The Human in Place. Beauty and Ecology Entangled—As Essential for Wellbeing.
Our environments shape us far more deeply than we realise. We take for granted, every day, how our built structures are active participants in our health and sense of belonging. Where we sleep, work, and recover, where we play and wander—all of which reach into the very fabric of our biology, bringing to light Indigenous understandings of land and cosmology, while sustaining or undermining the ecological systems we depend on.
If we look closely, we begin to see an intrinsic link between human life, place, and the natural world. It is here we can trace the origins of beauty as the connective pattern shaping how we form our environments, how our environments shape and inform us, and how these patterns of beauty continue to live within us (Alison, 2018).
This is the human in place—beauty and ecology.
And the future?
This is the question: how can our future environments embody what is essential for human wellbeing, and for our home planet?
How Space, Architecture, and Beauty Shape Wellbeing
There are many more questions that arise: do the environments we move in and out of have any lasting effect on us emotionally, physically or spiritually? And how can we build an existence that protects and nurtures what it is to be human, both on a physiological and phenomenological basis?
As I think back to my architectural study days, I’m reminded of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man—geometry mimicking cosmic patterns, organs resembling prehistoric trees, human proportion as universal order (Capra, 2007). Our bodies mirror the earth itself: composed of ~70% water, much like the planet with oceans covering two-thirds of its surface (Popkin et al., 2010). Colour, too, holds significance—with the colour green shown to ease stress and promote calm as it represents its connection to nature (Lichtenfeld et al., 2012; Kweon et al., 2008). Even something as simple as watching a sunset can stimulate serotonin release, comparable to connecting (in person) with a close friend (Nisbet et al., 2011). By observing our surroundings, noticing what makes us feel good, and witnessing patterns alike, a hidden beauty is revealed that clearly connects us all, and is essential for human flourishing and ecological thriving.
Origins—Indigenous Knowing
To unravel this seemingly (modern-day) mysterious phenomenon of ‘man and nature as one’—we need to look back to our origins in understanding the foundations of what once was—to understand what it truly means to be human.
Indigenous cultures across the world have walked this Earth for thousands of years, carrying arguably the longest lineage of embodied living practices—integrating body, mind, and spirit, with the aesthetics of land and ecological systems—expressed through ceremony, healing, and communal gathering.
The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples in Canada (1996) demonstrated first-hand how the displacement of First Nation people and Inuit greatly affected their wellbeing. Land, shelter and ecology are therefore not separate. These forced relocations and the integration of colonial housing programmes disrupted the connection and relationship people had to their environments, which significantly contributed to poor health outcomes (both mental and physical). Shelter is an expression of relational knowledge that links the whole being and land for First Nations People. The replacement housing was one of industrialised mechanics—with grid-like layouts, single-family homes, and poor insulation resulting in immediate and long-lasting detrimental effects.
This is a sad demonstration of how Western colonisation has separated the very foundation of what it is to be human. That we are not separate from the natural world, and our habitats are the fluid, liminal spaces and extensions between body–mind and land. They keep us sheltered, safe—we need enclosed environments to survive (in our modern world), but we have been cut apart from what is intrinsically still embedded within us as a species, and our Indigenous cultures are a beautiful reminder and demonstration of this.
Post-industrialisation—modernist architecture continued this rupture with efficiency and production prioritised above all else, resulting in sterile, utilitarian environments that alienated rather than nurtured. In both colonial and modernist paradigms, true beauty was essentially stripped from architecture—giving way to form and function mostly for its own existence, as we then saw the rise of littered skylines of perfume bottles (Chatterjee, Coburn and Weinberger, 2019).
Behind all the glitz and glamour there were still movements that kept Indigenous ‘knowing’ alive. The introduction of phenomenology (Alison, 2018) provided Western philosophical language with the same truth: that the built environment is lived and embodied through the human condition. Moving forward, we now see emerging research within the frameworks of somaesthetics and neuroaesthetics—a welcome “rediscovery” (through the lens of modern design research) of what Indigenous knowledge has known for millennia.
Phenomenology & Somaesthetics
Combining such emerging science-based frameworks with philosophy has grounded design in a more well-represented domain to evidently show how humans are affected by their environments, and how essential it is to design with health and wellbeing in mind.
Mark Tschaepe’s (2018) essay “Somaesthetics of Discomfort and Wayfinding: Encouraging Inclusive Architectural Design” discusses the effects of ill-informed wayfinding and the illicit response it has on people. If we unpack what it is to be in ‘discomfort’, we can understand it to be an emotion. Through a construct of proportions, materials, forms and patterns—we respond not only cognitively but somatically to our environments. When we are met with an emotional response, we may also notice other bodily changes—perhaps our posture shifts, we may feel disoriented, and so forth. Within his research, Tschaepe uses ‘discomfort’ as a way to identify what ‘feels good’ for us in our environments, and how we can therefore design better spaces and cities, in particular therapeutic spaces.
It is here we must begin to understand how the body–mind connection actually works. When the brain perceives sadness elicited by bodily sensory experience, we cry. Similarly, if the heart races—perhaps triggered by poor wayfinding—the brain interprets this as anxiety, and we feel discomfort. In other words, the brain reads bodily changes and assigns meaning. We are therefore responding to our environments in what Anil Seth (2021) describes as a “body–brain loop.” Alongside this, our past lived experiences also shape how we perceive the world—how we read signs, both literally and metaphorically.
On the other side of this process, as we move through our environments and register their somatic effects, Pallasmaa (2012) positions architecture as ‘a lived, sensory, and embodied experience’. Here, then, we can see the mechanism (Seth, 2021) and the consequence (Pallasmaa, 2012), together offering a more holistic understanding of what is happening within us—and how we respond to the built world.
These two frameworks show us why beauty (the mind and how we see the world) and embodiment (our bodily felt senses) in architecture need to work together.
Seth’s (2021) research in neuroscience further demonstrates that our perception emerges from the dynamic linking of body, brain, and environment. In parallel, Pallasmaa’s (2012) phenomenology shows how architecture participates in this loop: spaces that neglect multisensory, embodied experience can diminish our sense of self, while those attuned to texture, rhythm, and materiality can sustain belonging and wellbeing. With its modern understanding—we can see how our built environments are not neutral backdrops but active participants in shaping the body–mind ecology of our health and wellbeing. As mentioned prior, this research also allows us to bring science into design, and supports past Indigenous knowledge as to why beauty and embodiment in architecture matter.
Rise & Risks of Neurodesign
And so while there are many benefits to neuroscience helping our design profession(s) develop a more scientific understanding of what many designers have always done (and that is ‘intuit’ a lot of what is now evidently backed and supported through neurodesign frameworks as one example), there are limits and a dark side to be cautioned, and paid attention to (particularly in the early stages of development with emerging fields). Many fMRI studies are limited in what they show to be conclusions of how human beings respond to built environments, with participants often monitored in static, upright positions while observing their surroundings. While this certainly provides insight into how our brains respond to how we take in stimulus—it is limiting in that it negates the body, movement, and somatic processing—in connection to the brain.
Chatterjee, Coburn & Weinberger (2021) study support this suggesting much of the current neuroarchitecture literature rely more on “descriptive mapping” brain patterns without other effects (like somatic or ecological implications) and recognise the need to move towards more controlled, hypothesis-driven work.
I am yet to find any significant studies on the body–brain connection within the context of how humans respond, are affected, and participate—as one holistic organism—in and with our physical environments. Furthermore, there is even less research on how our intrinsic connection to the natural world is filtered through us and expressed in the built world (Ingold, 2011). Much of the existing work offers segmented understandings and applications, framed as separate principles to improve health and wellbeing within our built environments. While these are valuable and viable in their own right, we cannot approach any living future or solution in silo. We need a much more multi-dimensional and holistic understanding.
It is here I believe beauty (“our brains on art” and neuroaesthetics), the body (somaesthetics and the embodiment of space), and ecology (the anchor and foundation of who we are, connecting all together) present a truer picture of what it is to be human—and, in turn, a deeper understanding of why we respond to our environments and how they can support us to live well. (Chatterjee and Vartanian, 2022).
We must also consider ethical implications within neurodesign applications used to advance profit with the potential to manipulate experiences for commercial gain only—a somewhat danger of reductionism where the human is reduced to data, resulting in culture, felt experiences, and ecological influences disappearing. Our sense of beauty is not only in the brain—it is in the body, but also in the ecosystems we belong to.
Ecology, Beauty, and Belonging
There is still one dimension missing, as it seems to always be. While we (as designers) are often focused on a human-centred approach as our ethical compass, we have often (in the past) forgotten to consider the very living, breathing “more than human” (More Than Human, 2025) organism that sustains us all—the planet.
Buildings must therefore also be designed as ecological participants, not as just ‘human servicing machines’ (Latour, 2017). As we have discovered throughout this essay, we are simply not separate entities, or users of a backdrop world, but “dwelling beings” intertwined as one with nature (Ingold, 2011). In other words, we are all connected, just as our buildings are living, breathing organisms born out of our own perceptions, and supported by our earthly materials. Ingold also criticises the notion that space is an empty container, and instead states our environments are threaded with life, movement and stories—“we make places, but places also make us” (Ingold, 2011).
In coming full circle, we can see this within our Indigenous cultures where “place” (space and the built environment) is lived, relational, and deeply ecological—all contributing to each other. And where does beauty fit into all of this? Beauty is the very premise of it all. It is the brain, shaping how we perceive aesthetics. It is the body, lived through our sensory experiences of skin, smell, taste, light, texture, and sound. And it is ecology, revealed in the patterns of nature that live innately within us and sustain our very being.
In designing for a deeper sense of what it is to be human, we also create a sense of belonging that has been lost to the “shiny, flat and boring” within our built world (Heatherwick, 2025).
Futures of Care
If beauty is the hidden form that sustains life, then care must be the expression of this in design. As I reflect on where the immediate need is within architecture and the built world—I see many problematic areas—however the one that feels the most connected to what is discussed here are the challenges we face (across the globe) with a rapidly ageing population.
The environments we build will determine not just how to solve such a global and pressing issue, but how long and how well we live. It is also clear our challenges and prior treatment of ageing populations is not too dissimilar to that of displaced Indigenous cultures and communities. Before we even consider economic implications—we need to carefully look at the origins of what it means to be human, how we sustain our wellbeing, and connection to the world through our environments (across the entire ecosystem).
Futures of care must consider beauty not as luxury but as essential to our health and wellbeing, and one denoted from modern language and understanding—but of the true meaning of beauty and the Human in Place.
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