Dog Walk Thoughts: Design vs. Art
Nacaru, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
This is something I’ve pondered for a long time: what makes art art and design design? Where does one end and the other begin? These important and apparently life-changing questions are the kinds of things I find myself mulling over while wandering through the countryside with my hairy companions. The answer, I’ve concluded, is that design has a function. An object that’s designed achieves something beyond mere aesthetics. It has a raison d'être — a purpose for its existence beyond looking pretty. Yes, one could argue that art also has a reason to exist beyond looking pretty — to make us feel, to communicate ideas or provoke thought — but it’s not going to peel potatoes, give you a place to sit down, or keep you warm.
Could you imagine if we weren’t called landscape designers but instead billed ourselves as “plant painters”, “jardin artistes” or “horticultural alchemists”?! Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me if there were people operating under any of those names, but would you expect them to solve the list of problems that every client brings? Probably not. They’d likely be wafting about in a floaty dress, waving their hands like an amateur drama student and trying to sell some artisan Bulgarian paving at £500 a square metre, alongside a lounge set woven from the hair of actual angels!
What we’re really here to do is make people’s lives better through practical solutions and beauty — and that starts with knowing what you’re here to do through an incredibly thorough brief. Large terrace for dining? Tick. Sunken trampoline disguised behind planting? Tick. Secluded seating area for peaceful sunset G&Ts? Double tick. Add in the boring but essential stuff — not seeing the cars from the dining room, sorting out the drainage around the front door — and you’ve met all your client’s needs with your layout. Hurrah.
But you’re not quite ready to unleash your inner artist just yet, because the detailing stage brings its own set of problems. Materials need to be suitable for our damp British climate, practical to install, and of course, affordable. On the planting side there’s the perennial (geddit?!) challenge of maintenance, hardiness, whether your chosen species are likely to collapse after one summer, and how they’ll fit into the client’s oh-so-specific colour scheme.
Once you’ve solved all that, now it’s time to shine and let the artist within take over. You’ve dealt with the practicalities — now it’s about beauty. This is where design begins to merge with art: the point where you’re not just solving problems but composing something expressive. You’re thinking about the way one texture sits against another, how the shadows from an Acer dance across the lawn, how the evening light threads through the grasses in that perfect G&T spot. It’s in these details — the ones that make you smile without quite knowing why — that a design becomes more than functional. It becomes art.
Every design starts with a problem to solve. That’s why I’m such a champion of the humble brief. It’s what gives the work structure and direction — the practical skeleton on which the creative flesh can grow. Think of how a company like Nike approaches design. They don’t just say, “Make us a trainer people will love.” They define the problem precisely: who it’s for, what it’s for, how it needs to perform, and how it should make people feel. A brief for a basketball shoe aimed at men in their 40s who play casually at weekends might emphasise comfort over performance, premium materials over high-tech fabrics, and draw on nostalgic 80s styling that taps into the wearer’s youth and cultural memories. Within that framework, the creative team can craft something beautiful — but it’s the constraints that give their artistry meaning.
And that, I think, is the key difference between art and design. Art begins wherever it pleases; design begins with a problem to solve. But at their best, both lead us to something that moves us — and if we’ve done our jobs right, perhaps something that peels potatoes and makes you smile.