Our first Umbrella Project!

Investigating Together:

Exploring the Charles River as a Center

“Learning and teaching should not stand on opposite banks and just watch the river flow by; instead, they should embark together on a journey down the water. Through an active, reciprocal exchange, teaching can strengthen learning how to learn.”

-       Loris Malaguzzi

The idea of embarking on an umbrella project came from work that is done in both Reggio Emilia, Italy and in the Sabot School at Stony Point in Richmond, Virginia. It is a center-wide investigation undertaken by children & teachers that continues throughout the year, in various forms both big and small. Together as a center, we defined what the topic of an umbrella project might be:

“A compelling, enticing, accessible, physical thing, event, place or idea (a noun) that elicits a emotional and metaphysical response between people. A catalyst with opportunities for investment in deep, dynamic connections, new ideas (growth).”

 For our first umbrella project (which we investigated during our 2016-2017 school year), we chose the subject of the Charles River – a unique and beautiful piece of nature in the midst of our urban surroundings. The river has always been a part of our school’s landscape – it can be seen through the Studio and T2North windows, and it is a location for occasional walks – and this year we sought to strengthen our relationship with and understanding of it through this investigation. For many classrooms, even the act of allowing children to get out of the buggy by the river was a revelation in itself. For others, the process of returning again and again led children to ask for and recognize just what a “river walk” meant. In addition, our attention and consciousness of the river opened our eyes to the way in which it changed over the course of the year – from the blooming flowers in summer, to the falling of the leaves in autumn, to the freezing of the water in winter, to the appearance of goslings in the spring. 

In order to share just a fragment about what I found to be a powerful center-wide experience, I used some of the headings from Ann Pelo’s book, TheGoodness of Rain: Developing an Ecological Identity in Young Children : walk the land, learn the names, embrace sensuality, explore new perspectives, create stories, and create rituals. Pelo describes these as ways in which we can foster children’s relationship with and stewardship of the natural world, and I believe they were all present in our investigation this past year. 

Walk the Land ------------------

Returning again and again to the river throughout the year allowed us to broaden our knowledge of its terrain. We learned the best places for children to throw rocks and sticks, or to look out over the river, to collect, to watch boats, or to gather flowers. Children grew familiar with the landmarks they would pass on the walk to and from the Charles. Teachers marked the evolution of children’s ability to traverse the challenges of uneven ground, long grass, mud, and tree roots.

At the beginning of the year, the prospect of walking along the river was a bit daunting for some. Many classrooms began with buggy and stroller rides, not yet venturing to let the children down to explore. However, over time, both teachers and children became more comfortable with the river and its banks, finding places where they felt safe to investigate beyond the buggy. Even our youngest infants spent time sitting, laying down, or crawling near the river. Building a relationship with this place allowed us to broaden our comfort zones  and place more trust and autonomy in children.

Create Rituals --------------------

Over our year of visiting and revisiting the river, many classrooms developed rituals to help build community and to strengthen children’s connections with place. In some cases, this took the form of finding a “spot” that a group would visit during each trip to the river. A gated ledge that allowed children to view the river up close without fear of actually entering the water became a favorite place for many to search for sticks to throw in on each walk. One classroom always stopped to look at the “turtle stone” that they passed on the walk to and from the river. For some children, it was important that everyone have a turn to push the crosswalk button as we waited a the juncture of memorial drive and DeWolfe street.

Embrace Sensuality --------------------

The sound of waves lapping after a boat has passed… the honking of geese… the feel of wind against your face or the sun on your back… the smell of autumn leaves, of chamomile buds, of daffodils… the softness of milkweed seeds… the prickle of burdock and sweet gum pods....  the sour taste of sorrel … the spicy taste of wild chives…

The river invited us to explore with all of our senses. We opened our ears to the sounds(after hearing a jet ski zoom back and forth, one child remarked, “It’s like a motorcycle!), and our skin to the feel of the  river’s offerings. Our eyes took in the many delights on display – the colors of autumn and spring, the ice and snow of the winter. We searched out opportunities to smell and taste where we could. Each visit became so much more than a walk – it was a full-body experience.

Explore new Perspectives ---------------

Our commitment to the Charles River led us to witness its beauty through a variety of lenses and from a variety of places. We watched it through windows, through the pillars of the John Weeks footbridge, and up close on its banks. We represented it in multiple media, and we took note of the ways the river itself changed through the seasons.

Visiting the river also offered teachers an opportunity to take on a child’s point of view. Infant teachers wondered at the view of the trees a baby might see lying on their back. Toddler teachers noticed how a seemingly small hill provided a real challenge to children still learning to walk. Preschool teachers shared the joy of being able to gather flowers without the restrictions of more manicured environments. The sight of a goose on its nest or a snail on the path brought as much excitement and interest to the adults as to the children.

Learn the Names ---------------------

As we move beyond the generic names of nature – bird, flower, leaf – into the specific, we are building our relationship with the natural word, just as we would a person. Over the course of the year, children and teachers across our center developed a greater intimacy with many of the things we encountered near the river.

Young toddlers came to know the difference between a goose and a swan, while older children (and teachers!) grew knowledgeable about some of the plants that grow on the riverbanks (“Watch out for burdock – it’s so sticky!”). We revisited these things in a variety of ways – not only on the walks themselves, but by bringing remnants into our rooms through photographs, collections, drawings, and field guides.

Create Stories ----------------------------

As we build relationships with a place, we begin to collect stories about it. We remember the things that we have seen, the special encounters we have had, and the changes we have noticed as a result of our kinship with this landscape. Through our documentation, teachers remind children of these stories and share them with those who were not present.

One example of the development of a story came early on in the year. Many children spent time painting under a large oak tree near the footbridge. Then, one day, some other children discovered that part of the tree had cracked and fallen. Over the next few days, children from many different classrooms encountered the tree in various stages of removal –from branches being cut to a stump in the ground, to an empty patch of dirt. This is a story that many preschoolers still remember and will reminisce about as we cross Memorial Drive.

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This year, we are exploring sound as a center. Stay tuned - I'm sure there will be posts about it as the year progresses!

- Katie 

Paper, Light, Clay: Open Studios Thus Far

So far this year, I have offered four Open Studios (one with paper, two with light, and one with clay), inviting families into the Studio to play with and explore these materials with curious minds and eager hands alongside their children. This has been the most successful series of Open Studios I have hosted in my time as atelierista, which leads me to examine my own hopes for these precious afternoons I spend with families and what has made them so special this year.

The Open Studio for families is a great tradition that was begun by my predecessor, Viki, as a way of offering parents (and grandparents, uncles, aunts, etc.) an opportunity to share an experience in the Studio with their child. As Kendra has discussed before, our philosophy hinges on families as partners in our teaching and important members of our school's community; the Open Studios that I host every other month or so are one way in which I strive to welcome families into the Studio.  They give families a chance to learn a bit more about this space, some of the materials we explore here, and what their child in particular will do in this space, with this set up.

Last year, I wrote this post about our first Open Studio as part of our clay exploration. I was wondering how I could use these special afternoons as a way of also inviting parents into our pedagogical practice and encouraging them to consider some of the same questions we ask while working with young children. My solution to this question for this year has been to ask the families who come to the Open Studios to first read these pieces about exploring art materials alongside infants, toddlers, and preschoolers. I also try to have short versions of these available as handouts and to have poster versions up (although I admit I ran out of time to prepare these things for the latest one). In addition, I post questions to guide our thinking around the room, along with sticky notes and pens for adults and children to record their answers. Here are a few of the questions and answers from each Studio:

"How can you change paper using just your hands?"

"Wrinkling, ripping, waving, scrunching."
"Twisting, tearing, zig-zag, throw in the air."

"What did you learn about paper?"

"It makes a good wrestling mat."

"It makes big noises when you kick it and hit it."

"You can pick up REALLY big pieces." 

"(How) can you alter light?"

"'Blue on it, now black on it... green there!' Simon noticed changing light most when he was moving cellophane and drawing on the light table."

"Shadow is formed when light is blocked. There is heat, too when light is produced."

"What did you learn about light?"

"Light comes down down on it, like this." 

"K. learned that light comes in different shapes." 

"You can mix colors even without paint."

"What makes clay special?"

"You can change it many times."

"You can use it over and over again."

"You can play with it and use it for fun."

"I love the way it feels when I squash it in my hands."

"It involves all the ancient elements: earth, air, fire, metal, water."

Some of these answers came from adults, some were children's answers, and a few were a combination of the two. In every case, it seemed as though answering the questions helped to put some of our own learning and the learning we were witnessing in others into words.

In addition to these questions that I posed, I heard the parents themselves asking more questions of their children as they worked, and many of them were open-ended and inviting: What does this paper sound like? Where is that light coming from? How did you make that with the clay? Parents also asked me about the materials they encountered, questions that seemed to suggest an interest in potentially extending these experiences into their homes:  How do you get these ideas for provocations? What kind of lights are these? What type of clay is this? Where can I get some? 

I also noticed parents asking open-ended questions using their actions, rather than their words. A father turned and quietly watched what another child's work, inviting his daughter to look at the discoveries of this child.  A mother with her infant child gently brought some rope lights to her lap, running her hands over them as she held them within reach of her son. A father rolled a simple ball of clay, offering it to his daughter to see what she would do with it.

These meetings in the Studio together have also offered parents from multiple classrooms the opportunity to meet and converse with one another about subjects other than just the material. By the end of each Open Studio, many of the adults in the room have met someone new and shared a conversation with them about their children, their experiences in Cambridge and at PTCC, or their interests outside of here. I remember one of the sessions with light occurred right before Thanskgiving; as the children and parents spread and scooped sand into trays on the light table, the discussion shifted to the subject of the holiday, the traditions of the different families, and the many ways of cooking turkey. You often hear that art can bring people together in unexpected ways, and I think this is an instance of one of them.

Throughout these evenings, I was struck by the care and attention that parents were paying to their children, and the attention that adults and children alike were paying to the materials set out before them. One parent observed that the questions I asked were much more focused on the "how" ("How are you using it?" "How did you do that?" "How did it change?") of the material rather than the concrete question of "What are you making?"; I felt that the people present at the Open Studio were also embracing these "hows" rather than the "whats." I was also amazed at the attention they were paying to each other, the negotiations that happened within this shared space, and collaborations that sometimes grew out of this. I am so grateful to work in a community full of people of all ages who are invested in the work we do and are willing to learn more about it through the "hands-on" setting of these Open Studios.

Looking forward to the next Open Studio (most likely in April), I am wondering:

- What else might I offer parents to give further insight into our work as a center and my work as an atelierista?

- What should we explore together next?

How did you do that painting? Part II

When Monica (one of our Preschool Two teachers) and I decided to offer a splatter painting provocation to her Studio group, I suggested that we invite an “expert” on the subject from Preschool One. A. volunteered to join us, and together we read some parts of my documentation of Preschool One’s splatter-painting session. The children then examined the other splatter paintings, offering their thoughts about how it had been made before A. told them a little about his experience.

L: “Maybe they put paint on the paper and then they put the paper on one of those [canvases].”

J: “I think they did that they used a paint brush and then put paint on.”

A: “We just standed up and splattered it on.”

Monica: “What did you splatter on?”

A: “Paint. We did it like this.” [He swoops his arm back and forth].

Monica: “With your hand?”

A: “No, with a paintbrush.”

We examined the canvas we would use.

Nina: Wow, feel this!

Katie: Please be gentle as you touch it.

A: Yeah, or else it will break through.

Nina: It’s smooth and ticklish.

A: It’s a little dirty. [We turn the canvas over to see the wooden frame.]

Nina: It looks like a window.

A: It’s F’s symbol.

Next, I asked if there was anything we should keep in mind as we splattered our paint.

A: When you put some paint on your paint brush, don’t get your paint on the walls.

L: Don’t splatter it too high or it could go in someone’s eye.

J: You should keep your eyes closed like this.

We moved onto painting, needing only a few reminders about the specific technique we were trying today. 

A: It’s making bumps on it.

Gaia: Oh! I got paint on my foot.

A: It’s okay. Katie will put some water later…. That’s gonna be a splatterfoam!

Gaia: There’s a lot of light blue.

A: A big flop just came off!

J: I see green and blue and purple and yellow.

We examined our painting together:

A: “Look at that one. It looks like a really big brown river.”

Nina: “It reminds me of a big rainbow.”

L: “It reminds me of a big, humungous, huge color.”

Gaia: “It reminds me of a big, humungous rainstorm.”

Finding that the corners needed work, we focused our efforts on them during our last few minutes painting.

What does the experience of such a painting project provide?

What does the experience of such a painting project provide?

On the one hand, it offers a chance for children to gain a new perspective about paint. These children have a lot of practice using paint at a table, touching the brush (or a hand being used as a brush) to paper. Splatter painting (in the style of Jackson Pollock at least) involves a canvas set out on the floor, which the artists move around with their brushes poised above but never touching it. There is a new layer of kinesthetic movement added, but also a different sense of cause and effect. You can aim your brush towards a certain part of the canvas; you can move your arm in different motions to change the appearance of the paint; but you don’t have the same control as when you actually touch your brush to the surface you are painting. Each movement has the potential to surprise and excite its maker.

On the other hand, there is the collaborative nature of the work. Everyone is sharing the same jars of paint. Everyone is sharing the same space for painting – they must keep track of the many other bodies at work as they move around the white rectangle of the canvas. Everyone is conscious of where their paint is going, making sure not to “splatter it too high,” as L. said.

One piece of this collaboration, too, is the development and sharing of expertise. In this case, A. took on the role of the expert in the fullest sense. He had so much to share about the process and about the painting as it was created. Having been there for both of his experiences with this style of painting, I noticed that A. had a lot of insights about the way the paint looked and moved that he had not necessarily voiced the first time around. The moment where he told Gaia not to worry about the paint on her feet also showed how aware he was of his fellow painters and how eager he was to share what he knew with them. I am sure that the other children gained a lot thanks to A’s presence, but I also felt that A. gleaned a great deal from the opportunity to not only make use of what he had learned before but also to share it with others.

What differences do you notice between the two documented painting sessions with different groups?

What do you think children learn from being the teacher or the “expert”? How is this different from their learning in other roles? 

 

How did you do that painting?

On January 28th, two PTCC alumni – T. and A2 – joined E., Theo, A., and M. of Preschool One in the Studio. The subject of the group’s collaboration was to create a new, big splatter painting together. T. and A2 were experts at this, since they had made one such painting before, which now hangs in the Studio.

The impetus for this project came from Ian, a teacher in Toddler One South. Ian had asked me if any children might be interested in creating another beautiful splatter painting that he could hang up in his home. I knew that many Preschool One children were curious about the painting, so I talked to the Preschool One teachers about the idea. They then offered it to the children, who agreed to take the job. They were excited to try out this new technique, and T. and A2 agreed to come and teach it to them. Serena (a Preschool One teacher who had also taught T. and A2 the year before) helped to arrange the meeting.

The afternoon visit began with a conversation about the painting hanging in the Studio and how it had been made.

Theo. : “How did you do that painting?”

E: “With feet?”

T. & A2: “No!”

T.: “With paint and brushes.”

A2: “And glue.”

T.: “We splattered the paint.”

A2: “We moved it around.”

T.: “We moved it fast.”

We then took a moment to feel the canvas that we would be painting on.

A.: “It’s soft. It makes me go to sleep.”

Theo: “It’s hard, too.”

Serena: “Look at what is underneath.”

(She lifted the canvas so we could see the other side).

E.: “Wood!”

With these conversations done, it was time to take action! A2 and T. demonstrated how to apply the paint, scooping their brushes into the paint jars and waving them over the canvas. Dots and strings of paint appeared on the white surface.

M., Theo, E., and A. joined in, adding new drips and new colors of paint. It took a little practice to add paint without actually touching the canvas with the paintbrush.

Theo: “That looks kind of messy.”

E.: “I’m doing like scooping it.”

T.: “It’s like exploding fireworks.” 

After fifteen minutes of steady painting, we all took a step back to look at our painting. Theo's verdict?

“It doesn’t look done yet.” We asked the children what parts of the painting needed more work. Several of the artists identified one corner that had less paint than the rest, so we agreed to focus our efforts there. We also discussed what new colors we should add. E. suggested that our painting needed some red, so we poured some fresh red paint for the next round of work.

We returned to painting, working together to add more paint in the more empty areas.

As he worked, T. observed of their painting technique, “You can’t control the paint. The paint controls itself.” 

Although he was not able to come down while the artists were working, Ian came to look at the painting not long after they left. “This is so cool! I love it,” he declared. “I’ll have to come by to say thank you!” 

TEACHING, DOING, THINKING, LEARNING

What a wonderful opportunity this was! Not only did the Preschool One children learn more about the painting that has so often piqued their curiosity, but they also had a chance to try their hand at making one themselves.  In addition, the project opened up possibilities for collaboration (not only with fellow classmates, but with older “experts”), as well as for a growing knowledge of their current PTCC community (by creating this artwork for a teacher that many of them did not know before they began the work).

This experience also made me think about the multiple layers involved in learning about something. In some instances, like this one, there is an element of “teaching” involved. A2 and T. both did a great job of teaching the children about their process, answering questions, explaining their technique, and then demonstrating it for the younger children. However, the act of “doing,” of trying this out for yourself, is equally important. You won’t necessarily realize what it means to “move it around fast” until you have a brush in your hand. In addition, I felt that our conversation as we worked, as well as our break to examine and discuss our work part-way through, showed the added layer of “thinking” – thinking about what we were doing, how we were doing it, and what we could do better. To me, it would seem that the real learning occurred at the interstices of these three processes. Together, they made the experience powerful. These children were at once learning about and carrying on a past tradition, exploring paint and its application in a fun and visceral way, and reflecting on their work like true artists. If any one of these elements had been removed, some of the meaning would have been missing.

Where else do you see a sense of community being built in the Studio and in our center?

What learning experiences have stuck with you throughout your life? Were all of these elements – teaching, doing, thinking – a part of them?

Building a Nest, Building a Culture

I want to take you back to December 13th, 2012. A group of preschoolers had finished their work for the day on a ceramic sign for their classroom. As they still had some time left in the Studio, they used some leftover clay to work on their own individual experiments. A few minutes in, T. decided, "I want to make a nest. Can you help me make a nest?" F. echoed him. "I want to make a nest, too."

Their seemingly simple request actually held a lot of meaning for me, and for them. These children had embarked on a clay exploration last year, and the result had been a deep investigation of the creation of baby birds/eggs and nests to house them in. One artifact of this process was a set of plans or recipes for making these forms, which helped the children remember the steps that they and their friends had previously deemed necessary for success. 

I still had these recipes in the Studio, hanging from a hook on our clay shelf. As I turned to reach for them, thinking I could offer them as one way to make a nest, F. added, "I need a plan to make a nest." I turned around to show him what I was holding. "Is this the plan you mean?" "Yes! I need the one that shows a nest." "I need one, too," said R., who had also been a part of last year's nest-and-bird making. M. and A., who had not tried nest-making before, were also interested in this idea and came close to look at the plans. 

The children examined the plans, carefully following each step, stating aloud the work they had to do: "Make a ball, poke a hole, then pinch"..."I need mine bigger so I'm pinching more"..."Here's my baby. Let's see if it will fit." R. in particular made an entire family of birds, which necessitated an especially large, open nest. With this complete, she then created one big, one medium, and one small egg, crafting a separate nest to fit each size.

Why has this interaction stayed with me so strongly that I still feel the urge to write about it over a month later?  

Two words: History & Culture

These two words are, of course, inextricably linked, for without the building blocks that a history provides, it is impossible for a culture to develop. For me, the plans are a piece of history - of my history as a teacher here, of these children's history in the Studio, of the medium of clay and the way it has been used here. They are, as I said before, artifacts that speak to an important journey. The fact that the children remembered and asked for these tools in their work nearly a year later suggests the establishment of a culture - a culture of planning and looking back to what we know and have learned in order to achieve a goal. The practice of "making a plan" is, in fact, used in many of the classrooms here. A plan helps children to slow down and focus their ideas, thinking hard about what exactly they are working towards and all of the steps, parts, and pieces necessary to fashion it. It holds them accountable throughout the process of construction, but it also acts as a testament to their hard work when the project is completed. Integrating this idea of plan-making into the everyday work and play of classrooms and schools helps to build a culture where thoughtfulness and follow-through are key, and where each step of the creative process is honored.

This particular encounter in the Studio also speaks to the way in which a long-term relationship with a material helps to foster a culture, as well. In this particular instance, the children's combined knowledge of nest-making and their greater level of expertise with clay allowed them to bring their ideas to fruition more easily and with more accuracy than would have been previously possible. For instance, R.'s nests have become more complex - custom-made to fit the problems she poses for herself - because she has had time to develop her understanding of space and volume as well as her confidence in working with clay. 

This story reminds me of how important it is to look back at where we are coming from and to continue to practice with the tools we have appropriated in our travels. Something we might think had already served its time might prove useful at some future point. It also makes me think of all the ways that we craft our own cultures in the many spheres of our lives through the roots of the unique histories and the artifacts we carry with us. 

My wonderings are: 
What culture do you perceive in your school, at your work, in your home? 
What is the culture that you strive to inculcate, and how does your history help to inform this ideal?