Thinking Inside the box

At least once a year, I would set up several big boxes as a large muscle experience for the children.  I called it a Big box fort.  The big boxes were be taped together on the outside and on the inside so the children could navigate their way through from one end of the fort to the other---or exit in the middle.

I saw this primarily as a large muscle apparatus that made children get down on their hands and knees to crawl through.  Of course it was much more than that, but I set it up for children to find ways to inhabit a space inside the boxes

After the fort, I would move the big boxes over to the sensory table.  Again the idea was for children to crawl into the boxes and play in the sensory table from the space inside the boxes.

I always felt the big boxes around the table offered children a way to experience an enclosed space while playing at the sensory table.  Put another way, it was a chance for children to "think inside the box."

However, there have been several big box constructions that were not specifically made for children to go in.   An example was the Big box on top.  I set a large box over the top of the sensory table and embedded several cardboard tubes through it.

I am not sure why, but one child saw it as an invitation to actually crawl into the table under the box among all the tubes.  What was it about this apparatus that said to the child "come on in?"

 

Of course, if it was an invitation for one child to experience the enclosed space, surely it was an invitation for others to join her.

 

Eventually four children ended up in the table under the big box. It was so crowded that any movement set off a chain reaction of children squirming inside the box.  The box both contained and restricted their whole body play and offered the children an intimate experience in spatial and personal relations.

I eventually embedded another cardboard tube as an experiment to see if that would prevent children from crawling into the table under the box.  

It did not.  I suppose I could have added even more tubes through the box, but the children demonstrated their propensity to inhabit spaces like this.

I was not surprised then when children crawled into the box of another apparatus that was the sensory

table embedded in a box.

 

I actually partially embedded the sensory table into a large box.  One child (above) crawled into the box from the table.  He then crawled out of the table into the space next to the table that was still inside the box.  He was pleased with his little journey, a journey made possible by the very nature of the construction.

For others, it was not a journey, but an enclosed space in which to work.  In the picture below, two children crawled into the space in between the box and the table.  The space both constricted and defined their play.  For instance, these two children were older and bigger so they were forced to work from a kneeling position.

Below is one more example of an apparatus that beckoned children to experience it from the inside.  I called it Big box big windows

Two children crawled into the larger box through the large side windows.   These two sat comfortably inside pouring and filling their containers.

I have always said that children are masters at exploring space. What may be just as important is the idea that spaces themselves play an active part in those explorations.   Even though all three examples show children working inside a big box structure, each has a different energy and rhythm depending partly on the construction itself.  If I try to imagine the sensory table without these constructions, the play would necessarily be different; there would not be the beauty and creativity of  "thinking inside the box."

Repurposing

This past September/October I was in Australia for a speaking and workshop tour thanks to Niki Buchan and Brownyn Cron of Real World Learning.  I did 16 sessions in 26 days all around Australia.  I am pleased to report that all the Aussies I met were great players.

Most of my sessions were building sessions.  I introduced a framework for making constructions that go in and/or around sensory table.  (The framework can be found in the right-hand column of the blog under Dimensions and Elements for Building.)  Before any building session, I asked the participants to look at my blog, not to copy what I have already made, but to get them thinking about possibilities.  In addition, I asked them to gather their own materials for building.  That way, they would come to the session with ideas about what they wanted to build.

In this post, I would like to highlight a building project that happened in my last building session at Mittagong Preschool.  I could spend a year highlighting all the building projects in Australia because no two were the same and each emerged from the effort by the participants to realize their ideas with the materials they collected.

This project, however, was different in two ways.  The first way in which it was different was what they used as the base for their project.  I can't remember exactly the story, but the gist of it was that they had this piece of equipment in storage that had been lying around for some time.  They did not want to throw it out because they thought they could put it to use someday. 

The piece of equipment was a sturdy blue metal frame.  I do not remember what its original purpose was, but here was a piece of equipment taking up precious storage space that they felt was just waiting to be repurposed.  

The second way this project was a different was the fact that someone actually drew up a plan to be realized.  It was a simple plan that included the essential elements. 

To be sure, other people have drawn up plans for what they wanted to build, but that has been the exception rather than the rule.  Most people gather materials and spontaneously start building and make adjustments as they go along.  Below is an example from the same session of a apparatus that emerged spontaneously: one piece led to another piece that led to another piece that led to another piece and so on until viola!

 

Once a groups had their plans either on paper or evolving in their head, there were a lot of similarities in the process of building like experimenting with different saws to make holes. 

 

Or experimenting with power tools like drills to make holes.  And if the holes were not big enough, how to use a tool to enlarge the hole to accommodate a tube to be embedded in the larger cardboard tube.

Another similarity no matter what was being built was how to securely attach the elements of the apparatus.  Most of that was done with duct tape, but in this case, there were also zip ties to attach the plastic tubes to a second, black metal coat rack.  Again, they took something from the classroom and repurposed it.

One final similarity in the building process was a desire to improvise.  This group found a piece of mesh that transformed the one large rectangular hole into many small square holes.  This was a spontaneous addition that they decided would add some play value to their apparatus.

At the end of the day, this group had built a novel construction from a piece of equipment that was just taking up precious space in the preschool.  They were quite pleased with their apparatus and were ready to offer it to the children for their explorations.  

How many of us have bought something great and then found little use for it other than taking up space in the classroom or storage area?  Maybe instead of looking to buy something new, we could take a tip from these teachers at Mittagong and try to repurpose something we already have. With a kernel of an idea and maybe a little help, we surely could build something that would invite children's exploration and enrich their play.

P.S.  Thank you Jeanne Vergeront from Museum Notes for helping flush out this post.

Every place has a soul

I am reading the book The Wonder of Learning: The Hundred Languages of Children published by Reggio Children.  One of the reasons I find it fascinating is the language they use when they talk about young children's learning encounters with the world.  For example, in the section called Dialogue with Places, they say at the very beginning that "Every place has a soul, an identity..."(p.19).  I can identify a place, but can I know its soul?

Since this blog is about sand and water tables, the place I choose to identify is the space that holds the sensory table. The space is approximately six feet by eight feet.  The space is partially enclosed on three sides: a cabinet that holds the smocks on the right, a wall in the back and a counter with a sink on the left. 

The sensory table itself is a blue plastic tub nine inches deep on metal legs.  It is 21 inches wide and 46 inches long and sits 19 inches off the ground.  Next to the table is a five-gallon bucket.

There are a few other features that help identify this space.  Under the counter, I have tubs with extra implements to be used in the table.  There are curtains that hide the tubs which means they are not available to the children but near enough for me to reach when I want to switch out objects from the table.  In one corner, there are brooms and a mop.  I place rubber mats under the table.  And I pull the table away from the wall so it is open to play from all sides.   On this particular day in the table itself, I have put water implements with a giant sponge sprinkled with dish soap in an inch of water.

Though I have identified the space, it does not feel like it has a soul as of yet.  However, there are some hints at its soul.  For instance, the brooms, mops and rubber mats hint that messes are welcome. The table is simple so it can be easily transformed by changing what is in the table.  The pail is empty asking to be filled.

To discover its soul, they say in the book that we must learn to recognize our own soul as we interact with the space.  Since this space is an invitation for children to play, in other words, to interact, maybe I can surmise its soul by looking at the children's interactions in this space. There are really so many interactions, that I need narrow it down to one type: playing with the suds.  My thought is that at least one of the essences (souls?) of the sponge is that the children can use it to make suds.

To make suds, they use the weight of their upper body to push their hands down into the giant sponge.  One intriguing aspect of making suds this way is that they can leave hand prints on the sponge that disappear momentarily.  Maybe the intersection of the children using the sponge to make suds and the ephemeral imprints in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

There are other actions that make suds.  In the following video, two children first punch the sponge before pushing down on the sponge to make suds.


Beating the giant sponge from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

These two children interact differently with the sponge .  Their actions are much more vigorous.  Maybe the intersection of the children beating the sponge and the sponge absorbing the punches in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

Besides making suds, children use the suds in many different ways.  The child in the following video has dumped a pail full of suds on top of the giant sponge.  She uses her hand to spread the suds almost like frosting a cake.


Spredding the suds from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

The energy in this video is much different from that of the previous video.  As she glides her hand over the suds there seems to be a meditative aspect to her actions.  Maybe the intersection of the child gliding her hand over the sponge and the sponge acting as a platform on which to spread the suds in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

By adding implements, the children find other ways to use the suds.  In the video below, the children have filled a bucket halfway with suds.  The child hovering over the bucket grabs two small sponges from the table and drops them in the bucket.  He begins to use a long-handled spoon to stir the suds.  He chuckles and says that he is stirring the soup.


Stirring the soup from Thomas Bedard on Vimeo.

The children have appropriated the five-gallon pail to constructively transport the suds from the table to the pail.  In the process one child has also appropriated smaller sponges and a kitchen spoon to stir his soup.  Not only is there yet a different purpose (transporting the suds) to this episode, but the children have added role playing to their actions.  Maybe the intersection of the children transporting the suds out of the table into the pail and the appropriation of a couple of loose parts (small sponges and a big spoon) to stir the "soup" in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

Suds even have the power to change a child's identity.  When a child spreads suds on her arm with a little ladle, her arm is transformed into a...???  When a child puts suds on his face and head, is he still the same person?

Maybe the intersection of the children feeling the suds on their arm or seeing themselves in a mirror to check their identity in this space that allows/encourages such explorations is part of the soul of this space.

I know I have found my soul in this space.  It is my creative outlet; It is a place for me to play with ideas and offer them to the children.  Because each child brings something different to the this space, it becomes a reflection of their soul, their identity.  The space itself has no soul without the interactions.  Since there is no end to the possible explorations in this space, could that be its soul? Could its soul be a space that constantly allows/fosters new interactions that enrich our collective experiences? What do you think?

P.S.  If you are curious about the multitude of possibilities just with the giant sponge, you may want to look at the following posts:  Making cookies, Bubble cake,  Giant sponge with jewels, Giant sponge - 2014, Giant sponge - new axiom, Beyond the giant sponge, Giant sponge.