The Future of Terrestrial Architecture
Biomimicry in architectural design
Last week, I wrote an article about how scientists are using corals as an inspiration for making materials like cement and concrete more sustainable. This approach—imitating nature to improve the functionality of man-made materials and structures—is called biomimicry. Today, I would like to continue exploring the topic of bio-inspired materials, shapes and principles in architecture.
A few weeks ago, while I was writing an article on bio-inspired design in architecture, I got to interview Ginger Dosier, the founder of a carbon-negative biocement startup Biomason. An architect by training, Dosier embarked on the journey into the fascinating world of biomaterials after she became acutely aware of the footprint we leave behind us. At the time, she was downsizing to prepare for a move across the country. Looking at all the stuff she had, she thought about how nice it would be if the things we own, instead of becoming trash once they are no longer needed, could just dissolve and become part of the environment again.
I can relate to that sentiment. Every time I moved, I thought: “Oh my god, why do I have so much stuff??” After a while, my nomadic lifestyle has turned me into a minimalist. When I travel for months at a time, everything I have fits into two suitcases and I rarely miss that favorite mug or blanket or even books that have shaped me. Instead of being sentimental, I try not to attach my identity to material objects. Getting rid of stuff feels liberating to me. But for Ginger, moving inspired her to look deeper into what that stuff was made of.
For her master’s projects, she created dissolvable benches that had seeds embedded inside of them. The benches were designed in such a way that they would pierce the ground when they started to decay, and plants would grow from them. I thought that was beautiful. Dosier did not stop there, however. For her next project, she set up a lab in her spare bedroom where she began growing biocement bricks using microorganisms that fix carbon dioxide to form limestone, nature’s rock glue.
Ginger struck me as one of those deep thinkers who ask questions that no one else bothers to ask, like why do we keep building our buildings with the same materials and techniques that were developed several hundreds of years ago? She believes that architects have a special responsibility: when they look at the palette of materials available to them, they have to think not just about the aesthetics and functionality. They have to think about the entire lifecycle of those materials. How long will they be around? And what will happen to them after they have outlived their purpose?
Biomimetic architecture
Arguably, the biggest leap in architecture since the invention of the Gothic arch was the invention of steel beams that gave us skyscrapers, the Brooklyn Bridge and the Eiffel Tower. The use of steel in construction brought with it a slew of other innovations. Thanks to its strength, buildings became taller, lighter and could accommodate a lot more empty spaces, which made it possible to create beautiful features like floor-length windows. To fill those spaces, engineers had to improve the glassmaking process, inventing float glass that could be manufactured into large panes. (This is why today we have “cities of mirrors” as dreamed prophetically by Jose Arcadio Buendia in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude.)
As in every other field, inventions in architecture tend to build incrementally, one on top of another. But occasionally, a change in perspective allows for revolutionary step changes. Biomimetic architecture is one of those paradigm-shifting technologies. It has the potential to transform all stages of the lifecycle of our buildings, from design to decomposition.
From the materials standpoint, the mechanical properties of many biological materials are unparalleled. For example, the weight-to-strength ratio of spider silk is 5 times that of steel. Other bio-based materials, such as insulating mushroom bricks and carbon-negative coral limestone, take advantage of nature’s ingenuity to create more circular supply chains. Instead of taking existing resources out of the ground, these technologies create materials out of air (quite literally) by fixing atmospheric carbon. And in the case of mushrooms, those materials are completely biodegradable.
On the design side, bio-inspired solutions can help us make buildings more sustainable by decreasing the need for cooling or collecting ambient water. A great example of this is the Minister of Municipal & Agricultural Affairs building in Qatar, dubbed the Cactus Building. It is designed to keep the interior cool by using windows that open and close in response to heat and incorporates a microorganism-powered wastewater treatment system for water conservation.
Another example that sits somewhere between the material and structural design is Phalanx insulation. Phalanx has created a system for passive cooling of buildings (meaning it does not require electricity). It consists of three biology-inspired layers. The first layer has a wavy pattern that creates shade, inspired by the texture of cacti. The second layer, inspired by the architecture of termite mounds, directs hot air up and out of the system. The third layer mimics wheat stalks: it can collect the morning dew from the air and pull up water through capillary action to stimulate evaporation.
These are just a few examples of how biology can make architecture more sustainable. In the words of Janine Benyus, a biomimetic design pioneer, “A sustainable world already exists. We're just now beginning to open our eyes and realize that the answers to the questions we've been asking are all around us.”.
The balance between imagination and practicality
So, why are we not incorporating biology-inspired solutions into every new building we put up? I guess the reason is just inertia. Change takes time. Architecture is especially resistant to change because the structures built decades or even centuries ago are still standing, and they are influencing our ideas of what architecture should look like. Take concrete, for example. Corals can grow into all sorts of amazing and beautiful shapes, but the most practical application of bio-cement today is using it to manufacture concrete bricks. Bricks are a universal shape that can be easily put together, just like Lego blocks, and fit well into the existing infrastructure of the construction industry. Yes, they are made from carbon-neutral materials. But they are still bricks: inanimate, inert and uninspiring.
Something to consider is that when we create new materials or build new structures, we are taking resources out of the Earth’s biochemical cycles. The resulting structures are neither alive nor integrated into living ecosystems. As we are building out our habitat, these inanimate, man-made materials are replacing living things.
We have to start thinking more ambitiously, to propose ideas that may not be currently practical—perhaps not even possible today—but are truly sustainable in the long run. When I wrote the article about the famous Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi, I used his magnum opus, the Sagrada Familia Basilica, as an example of how “impossible” ideas can guide the development of technology. If we keep thinking about architecture within the constraints of existing technologies, our biological solutions will have no wings, they will merely provide incremental improvements.
We have to dream up impossible things—like buildings that are alive. Houses that can relocate themselves with the seasons to take advantage of favorable weather or collect precipitation to grow food for their inhabitants. Or roads that are suspended in the air instead of paving over the soil that could serve as farmland or a habitat for wildlife. Or cities that stimulate biodiversity by distributing purified wastewater, compost and emitting signals like birdsong to attract wildlife instead of repelling it.
If we imagine a future where we are living in concert with Nature instead of fighting a turf war with it, how will that influence the architecture we create? Will it have more organic forms or will we shape natural materials to conform once again to our ordered tastes? Will it use color to blend in or stand out? I guess the answer will depend on whether we, as a species, want to mimic biology or set ourselves apart from it.