Five Design Lessons from the 2025 RHS Chelsea Garden Show

Reflections from a first-time visitor through an architectural lens

This May marked my first visit to the RHS Chelsea Flower Show—an event I’ve long admired from afar. I attended with a group of friends who, between them, are garden designers, educators, content creators, and writers. As we moved through the show and discussed our experiences, one theme quickly emerged: our backgrounds shaped how we saw, understood, and engaged with the work on display.

Here’s what I saw at Chelsea through the lens of architecture and design.

Photo of garden design at 2025 RHS Chelsea Garden Show celebrates tumbling greenery. Photo: Leah Ray.

1. Wildness, Curated

I was surprised by the wild and untamed feel of many gardens, installations, and container designs. Rather than precise order or ornamental formality, they struck me as curated nature—controlled, but only just. Seasoned attendees informed me that this year marked a return to greater formality; recent years had been far more untamed. That, too, surprised me.

This design tension—between restraint and freedom—is part of a larger conversation in architecture and design. As we grapple with how to design for resilience, the role of nature shifts from something to control to something to integrate, interpret, and learn from. That theme was beautifully on display throughout Chelsea.

A balcony garden design appears to imprison lovely containers, while a nasturtium breaks free. Photo: Leah Ray.

2. Limited Views Limit Impact

Visitors could only view many of the show’s most prominent gardens along the Main Avenue from two sides. Most visitors, myself included, were left wishing we could see more; I longed to peek through, walk around, or even step inside. In a place where every angle matters, limiting the perspective of most visitors to two sides is a missed opportunity.

Limited perspective was challenging when viewing the balcony gardens. Viewed from the outside, through chunky black railings, they felt more like display cases than living spaces. People experience balcony gardens from within; they are intimate extensions of our interior lives. Why not design the viewer’s experience accordingly? As shown, the effect was less about inspiration and more about containment. Framing constrained and obfuscated the beautifully detailed designs. Potential fixes could include designing more delicate railings (perhaps glass or less bulky balustrades) or enabling viewers to view balcony gardens from both exterior and interior perspectives.

A view of the "sand dunes" in Nigel Dunnett's Hospitalfield garden evokes resilience. Photo: Leah Ray

3. Topography Matters

The most powerful gardens didn’t just live in the horizontal plane—they embraced topography. They used elevation, slope, and material contrast to create layered, multisensory spaces. Jo Thompson’s Glasshouse Garden and Nigel Dunnett’s coastal sand garden were standouts, offering environments shaped by architectural thinking as much as by horticultural mastery.

Designs that moved in three dimensions—spatially, sensorially, and conceptually—were the ones that lingered. They merged plantings, materials, acoustics, and circulation into richly layered experiences. These gardens didn’t just show beauty; they unfolded it.

4. A Horticultural Education

I expected design inspiration. I didn’t expect to walk away with such a powerful lesson in horticulture. The plant diversity on display was astonishing—from single-species showpieces to vibrant garden ecologies. I was reminded of the first time I realized how many types of garlic I could grow; here, it was fuchsia, salvia, roses, and the exquisite Benton Irises that expanded my view.

The irises in particular told stories—not just of color and form, but of heritage, culture, and preservation. Walking through the floral marquees was like walking through a living museum, one rooted not just in beauty but in expertise as well.

5. AI in the Garden? Actually, Yes

When I heard that one of the gardens explored AI, I rolled my eyes. Isn’t gardening one of the last refuges from the digital world? I cherish the way it pulls me away from screens and into the physical, sensory present.

But the Avanade Intelligent Garden, designed by Tom Massey and Je Ahn, gave me pause. Using AI-enabled sensors, the garden monitored soil health and tree conditions in real time. Visitors could interact with the trees through a digital platform that translated these readings into an interpretive, conversational format—something they called “TreeTalk.” Suddenly, AI wasn’t a distraction. It was a tool for deepening understanding and connection.

One of the most daunting aspects of gardening is knowing what to do when. Should I intervene, or let nature take its course? If AI can help inform those decisions—if it can empower me to spend more time gardening and less time second-guessing—I’m in. AI + gardening isn’t a contradiction. It’s a collaboration.

In the end, Chelsea overwhelmed and inspired me in equal measure. It was an experience that consumed the senses—what I saw, heard, smelled, and even tasted will stay with me for a long time.

A friend called it “the Kentucky Derby of gardening.” But unlike the Derby, Chelsea isn’t about speed. It’s about depth, layers, and discovery.

I look forward to exploring and learning more about the design, horticulture, and resilience lessons that my first visit to Chelsea sparked.