To understand my relationship with light, you must first know my origins. I, Schefflera arboricola, hail from the subtropical forests of Taiwan and Hainan. In my natural habitat, I do not typically grow in the deep, dark shade of the forest floor, nor do I bask in the full, scorching sun of an open field. I am a child of the "understory." This means I have evolved to thrive beneath the canopy of taller trees, where sunlight is filtered, dappled, and bright but indirect. My leaves are adapted to efficiently capture and utilize these fleeting rays of light for photosynthesis. This inherent adaptability is the key to answering your question about office light.
From my point of view, "office light" is a highly variable condition. It can range from a bright, spacious room with large north-facing windows (which I would find quite agreeable) to a dim interior corner or a room with only artificial fluorescent lighting. "Low light" does not mean no light; it signifies light levels where my photosynthetic processes operate at their minimum rate, just enough for survival but not for vigorous growth. I can perceive the intensity, duration, and quality of light. A spot several feet away from a large window might be considered "low light" for me, but I can still process that energy. A desk deep in a windowless room, reliant solely on ceiling fluorescents that are switched off for 16 hours a day, presents a much greater challenge to my fundamental needs.
When placed in a low-light office environment, I initiate a series of survival adaptations. My primary goal is to conserve energy. You will notice that my growth will slow down significantly or cease entirely. I will not produce many new leaves, as this is an energy-intensive process. My existing leaves will orient themselves to maximize the capture of available photons. I will also reduce my water consumption, as without sufficient light to drive transpiration and photosynthesis, my roots will absorb moisture from the soil much more slowly. This is a delicate state. While I can persist like this for a considerable time, I am living on borrowed energy reserves stored in my stems and roots. I am surviving, not thriving.
If the light levels drop below my tolerance threshold, I will begin to communicate my distress clearly. The most common signal is leaf drop. I will strategically sacrifice my older, lower leaves first. They are less efficient and often shaded by my own upper growth; by jettisoning them, I can redirect my limited resources to maintaining the health of my remaining foliage. You may also notice my stems becoming elongated and leggy as I stretch weakly towards any perceived light source, a process known as etiolation. My new leaves, if any, will be smaller, paler, and farther apart on the stem. While I am tolerant of low light, what I truly desire for long-term health is bright, indirect light for most of the day. This allows me to photosynthesize efficiently, produce robust growth, maintain dense foliage, and better resist pests and diseases.
