We've got mail

I was very excited to discover Lucy quietly at work in the studio this morning, on a project of her own design.  She'd collected clay, twist ties, wooden beads, and bamboo from their various places and brought them all to the table.

When I came in, she was just beginning her second in a three-part series (one for "mommy, mama, and Lucy--our whole family!"):

As she finished each one, she ran across the studio

to deliver them to our mailboxes.  (There's one there for each of the kids in our early childhood program, as well as for Andi and I.)

(I've just recently returned from a Reggio-inspired teachers' conference at which Lella Gandini described the three-year-old classrooms' mailboxes being transparent, because three-year-olds might put anything in there, such as a half-sucked lollipop.   :-)  So the intentionality in three-year-old Lucy's mailed gifts particularly struck me today.)

Tissue paper "painting"

(Bleeding tissue paper, watercolor paper, water. When it's dry, the tissue paper falls away, leaving the beautiful blended colors behind.)

In (and out of) the studio: cutting practice

There's been a lot of cutting around here lately. (By all the kids, but let's dote on Lucy for a while, shall we?) Lucy, of course, has had scissors in her hand since she was able to reach them on the table, since there are big kids here leaving them about all the time. I learned a while ago to just go ahead and give the youngest toddlers scissor-safety lessons, which is much easier than trying to keep them away from them. But this week has seen a giant leap in scissor skills. Two days ago, Lucy fringed a piece of paper that she was holding herself (scissors in one hand, paper in the other, cutting little cuts into the paper all around all the sides)--so far, she'd asked for me to hold the paper while she did it. Then, yesterday, all of a sudden, she figured out how to turn her fringed paper a bit, make another cut, and make a snippet of paper fall off! What a thrill. She moved from there to cutting a piece of yarn into little snippets. A few minutes later, she'd opened-shut-opened-shut the scissors to cut a few inches across a page.

I am in awe of her persistence and focus and skill. I find myself with my jaw on the floor daily. Wow.

In the studio: airplane

After posting about our "beautiful stuff" the other day, I had to follow up with a photo of this wonderful creation, made entirely without glue or tape:

"Airplane," by a just-turned-6-year-old, returning here for the day.

In the studio: beautiful stuff

Reading this post today inspired me to share some of our collection of "beautiful stuff" (known to some as junk; so called since reading the book of the same name).

(A closer look at some of the jars.)

Lucy, at work with some beautiful stuff.

Her finished "red monster."

In the studio: stuff in clay

Recently, Lucy has become almost completely independent with the clay. She gets a clay board, puts it on the studio table, opens the clay bucket, calls for help getting clay (because she's too short to reach all the way down in to the bucket), and helps herself to tools. Meanwhile, another child has become attached to using clay at my house, and it's his daily request. Between the two of them, they've got everyone interested in using clay on a daily basis.

One of their favorite things to do is to stick stuff in the clay. Yesterday, I set out copper wire to support this interest. Lucy loved filling her clay with wires, and was soon joined by two boys who helped her bend and twist the wire into interesting shapes. Then they started thinking about other possibilities, which soon led to this "birthday cake":

I suspect this year's group is going to be fluent in the "language" of clay. I'm eager to see where they take us next.

In the studio: top secret

Oh, dear. I seem to have dropped off the face of the earth. It's been a rough month here, and I needed to devote my time to my family for a while. I'm sorry for the unannounced disappearance. Thank you for checking back! (And welcome to Pink Picket Fence readers! I hope you'll stay and read a while!)

As a baby step to getting back in the swing of blogging, here's an easy one...what's been happening in the studio this week. Shhh...don't tell. It's a top secret project (hope none of the families in my program are checking this blog!)

We've got one more week left until the end of the school year. This is a super-big end-of-year for me. Four years ago, I started this program in my home with a group of children ranging from 2 months to 2 1/2 years. This year, four of those original children are leaving for kindergarten. They've been here 4 years: 80 percent of their life. And now they're scattering to four different schools, and most of my original group will be gone. As you can imagine, it's an emotional moment for me, and for their parents. We're working on gifts which will be presented at our "graduation" next Friday. For the first time, we're using "real artist canvases."
The kids drew self portraits in front of a mirror, and then copied their drawings onto the canvas. Now, we're in the process of adding color.

I can't wait to see the parents' reactions. But not the tears that will follow.

Please bear with me in this crazy last week; I'm up to my ears in work and food and family visits. But I'll be back!

In the studio: overhead design

Continuing with my in-the-studio series of happenings from my early childhood program, here's a story from this week.

I came into the studio to find this on the overhead projector:

and this on the table:

Apparently, the overhead-projector design/drawings had been going on for a while.
There were also glass gems:

And chalkboard erasers:

2 kids, working together, on a project of their own design. They chose the materials, arranged them on the projector, and looked at the projected image to draw what they'd made. I love their imaginative use of materials (glass gems on the overhead--expected. But erasers?). And I love the culture of drawing we've established here, so that when they do something cool, their instinct is to draw it.

(I've been inspired by the preschools of Reggio Emilia, Italy, to offer lots of opportunities for children to explore light--as with the overhead projector, which is always available to the children in our studio. And to encourage children to think in more than one "language" (i.e. ways of expressing themselves)--such as here, moving from the "language" of arranging materials to the "language" of drawing.)

In the studio: we must paint

When I wrote about the boat-making we've been up to lately, several of you gave me your support for describing more of the kids' work here. I'm thinking about regular "in the studio" posts--sometimes with detail, sometimes just a photo or two--to share some of what we do. Let's say weekly, shall we? Please forgive me when I lapse, as we know I will! (I will edit out faces and names for the children who aren't mine, however, for their families' privacy.)

When the children are quite young--toddlers--they often connect an activity to my house. If they did it the first time they were here, it becomes the thing they associate with the place, and they expect to revisit the experience each time they come. One little girl associates painting with the studio right now. So when she's here, it's time to paint. Here are she and Lucy, exploring the feel of paint on their--and each other's--hands. (You can also see some toes--that's me, and another girl, stringing a necklace on the nearby table. There's none of that "we're all painting now" here--everyone works on their own thing.) It's a pretty bad photo, but you take what you can get when there's drippy paint flying off the hands of two busy toddlers!

On failing to make a solar-powered boat

Our days over the past week have been filled with boat building. It began in the river, with simple leaf-and-stick creations.

Back in the studio, I offered wood pieces, craft sticks, corks, and glue guns, and the children began to draw their ideas for more boats.

A quick lesson in the safe use of a glue gun, and they were off on what would become an extended boat-building project.


We're using a tub of water to test our creations for floatability before they're set afloat on the river.


The children return to their boats day after day, adding more and more: an anchor, some "guys," a treasure chest, a sail. But how to make them go? That's been quite the debate. With excited discussion, the children decided they should be solar powered, using tin foil and clear plastic to create the "solar system."

Here's the email I sent their parents today, talking about this struggle to create a working "solar system":

"We barely made it outside this morning, or paused to eat anything for snack, because the boat construction was just too compelling.

The children's work on these boats is so exciting and impressive and beautiful to watch. It's also a little painful. They have these fabulous plans to create a solar-powered vehicle, but only the vaguest idea of how to make that work. This happens all the time in children's creations. They want a car that really drives, a walkie-talkie that really sends messages, an airplane they can actually fly in. And as the adult, you want to talk them down from their lofty plans, so they don't get disappointed. Or make it work for them, so they'll be proud and satisfied. I can't answer the solar-power question (I don't understand it well enough myself). I could research it and offer books and explanations. I could buy a kit. But I don't really think that should be my role--because I don't think that's where the real learning comes in. If they assemble the solar-power kit, do they better understand how it works? Not much. But they will learn that the answers lie with someone else; that they can buy a solution; that they are not capable of finding a solution on their own. J. just asked me to set his boat out in the sun while he napped so it could "charge." What will he learn when he brings it back in? And what will he decide to do about it? I think in the process, he'll learn so much more than he would from my potential "lessons."

Conveniently, this wonderful post came along today, to support me as I briefly questioned my hands-off thinking.

What a thrilling project this has become! I can barely wait to take the boats to the river to sail. (Of course, that's my adult need for the "product" again. My best teacher intentions remind me to slow down and not rush the process, which is the most important part. We may be building for weeks before the boats have their inaugural voyage.) Wait. Watch. Support. Don't push. Don't solve it for them. Let them fail sometimes. It will come...and it will be rich and deep and meaningful and theirs."

I write to the families in my program daily--and attach documentation panels about the work the children are doing--and often, that's my best, most creative work. But somehow, it's felt odd to share it here. What do you think? Do you want to hear about it sometimes?