On recent visits to kindergartens in Singapore, I found myself returning to a question I had considered before. Can a classroom give a child some of the same sense of belonging as a dwelling house?
In a house, a living room is rarely used for just one purpose. It might be where a family gathers at the end of the day, where a child builds something on the floor, or where someone sits quietly within reach of everyone else. A dining table can be a place to eat, draw, talk or work alongside another person. Over time, these rooms become familiar through what happens in them and through the relationships they hold.
The living room and dining room are familiar ideas in kindergarten design too. A rug and a low shelf can give a group a place to gather. A shared table can bring children together for a meal or an activity. What interests me is how much of the experience of a dwelling can carry over into a setting shared by many children. What gives a child the sense that they have a place here?
I think part of the answer lies in what children can do for themselves. Can they find what they need? Can they choose where to sit, reach the materials they want to work with, or return to something they started yesterday? Can they find a quieter spot and still feel part of the group? These are small decisions, but they give children some influence over how they spend their day. They also give us something concrete to consider when we talk about children having a sense of ownership over a classroom.
In Singapore, the idea of home can mean quite different things to children in the same class. One child may share a bedroom with siblings. Another may spend much of the day with grandparents. A table may be used by several generations and for several purposes. There is no single domestic layout for a kindergarten to borrow. The comparison is more interesting when we think about the qualities a dwelling can offer: familiar routines, places to be together, and enough room to step away for a while.
A classroom also develops its own identity over time. A shelf at a child’s height matters because the child can use it. A wall becomes particular to a class when it holds work that the children recognise as theirs. A corner can take on a purpose that the designer never anticipated. The teacher has a part in this too, through what is made available, what can be moved, and what children are allowed to leave in place. The architecture gives these everyday decisions somewhere to happen.
The question I would bring into the next kindergarten design is this: what can we give children that will help them find their place, and what can we leave open for them to make their own?