By Sarah DeLuca

A classroom environment in Reggio Emilia

As sunlight filters through tall glass doors, it illuminates multiple shades of blue paint in glass jars, translucent sheets of color that dance and invite curiosity. Greenery, such as plants, trees, and flowers spread throughout the space inviting the outside in. Different shades of clay are placed in mounds on tables with natural materials beside them, ready for interpretation. The aroma of homemade bread and fresh cut fruit wafts in from the kitchen, and the art, words, photos, and other documentation of the daily lives of children who inhabit this space smile proudly on the walls. These are some of the beautiful and inviting materials, senses, and spaces I’ve observed in Reggio Emilia classrooms, artfully designed for young children.

The spaces I’ve been invited into during my one-year sabbatical, in which I am studying the Reggio Emilia approach in Italy, are so beautiful. I remember gasping with awe the first time I saw the classroom environments in person. Both at the schools and at the international center, my encounters with the classroom environment in Reggio Emilia have been an incredible sensory experience. All of the learning spaces I visited invoked feelings of curiosity, excitement, and intense creativity. I found myself wonderstruck in some of the spaces as they stretched my imagination beyond what I thought was possible in an early childhood classroom. More than anything, I felt the weight of the respect given to children and childhood, as these spaces are specifically designed for children to create, to explore, to research, and to delight in their world. The beauty and aesthetics that are so widely celebrated here in Italy, and in particular reflected in the Reggio Emilia schools, is a huge factor as to why people from all over the world come to see and learn about them.

Children working in the Atelier of the Diana School

My professor Lori Ryan described it so well when she told me, “I’ve stepped inside of infant toddler centers in Reggio Emilia that brought me to tears.” The environment in which children learn is so important to the approach that the Reggio Emilia educators call the environment “the third teacher”, as it reflects a space so rich in intention, beauty, and opportunities for learning, it is considered an educator in and of itself. Margie Cooper, in The Hundred Languages of Children book, has an entire chapter titled, “Is Beauty A Way of Knowing?” The phrase struck me when I first read it, and keeps me coming back to the idea of aesthetics and beauty as a powerful and dynamic aspect of learning. Over the course of my sabbatical, my experiences have confirmed Reggio Emilia’s ability to translate this belief about education into practice, so much so that it has been difficult to not be completely overwhelmed and entranced by this aspect of the approach.

A Sociocultural Approach

It’s clear that the Reggio approach is closely tied to culture and society. In fact, Reggio educators talk a lot about it being a sociocultural approach, and many aspects–particularly the intentional attitude toward beauty, pleasure and aesthetics–are strongly tied to the Italian cultural value of beauty in all environments. This appreciation of beauty is not just in physical spaces or objects. It is also in food, family, community, the natural world, and the value of time spent together. Italians preserve the essence of their history and architecture by not permitting new construction, but maintaining the integrity of existing spaces. For example, our town of Settignano, just outside of Florence, has a one way street in and out of town, which can be difficult for vehicles to maneuver, yet there is not a thought of widening streets because it would alter the aesthetics and allure of the architecture and buildings, many several hundred years old.

Carlina Rinaldi reflects on the relationship between the Reggio Emilia classroom spaces and Italian culture and history in The Hundred Languages of Children. She writes:

Most of all, though, both the infant-toddler center and the preschool (as well as other educational spaces), in order to be truly a place of production, learning, culture, and socio-political experimentation, must be conceived and constructed as a place of action rather than just words, a true "artisan workshop", which in our case is a clear cultural reference to the Italian Renaissance (1993, p. 119).

In this year I’ve spent living in Florence, the heart of the Italian Renaissance. I have noticed the physical spaces are so naturally inspiring in an aesthetic sense; they invoke beauty, pleasure, purpose, and reflect the values of society in the arts. It’s a city alive with artisan workshops–shoe makers, fabric companies, paper and bookbinding artists, leather bags and clothing artisans mark every turn. Their processes have been passed down through generations and take time to create and master; it is a real reflection of the slow culture and an investment in creativity. For me, when setting foot inside the classroom spaces of Reggio Emilia, it was almost like entering an interactive museum, where you are the protagonist, gifted the opportunity to tell your own story using the rich materials around you.

My daughter exploring Eliasson’s exhibit

Recently, my family went to an exhibit in Florence, “In Our Time'' by the internationally renowned artist Olafur Eliasson. Each of us was entranced by Eliasson’s playful use of color, light, shadow, and texture, all of which immersed us in the experience. I had just come back from my first visit to Reggio Emilia and I kept thinking about how Eliasson’s exhibit for the public reminded me of what children in the Reggio schools experience on a daily basis. My husband agreed. Even after all my conversations, sharing, and photographs from these past few months, he was completely blown away by our visit to the Loris Malaguzzi International Center during a visit in March. Even as a non-educator, he walked away from that visit with all kinds of ideas for more immersively approaching his creative work in publishing. He was stimulated to think about how we deploy use of space within our independent bookstore, and our warehouse and event space, and saw a myriad of possibilities for displaying materials and documentation throughout. The aesthetics of the city, the public art exhibit, and my husband’s enthusiasm for seeing his work through new eyes reinforced my own thoughts about the Reggio Emilia approach. I’ve come to see how attention to the aesthetics of our physical environment has so much application even outside of the classroom, reflecting the potential we have to transform our spaces in inspiring and beautiful ways.

In the Reggio schools, it is clear that the spaces are tied to culture and a sense of place, and the architecture is a direct reflection of this. The piazza, a central space in the classrooms, is reflective of the piazzas in every town and city in Italy. It is a place for gathering and being together. The piazzas in the Reggio Emilia classroom reflect the strong sense of community in Italian culture.

The educators at the Preschool and Primary School at the Loris Malaguzzi International Center describe the role of the piazza as:

The “piazza” or square is the beating heart, a metaphor for the exchange of participation. The piazza is the place that classrooms, kitchen and ateliers all lead into, in a distribution of space that is open and non-hierarchical (The Architecture of Experience, 2016.)

Reggio Emilia educators repeatedly describe this centering of the piazza as an approach, not a methodology that can be followed or replicated. They state that aspects of the approach, such as the focus on the environment as the third educator, should absolutely be intentional and well thought out, but needs to reflect your own school culture, identity, sense of place, and your particular population of children. Lella Gandini builds on this notion, emphasizing the deep intention of spaces:

Each school’s particular configuration of the garden, walls, tall windows, and handsome furniture declares: ‘This is a place where adults have thought about the quality of the environment.’ Each school is full of light, variety, and a certain kind of joy. In addition, each school shows how teachers, parents, and children, working and playing together, have created a unique space–a space that reflects their personal lives, the history of their school, the many layers of culture, and a nexus of well-thought out choices (1993, p. 340).

Architecture and Pedagogy

As educators, how can we use this approach to help guide us in rethinking our spaces, related to sense of place, our host culture, and our history? Also, how can we study our current spaces as we adopt the approach? The attitude of research is so prevalent in the Reggio schools, that before modifying spaces, the educators do research by documenting how children use space, what areas they are attracted to, how light enters at certain times of day, how the children interact with it, what areas help offer social exchanges, etc. All of this helps them rethink how spaces might be modified moving forward. The attitude of research permeates everything and offers beautiful insights into the relationship between architecture and pedagogy. In The Hundred Languages of Children, contributing author and educator Lella Gandini describes how children’s social interactions influence design, “because social development is seen as an intrinsic part of cognitive development, the space is planned and set up to facilitate encounters, interactions, and exchanges among children” (1993, p. 333).

I love how Gandini goes on to describe the intentionality behind every decision in every space noting, “nothing is considered a marginal space; for example, the mirrors in the washrooms and bathrooms are cut in different shapes to inspire the children to look at their image in a playful way” (1993, p. 336). I wonder, how can we use this attention to the intentional use of space and design to move our school forward? How can we meld this into our current sense of place, culture, and community during the process? Personally, I have been reflecting on how much intention, thought, and dialogue I put into my teaching, but how have I missed that same intention and meaning in the environment?

Gandini helps me dig deeper into these questions, describing how educators must consider the possibilities for student exploration in the learning environment:

The structures, choice of materials, and attractive ways in which educators set them up for the children become an open invitation to explore. Everything is thoughtfully chosen and placed with the intention to create communication, as well as exchanges among people and interactions between people and things in a network of possible connections and constructions.” (1993, p. 319).

This phrase, “open invitation to explore” is helping me to reflect on my own environment, on what is an open invitation to explore, and how it could be enhanced.

The Accessibility of Beautiful Spaces

An example of how clay tools can be arranged

What also stood out to me when visiting the Reggio Emilia early childhood spaces is that many of them were in older buildings. When we typically think of these learning environments, we might think of a school that has invested a lot of money into the architecture, design, and materials of such a space. In Reggio, this is often not the case. There are many schools in older structures where adults have thought about how to enhance the existing space for children.

In her book, Bringing Reggio Home, educator Louise Cadwell describes the richness in using older, “repurposed” environments well:

The wealth of the materials that are available to the children in the preschools of Reggio Emilia is staggering. By this I do not mean wealth as in cost, though good quality materials are purchased by the schools. Rather, the wealth is in the variety of materials available to the children, and in ingenious ideas for their use. There is also a wealth of time given by the teachers to preparation and presentation of the materials and to thoughtful reflection on how and what the children make (1997, p. 23).

Natural materials beautifully arranged to inspire

In Reggio Emilia classrooms, furniture is often made and donated by families (such as easels for young children). Recycled palettes are used everywhere as low tables, to display materials and art supplies. Natural materials collected by children and teachers are widespread and used as a primary source of research, and many materials are accessed through an incredible organization called the REMIDA. The REMIDA is “a cultural project of sustainability, creativity and research on waste materials.” REMIDA receives donations from local companies and factories who have excess or slightly damaged products that would otherwise have been thrown away.

I visited the REMIDA in October and it was full of all kinds of engaging and beautiful materials: zippers, different colors and textures of fabric, gelato spoons and cups, yarn, plastic buttons, paper of all shapes and sizes, and much more. For 40 euros a year, a school has access to these materials, and the Reggio Emilia municipal schools obtain most of their materials from the space. The REMIDA also has a dedicated atelier space where they host workshops for educators. The concept is so inspiring that other countries have adapted the idea to work with local businesses to find new inspiration and life with recycled and repurposed materials.

This leads to the question–should beautiful, creative spaces and materials that invoke the senses and engage in wonder be a right for all children? Atelierista and author Vea Vecchi argues this case, writing, “perhaps an important point to agree is that the pursuit of beauty and loveliness is part of our species in a deep, natural way and constitutes an important element in our humanity; a primary need . . . this form of inspiration can be found in all peoples and cultures, past and present.” (2010, p. 10)

My children playing in the “Ray of Light” Atelier in Reggio Emilia

In 2018, the city of Reggio Emilia gathered citizens and created a manifesto to the right to beauty “for all people, especially the most fragile: the beauty of health care, training, work, meeting places, the beauty of city spaces finally made accessible to all, the beauty of positive relationships, emotions, hugs, the beauty of art in its various expressions, the the beauty of feeling fulfilled even if particularly fragile.” Are there ways to feasibly adapt what we already have and contemplate what beautiful, engaging spaces might be in our own context and community? Should we consider beauty as a right for all?

Every space in the Reggio Emilia schools has a purpose and is intentional in its design and relation to people, materials, function, and the environment. With this reflective lens, we can design spaces for children–and the adults lucky enough to learn from and alongside them–that communicate our sense of place and identity, incite wonder, joy, pleasure, and beauty, and affirm beauty as a way of knowing.

Works Cited:

Cadwell, Louise. (1997) Bringing Reggio Emilia Home: An Innovative Approach to Early Childhood Education. New York, N.Y.: Teachers College Press.

Gandini, L. (1993) Connecting Through Caring and Learning Spaces. Gandini, Lella, Edwards, Carolyn P. and Forman, George. The Hundred Languages of Children: the Reggio Emilia Experience in Transformation. Norwood, N.J.: Ablex Pub. Corp.

Rinaldi, C. (1998) The Space of Childhood. Children, Spaces, Relations: Metaproject For an Environment for Young Children. In G. Ceppi, & M. Zini (Eds.) Reggio Emilia, Italy: Reggio Children.

Vecchi, Vea. (2010) Art and Creativity in Reggio Emilia: Exploring the Role and Potential of Ateliers in Early Childhood Education. London, England and New York, N.Y.: Routledge.

Tedeschi, Maddalena. (2016) The Architecture of Experience: No.1 Children, Spaces, Relations. Reggio Emilia, Italy: Instituzione del Comune di Reggio Emilia.

Beauty As a Way of Knowing: The Environment as the Third Educator

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