I haven’t spent a lot of time in hospitals. So I may not be the best judge of what I’m about to say. But why do we design hospitals to be so depressing? Why do they have to look so, well, clinical?

I asked this question on Twitter a few days ago and I was recommended to listen to a 99% Invisible podcast called The Blue Yarn. If you haven’t yet heard of this podcast series, I would highly recommend you check it out (in addition The Blue Yarn episode).

What this particular podcast was about was rethinking hospital design in terms of patients, as opposed to staff hierarchy. And the way they illustrated the need for that was through some simple blue yarn.

Using yarn, management physically mapped out the paths of patients as they moved through this particular medical center. And what they found was a tremendous amount of waste. There was a lot of waiting around (in dingy rooms) and a lot of unnecessary moving around.

Instead of putting patients first, the hospital had been designed in terms of staff offices and other criteria. Ultimately, this exercise ended up triggering a complete redesign of the hospital.

After the redesign, there were a lot of grouchy doctors who had lost cushy offices. Some even quit. But the hospital became more efficient, more profitable, and, most importantly, safer for patients. So much so that their insurance expenses dropped by 37%!

But this obviously isn’t the only foray into rethinking hospital design. In fact, there’s something out there called “evidence-based hospital design”, where the objective is to leverage data and actual evidence to figure out the relationship between architecture and patient well-being.

One of the pioneering studies in this area was done in 1984 by Roger Ulrich. 

The study took patients in Pennsylvania recovering from gallbladder surgery and split them up into two groups. The first group was given a room with a beautiful nature view and the second group was given a room with a view of a brick wall.

What they discovered from this experiment was that the group with the view of nature not only recovered faster but also needed fewer painkillers during the recovery. That’s a fascinating finding.

So it’s not surprising that this sort of thinking is making its way into contemporary hospital design. And that’s a great thing.

Hospitals should be uplifting, restorative, and beautiful spaces. Does that not seem sensible?

Urban Capital has just unveiled its new Smart House condo project here in Toronto. With units starting at 289 square feet, the project is all about ultra-compact and ultra-smart living.

While micro-apartments are trending right now, they’re not a new idea. Architects have been fascinated by modular, adaptable and compact living for ages. Here’s an example of 100 square foot living capsules built in Tokyo in the 1970s.

Tokyo, of course, is a unique example. There you have the entire population of Canada living in one city. But that doesn’t mean that Toronto isn’t feeling the pressures of urban intensification. Apartments are getting smaller.

But the interesting thing about space is that it’s a relative thing. I personally live in 650 square feet and find it more than enough space. Though I also place a huge value on my time and try to minimize the amount of traveling I need to do.

And this is really the trade off you make with space. As you move further away from a city (and housing costs drop), you’re effectively shifting those housing costs to transportation costs. Which includes real costs like gas and time, as well as more intangible costs like quality of life.

However, I know many people that are willing to make that trade off for more space. But I wonder sometimes how much of that incremental space is necessity versus perceived necessity.

How much space do you need?

I haven’t spent a lot of time in hospitals. So I may not be the best judge of what I’m about to say. But why do we design hospitals to be so depressing? Why do they have to look so, well, clinical?

I asked this question on Twitter a few days ago and I was recommended to listen to a 99% Invisible podcast called The Blue Yarn. If you haven’t yet heard of this podcast series, I would highly recommend you check it out (in addition The Blue Yarn episode).

What this particular podcast was about was rethinking hospital design in terms of patients, as opposed to staff hierarchy. And the way they illustrated the need for that was through some simple blue yarn.

Using yarn, management physically mapped out the paths of patients as they moved through this particular medical center. And what they found was a tremendous amount of waste. There was a lot of waiting around (in dingy rooms) and a lot of unnecessary moving around.

Instead of putting patients first, the hospital had been designed in terms of staff offices and other criteria. Ultimately, this exercise ended up triggering a complete redesign of the hospital.

After the redesign, there were a lot of grouchy doctors who had lost cushy offices. Some even quit. But the hospital became more efficient, more profitable, and, most importantly, safer for patients. So much so that their insurance expenses dropped by 37%!

But this obviously isn’t the only foray into rethinking hospital design. In fact, there’s something out there called “evidence-based hospital design”, where the objective is to leverage data and actual evidence to figure out the relationship between architecture and patient well-being.

One of the pioneering studies in this area was done in 1984 by Roger Ulrich. 

The study took patients in Pennsylvania recovering from gallbladder surgery and split them up into two groups. The first group was given a room with a beautiful nature view and the second group was given a room with a view of a brick wall.

What they discovered from this experiment was that the group with the view of nature not only recovered faster but also needed fewer painkillers during the recovery. That’s a fascinating finding.

So it’s not surprising that this sort of thinking is making its way into contemporary hospital design. And that’s a great thing.

Hospitals should be uplifting, restorative, and beautiful spaces. Does that not seem sensible?

Urban Capital has just unveiled its new Smart House condo project here in Toronto. With units starting at 289 square feet, the project is all about ultra-compact and ultra-smart living.

While micro-apartments are trending right now, they’re not a new idea. Architects have been fascinated by modular, adaptable and compact living for ages. Here’s an example of 100 square foot living capsules built in Tokyo in the 1970s.

Tokyo, of course, is a unique example. There you have the entire population of Canada living in one city. But that doesn’t mean that Toronto isn’t feeling the pressures of urban intensification. Apartments are getting smaller.

But the interesting thing about space is that it’s a relative thing. I personally live in 650 square feet and find it more than enough space. Though I also place a huge value on my time and try to minimize the amount of traveling I need to do.

And this is really the trade off you make with space. As you move further away from a city (and housing costs drop), you’re effectively shifting those housing costs to transportation costs. Which includes real costs like gas and time, as well as more intangible costs like quality of life.

However, I know many people that are willing to make that trade off for more space. But I wonder sometimes how much of that incremental space is necessity versus perceived necessity.

How much space do you need?