Jacob Egeberg and the Collapse of Boundaries Between Art and Design

In an age where any object can be imagined by artificial intelligence, photographed, shared, and endlessly transformed into visual content, does it still make sense to draw a sharp line between art and design? What once seemed like two distinct realms now appear increasingly intertwined. Today, artworks enter homes in the form of functional objects, while design borrows the language of art to express cultural, political, and emotional narratives. Art is no longer confined to museums or galleries—it now lives within domestic spaces, everyday items, and the aesthetic decisions that define our routines. Likewise, design is no longer limited to problem-solving. It has expanded into a space of symbolism, storytelling, and provocation. The two disciplines, once distant, now operate on shared ground.

This convergence is not entirely new. As early as the 1980s, philosophers such as Arthur Danto challenged the idea that art could be defined solely by the object. His “artworld” theory emphasized the importance of cultural and interpretive context in defining something as art. From this viewpoint, even a design object—when imbued with meaning and situated within a particular system—can be recognized as art. Similarly, thinkers like Yuriko Saito have drawn attention to the aesthetics of the ordinary, arguing that beauty isn't the exclusive domain of institutionalized art. Rather, it permeates daily life—found in a choice of material, a curve in a form, or the function of a tool. Aesthetic experience, in this view, arises just as easily from the necessary as it does from the superfluous.

Yet despite these commonalities, the two fields continue to diverge in certain fundamental ways—particularly in their relationship to function. Design is inherently utilitarian: it exists to meet needs, to be efficient, usable, and—at best—beautiful and accessible. Art, by contrast, has often defined itself in opposition to utility. As Theodor Adorno famously stated, art is “the utopia of the non-useful,” creating a space outside of function where critical thought and symbolic meaning flourish. This productive tension fuels much of today’s most interesting creative output. While art critiques, design narrates. And there is often a fine, almost imperceptible line where a design object begins to transcend its usefulness and enters the realm of artistic expression.

Today, the boundary between a design piece and a work of art is no longer dictated solely by its form or function. Rather, it lies in the gaze of the observer, the context of presentation, and, above all, the intent behind its creation. It is in the layering of these elements—conceptual, aesthetic, and cultural—that an object acquires its full significance. A piece may originate from practical needs, but when infused with narrative force, visual language, or critical commentary, it can easily slip into the domain of art. A compelling example of this hybrid approach is the work of Jacob Mathias Egeberg, a Copenhagen-born artist and designer whose practice resists rigid classifications. 

His creations—ironic, playful, and crafted with vivid colors and industrial materials—are both formally functional and profoundly expressive. Egeberg’s chairs, lamps, and shelves are designed not just for use, but to be read, interpreted, and emotionally experienced. His work challenges the assumptions of what design should be and pushes the viewer to see objects as stories, as commentaries, as living artifacts.

One of Egeberg’s most striking projects is Digital Grounding, an exhibition that confronts the Anthropocene head-on, portraying humans as a geological force shaping both the physical and symbolic landscape of the planet. Through sculptural yet functional objects—lamps, wall shelves, a console table, flower pots—he incorporates digital waste and obsolete electronics, recontextualizing them as “fossils of the present” in a new, speculative archaeology. These pieces aren’t just upcycled—they’re conceptually elevated, transformed into reflections on our consumption habits, technological dependencies, and the residue we leave behind.

Digital Grounding engages with urgent themes at the heart of contemporary discourse: hyperproduction, overconsumption, and the throwaway culture. In the spirit of sociologists like Zygmunt Bauman, who analyzed the liquidity of modern life—where objects, relationships, and identities are all designed for rapid replacement—Egeberg offers a counterpoint. He reclaims what has been discarded, slows down the process, and invites us to reconsider the value of what’s been left behind. His work prompts a broader meditation on permanence in an era defined by speed and disposability. As digital devices multiply and age at an unprecedented rate, we lean on them for connection, identity, and meaning. But what remains when they fail or are replaced? Digital Grounding suggests that meaning might reside in those very remains—in the abandoned objects that carry traces of memory, presence, and a different way of relating to time.
And so, a final question emerges: how long can we sustain a system that renders both our tools—and ourselves—obsolete at the same pace we create them?

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Words: Simone Lorusso