In this article, Gerofsky and Ostertag explore how schooling is shaped by “the grid”, the rigid structures of time, space, curriculum, and control that organize so much of what happens in schools without us even realizing it. Instead of suggesting we abandon the grid altogether, they ask what it might look like to play with it, using metaphors like swing dancing and parkour to imagine teaching that moves within, around, and alongside these structures. Through stories from garden-based teacher education, they invite us to think about becoming teachers with the living world, not just teaching inside classrooms.
First Stop:
What stood out to me right away was just how pervasive the grid really is. The authors move beyond the obvious physical grids of schooling, desks, classrooms, tile floors, to show how grids also shape schedules, grade books, report cards, and even how knowledge itself gets organized. They extend this further into the world beyond school, pointing to things like pixels on screens and colonial practices of mapping and staking land. As someone drawn to the sciences, I find comfort in this kind of order, classification and structure help make sense of complexity (like the periodic table), but I also notice how physical spaces matter. My main work space in Cranbrook is a windowless, 10 by 10 white box that used to be part of the boys’ change room, while a secondary shared space in Fernie overlooks a nature path and the mountains. In the white box, I notice myself feeling more stressed, tired, and anxious, its as if my thinking narrows along with the space. The office in Fernie, with light and views of the outdoors, invites a very different way of being, one that feels calmer, more open, and I feel like my ideas are more connected to the world beyond the walls. Unfortunately, this space is over an hour away, so I only get there once a week or so.
Pictured below are my "white box office" and the view from my other space.
Second Stop:
There was a lot of imagery in the reading and the image that stayed with me was the idea of teachers trying to “tame students into their desks in a regular classroom.” I have definitely experienced this, and I recognize how easily the desk can turn into a tool for control rather than a support for learning. In my prior job, when I switched classes I moved from individual desks, where it was much easier to keep everyone separated, quiet, and “on task”, to lab tables, where students had to work with a partner(s). The room got louder, which did make me uneasy at first, but then I realized that more talk equaled more thinking and learning, and far more meaningful conversations than I ever saw when everyone was sitting silently in rows. The reading also reminded me of our first course with Tim and discussions on "who" created school and curriculum. Bringing in ideas from Tim’s class, the classroom grid described by the authors oreflects I–It relationships, where students are positioned, organized, and managed rather than encountered as I–Thou, as full, relational beings as discussed by Martin Burber. As well, thinking of another reading from that class, Heidegger’s fourfold makes this even clearer: the classroom grid often separates students from earth (the sensory, material world), sky (light, weather, openness, time), mortals (our shared vulnerability and becoming), and divinities (meaning, wonder, and what calls us beyond efficiency).
Notes on I-It vs I-Thou from last year
Question to continue the conversation:
I really appreciate how the authors don’t suggest getting rid of the grid, but instead learning how to move within and around it. I admit that I struggle with how to do that in my position (mainly working with teachers), but maybe I could encourage them to add in movement and music and outdoor etc... into their lessons and also find some lessons to model for them.
In your own teaching context, what might dancing or parkouring through the gird look like for you?
** I unfortunately only have my notes from Tim's class and not the links to the articles we read on Burber and Heidegger. I did, however, read through these two articles to complement my notes
https://that-which.com/heidegger-the-fourfold/
https://www.awakin.org/v2/read/view.php?tid=2217&sso_checked=1
Hi Nicole,
ReplyDeleteI think it is so important that educators get to learn how to work within the constraints of our reality. Like the example of your different work spaces, I think we can all agree that the one with the view is superior (from the type of light at least), however, what if you have to work in a space with no windows? Does that mean you can't do anything to support yourself or students? How we work within our current realities is something that is missing in a lot of educational theories I find. I find myself continually going back to "small steps" for change - for example, change the type of lighting, change the desk arrangements, change what appears on the walls, etc. Barring punching a hole into the wall and installing a window or door to the outside, I think small steps make a big difference.
The idea that classroom setups are designed to manage students is something that I struggle with myself. I definitely embrace some of these practices as I feel like little else works sometimes. Loud, large groups of students? It is easy and simple to separate them into individual desks. Does this create a more calm classroom, yes. Does it allow me to think better when teaching, yes. Does this support holistic and organic sharing of knowledge, no. What balance is necessary or optimal? Perhaps it depends on the type of activity that is being conducted.
My current method of dancing within the grid is being open to students. What I mean by open is open to new ideas, new ways of looking at things, and new ways of doing things. I embrace the different ways that students solve something. If they learnt a method from someone else or decide to draw out their thinking, I make the effort to try and understand what they are trying to do. I also am upfront with them about accepting multiple different perspectives on a problem and will work with them if they interpreted a question in a different way. These are my ways of acknowledging the grid (which I also am a part of) and allowing students to intertwine between the lines if they choose.
I really appreciated the concept of moving around the grid. My reading this week also focused on the grid and the ways it begins to fail when applied to the real world. Doolittle (2018) discusses that while the grid works well in theory, it often unravels when extended into lived contexts, something that feels entirely legitimate within classrooms. Building on Everett’s point, the realities of school life are a genuine and ongoing concern, and bringing awareness to small shifts, while doing what we can within our constraints, matters. For example, I have noticed that my students are noticeably more engaged and energetic when the blinds are open, yet far more subdued when they are closed. Although the blinds are sometimes lowered to manage sunlight and then forgotten (partly because reopening them is a slow, full-body task), this small environmental change has a clear impact on student mood and engagement.
DeleteYour post also reminded me of a recent hallway discussion among staff in our elementary school. My classroom is located in the “primary” wing, which houses Kindergarten to Grade 4 classes, along with my Grade 6 students. Teachers were debating when it is appropriate for students to be loud in the hallway, revealing tensions between uniform expectations and the complex realities of school life. The “grid” suggests that students should move quietly through hallways so as not to disturb others, but questions emerged about whether this expectation should extend to recess or transitions outside instructional time. Some teachers remained firmly anchored to the grid, seeking consistency and control through quiet hallways, while others questioned the practicality and purpose of this expectation.
Observing this conversation highlighted the grid in action. In alignment with Doolittle’s argument, an emphasis on silence and control in hallways often fails to account for the natural tendencies, social needs, and embodied energy of elementary students. This raises important questions: When might it be appropriate to “swing within the grid,” such as during recess or after school? What balance best serves the well-being and functioning of our school community? These tensions underscore the need to continually reconsider how rigid structures intersect with lived educational realities.
Mel,
DeleteThis made me smile because today I was actually wandering the halls of an elementary school and saw the opposite of what you’re describing in the hallways. There were kids all over the hallway working on projects in partners and small groups (I think it was social studies), talking, moving around, and clearly engaged. It didn’t feel disruptive at all, it felt like learning had spilled out of the classroom.
Seeing that made the school feel alive rather than quiet and institutional. It also made me think that sometimes noise in the hallway isn’t a problem to fix, but a sign that something good is happening and other students see this as well. The grid gives us structure, sure, but moments like that are a good reminder that schools are also about people, energy, and relationships, not just control and quiet.