Biophilia isn’t a style; it’s a way of making places that feel alive. In this conversation, our General Director and Senior Architect, Matthew Hon Chin Khoeng, shares what biophilia truly means in practice. His reflections reveal how design can quietly change the way we live and breathe.
Hello Matthew, thank you for your presence today. To begin, could you tell us what biophilia means to you as an architect?
When I talk about biophilia, I’m not thinking “add more plants”. I’m thinking about how your body feels in a space: eyes relaxing after screen time, air that actually moves, a bit of dappled shade that makes you want to pause a minute longer. In Singapore’s heat, biophilia is practical: cooler, calmer, cheaper to run. If a place quietly slows your breathing without you noticing why, that’s when I know we got it right.
So how have you applied biophilic principles in your projects?
Let’s take the example of our industrial atrium retrofit. We had a big, hot, echoey volume that everyone avoided. Then we carved a tall “breathing spine” through it – high-level vents, a porous ground floor, and a slender rill of water running past a row of benches. Suddenly, the acoustics softened, the temperature felt a couple of degrees kinder, and people started taking their breaks there. No poster campaign, no memo, just better air and a reason to linger.
In dense cities with little greenery, what is “nature connection” really?
We don’t need a forest in every lobby. We need comfort and cues. A natural breeze beats cold air, and framing the neighbour’s rain tree like a painting can give you a park for free. Nature lives in textures that age, water that works, and edges that invite pause. When those edges feel alive, the whole building feels alive.
What advice would you give to young architects who want to design with nature in mind?
Start with climate, not mood boards, let the sun path, wind, and rain guide your design, and beauty will follow. Ask the brief to see what can breathe, what can be outdoors or shared, because enclosing everything kills life. Prototype small, measure comfort, iterate, then scale. And design for maintenance from day one; if it can’t be cared for, it won’t last. Finally, always speak ROI like a developer, which means lower cooling loads, longer dwell time, happier tenants. Nature pays back when you design it right.
Conclusion
Matthew’s approach reminds us that biophilia is a design ethic rooted in awareness, restraint, and respect for climate. It’s about finding balance in small, practical gestures that make cities more livable and human. If we design with sensitivity to air, light, and time, even the densest places can feel calm, breathable, and alive.
