go well beyond the visual.

Foliage texture matters too. A garden that offers only smooth, waxy leaves misses the opportunity to engage touch more actively. The softness of Stachys byzantina (lamb’s ears), the papery roughness of ornamental grasses, the surprising smoothness of a large Hosta leaf, the gentle resistance of rosemary pushed through the fingers – these are tactile experiences that reward a garden designed with physical engagement in mind.

Planting for scent

If texture is the sense that garden design most consistently neglects, scent is the one it most consistently underestimates. We include fragrant plants because they are pleasant. Think of a wisteria over a doorway, a lavender path edge, sweet peas climbing a bamboo cane structure or a rose on a sunny wall. However, we rarely think systematically about scent as a design medium in its own right, with its own logic of placement, timing, and intensity.

Photo by Petr Ganaj on Pexels.com

Scent deserves more serious attention than this, for a straightforward biological reason: of all our senses, our sense of smell has the most direct pathway to the limbic system – the part of the brain responsible for emotion and memory. It is probably the sense that evolved first in living organisms as a way of reacting to the presence of chemicals in a primordial environment.

An odour can trigger an emotional response, or retrieve a memory, faster and more completely than any visual stimulus. Sometimes, you can react to a smell before you are even consciously aware that it is there. This is not incidental to the aletheic garden – it is central to it. A space that engages the olfactory sense is a space that reaches parts of the nervous system that sight and sound cannot easily access.

The research supports this. A comprehensive literature review by Hedigan et al , in Complementary Therapies in Clinical Practice, (2023) demonstrated that exposure to a wide variety of essential oils could have beneficial effects on stress and anxiety. More broadly, the well-established research on phytoncides – the volatile organic compounds emitted by trees and plants, particularly conifers – shows that simply breathing forest air has measurable immune benefits. Li et al. (2009), in the International Journal of Immunopathology and Pharmacology, found significant increases in natural killer cell activity following exposure to phytoncide-rich forest environments. Qing Li’s subsequent book Shinrin-Yoku: The Art and Science of Forest Bathing (2018) brings this research together in an accessible form and makes a compelling case for the health benefits of plant-scented air that goes well beyond simple pleasure.

For the garden designer, the practical implications are significant. Scent is not evenly distributed – it pools in still air, concentrates in enclosed spaces, and travels on warm breezes. It is affected by changes in air pressure and humidity, and even the time of day – some plants release odours to attract pollinators that may only be active at particular times of the day.

An enclosed garden, particularly one with a south-facing aspect that warms quickly on a spring or summer morning, will concentrate scent in a way that an open, exposed garden cannot. This is another reason why enclosure is foundational: it creates the conditions in which scent can accumulate and become genuinely immersive rather than merely incidental.

Planting for scent across the season requires some deliberate planning. In early spring, Sarcococca (sweet box) and Daphne offer intense, sweet fragrance at a time when little else is contributing. Through late spring and summer, roses, Philadelphus, jasmine, and lavender carry the main weight. Into autumn, the sweet, slightly smoky scent of fallen leaves.

Damp soil is itself worth designing for – a cleared path through a planted area after rain can be as olfactorily rich as any flowering plant.

And don’t forget petrichor – that characteristic smell from the ground that appears after a rain shower, especially in summer, released by Streptomyces bacteria living in the soil.

A patch of wet soil after a rain shower

A note on placement: the most reliable way to ensure a scented plant is noticed is to put it where people will brush against it, sit close to it, or pass through it. A lavender path edge that catches the leg as you walk past is worth more, in olfactory terms, than a beautifully fragrant rose on the other side of the garden.

Sound and the acoustic garden

We rarely think of a garden as having an acoustic design, but every garden has one – it is simply a question of whether it has been considered or not. An undesigned acoustic garden is often dominated by the sounds we most want to escape: traffic, neighbours, machinery, the low background hum of urban life. A well-designed one replaces or masks these with something more restorative.

The evidence for the stress-reducing effect of natural sounds is robust. Alvarsson, Wiens, and Nilsson (2010), in the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, showed that recovery from physiological stress was significantly faster when participants were exposed to natural sounds – particularly water – than when they were in urban noise environments. Ratcliffe, Gatersleben, and Sowden (2013), writing in Landscape and Urban Planning, found that birdsong was consistently associated with perceived safety and psychological restoration, with participants linking it specifically to a sense of distance from threat and the presence of a benign, living environment.

The aletheic garden should be designed to maximise these sounds and minimise the intrusive ones.

Sounds of water

Water is the most versatile acoustic tool available to the garden designer. Moving water – a simple rill, a small cascade, a millstone fountain – produces a non-rhythmic, variable sound that engages the nervous system without demanding conscious attention. The Terrapin Bright Green report on biophilic design patterns identifies this quality of non-rhythmic sensory stimuli as one of the most reliably restorative elements in any designed environment, natural or constructed.

Photo by Yasir Gürbüz on Pexels.com

A water feature does not need to be large or expensive to be effective. What matters is that the water moves, and that the sound it produces is audible from the areas of the garden where you most want to rest or spend time.

The rustle of leaves in a breeze

Planting also contributes significantly to the acoustic environment.

Ornamental grasses, such as Miscanthus, Calamagrostis and Stipa, produce a dry, whispering sound in even a light breeze that is immediately evocative of open grassland and remarkably effective at masking harder urban sounds.

Bamboo, used carefully and with its invasive tendencies properly managed, produces a more percussive, hollow sound that can feel distinctly immersive.

Deciduous trees with large, loose canopies create a shifting, layered rustling that changes in quality with the wind and the season.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Birds and bees

Birdsong is perhaps the most desirable acoustic element of all, and the most difficult to design for directly – you cannot instruct a blackbird where to sing. What you can do is create the conditions that attract birds. consider berry-bearing shrubs, trees for nesting and roosting, a reliable water source, and an absence of disturbance. A garden that supports bird life will, in time, reward that investment with an acoustic richness that no water feature or wind-responsive planting can fully replicate.

Don’t forget insect life either. The sounds of buzzing bees as they gather nectar or the chirp of grasshoppers all add to the acoustic palette. If you are lucky, and have a pond, you might also hear the occasional croak of a frog.

Light, shadow, and the time of day

A garden is not a static object. It is a time-based experience, and perhaps the most significant dimension along which it changes – more than season, more than weather – is the quality of light across the hours of the day.

Many gardens are designed for a notional peak moment, for instance, a sunny afternoon in midsummer. This is understandable, but it misses most of what a garden can actually offer. The light of a March morning, low and directional, casting long shadows across a frosty lawn, is a completely different sensory experience from the flat, generous light of a July midday. The golden hour before sunset in September – warm and deeply flattering to every surface it touches – is different again. An aletheic garden should be designed to be used across these different qualities of light, not just in the one moment when it looks its best.

The science behind our response to light quality is relevant here. As I explored in an earlier post on light and health, the spectral quality of natural light shifts continuously across the day – bluer and more stimulating when the sun is high, warmer and more red-shifted at the beginning and end of the day. These shifts are not merely aesthetic; they regulate circadian rhythms, influence cortisol and melatonin production, and have measurable effects on mood and alertness.

Roger Ulrich’s foundational 1984 study in Science, which found that hospital patients with views of nature recovered faster than those facing a wall, was among the first to suggest that the quality of our visual environment has direct physiological consequences – a finding that has been substantially extended and refined in the decades since.

For the aletheic garden, this suggests that orientation matters enormously. A space designed for early morning use – for the particular quality of stillness and low light that makes a garden feel private and uncrowded regardless of what lies beyond its boundaries – needs a different aspect from one designed for evening relaxation. East-facing spaces catch the morning sun and fall into gentle shade by early afternoon. South-west facing areas hold the evening light longest. Understanding how the sun moves through your specific space across the day, and across the season, is the foundation of designing for light rather than merely accepting it.

Shadow is the other half of this, and it is undervalued in garden design to roughly the same degree that light is overvalued. Dappled shade – the shifting, variable shadow cast by a tree canopy moving in a light breeze – is one of the most consistently restorative visual experiences the garden can offer. It is non-rhythmic, endlessly variable, and engages the visual system in a way that neither full sun nor deep shade can match.

Kaplan and Kaplan’s Attention Restoration Theory identifies exactly this quality of soft fascination – stimuli that engage attention gently and without demand – as the mechanism by which natural environments allow the directed attention system to recover from fatigue.

A patch of dappled shade on a warm afternoon is, in this sense, not a luxury but a neurological resource.

Practically, dappled shade is created by canopy – trees with open, airy crowns rather than dense, solid ones. Birch and willow species are particularly good for this: their small leaves and open habit create a fine, moving shade that is qualitatively different from the heavier shade of a sycamore or a horse chestnut. Acacia and false acacia (Robinia pseudoacacia ‘Frisia’), multi-stemmed Amelanchier, and the lighter Sorbus species all perform well in this role in gardens.

The goal is not to reduce light but to animate it – to turn a static, uniform brightness into something variable, alive, and endlessly interesting to be beneath.

The transition between inside and out

The threshold between interior and garden is one of the most consequential design decisions in the whole project of creating an aletheic space, and it is one that receives surprisingly little deliberate attention in most domestic design. We think about the garden, and we think about the interior, but the moment of passing between them – the quality of that transition – is usually an afterthought.

It matters because transition is itself an aletheic act. Moving from the enclosed, controlled, artificial environment of the interior into the open, variable, living environment of the garden is a shift in sensory register that the body notices immediately. The air changes. The light changes. The acoustic environment changes. If that transition is abrupt – a single step from a heated room through a narrow door into the open – the body experiences it as a mild shock, pleasant or unpleasant depending on the conditions, but in either case not fully prepared for what it is entering.

A designed transition slows this shift and makes it intentional. It might be a conservatory or garden room that sits between the two – a space that is enclosed but plant-filled, warmer than the garden but more connected to it than the main interior, where the body can begin to adjust its expectations before full exposure. It might be a pergola immediately outside the main exit point, providing overhead shelter that allows the garden to be entered gradually – protected from rain or direct sun, but open to air movement, sound, and the view of the planting beyond. It might simply be a wider, more generous doorway with a deeper threshold – a step or two of transitional material between the interior floor and the garden surface.

The indoor-outdoor transition also has implications for the aletheic practice of moving between clothing and unclothed states. A space that requires a long walk through the interior to reach a private outdoor area will be used less frequently and with less ease than one where the transition is short, direct, and contained. Practically, this might mean locating a changing area, a hook for a robe, or simply a place to leave shoes close to the point of exit – small provisions that reduce the friction between the interior and the garden and make the transition feel natural rather than deliberate.

A narrow veranda or transitional space that runs along the edge of a house, neither fully inside nor fully outside – captures something of what this transition can be at its best. It is a space of pause, of adjustment, of being simultaneously sheltered and exposed. It is not common in most British domestic architecture (but maybe it could be), but the principle it embodies – that the boundary between interior and exterior is worth dwelling in, not rushing through – is certainly worth exploring.

Coming up in part 3

The next post covers overcoming challenges of the space and making the garden usable year-round. I also discuss World Naked Gardening Day, which in the northern Hemisphere is the first Saturday in May.

06/04/2026
The aletheic garden. Part 1: beyond a biophilic approach

In this series of posts I explore what distinguishes an aletheic garden from a conventionally biophilic one, and offer a practical framework for designing outdoor spaces that go beyond aesthetics to foster genuine, unmediated connection with the natural world – and with ourselves. Part 1 covers the principles and some of the factors to consider when planning an aletheic garden.

Note: This post also explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of nudity and naturism within biophilic environments. It contains an illustration depicting nudity and the human form.

A garden is already halfway there

Of all the spaces we might adapt for an aletheic experience, the garden is probably the most obvious. It is already outside. It is already, to varying degrees, alive. It is the one space in most people’s lives where the boundary between the human and the natural world is at its most permeable – where weather arrives uninvited, where things grow and die according to their own schedule, and where all of the senses are engaged by stimuli that no designer fully controls.

Most gardens are designed to be looked at, or to be a place to relax on a summer’s day – which is fine. They are planned for summer afternoons rather than year-round use. They are often overlooked, exposed, and implicitly public – spaces for display rather than retreat. However, they have the potential to be genuinely restorative, aletheic spaces.

The aletheic garden begins from a different premise. It is designed not to impress, but to reveal. Its purpose is to create the conditions under which a genuine, unfiltered connection between human and the environment becomes possible and, for those who want it, to make that connection as complete and unmediated as the natural world itself.

What makes a garden aletheic rather than just biophilic?

Biophilic design is typically concerned with bringing nature into the built environment. Plants, water, natural materials, views of greenery and a host of other nature-inspired elements are brought together. It works, and the evidence for its benefits to wellbeing is now substantial. A garden designed along biophilic principles is likely to be a more pleasant, more restorative space than one that ignores those principles entirely.

But an aletheic garden asks something more. Where biophilic design tends to work through the visual sense – through what the occupant can see of nature – aletheia works through the whole body. It is concerned not with the appearance of naturalness but with the truth of it.

The distinction is not merely philosophical.

A garden with well-chosen planting, a water feature, and some attractive natural materials is biophilic. A garden in which you feel genuinely exposed to the air and the light and the sound of the environment around you – one in which the barriers between your body and the natural world have been reduced to the point where you stop observing nature and start participating in it – that is aletheic.

For many people, that participation is most complete when the body itself is uncovered.

The skin, as I have written elsewhere on this site, is our largest sense organ. Clothing – however necessary in most contexts – acts as a permanent filter between the body and the environment. A garden designed with genuine privacy, and which allows for a sense of security, makes it possible to remove that filter entirely. The result is a completely different quality of sensory experience.

Privacy and enclosure: essential to facilitate total immersion and unconcealedness

None of what follows is possible without this. A garden that cannot be used with confidence – where you are conscious of neighbouring windows, of passers-by, of the possibility of being observed or interrupted – might never become a genuinely restorative space, regardless of how well it is planted or designed. The psychological precondition for aletheic experience is a sense of safety, and in a garden, safety begins with enclosure.

This is not a modern insight. Jay Appleton’s prospect and refuge theory, first set out in The Experience of Landscape (1975), proposed that humans have an evolved preference for environments that offer both a wide view and a sheltered retreat – the ability to see without being seen. This is included in Terrapin’s 14 patterns of biophilic design fifty years later.

We respond to enclosed, sheltered spaces with a measurable reduction in anxiety, because such spaces satisfied a fundamental survival need for our ancestors on the open savannah. The walled garden, the woodland clearing, the hedged enclosure – these are not merely aesthetic preferences. They are responses to deep biological programming.

In practice, this does not require high walls or solid fencing, though these have their place. Some of the most effective privacy is achieved through camouflage and permeable screening. It is effectively achieved in a garden by planting. This might include dense structural shrubs, tall grasses, climbing plants on open framework structures, or a carefully positioned tree canopy. The advantage of planted enclosure over hard boundaries is permeability: light still enters, breezes still move through the space, sound is softened rather than blocked, and the enclosure itself becomes part of the sensory experience rather than a neutral backdrop to it.

The sightline audit

The practical starting point is a simple audit. Stand in your garden – or in the space you are designing – and identify every sightline that makes you conscious of being observed. These are the points that need addressing first, and they will shape almost every subsequent design decision.

There are a few things to consider.

If you can see a window, then someone on the other side of the glass can see you. Those windows are likely to be upstairs – ground floor windows are likely to be obscured by garden fences or walls. However, if you know your neighbourhood well, you might know when the upstairs rooms are most likely to be occupied, or not. You can’t take that for granted, though.

Distance matters. Again, if you can see them, they can see you. But if you can only see a shape, rather than detail, the same applies to the observer (unless they choose to use binoculars, in which case, the problem lies with them, not you). Your judgement needs to be about whether your body is seen or whether the fact that your choice to be unclothed becomes known.

Fabric shade sails and parasols can be effective site line blockers. They are often portable and their careful placement can obscure views whilst still allowing air to flow. They also, of course, provide welcome shade in the sun is too intense.

Know your neighbours. If you are on good terms with your neighbours, and if you think they would be sympathetic (or at least not hostile) to the idea of your creating of an aletheic garden, then a conversation may be worthwhile.

Finally, consider the seasons. Warm spells do occur in early spring (and sometimes late autumn). This means that deciduous plants may not be in leaf, thus not providing screening at these times.

What’s going to be in part 2?

Part 2 of this series explores the sensory palette and gives ideas about what to use to give a truly immersive, sensory experience in the garden.

Aletheic gardening FAQs

What is an aletheic garden?

An aletheic garden is an outdoor space designed not simply to look natural, but to create the conditions for genuine, unmediated connection between the body and the natural environment. The term draws on the Greek concept of aletheia – truth or unconcealment – and goes beyond conventional biophilic design by engaging all the senses, prioritising privacy and enclosure, and treating the body itself as part of the environment rather than a detached observer of it.

How is an aletheic garden different from a biophilic garden?

Biophilic design typically works through the visual sense – plants, natural materials, views of greenery. An aletheic garden works through the whole body. The emphasis is on what the space feels like rather than how it looks: the texture of surfaces underfoot, the movement of air on skin, the concentration of scent in an enclosed space, the sound of water or wind in grasses. Privacy and enclosure are foundational, because without psychological safety the deeper sensory experience the aletheic garden offers is not fully available.

Can aletheic garden design work in a small garden?

Yes – and in some respects a small garden is better suited to aletheic principles than a large one. Enclosure and intimacy are easier to achieve at a smaller scale, scent concentrates more powerfully in a confined space, and water features and tactile planting work just as effectively in a modest area. The key is honest prioritisation: deciding what the space most needs to feel like, and designing toward that rather than trying to accommodate everything.

What plants are best for a private, sensory garden?

For enclosure and screening, dense structural plants such as yew, holly, and evergreen viburnums are reliable year-round choices. For scent, star jasmine, lavender, sweet box (Sarcococca), and Daphne offer fragrance across different seasons. For tactile interest, ornamental grasses, lamb’s ears (Stachys byzantina), and rosemary reward physical contact. For acoustic interest, bamboo and grasses respond well to air movement, and any berry-bearing shrub will help attract the birdsong that is one of the most restorative sounds a garden can offer.

How can I make my garden more usable in cooler weather?

The most effective interventions are shelter from wind rather than attempts to raise temperature. Dense structural planting on the windward side, a pergola or overhead canopy above the main seating area, and surfaces with good thermal mass – stone or dark porcelain that absorbs heat during the day – all extend the comfortable use of the garden significantly into the shoulder seasons. A south-facing aspect makes a considerable difference, as does reducing the distance between the garden and a warm interior so that moving between the two feels natural rather than effortful.

Is naturism relevant to garden design?

For those who want it, yes – and the design implications are practical rather than purely philosophical. A garden that offers genuine enclosure and privacy makes it possible to engage with the outdoor environment without clothing, which significantly increases the quality of sensory experience available. The skin, as our largest sense organ, receives information about temperature, air movement, texture, and humidity that clothing filters out. Designing for that possibility – through thoughtful screening, a sheltered microclimate, and easy access from the interior – is a legitimate and evidence-supported design goal.

19/03/2026
Spring: emerging into the light (even if it is still quite cold)
This post covers why longer days trigger a genuine biological urge to get outside and uncovered; what cold air on bare skin actually does to the body; and why early spring – not midsummer – might be the best time of year to develop a purposeful outdoor naturist practice.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

The body keeps its own calendar

Sunday was the first day of meteorological spring. It was also about 10°C in my part of Southern England, with a brisk wind and the kind of flat, grey light that makes the idea of getting undressed outdoors seem frankly optimistic.

And yet …

There is something that changes in late February and early March that has nothing to do with the temperature. Something shifts, and it feels familiar in the way that only an annual thing can. The urge to be outside, to be less covered, to feel the air on skin rather than through a layer of wool and cotton – it arrives reliably, regardless of what the thermometer says.

This is not wishful thinking, and it is not the peculiar preoccupation of naturists. It is biology.

The human body responds to daylength with remarkable precision. As the hours of light increase past a threshold – something that happens in late February in the northern hemisphere – the pineal gland begins to reduce its production of melatonin earlier in the morning and resume it later in the evening. Serotonin levels begin to rise. The circadian system, which governs far more than just sleep, starts to recalibrate. Mood lifts. Energy returns. The body, in short, knows it is spring before the garden does.

Graph showing the increase in daylight hours in London, UK from the beginning to the end of March

For me – and maybe other naturists – this shows up as a very specific restlessness. The pull towards the outdoors becomes a pull towards the outdoors without clothes. It is worth taking seriously, because it is telling you something true about your biology.

The naturist impulse as a biophilic signal

I have written before about skin as our largest sense organ and how clothing, for all its practical value, acts as a permanent dampener on our sensory connection to the environment. The analogy I used was smearing Vaseline on your spectacles. You can still see, but you are missing a great deal.

In spring, the environment is generating new signals constantly. The quality of light is changing. The air carries different scents. There is birdsong that was absent two months ago. The skin, if given the chance, would be receiving all of this as a coherent, multi-channel sensory experience. Covered up, we get a partial version of it at best.

The biophilic design literature talks extensively about the importance of non-rhythmic sensory stimulation – the unpredictable, variable inputs from the natural world that engage the nervous system without overwhelming it. A March morning, felt on bare skin, is this in its purest form. The temperature is not constant. The wind comes and goes. The sun appears briefly and then disappears behind cloud. Every one of these changes registers on the skin with a clarity that simply cannot be replicated through clothing.

The urge to get outside and uncovered in spring is, from an aletheic perspective, the body trying to re-establish a truthful, unmediated relationship with the environment. It deserves a thoughtful response rather than being overridden by the thermostat.

Why March feels different – even when it isn’t warmer

There is something worth noting about the quality of March light that goes beyond its psychological effect.

As I explored in an earlier post on light and health, the near-infrared and far-red wavelengths in natural sunlight have genuine physiological benefits – they penetrate soft tissue, activate mitochondrial function, and support cellular health in ways that have nothing to do with vision. These wavelengths are present in natural light year-round, but the increasing duration of daylight in spring means that cumulative daily exposure starts to rise significantly from March onwards.

The skin absorbs these wavelengths directly. Clothing blocks them. This is not a trivial point – it means that getting skin into natural light in spring has a compounding biological benefit that goes well beyond mood and vitamin D (which is produced on exposure to low levels of ultraviolet light, at the other end of the spectrum).

Photo by Garrison Gao on Pexels.com

At the same time, the landscape is doing its own version of unconcealment. Buds are breaking. Bulbs are emerging. The garden that spent four months looking dormant and honest about its dormancy is beginning to reveal itself again. There is something almost collaborative about getting outside in this season. You are not observing spring – you are participating in it.
This is aletheia in a seasonal form. The truth of the year is being uncovered, and the invitation is to uncover along with it.

What cold air on bare skin actually does

This is where it gets interesting, and where I would push back against the assumption that cold weather is an obstacle.

When bare skin meets cold air, the body’s response is immediate and layered. Thermoreceptors in the skin fire rapidly. Peripheral blood vessels constrict to protect core temperature. The fine hairs on the arms and legs stand upright. There may be a sharp intake of breath. None of this is comfortable in the conventional sense, but all of it is vivid, present, and – crucially – non-rhythmic in exactly the way that the biophilic literature describes as restorative.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

This is not a passive experience. It demands full attention. It is almost impossible to be distracted or disengaged when cold air is moving across bare skin. The body is entirely present, receiving information from every square centimetre of its surface simultaneously.

What follows is arguably more interesting. After a brief period of cold exposure, the parasympathetic nervous system begins to assert itself. The initial stress response gives way to something calmer. There is a measurable reduction in cortisol. Endorphins are released. And when you then move into warmth – a heated room, a warm shower, a thick robe – the contrast amplifies the sensation of comfort in a way that being warm all along simply cannot match.

The cold is not the point. The contrast is.

The Nordic precedent – and what we can borrow from it

Scandinavian sauna culture has understood this for a very long time. The alternation of intense heat and cold water or cold air is not masochism. It is a formalised, ritualistic version of exactly the physiological cycle described above. The practice is associated with reduced cardiovascular risk, improved mood, better sleep, and a general sense of restoration that its practitioners find difficult to explain but very easy to recognise.

You do not need a sauna to apply the same principle. What you need is a sheltered outdoor space and a warm interior that you can move between deliberately and without too much friction.

In early spring in Southern England, the air temperature is typically somewhere between 6°C and 12°C. This is cold enough to produce a genuine contrast experience, but not cold enough to be dangerous for a healthy adult during a brief exposure. The Nordic model suggests that even a few minutes outdoors is sufficient to produce the physiological response that makes the return to warmth so restorative.

The key word there is brief. This is not about endurance. It is about intention.

Designing the experience – outdoors and in

If you want to make this a genuine practice rather than an occasional accident, the design of both spaces matters.

Outdoors, the priority in March is shelter from wind rather than exposure to sun. Wind chill is the primary reason that cold air exposure at this time of year feels unpleasant rather than invigorating. A south-facing wall, a close-boarded fence, or a belt of dense structural planting on the prevailing wind side can reduce the wind chill by several degrees and transform the experience. Even a simple pergola with climbing plants provides a surprising amount of shelter from both wind and overlooking neighbours.

Privacy, as I have discussed in the context of safe vulnerability, is not a luxury in this context – it is a prerequisite. The psychological safety of knowing that you will not be observed or interrupted is what allows the experience to be restorative rather than anxious. Screening plants, trellis, and careful positioning of any seating or standing area all contribute to this.

The indoor return is just as important as the outdoor exposure, and it is often underestimated. The warm space needs to be ready and inviting. Not just warm in the sense of a functional room temperature, but genuinely comfortable. It should have textures that feel good on cold skin, lighting that is calm and warm-toned, and the sense of being enveloped rather than just heated. This is where the biophilic elements of the interior come into their own.

The contrast between the sharp outdoor air and the sensory richness of a well-designed interior space is itself part of the experience.

Making it a ritual rather than an accident

The difference between a cold, slightly regrettable morning in the garden and a genuinely restorative experience is mostly a matter of intention.

A ritual, in this context, does not need to be elaborate or religious in nature. It might be as simple as making a warm drink, taking it outside for a few minutes without clothing, then returning to a warm room. The sequence matters more than the duration. What you are doing is creating a deliberate arc: exposure, contrast, return. The body responds to this arc in a way it does not respond to simply being cold.

Starting small is not a compromise. Two or three minutes of outdoor exposure in March is genuinely sufficient to produce the physiological response described above. As the season progresses and temperatures rise, the duration naturally extends. By May, what began as a brief, slightly bracing ritual can comfortably become twenty minutes in the garden with a cup of coffee and a book.

There is also something worth saying about why spring may actually be a better season for this practice than midsummer. In July, the sensory contrast between indoors and outdoors is much reduced. The cold-warm cycle that makes the experience vivid and restorative is largely unavailable. Early spring – March to mid May – offers a quality of sensory experience that the warmer months, for all their obvious appeal, simply cannot replicate.

The light is already ready. The body is already willing. The cold is not an obstacle to work around. This is what makes it worth doing.

How I can help

If you are thinking about creating an outdoor space that makes this kind of practice genuinely possible – sheltered, private, and comfortable to use across more of the year than you might expect – I would be glad to help. Whether that means advice on structural planting for privacy and wind shelter, thinking through the design of a transitional indoor-outdoor space, or incorporating biophilic elements that make the interior return as restorative as the outdoor exposure, please get in touch.
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03/03/2026
Really knowing our place in nature: from a humanist’s point of view
This article further explores the concepts of risk, peril, and awe within biophilic design, highlighting their psychological significance. I argue that these feelings reveal truths about our existence and relationship to nature, encouraging humility and recognition of our transience as humans. Ultimately, it suggests that experiencing awe fosters a deeper connection with the environment.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

Experience awe for a deeper connection to nature

I have previously written about risk, peril and awe. These are regarded as patterns of biophilia that are only just being developed as elements of biophilic design.
- Risk / peril is thought of as a feeling of an unidentifiable threat. The biophilic solution leads to the knowledge that a reliable safeguard exists.
- Awe relates to the stimuli that defy an existing frame of reference and which leads to a change in perception.
These two patterns can be the ones that can be most revealing of themselves and of ourselves. This is the bridge between biophilia and aletheia.

The patterns of risk / peril and awe are deeply rooted in our innate psychological and biological responses.

Aletheia is all about revealing the truth about oneself and the environments we use, so when a space where truth and unconcealedness are central, the experience becomes about confronting reality directly and authentically – and almost reverentially.

Awe and reverence

I am not remotely religious or spiritual. I am a humanist and am content in my belief that we have only one life. I try to make sense of the world through logic, reason, and evidence, and always seek to treat those around me with warmth, understanding, and respect. I don’t believe that there was a divine creator – I think we are the products of nature, evolution and happenstance.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t look on the world without a sense of awe. I do. I also respect and even revere nature and I am sympathetic to the concept of Gaia as expounded by James Lovelock – not as a superorganism, but as a metaphor for a self-regulating system of living and non-living processes.

Nature is full of places that are jaw-droppingly astonishing and awesome in the true sense of the word. Humanity has created spaces with the specific aim of eliciting an emotional response – often religious (or at least worshipful), all the way back to the stone age.

Humanity has also created great art and music that inspires awe and reverence that can trigger profound emotional responses.

Photo by Florian Gerus on Pexels.com

Awe is an emotion that can make one recognise vulnerability and help reveal the truth of our place in the grandness of nature and the vastness of time and space.

This is a healthy reaction. It helps us to recognise our personal vulnerability and also our need to be connected to the environment for our individual and collective survival.

As Carl Sagan reminds us, the Pale Blue Dot in space that is Earth is all that we have.

We are transient

If we are lucky, we will spend 80-odd years alive – about 0.03% of the amount of time modern humans have existed. That is not even a flicker in the 4.5 billion years that the Earth has been around.

It probably does us some good to experience awe as well as the feeling of humbleness as we reflect on our transience and in our position as just one of over eight billion humans alive today, and the countless billions who will ever have lived.

Strip away the artificial social armour of clothing and stand naked, alone in nature to get a real sense of the truth of our place in the universe.

Unhidden, unconcealed, unprotected. This is the reality of our existence – even for those of us fortunate to live comfortably.
18/02/2026
Wellness rooms in the workplace: they don’t always work, but they could
Modern office buildings often feature wellness rooms intended for employees to decompress, yet these spaces are frequently underutilised due to poor design, discomfort, and stigma. Effective wellness rooms require thoughtful sensory considerations, including privacy, space, lighting, and decor, fostering a culture of wellbeing rather than mere compliance.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

Ticking a box, or doing some good?

Many modern office buildings incorporate ‘wellness’ rooms – places where office workers can go and decompress for a little while if stressed, overwhelmed or just in need of a few minutes of freedom from an annoying colleague or frustrating boss.

These spaces are often quite small, sited away from the main office space and often never used. They allow HR departments to claim that they take employee wellbeing seriously and might even result in a tick in box on wellbeing rating checklist or a favourable comment on Glassdoor, LinkedIn or a job board.

There are many reasons why they are hardly ever used.
- They can be hard to find
- They might be uncomfortable or poorly designed
- They might double up as places for prayer, which might make some people worry about breaking a taboo by using them for other purposes, or worry about when the room might not be available
- Their use might carry a stigma.
It is the last point that really needs addressing

If someone is absent from their desk and their manager asks where they are, going to the wellness room can be seen as sign of weakness.

Or laziness.

When wellness rooms are nicknamed ‘Crying Rooms’, which I have come across, then it is clear that there is something wrong with the culture of the organization. When the privacy of a wellness room actually makes you more noticeable – because you are not where you are expected to be – then it isn’t really a private space.

So, what is the solution?

The most obvious solution is to ensure that the workplace is civilized. This means creating a corporate culture based on great leadership, trust and autonomy. Good corporate culture has the single biggest influence on psychological comfort and wellbeing.

However, even in organizations with great culture, there may be situations when one might need to retreat to a space like a wellness room to decompress, recover from overwhelm, physically relax or to meditate for a few minutes.

So, how can we ensure that such spaces actually foster wellbeing rather than just pay lip service to the concept?

It’s all about the senses

I have written before that biophilia is not just an airy-fairy concept, but is rooted in our evolutionary history. When we have a coherent sensory experience, we feel physically and psychologically more comfortable.

A wellness room needs to be able to satisfy as many, or as few, sensory needs as the user desires. These include:

Privacy

Your use of a wellness room should be absolutely private (with some caveats: for some people, the sound of a heavy door closing and locking can evoke memories of trauma).

You should not have to advertise your use of a space like this, whether by booking a time slot, seeking permission from a manager or even walking past a group of colleagues sitting near its location.

Furthermore, it must be completely enclosed and prevent any views in from inside the building. Solid doors and walls are essential, and the only windows should be to the outside world. Any windows to the outside should be clear. Some views can be relaxing and being able to focus on distant objects might relieve eye strain as well, but they must be capable of being obscured to prevent the user being seen if that is what is wanted.

Light, translucent materials, such as voile curtains would allow light in, whilst maintaining privacy. Their graceful, floaty form also provides some textural and visual interest.

Space

Wellness rooms are often small. They may have been converted from spaces such as small meeting rooms, a small private office or even a storeroom. This is understandable – floorspace can be very expensive, and must be productive. However, happy, healthy workers perform better and are likely to have greater job satisfaction. This means an investment in proper wellness rooms can make sense.

The space needs to be large enough to allow activities such as light exercise (such as yoga or other low impact activities), and also not be claustrophobic. The idea is to allow relaxation and decompression.

Some people may wish to lie down, so a clear floor area would be a good idea. There also needs to be space for a comfortable chair, or even a small sofa and maybe some other small items of furniture to give the room a lived-in feel.

Ceiling height should also be considered. Too low and you risk feeling cramped, or might not be able to stretch upwards. Too high, and it might lose the feeling of intimacy and cosiness that some might be seeking.

A wellness room with a floor area of approximately 3m X 4m would provide enough space to carry out light exercise, such as stretches or yoga, without being so big that it would compromise the feeling of shelter and cosiness.

Lighting

Light should be indirect and controllable – in terms of both brightness and quality. Lighting that includes far red / near infrared wavelengths are thought to have therapeutic benefits, and slightly warmer tones can be calming.

Placing luminaires so that they wash the walls and ceiling with light, rather than having a point source, will be more relaxing. The use of artificial skylights could also be considered.

Decorative lighting might also be considered. Whilst real flames would not be appropriate, simulated flames from LED candles, for example, can provide some non-rhythmic visual interest. Similarly, the placement of objects and foliage in front of light sources might cast some interesting shadows.

Sounds

Noise from outside should be prevented as far as is practicable, and noise generated from within the wellness room should not be audible outside. This has as much to do with privacy as annoyance and distractions.

Features such as soft furnishings, moss panels and even foliage plants can be effective at reducing noise levels.

Sound can be added to the space. They can be used creatively to mask outside noises or even simulate natural sounds such as water, wind in the trees or birdsong. There are many synthetic biophilic sounds available to play through a smart speaker or even download onto a smart phone. One of my favourites is Noises Online, which has 30 individual sounds that can be combined.

Smells

Ambient scenting systems are ideal to create subtle scent experiences. These are programmable and have a wide range of fragrances are available. However, care must be taken to ensure that the intensity of the scent is low – especially if the room is not used often and there are few air changes.

Reed diffusers are a cut-price way of filling a space with scent, but if the room is infrequently used, then the effect may be too intense, and cannot be ‘switched off’.

Neutral naturalistic fragrances are ideal. Bear in mind that some people are more sensitive to scents than others, so it must be possible to have a scent-free environment if possible.

Temperature control

This is likely to be quite difficult to manage – it depends on how the building’s environmental controls are operated and whether room-level control is possible. Radiant heat from underfloor heating is likely to be very comfortable for users of a wellness room – far better than warm air being blown around the space, which may result in uncomfortable draughts.

Having said that, sometimes gentle airflow, which mimics natural environments, can bring another non-rhythmic element into the space. A ceiling fan – which is controllable by the user – would be sensible addition to the space.

Textures

Textures offer both visible and tactile interest. A textured rug, made from fibres such as sisal or jute, can stimulate the touch sensors in bare feet, and features such as a moss panel, tree bark or even a small soapstone ornament can feel good in the hands. Having some tactile ornaments to handle, as well as surfaces, to touch can be very enriching.

Furniture and accessories

A wellness room should not be cluttered, and floor space should be kept clear, but it must feel like home. Well chosen furniture and accessories might include:
- A sofa or couch, possibly in a chaise longue style, to enable the user to sit or lie down
- A small table, where the user can place a drink. This could also be where some LED candles could be placed
- A large, soft, textured rug in the centre of the floor. Natural fibres, such as jute or sisal look very naturalistic and also have a nice texture
- Shelves or a wall-mounted cabinet where ornaments or books can be placed. This can also be where items such as towels or exercise mats can be stored or where bottled water can be kept
- Somewhere to hang clothes, place shoes and store bags out of the way
The nature connection

A selection of well-chosen interior plants would be essential. Plants that tolerate low light levels and intermittent lighting would be ideal. They should have a variety of forms, textures and shades of green.

A panel of preserved moss on one wall would also be ideal. These require little maintenance and have excellent acoustic and tactile benefits.

Indoor greenery, in all its forms, is my particular area of expertise, so get in touch for advice on this and for recommendations for a detailed specification and maintenance plan.

Opportunities for full sensory immersion

For many people, being able to immerse the whole body in the environment is very relaxing and encourages mindfulness. Some people enjoy taking gentle exercise, such as yoga, when nude. Meditation when you are free from the distractions of clothing can be very restorative.

Some people simply enjoy nudity and being free from feeling tight or uncomfortable clothing or just want to help regulate their temperature. When the skin is exposed and bare feet can touch the floor, then our senses send coherent messages to our brain, and our largest sense organ is the skin.

Facilitating nudity in a wellness room, as well as gentle exercise, means providing somewhere to hang clothes as well as providing items such as towels (which every naturist knows is an essential), or ensuring that users of the room know that they should bring their own.

… and how to reduce sensory overload

For some people, especially some autistic people, sensory overload can be debilitating. The ability to access and make use of a quiet, calm, low-stimulus environment can be very helpful

This means that control of the environment is essential. Being able to switch certain features on or off, or being able to do particular activities to suit individual needs is very important.

Provision for neurodiversity

The recently published design guidance: PAS 6463:2022 Design for the mind – Neurodiversity and the built environment provides excellent information for designers on how to create spaces that are accessible for individuals who may not be neurotypical.

Chapter 14: Safety, recovery and quiet spaces of the guide is especially relevant in the context of this article as it directly addresses the sensory environment.

The key takeaway is to give the user of the space as much control over it as possible, but where that is not possible, to design with hypersensitivity in mind – where spaces are as calming and quiet. It says…

Where only one quiet and restorative space or room is provided, it should be designed as a flexible environment with a variety of design options that are customizable to the individual’s sensory needs.

Each design aspect should have both low and high stimuli options to accommodate both hypersensitive and hyposensitive needs. In mainstream environments where only one space is provided, it should be designed as a low stimuli quiet space with higher stimuli optional additions by choice.

If multiple spaces are available, several spaces of various levels of stimuli should be taken into account.

When creating sensory or quiet spaces, the context of how the spaces are designed and the potential needs of the users should influence the design choices. If a facility is highly stimulating and busy, more than one space should be provided – quantity, quality and location should be taken into account.

Would you like help in designing an effective wellness room? Get in touch here
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02/02/2026

Self appreciation: the truth about bodies

In this post, I discus the complexities of body image and self-acceptance, highlighting the importance of appreciating one’s body for its functionality rather than aesthetics. The article emphasizes practicing self-compassion and creating mindful spaces to foster self-acceptance. Communal naturism is presented as a means to enhance body appreciation and reduce societal judgment, promoting overall well-being.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

“That’s not a good look”

I’m a generally happy, optimistic person. I have been very lucky in my life with a reasonably successful career, few health issues (so far), a happy family life and I am relatively financially secure. Objectively, I have little to worry about. And, most of the time, I muddle along happily in my little bubble of privilege.

Sometimes, though, I catch myself out. I see myself in a mirror and I think to myself “that’s not a good look”. This triggers an emotional response that makes me value myself differently – and not positively.

This is especially the case when I see myself naked.

a stylized image showing a naked man looking at his reflection in a mirror

Those accidental views in the mirror can nibble at my self esteem, and then I start doubting myself.

I won’t detail my self-perceived flaws beyond saying that I am a man in late middle age carrying several more kilogrammes than is probably good for me. My body is far from the idealised physique illustrated in the media.

Body acceptance is a tricky subject to address. Many people have hang ups about their appearance and there are no easy solutions. Even with the reassurance of loved ones and intimate partners, poor body self image can chip away at your confidence.

An aletheic perspective

The truth is that bodies age, change shape, and possess infinite variation. A true, honest look means accepting the body as it is in this moment, not as it once was, or as society dictates it should be. This view frames the body’s worth as intrinsic, derived from its capacity for experience and function, rather than an arbitrary aesthetic standard.

Aletheia (the Greek word for “unconcealment” or “truth”) establishes a philosophical foundation that moves beyond simple emotional positivity and toward a deeper, humanist appreciation of the body’s reality. The goal is to shift from the cultural habit of self-surveillance (judging the body against an ideal) to self-witnessing (accepting the body as an honest expression of life).

Shifting perspective

The human body is an incredibly sophisticated tool that allows one to experience the world and engage in your passions. For me, that includes gardening, walking in the countryside, cooking and enjoying food and wine (which may explain some of the parts of my body I’m least happy about). My body gives me the ability to enjoy my hobbies and pursue my professional interests and earn a living.

Practice functional appreciation: focus on the body’s abilities, not its aesthetics

When I look in the mirror, I now try to acknowledge the parts I find disappointing. I then immediately pivot to appreciating what my body does for me. I recognise the strength in my legs, the dexterity in my hands for work and hobbies and the ability of my digestive system to enjoy a good meal.

Instead of thinking “I see a pot belly”, I should try to acknowledge that “my core is the structure that allows me to spend hours walking in countryside or working in the garden, planting and weeding”. My body has carried me through six decades of life and work and should continue to do so.

This isn’t actually as easy as it looks when written down, but it is worth having a go.

Incorporate self-compassion

This is the opposite of self-criticism. It involves treating yourself with the kindness you would offer a good friend.

Have a mindful moment. The next time you feel that negative judgment looking in the mirror, pause and place a hand on the area you are criticising.

Acknowledge the feeling. Say to yourself that “this is a moment of discomfort. I am unhappy with how I look right now.”

Then offer kindness, as you would to a friend. Ask yourself “what do I need right now?” It is not usually more criticism, but acceptance. You might say “this is just one part of a whole, valuable human being. It is fine to look this way.”

Age acceptance: acknowledge the body as a living, ageing system

As we age, our bodies change. Try to view wrinkles, scars, and changes in size not as decay, but as growth rings or a patina of weathering patterns. A proof of your endurance and a historical record. Your body, from the day you were born to now, is a living document of experience.

Body part neutrality: unconcealment and treating all body parts equally

When you look at an area you dislike, name it neutrally, like describing a stone or a tree in a landscape. For instance, you see a finger, a knee, your feet or your belly. The parts are simply facts of the form, not a hierarchy of worth.

Mirrors redefined: use a mirror as a tool for truth, not judgment

The idea is to look for details, not defects – a slight turn of the muscle, the unique pattern of hair, the way the skin folds – and describe them factually, without assigning value.

How to create a biophilic, aletheic, mindfulness space

The aim is to create a space that embodies the unconcealed truth of the space to encourage greater self-acceptance.

The materials and environment should emphasize that the body is part of the environment, not a detached observer of it. There is beauty in its truth and functionality.

Biophilic design is all about creating physical and psychological comfort through the feeling of being connected to nature and the natural environment and for gaining the benefits of a coherent, harmonious space.

Key biophilic elements

Materials of truth

Use raw, minimally processed, or imperfect materials, such as exposed grain wood, unpolished stone, and materials that show their age (patina) as non-judgmental observers. They are imperfect, honest, and enduring, and they reflect those same qualities back onto the self, which reflect the body’s own truth.

Living greenery

Include numerous, vibrant living plants or features such as moss panels. Their natural cycle of growth, imperfection, and decay serves as a constant, non-judgmental metaphor for your own physical state.

Light and shadow

Employ diffused, natural lighting rather than harsh, direct light that emphasizes flaws. Diffused, natural light is ideal because it reduces visual surveillance, preventing the eye from fixing on harsh details and instead encouraging the holistic perception of the body as a natural, three-dimensional form. Soft shadows give depth and truth to the body’s shape. To avoid the flat, unforgiving quality of overhead indoor lighting, think about window light (perhaps with a voile curtain to soften and diffuse the light – and to provide some privacy) or lower level lamps on tables or shelves.

The mirror question: strategic inclusion

My negative reaction to a mirror might have led to its removal – that might have been an obvious reaction. However, mirrors are useful. So, when creating an aletheic space, the mirror can be included and used to re-train the mind.

An ai-generated image showing a room where Aletheic self-reflection can take place. It features natural materials, a window with a voile curtain, a floor cushion, several houseplants and a full-length mirror that is partly obscured by a curtain.

Use a Covered Mirror

The mirror could be covered with an attractive fabric or a sliding panel, only to be unveiled as part of an intentional aletheic practice. This removes the risk of accidental, subconscious self-surveillance and forces a purposeful view of the whole body.

Non-Critical Viewing

When you unveil it, commit to a non-evaluative gaze for a set time (e.g., 60 seconds). Do not let your mind use judgemental words such as “good,” “bad,” “better,” or “disappointing.” Just observe shape, colour, texture, and light, as if viewing a sculpture or an unfamiliar landscape.

Indoors or outdoors?

An ai-generated image showing a secluded outdoor space with plenty of plants and a large mirror on one wall. This is a space where mindful self reflection can take place outdoors whilst still in a private space.

This depends on your own circumstances and also the weather. If you have a secluded outdoor space, such as a balcony or terrace that you can adapt, then this sort of self reflection can be amplified. The exposure to the sky, fresh air and dappled sunlight diffused through foliage and the use of outdoor mirrors are effective. Such a space helps to make you feel part of the environment and your senses are brought to life.

From private critique to communal acceptance

I have written before about my being a naturist. This often means going to places where I am naked amongst a group of other naked people, whether at a club or on a naturist beach.

These are places where the whole body is on show – with all of its flaws and features that you find yourself doubting when in private.

The anonymity of a crowd

You are visible to many other people, most of whom you probably don’t know. However, those places are always free of judgement, and they are places where – despite being completely exposed – you can be completely anonymous. When everyone is naked, your own appearance no-longer seems to matter. For me, my anxieties about my body seem to vanish.

Photograph of a nude male, taken from behind, looking out to sea from a beach used by naturists

I’m not about to suggest that everyone with any sort of anxiety about their bodily self image should immediately head towards their nearest naturist beach – that could provoke all sorts of fears that might be too challenging as a first step. However, it is an option to consider, and there is peer reviewed research that supports its benefits.

Research in this area, largely led by UK-based psychologist Dr Keon West and his colleagues at Goldsmiths, University of London. The research strongly supports the claims that communal naturism has significant positive effects on body image and psychological wellbeing.

Communal naturism: a way to appreciation

The majority of empirical research focuses on the practice of communal nudity (social naturism) and consistently finds it leads to substantial psychological benefits.

Key Findings and Mechanisms:

Increased body appreciation. Studies consistently show that participants who engage in naturist activities report a more positive body image and greater body appreciation than non-participants, and this effect is often immediate and significant following an event.
Reduced Social Physique Anxiety (SPA). This is identified as the key psychological mechanism for the improvement. SPA is the anxiety resulting from the prospect or presence of the interpersonal evaluation of one’s physique. Being nude in a non-sexual, safe social setting normalizes the non-idealised human body, which reduces the fear of judgment (Social Physique Anxiety). This reduction, in turn, allows for greater self-acceptance. In essence, by seeing a diversity of natural, non-media-idealised bodies, the individual’s mind has less basis to fear their own body being judged.
Boosted self-esteem and life satisfaction. Increased participation in naturist activities is a significant predictor of greater life satisfaction, with this relationship being mediated by improvements in body image and higher self-esteem.

But what about solo naturism?

While the benefits of communal nudity are well-established, the research specifically on the effect of solo nudity at home, or self-image when alone is less abundant. Most of the available research focuses on activities done in the company of others. The practice of solo aletheic nudity (non-judgmental viewing of the self) may be an application of the lessons learned from communal settings, but its standalone effects have not been tracked in these large-scale studies.

However, there is an implicit link. The group setting shows the body is not subject to judgment, which provides the mental evidence needed for the solo practice to succeed. The improvement in body appreciation found in the studies is essentially an internal, solo shift in self-perception. That can certainly be triggered by the communal experience, but may also be possible in a solo setting when there is a purposeful goal to to shift the internal dialogue, which is exactly what these aletheic practices aim to do.

My personal experience of solo naturism in a natural setting is that I immediately feel a sense of calm. I see myself as part of that environment, not just an observer of it.

It seems as if we can confidently state that empirical research strongly validates the philosophy of naturism. It proves to be an effective, non-commercial intervention for improving body image, self-esteem, and general life satisfaction. The challenge for the individual (the aletheic practice) is to successfully carry the non-judgmental, accepting environment of the communal setting back into one’s own mind and private space.

A final thought

I am not measured by a physical ideal. I am valued by my character and my actions. My body is merely an honest record – it tells the truth of my life so far.

Some of Keon West’s research that you might find interesting

Study	Key Finding	Citation
“Naked and Unashamed” (West, 2018)	Found that greater participation in naturist activities predicted greater life satisfaction, mediated by more positive body image and higher self-esteem. This was the first research to test a specific model of naturism’s psychological effects.	West, K. (2018). Naked and Unashamed: Investigations and Applications of the Effects of Naturist Activities on Body Image, Self-Esteem, and Life Satisfaction. Journal of Happiness Studies, 19(3), 677–697.
“I Feel Better Naked” (West, 2020)	This was the first randomised controlled trial of communal naked activity. It found that participants in the naked condition reported more body appreciation, and that this effect was specifically mediated by reductions in social physique Anxiety (SPA).	West, K. (2020). I Feel Better Naked: Communal Naked Activity Increases Body Appreciation by Reducing Social Physique Anxiety. The Journal of Sex Research, 58(8), 958–966.
Nudity-Based Intervention (West, 2020)	A small-scale study found that a four-day, nudity-based intervention led to substantial improvements in body image, self-esteem, and life satisfaction that persisted for at least one month after the intervention, even among participants who were not previously naturists.	West, K. (2020). A nudity-based intervention to improve body image, self-esteem, and life satisfaction. International Journal of Happiness and Development, 6(2), 162–172.

10/12/2025

Light for health

I recently attended the Biophilic Design Conference in London, where Ulysse Dormoy discussed the health impacts of modern office lighting, emphasizing the need for full-spectrum lighting in built environments. This post also explores the benefits of total immersion in better light and explains possible additional wellbeing benefits of naked forest bathing and naturism and includes illustrations depicting nudity.

Is modern office lighting as good as it could be?

On 17th November 2025, I was lucky enough to attend the second International Biophilic Design Conference in London.

There were several really interesting presentations about the benefits of reconnecting with nature, and one of the really interesting talks was about office lighting. It was given by Ulysse Dormoy, an expert in the subject.

Ulysse Dormoy’s presentation spoke mainly about the role of far red (FR) and near infrared (NIR) wavelengths and their impact on human health. These wavelengths are just beyond the visible spectrum, and are essential for human health. This energy penetrates soft tissue and drives the reactions that take take place in mitochondria – organelles in every living cell (plants as well as animals) that power life.

We need light for more than just vision

The modern built environment – especially office buildings – relies on highly efficient LED lighting to illuminate our spaces. Modern, energy-efficient LEDs used in offices are often optimized to peak in the blue spectrum and a narrow band of red (which is difficult to achieve in LEDs without losing efficiency). This is fine for vision.

However, LED lights used in workplaces are frequently almost devoid of the NIR and Far-red components prevalent in both sunlight and older light sources. Couple this with the treatments applied to glazing to minimize excess heat getting into buildings from sunlight, then we have a problem that might affect human health.

For humans, the absence of NIR means the loss of a key input for mitochondrial health, called photobiomodulation (PBM). This leads to impaired cellular energy management that may be linked to accelerated ageing and a reduced healthy lifespan.

The presentation highlighted the disconnect between the necessary natural light spectrum and the light provided by the modern built environment. Considering humans spend approximately 90% of their time indoors, the quality of artificial light becomes a major concern for cellular health and ageing.

Modern lighting schemes may not be as optimized for wellbeing and health as you might expect. There are two issues:

Lack of infrared light (NIR/Far-red)

Older incandescent sources naturally emitted a high proportion of Near-Infrared (NIR) and Infrared (IR) energy. Modern, highly efficient light sources, particularly LEDs, are spectrally deficient in these wavelengths. They are not needed for vision, so why expend energy producing them?

However, the absence of this infrared light is now thought to be a significant health hazard, as these wavelengths are vital for photobiomodulation (PBM) and maintaining mitochondrial function.

Loss of appropriate diurnal variation

The natural environment provides a continuous, dynamic shift in the ratio of blue to red light across a 24-hour cycle. As the sun tracks across the sky, the spectral quality of daylight changes. More red light at the ends of the day, more blue when the sun is high in the sky. The disruption of this diurnal variation in the built environment affects the body’s circadian rhythm and the corresponding cellular processes it governs.

The energy-efficient modern LEDs used in offices are often optimized to peak in the blue spectrum and a narrow band of red, while being nearly devoid of the NIR and Far-red components prevalent in both sunlight and older light sources. It is midday all day.

What does this mean?

For humans, the absence of NIR means the loss of a key input for mitochondrial PBM, leading to impaired cellular energy management that seems to be linked to accelerated ageing and reduced healthy lifespan. The core message is that human biology relies on a full-spectrum signal that is largely absent in the current built environment lighting design.

Near-Infrared (NIR) light, a key component of the Photobiomodulation (PBM) effect, must be absorbed through all accessible tissues of the body, not just the eyes, to exert its systemic effects on mitochondrial health.

The mechanism of PBM, which involves the absorption of photons by the mitochondrial enzyme Cytochrome c Oxidase (CCO), relies on light penetrating the skin and subcutaneous tissues to reach the underlying cells.

The long wavelengths of NIR (typically 700 nm to 1100 nm), are specifically beneficial because they penetrate deeper than visible light.

Unlike blue or green light, which is largely scattered or absorbed in the top few millimetres of the epidermis and dermis, NIR light can penetrate several millimetres, and in some cases, several centimetres (at high power densities) through biological tissue.

Studies indicate that for musculoskeletal treatments, more than 90% of the light energy is typically absorbed within the first 10 millimetres of soft tissue. However, depending on the wavelength (e.g., 810 nm) and power, measurable amounts of light can reach depths of several centimetres, allowing photons to interact with mitochondria in muscle, bone, and even the brain through the skull.

Recent research has suggested that long wavelengths of light, delivered to the body (e.g., the back), can also improve retinal function without direct eye exposure, implying a whole-body route for mitochondrial health benefits.

The benefits of uncovering

Unlike visible light, which is perceived by the eye, Near Infrared / Far red (NIR/FR) light affects the body through direct tissue penetration. Therefore, to maximize the systemic benefits of Near-Infrared (NIR) light on mitochondrial health, full-body exposure is beneficial, aligning perfectly with the principles of naked wellness.

By removing clothing, the maximum possible surface area of the skin is available to absorb the essential NIR and FR wavelengths from the environment (whether from natural sunlight or from spectrally complete indoor lighting systems). This maximizes the photon density reaching the underlying cells and, consequently, maximizes the activation of Cytochrome c Oxidase and the resulting boost in ATP production across the whole body.

This connection provides a compelling, evidence-based argument for integrating naturism into the design of truly restorative, biophilic, aletheic environments, turning the practice into an act of maximizing cellular health and biological efficiency.

An additional benefit of forest bathing

I’ve discussed forest bathing before, and the main impact – apart from the psychological connection with nature – seems to be related to phytoncides, the volatile chemicals emitted by plants.

However, there is another factor that may help with the wellbeing effects of the practice.

Direct sunlight is natural, unfiltered light, which is rich in red light. This is not only good for the human body, but provides the energy needed for plants to photosynthesize.

Chlorophyll – the green pigment found in plants – strongly absorbs the red wavelengths (used for photosynthesis) but transmits or reflects the Far-Red wavelengths (which are less useful for energy fixation, but good for mitochondrial health in animals, such as humans). This skews the light spectrum toward Far red in the shade of a forest canopy.

Furthermore, as far red and NIR light penetrates shade, the benefits of exposure to this light can be achieved in an environment where sunburn risks are reduced by the shade of the woodland canopy. Naked forest bathing is not only good for reconnecting with the majesty of nature, but also a very effective way to maximize the amount of beneficial far-red light absorbed by the body.

What about the built environment?

Biodynamic lighting, which incorporates more red and far-red wavelengths are available. Such systems can be programmed to mimic the diurnal cycle of light quality. They are more expensive than standard lights, but could be used in places such as wellness rooms, found in many office buildings. They could also be used in the home.

Spas and health clubs could create ‘light showers’ – spaces where the body to could be immersed in full-spectrum biodynamic lighting. Imagine a space that you could sit, stand or walk through that provides real benefits to bodily health rather than tanning booths that can be risky if used too much.

Whilst exposure to NIR won’t give you a tan, it might bring real health benefits.

20/11/2025
Biophilic designers often forget our largest sense organ
Biophilic design aims to reconnect humans with nature, countering urban stress. However, clothing creates barriers that hinder sensory interaction with the environment, resulting in sensory dissonance. Designing Aletheic Spaces can foster deeper connections to nature, emphasizing authenticity and sensory engagement for overall well-being.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

Pushing the envelope of biophilic design

The architecture and design world is obsessed with biophilic design. It is a multi-million-pound architectural principle that acknowledges our innate, evolutionary need for nature.

Organizations frequently strive to get a ‘Well Building’ certification by adding elements of biophilic design to the built environment. These are powerful interventions, and can make buildings less uncomfortable by creating a more coherent sensory experience. However, the pervasive sense of urban stress suggests this is only a partial antidote.

Biophilic design is supposed to improve wellbeing in the built environment. Its aim is to soothe our anxious, urban minds. However, our deepest connection to the natural world is still blocked by a simple, social barrier.

Skin: our largest sense organ

One way in which I believe we are failing to achieve true sensory coherence is because we are ignoring a fundamental sensory organ of human connection: the skin.

Biophilic design tries to re-establish harmony, but clothing acts as a permanent, often unnecessary, barrier. It insulates us, muffling the vital signals of the environment – the exact feel of the air as it moves, the subtle shift in temperature as the sun ducks behind a cloud and the gradual changes in humidity that affect whether (and how much) we perspire.

Our brain cannot relax into nature whilst it is making an effort to understand it, and that is because we are dulling our senses.

Clothing covering the skin is like smearing Vaseline on your spectacles

Our bodies evolved naked on the open savannah, where all of our senses worked in harmony. The vista of the landscape, the rustle of the wind, and the feeling of warmth or coolness on our skin all delivered a single, coherent message to the brain: you are safe.

But in the built environment of today – with its hard surfaces, artificial climates, and constant noise – our senses are in a perpetual state of low-grade conflict, or sensory dissonance.

The natural conclusion to biophilic living, and the simplest way to achieve total sensory immersion, is to engage with nature as we evolved: unclothed.

The interior life of the body

The practice of naturism is not about challenging social mores; it is about hacking into a deeper pathway to wellbeing.

In a hyper-visual, social-media saturated culture, we are trained to treat our bodies as objects to be judged, groomed, and displayed. This constant self-objectification is mentally exhausting and fuels anxiety. It separates us from our physical selves, turning the body into a source of stress rather than a reliable instrument.

Nudity directly confronts this by shifting our focus inwards.
When you are fully exposed to the elements, your body’s self-regulation mechanisms become immediately apparent. You become acutely aware of your goosebumps, the tingle of a breeze, the hairs on your arms standing upright or the warmth spreading across your back.

Naturism significantly enhances Interoceptive Awareness (IA) – the ability to accurately sense and interpret signals from within the body, such as one’s heartbeat, tension, or gut feelings. There are multiple studies that support this.

Interoceptive Awareness

Research has shown that individuals who regularly engage in naturism have higher Interoceptive Awareness. This matters profoundly because high Interoceptive Awareness seems to be negatively correlated with self-objectification. When you learn to trust your body’s internal signals, you stop seeing it as an external image and start seeing it as a competent, reliable system.

This is the psychological leap: the body moves from being a passively viewed object (even from its owner’s perspective) to an actively trusted subject, creating an embodied earth kinship that is profoundly grounding. Naturism is a simple, non-consumerist way of combatting the pervasive body image anxiety plaguing much of the Western world.

Designing for unconcealedness

If this is the most direct route to genuine human-nature connection, how do we translate it into the built environment?

We must begin designing for authenticity. We need to move past the idea of biophilic design as merely a way to increase productivity and start seeing it as a genuinely useful tool for wellbeing.

This means creating an Aletheic Space, a concept drawn from the Greek word meaning ‘unconcealedness’ or ‘truth’. An Aletheic Space is an environment – natural or constructed – that offers safety and privacy. It allows the occupant to experience the profound vulnerability – and subsequent liberation – of being totally uncovered and authentic.

This is not a space for public display, but a deeply private retreat.

For an architect or an interior designer, it demands a focus on:

Boundary management

Eliminating any sightlines or sound leaks that might trigger social anxiety, whilst still allowing a complete exposure to, an immersion in, the environment. This could, and should, include the use of plants to create natural barriers that allow light and breezes to penetrate into the space.

Sensory richness

Using materials (stone, rough timber, natural fibre, moss, bark, cork, etc.) that provide varied, non-jarring tactile feedback to the skin.

Microclimates

Designing sheltered courtyards or enclosed garden rooms that allow for comfortable, full-body exposure to air, light, and subtle temperature shifts, even if the weather is against us.

The ultimate aim of biophilic design is human flourishing.

We are adept at creating visual connections, but until we design environments that invite our largest organ into the conversation, we will only ever be scratching the surface of our restorative potential. It is time for us to stop hiding from nature, and perhaps, stop hiding from ourselves.

If you would like to discuss how to make biophilic design truly immersive or would like some ideas about the practical ways to create aletheic spaces, please get in touch.
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30/10/2025
Safe vulnerability
In this article I explore the idea of aletheia, or truth revealing, through vulnerability in nature. It emphasizes the liberating yet challenging experience of being completely exposed to, and immersed in nature whilst also being safe. Suggestions on how to foster this connection at home are offered as well as ideas about wild swimming and accessing and creating secluded areas for contemplation.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

Be a part of nature, not just an observer of it

The concept of aletheia is all about the process of unconcealment in order to realise a truth about ourselves and our place in the environment.

By baring all and removing that which separates us from nature we can then truly become part of nature. It is both liberating and challenging to be so exposed. Liberating in the sense of total freedom from artifice and judgement but challenging as you recognise your vulnerability as an individual – just one of over eight billion people – in the vastness of nature.

That heightened sense of vulnerability can be enlightening and thought-provoking, and maybe even a bit thrilling (much like getting on a roller coaster for the first time). Sometimes, however, the fear of exposure and judgement can override the positive sense of self knowledge. This is why a sense of safety and trust is vital.

If you know that you are safe and that you won’t be interrupted, then baring all – literally and figuratively – in a natural, or naturalistic, environment can bring clarity to your thoughts and a sense of peace and calm.

I touched on this experience in an earlier post. Now, I will discuss some of the ways by which you can practically experience safe vulnerability.

Raw immersion in nature

There are times and places when being alone in a natural place can be awe-inspiring. Sometimes, just the vastness of a landscape means that it is possible to be away from any distraction from technology or any interruption from another person. It is possible to overlook a landscape and be aware of any ‘threat’ long before it becomes obvious. That sense of being alone and uncovered in the grandeur of nature allows one to appreciate the truth about our place in the environment.

As well as being immersed in a landscape, immersion in a more literal sense is also worth investigating. Wild swimming has become an increasingly popular activity, and naked wild swimming allows a truly deep connection with the environment and a total sensory experience (although you should always be with someone else, for safety reasons).

Sometimes, nature can be more intimate and sheltering. A woodland clearing or a secluded spot on a river bank can provide refuge and shelter and be ideal places to have an aletheic experience.

Often, natural places are busy. After all, getting into nature is good for us and a popular activity. This can make being alone with your thoughts in nature more difficult – especially when you wish to experience it in a raw, unconcealed state.

If you are lucky enough to have access to private land, with permission, then your opportunities are greater. The chances of being disturbed are lessened and you can immerse yourself in the environment on your own terms.

Many naturist clubs and associations have areas of wilderness or woodland on their land. My local venue has over 20 hectares of land, and a large part of that is woodland. That is a place where I can find a spot to stop, think and experience benefits such as forest bathing.

Sometimes, just knowing when a place is likely to be quiet will give you the opportunity that you need. Experiencing the majesty of nature in moonlight can be a profound experience, as can getting to a beach early in the morning to experience the crash of waves onto the shore when no-one else is there.

Creating a safe space closer to home

Getting out into nature to experience aletheia is not always easy, especially if you live in an urban area or if transport is not readily available. It is possible to create spaces in and around the home where the feelings associated with safe vulnerability can be achieved.

If you have a garden – even a small one overlooked by neighbours – a secluded nook can be created easily and at a low cost. The careful placement of plants and structures such as a trellis and pergola can provide the safety of privacy whilst still being permeable and open to the elements. Balconies and courtyards can also be planted and screened to increase privacy whilst also bringing nature closer to the home.

Indoor spaces also provide opportunities for connection to nature in a way that provides safe vulnerability. It is possible to create a simple aletheic space for a very low cost that provides both an immersion in a naturalistic environment with the security of being in one’s own home. It doesn’t even have to be a dedicated room. You can set up a corner in a larger room

The use of screening plants near doors or windows, sheer voile curtains over large windows and large houseplants create the aesthetics and textures. Adding natural scents and a nature-based soundscape from a smart speaker can help to create a holistic sensory experience and really bring a sense of the outdoors into the home.

The keys to safe vulnerability

Aletheia is the experience of revealing truth about ourselves and our environment through stripping away artifice and the unnecessary. It is about authenticity. Sometimes, however, we have to simulate an environment in order to experience the fleeting sense of vulnerability – the butterflies in the stomach – that can lead to a deeper understanding of ourselves.

In the environments where we live and work, this might require some forethought. Privacy might be an issue, or the risk of distractions from people or – more likely – our phones.

These can all be overcome, often with little cost attached. The keys are understanding how to use places and time to their best effect.

Contact me for advice about your own space and how to create an aletheic environment?
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16/10/2025
Radical comfort
Wellbeing stems from comfort, defined as feeling secure both physically and psychologically. Radical Comfort emphasizes a fundamental approach to design, prioritizing user needs over superficial aesthetics. It integrates physical, psychological, and environmental elements, aiming for spaces that foster true ease through biophilic elements and understanding human sensory experiences.

Note: This post explores the psychological and wellbeing benefits of naturism within biophilic environments. It contains illustrations depicting nudity and the human form.

Wellbeing is a direct result of comfort. When you are comfortable, you have greater satisfaction with your life (and work) and you are better able to achieve your goals. So, what is comfort? And, why radical comfort?

Comfort is about feeling at ease. It means that the physical environment is telling your senses that you are safe. It means reducing confused and contradictory inputs and it is very much about our psychological state.

Wellbeing is not just about design

Research on workplace wellbeing has consistently shown that the single biggest influence on wellbeing isn’t the design of the environment, but the culture of the organization. No amount of state-of-the-art biophilic design will cancel the effects of toxic management styles, lack of agency and extreme monitoring of every keystroke or toilet break.

The same applies in society. Authoritarian regimes seem quite keen to develop fabulous biophilic environments. Whilst I would never want to see those environments removed, they will never lead to true comfort when press freedom is restricted, political discussion is regarded as a threat to the state and human rights are abused. There is a whiff of ‘Bread and Circuses‘ about such installations.

So, what does ‘Radical Comfort’ mean?

The word ‘Radical’ is often thought of as being related to being revolutionary or promising major change, which it is. It also has an older meaning: of, belonging to, or from a root or roots; fundamental to or inherent in the natural processes of life.

Radical Comfort is a philosophy that seeks to satisfy human comfort at its root – at its fundamental, and unmediated level. It is the uncompromising pursuit of a state of physical, psychological, and environmental ease.

Radical Comfort moves beyond standard ideas of biophilic design by acknowledging that the most fundamental connection to nature and a sense of belonging in nature occurs when the individual is free from artifice, pretence and psychological barriers, which enable to them encounter their true selves.

Radical Comfort and design

Most design only achieves surface comfort, but Radical Comfort is a more holistic and evidence-based way of doing things. It could lead to spaces where the environment is perfectly tuned to the users’ needs. This evidence-based approach actually asks questions about what the user needs rather than simply assuming and imposing.

This approach to biophilic design is founded on the belief that human wellbeing is inseparable from our biological reality. It is a design language that honours the body as a natural component of the ecosystem, not an alien presence requiring separation and concealment.

Our search for aletheia (truth / unconcealment) drives the pursuit of Radical Comfort: the authentic truth of human wellbeing.

Physical Radical Comfort

This is design for the needs of the highly sensitive, unencumbered body. Specifically, thermal regulation, tactile sensation, acoustics and movement.

When our senses are free to work together, we are able to understand our environment with minimal mental effort. This reduces stress, frees up mental capacity and increases comfort. Our senses most effective at telling us the truth about our environment when they are unblocked and .

The touch points

By designing for the comfort of our largest sense organ, the skin, we need to reject materials that feel artificially cold, rough or sticky to bare skin. High quality, sustainably-sourced natural materials are worth investing in.

Textures make a big difference too. Wood, cork and moss not only offer greater visual interest, but the variety of different textures add to the tactile interest too.

Furniture should be designed without pressure points, harsh seams, or restrictive forms. The design should accommodate the fluid movement of the unburdened body.

We must also consider our feet

They are in near constant contact with the environment. When you think about it, our feet are remarkable parts of the body. We are naturally unstable structures – tall and top heavy – and by rights we should be constantly falling over. Our centre of gravity is about two thirds of the way up from the ground, yet our feet have a total area in contact with the ground of about only four hundred square centimetres (about two-thirds the area of a sheet of A4 paper). The nerve endings in our feet and the fine control of the muscles in our feet and legs work constantly to stop us crashing to the floor.

This means that we should allow our feet to experience the full properties of the surface. Fine changes to textures and warmth can be excellent, yet subtle, signposts to help us navigate a space more easily.

Invisible and untouchable elements: thermal and acoustic comfort

The unclad human form is highly sensitive to temperature fluctuation. A Radical Comfort space should allow, as far as is possible, as much individual control of heating, cooling and air flow. This is relatively easy in the home, but somewhat more difficult in an office or other commercial space. Having said that, some office furniture manufacturers have started to incorporate adjustable heating and cooling elements in desk tops that provide warmth around the wrists – an especially sensitive area that can help regulate body temperature.

I mentioned in a previous post about how getting into a state of flow can make the work day seem easier. Distractions can break that flow state, and it can take a long time to get back into it. One of the most frequent and annoying distractions is noise. Radical Comfort requires quiet (not necessarily silence) and the absence of distracting sound.

This can be achieved with a number of biophilic elements: plants and moss are good at absorbing and diffracting noise, and synthetic soundscapes that produce subtle non-rhythmic sounds, reminiscent of a breeze or waterfall, or even the lapping of waves on a stony beach have been demonstrated to be very effective at masking distracting noise.

Light and shadows

Radical Comfort takes into account our natural biorhythms and how we respond to light throughout the day. In our wild, ancestral state, humans evolved to respond to changes in light intensity and quality throughout the day. As the light changed, so various hormones were produced or supressed affecting our mood, alertness, appetite and sleeping patterns.

Fortunately, biodynamic lighting is available to replicate these natural patterns. In the home, smart lighting can be programmed to approximate the changes during the day, but in commercial buildings, really sophisticated systems can be deployed to great effect. Biodynamic lighting is even used in some aircraft to reduce the impacts of jet lag.

As well as the quality of light, we should think about how the light plays around a space – the shadows cast, the direction it comes from, glare produced and the interaction with paint colours. This requires careful consideration of wall finishes, ceiling heights, and reflective surfaces – even the use of mirrors to move light around a space to borrow views from the outside and bring them in.

We can even consider the Golden Hour effect in the context of an aletheic environment. The space could be designed to maximize soft, warm light during the hours of rest and relaxation. Low light levels can enhance relaxation and the feeling of wellbeing as well as reducing self-consciousness through shade and deeper shadows – a key step toward psychological Radical Comfort.

Psychological Radical Comfort

Comfort is not just physical, it is psychological as well. A good sensory environment is critical for our sense of safety, but we must also consider the mental environment as well.

In fact, good psychological comfort can outweigh the problems of a poor physical environment as long as there is a feeling of security and the ability to be one’s self without judgement or interference.

In design terms, a place of Radical Comfort is about creating a space where the user feels absolute security, privacy and agency. The user of the space decides who is let in, and under what conditions.

Such a space minimizes stress and the feeling of the need to perform, or to conceal, any aspect of the self.

This could mean the use of materials such as privacy glass in windows – allowing a view out, but restricting a view in – or the careful placement of screens and plants. These could be permeable to a degree to allow light and breezes in without ever fully exposing the private space.

On the other hand, places where complete trust and acceptance are found, such as in naturist venues, can be ideal spaces for being completely, authentically, uncovered without fear of judgement or objectification. The creation of new kinds of aletheic, naturist environments away from traditional settings is one that I am particularly interested in exploring.

The biophilic envelope

Radical Comfort seeks to guarantee a restorative environment by creating a seamless interaction with living systems (biophilia). This could mean designing interior and exterior spaces that are fully private and secure, creating a sense of being enveloped by nature. The space will allow for the safe experience of the liberated state, and is the key to turning a garden or room into an aletheic environment rather than just a pretty space.

Plants, water features, and textures are not merely decorative but should be used to deliver an optimized, positive sensory input. This could include using plants with pleasant scents (which is easier in a garden than indoors) and tactile qualities that invite one to touch and feel the foliage.

Plant displays can also be used to optimize the acoustic environment too. Research carried out as long ago as the 1990s showed how plants and plant displays could absorb, diffuse and refract sound. Indoors, they can be placed to reduce echoes. Outdoors, trees are especially good at absorbing noises.

Biophilic elements can be actively used to improve air quality and humidity to a therapeutic level, even exceeding standards such as the WELL building standard. Green walls, and especially the new generation of active air green wall systems, are very good at improving indoor air quality by reducing pollutants and improving humidity – something that would be especially beneficial to uncovered skin. When used well, the synergy of function and biophilic beauty can have a significant benefit.

My background in plant science and horticulture, as well as my long experience of biophilic design, allows me to focus on the use of greenery and other aspects of interior landscaping to maximize Radical Comfort. If you would like to learn more or would like some advice on a project, then please get in touch.
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02/10/2025