The joy of a compact garden is that you’re right in it, intimately up close to savour every detail. Small spaces demand clarity. You have to be decisive – ruthless even – about your priorities, as it forces you to put away the endless wish list. And if the shape is awkward? Even better. I’d take that over a perfect square any day. Odd angles give you niches and corners, interesting places to squeeze in a seat, plant a tree, frame a lovely vignette or discreetly tuck in something practical.
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Don’t forget how you experience the garden: not just when you’re in it, but from inside the house,
looking out. Understand the conditions, ecology and soil; yes, it’s basic stuff, but it underpins every decision. In a small garden, where nothing can hide, it’s important to get those foundations right.
Einstein once said that if he had an hour to solve a problem, he would spend 55 minutes understanding it and five minutes solving it. That instinct is one to channel; properly taking time to get under the skin of any garden design project and understand its opportunities and limitations is time well spent, rather than rushing to respond and impose.
Catch the light
Designing with light is especially important in a small space. One of the first things we suggest to anyone starting a new garden is to not rush in, but instead observe. Notice where the light falls, even if it’s fleeting, as well as where shadows from surrounding buildings move and where you’re naturally drawn.
We use geo-located solar modelling in the studio, but there’s no substitute for simply knowing where the last rays of sun land in the evening, or the lovely spot where you always take your morning coffee.
In Northern and Western hemispheres, east-facing spaces suit mornings; west light is perfect for suppers and firepits. South-facing spots get the most sun, so think about dappling and how to create moments of natural shade. Even a north-facing garden can work beautifully once you understand where the light falls and when.
We always begin by imagining the footprint as completely planted. From there, we carve out the spaces for gathering and pausing, using the sun, views, privacy and other site conditions to guide us. Once those are settled, we link them with paths. It might sound semantic, but starting with this as our compass inevitably leads to plants being integral and leading the garden, rather than pushed to the edges.
One of the first things we suggest to anyone starting a new garden is to not rush in, but instead observe.
A sense of discovery
A good garden unveils itself gradually: over time, in movement through it, in intriguing views, and across the seasons. When I designed my first RHS Chelsea Flower Show garden in 2017, I asked Dan Pearson for advice. As always, he was incredibly kind and generous, and reminded me that even in that 100 square metre plot, the real key is not seeing everything at once.
It gave me confidence to bring some characterful jack pines to the fore and create unfolding glimpses, rather than give them all at once. There’s something mildly despairing about looking out onto a space where everything is visible in one go: a rectangle of lawn with narrow beds pressed up against the fence. It’s a garden, technically, but there is no journey, no discovery, no exploration. Even gardens of the tiniest footprints can be memorable and excel at creating curiosity.
In awkwardly shaped or narrow gardens, avoid a single dominant axis. Introducing diagonals, whether in how the space is divided or through a change in the direction of a path, is a deft trick to disrupt the corridor effect. It opens up opportunities for denser, triangular chunks of planting that make the garden feel larger and more immersive.
It also creates corners for extra moments: a seat nestled into planting, for example, which shifts views and expands the experience of the space. This kind of design choreography creates a more dynamic layout, making a compact garden feel more expansive.
Playing with levels can also be transformative; creating subtle shifts in sightlines so the garden unfolds gradually in a sequence of distinct spaces, without resorting to screening that might make it feel smaller.
If you can, make steps slightly deeper than the standard 300mm tread. That extra generosity underfoot will help the garden feel more spacious and generous.
Celebrate the side return
I’ve always loved a side return, and wish they weren’t so often sacrificed to the logic of a kitchen extension, thus flattening everything into a boxy, square garden with no nooks, no crannies and no planting microclimates. It’s those awkward bits that make us inventive.
The one at my house in London has a completely different microclimate to the rest of my south-facing garden; cooler because of the shade of the buildings, and from my sitting room it gives me a gorgeous snapshot into delicious textural woodlanders that the rest of the garden is a bit too hot to host.
The side return allows a Hydrangea hydrangeoides to climb on one side and star jasmine on the other, its fragrance wafting into my bedroom window on warm evenings.
Elsewhere in London, in Kennington, we have created a garden where tree ferns bounce and interject along the side return, framing the view from a ground-floor bedroom. A slim, curving path weaves through them – the gentle bends creating generous pockets for ferns, luzula, rodgersia and other shady jewels to thrive – before leading into the garden beyond. It’s a lovely space in its own right, not just a corridor.
Don’t be afraid to bring trees forward into the heart of the garden, close enough to enjoy from the house; they don’t need to cling to the edges. If you are lucky enough that your neighbours have trees, all the better – they will serve as borrowed green, visually extending your space and giving a sense of depth.
Trees are naturally sculptural, offering structure, seasonal interest and wildlife activity throughout the year. Careful selection of a light-canopied, deciduous variety will avoid blocking light or views. A gentle pruning of the lower branches of a multi-stemmed tree in its dormancy, 600-800mm from ground
level, will let you underplant beautifully and allow sightlines through to the garden beyond.
Design details matter
Restraint is your friend, so limit visual complexity in a small, awkward space. Limit hard materials to two, perhaps three maximum, or use the same material but in different formats. We use riven, natural stone, vernacular to the area, to give grip to terraces or paths, but use it sawn on copings and step treads.
Interrogate paving details at a granular level.
What are the paving patterns? Where do joints fall? Do they align with a wall, a step, a threshold, a bed edge? Too often they drift or end with a sliver of a cut piece. In smaller spaces especially, where everything is under closer scrutiny, these micro-decisions matter and make the difference between something that feels thrown together and something that feels considered and properly resolved.
To echo the great industrial designer Dieter Rams, good design is thorough down to the last detail. Think about how junctions meet – such as different paving types, or where bed edges hit walls. I get twitchy about beds that don’t meet junctions at 90 degrees, whether the overall arrangement is geometric or based on more organic curvilinear forms. Confident junctions signal purposeful design decisions. Weak angles or beds that arrive obliquely are incredibly difficult to finesse in hard landscape detailing; they rarely sit comfortably and often result in awkward cuts or gaps.
Try not to fixate on objects – instead of thinking ‘I need a pergola’, ask what problem you’re trying to solve. Privacy? Shade? Shelter? If you unpick the need, there will be other solutions to try.
Finally, despite all the design tips and tricks, it’s not indulgent or abstract to think very simply about how you want a garden to feel. I’m pragmatic and practical, so start to drift when things get too intangible or esoteric, but atmosphere matters.
It is shaped by the planting, the layout, the materials, the life. If it doesn’t move you, make you smile, make you pause or think, feel invigorated or calmed – if it doesn’t provoke any kind of emotional response – then it isn’t good design, it’s just outdoor décor.
Design notes: A Devon project
This small terrace offers enough enclosure to feel sheltered, while keeping the view open.
We are all hardwired to feel comfortable in places where we feel protected but can still see what’s coming. It makes a space feel comfortable; somewhere you want to stay a while.
While there is a clear arrival point, every side of the house has a relationship with the garden, which gave us the opportunity to max out the planting alongside the functional requirements. It allows for a genuinely planting-led approach, rather than just being decoration around the edges.
In a garden that risks feeling long and narrow, a bit of careful design choreography prevents it feeling like a corridor. Here, level changes and gentle shifts off the central axis all help to break up the linearity. It stops the space feeling overly formal or rigid, and makes the garden feel more generous and expansive.
Avoid skinny borders when planting. There’s nothing worse than a letterbox strip. Be generous. Deep beds give plant space to breathe and create a sense of immersion. We aim for a minimum of 700mm in tight spots, but push for more. Bold, well-chosen plants will make the space feel larger; don’t retreat to using small ones just because the garden is compact.
Subtle shifts in level give spatial definition without losing space. Here, each terrace sits at a slightly different level. That small shift helps break up the line of sight so instead of reading it as one continuous, narrow, long space, the garden unfolds in parts. It creates distinct spaces without needing walls or heavy screening, which could make the space feel smaller or less legible.
A dining space close to the house can make functional and solar sense, but we always avoid visually echoing between interior and exterior tables. Sitting at a table inside staring at a table outside wastes the opportunity; instead bring the planting up to the dining window and feel so much more connected to your garden.
Multiple microclimates give more range. By creating different spaces at different orientations and exposures (sunken vs open), the garden creates lots of varying conditions for a greater range of invertebrates and plants to thrive; a great trick for biodiversity in even the most compact gardens.
Gardens must have boundaries, physically, but if you can blur the edge or borrow from the view between the garden and surrounding landscape, it will trick the eye into making it feel more spacious.
Case study: Orderly frames
The idea of how we signal that the decisions made in a garden and its planting are intentional, even when it’s relaxed, is something we think about a lot. In smaller gardens this is as relevant as in larger ones – perhaps more so. For those with looser, more naturalistic planting, one of the thoughtful challenges is how to stop it all tipping into looking accidental or neglected.
This is where the idea of ‘cues to care’ comes in, a term introduced by the trailblazing ecologist Joan Iverson Nassauer in her 1995 paper Messy Ecosystems, Orderly Frames. Her insight was that the perceived untidiness of naturalistic planting can feel uncomfortable, even if it is working spectacularly from an ecological point of view. What helps, she argued, are the subtle visual signals that indicate that someone is paying attention.
In a smaller garden space, that could be a mown strip of lawn framing a mini meadow – as Butter Wakefield does so beautifully in her own London garden (above); or stepping stones through planting, as in one of our projects; topiary as a foil for looser perennials; or rhythmic, stylised log piles. These act as visual punctuation and frame complexity in a way that feels deliberate and purposeful. Against a crisp edge or a strong form, the looser, more dynamic planting around can explode with enthusiasm.
