Artwork in the Atrium

I have been badly neglectful by hardly mentioning our atrium in our first month of weekly updates.  In case you are new to our school community, you might not know much about what an "atrium" is and what happens there.  Let me break it down.
 
First of all, a Catholic Montessori school such as ours is not simply a Montessori school with some faith sprinkles dusted on.  Rather, it is the vision of Maria herself fully realized.  One of the tiny tragedies in the great mosaic of 20th century carnage in the years between 1914 to 1945 is that almost as soon as Maria Montessori set up her full educational vision in Barcelona--schools with primary and elementary classrooms and a fully integrated academic and spiritual program--she had to flee the unrest that would culminate in the Spanish Civil War.  The case can be made that she never had a home again.  She ended her life traveling around training teachers and addressing audiences about how a sea change had to occur in education and childrearing if we were ever to live in a society free of war and genocide.  Away from classrooms of her own, it would be left to her successors to flesh out her ideas about the education of the elementary child and the religious formation of children.  Her son Mario carried on her mission of training teachers and designed many new materials for the elementary aged child, based on his mother's writings collected in Spontaneous Activity in Education and The Advanced Montessori Method.
 
In much the same way, Montessori left us with her thoughts on religious instruction collected in The Child in the Church and On Religious Education, as well as a slim volume on orienting children to the Mass.  Beginning in 1954, the Italian scripture scholar Sofia Cavalletti and the Montessorian Gianna Gobbi took up the mantle and put in decades of tinkering with the materials designed by Montessori, inventing new ones, and, most importantly, observing children working in the classroom.  Visualizing these classrooms as the entryway into the Church, they began calling each one an atrium.  Like our academic areas, each is a prepared environment designed for the child's independent use and exploration.  Their pedagogy, as you know, is entitled The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd.
 
In the primary classrooms, the atrium is an area of the classroom.  This illustrates to me an important reality: that to our school, the spiritual formation of the child is a subject as important as math or language.  Looking at it another way, the atrium works are the connective tissue of the whole body.  They are foundational.  Looking at it yet another way, the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd is the soul of our school; the essential part, the life principle.  I think it significant that some members of our wider community come to our property on Fitzwater Drive to visit an atrium, but not a single one comes for the academic subjects to the exclusion of catechesis.  We are not the kind of Catholic school to demand your child wear a plaid skirt, pray before lunch, and pat ourselves on the back as if that was the summation of the faith.  It is in our bones, the substance of our roots.  It is by being truly ourselves that we can be truly welcoming of the beloved members of our community who share our mission, but not our Catholic Christian religion.
 
When I first read Sofia Cavalletti's books over the course of the winter of 2015 I was struck by how many photos of student art she included.  Befitting the Montessori cliche of "process, not product", the work was not chosen because it was beautiful exactly, but because it was a window into the child's prayer.  Included in the accompanying photos today are three works of art by children made in the atrium in the past week.  Two are by upper elementary students in reaction to meditation on the parousia, when God is "all in all".  They had been discussing with our catechist, Mrs. de Bernardo about the beauty we will witness at that time beyond time.  Colors we have never dreamed of will be visible.  And in the center of each picture is the Lord, appearing to our hunger and thirst as Eucharistic bread and wine.

Now take a moment to look at our other piece of art, created by a boy in his second year of elementary study.  This work was done following up a presentation with La Fettuccia.  This work, named after the Italian word for "ribbon" is an immensely long fabric timeline which runs from creation to parousia.  It is a chance to experience a God's-eye-view of the grand swath of the universe's history.  Children meditate on the three grand moments of this history: creation, redemption, and parousia.  God created this universe in love.  In His great act of love, He freed us.  At the end of time He will come again and God will be all in all.  In the atrium, a child's work is his prayer and his prayer is his work.  

Let us dive into this young man's prayer.  Let me be clear, that this will be a sort of meditation on a meditation.  Neither Mrs. de Bernardo nor I have gone in depth with this child into what he was thinking when he drew this or that detail.  We certainly will do that sometimes, but this has been a busy week and we did not get to it.  An older edition of Gianna Gobbi's book is entitled Listening to God with Children.  I offer this meditation in that spirit.

In the photo of his work you probably will find your eye drawn first to three crosses.  Crosses are a major motif in this child's work.  This time the cross is presented as it appears on our atrium timelines as a symbol of the parousia--a cross superimposed on the globe.  There are three.  What could it mean?  Are they the three crosses of calvary, somehow each transfigured, in a sense, by the Lord's triumph?  It would be saying too much to assume this student means anything at all about the ultimate fate of the two bandits crucified with Christ, but Mrs. de Bernardo and I both found ourselves thinking of this as we discussed the fruit of this student's contemplation.  Perhaps his mind was more on those three moments of the sequence which is a touchstone of so much of the lower elementary student's atrium work: creation-redemption-parousia.  I found myself remembering how the mystics have sometimes described the whole of the new creation as being ablaze with God Himself, just as the burning bush was when God told Moses to take his sandals off and revealed to him His unpronounceable name.  And what of the cross of the redemption presented in the light of parousia?  God's triumphant work on the cross will never be superseded.  The Lamb who will be the light of the New Jerusalem is still the Lamb "slain from the foundation of the world".  I need to be constantly reminded that it was by His wounds that the disciples recognized the risen Lord.  
 
Below on the left stands the Good Shepherd standing in triumph, holding his sheep aloft.  Both are in the rapture of joy.  One thing I would like to point out, is that this boy took a familiar image--that of the Good Shepherd--and manipulated it to his needs, changing their postures and facial expressions.  In the center is Jesus walking on water.  To the right of him is a lamb marked as "a 100 lamb".  By this does he mean the hundredth lamb, the one for whom He left the 99?  I could meditate the rest of my life on the image of Christ walking on water to save that lost lamb.  Christ did the impossible to save us.  Every moment of His earthly life, each teaching, each nature miracle, each healing was a loving act to go out into the wilderness to find the sheep that was lost.  
 
I suppose you could say that I am overloading the art of a seven year old with all sorts of dubious significance and airy fairy nonsense.  With my rational adult mind I am eager to make all sorts of connections using this boy's work.  But do not say that I am giving it more meaning than he intended.  This work was his prayer, his worship.  I would argue that there is infinite meaning in this picture.  Some he intended with his rational mind.  Some I recognized with mine.  Some of the depth of content is only known to the Spirit, which intercedes by inexpressible groanings, and sometimes with colored pencils.

Making Choices

The Children's House is coming to the end of week five and as we prepare to enter into week 6, one of the elements that I am observing with the children is what they choose and how they choose.
 
It can be a challenge to recognize the difference between what is a conscious choice, one in which a child is aware of what the outcome is, versus an impulsive choice or a choice that is just busy work. While this is not to say that an impulsive choice or busy work cannot eventually lead to a discovery of one's interests or the development of a skill that will prepare their self for that moment when they do discover their interests, the conscious choices are what lead to repetition and an interior satisfaction.

Decision making is a complex process that we follow all through our lives. When we make a choice, it is about setting ourselves a goal and being able to carry it through. Sometimes we make choices and we are not able to finish it, even though we want to. This could be a lack of skill, lack of perseverance, or could be a lack of focus and too many distractions. It is the same for the children in the classroom.
 
This week the children arrived in the classroom there were no stools set out for walking on the line. But the littlest ones came in to the classroom, and began to set up the stools all around the ellipse, sat down and looked at me expectantly... They were clearly expecting that I would begin the music for walking on the line. So I did. As the older ones arrived and joined in, soon all of the class was on the ellipse walking, marching, galloping or processing, depending on the rhythm offered by the music.

As I let out our group afterward, I invited the children to start their day, but without any suggested choices. I pulled up photos from Transparent Classroom of each child. I said, "which of these activities would you like to choose this morning?" Each child was thrilled to see a photo of themselves and chose something from one of the photos. The next day, the same thing happened. No stools were set up, but the children arrived, set them up and wanted the music for walking on the line. When we were finished and I dismissed the group, I asked each of them, what is your favorite material in the whole classroom? Start your day with your favorite! By Wednesday, I was able to say how would you like to start your day? And each child had some idea of what they would like to do, and went about choosing and therefore, enjoying. 
 
Last week both Miss Becky and Mr. Short wrote excellent posts in the weekly update on repetition in the environment, which I encourage you to go back and read if you haven't. It is through repetition that children establish a routine for the day, pay attention to the details of their work, develop focus and an ability to ignore distractions, develop executive function skills, persevere through difficult tasks, and most importantly, develop interests and skill sets that will further themselves along in their journey through childhood.

Observation

“To be able to observe, the human’s mind must be clear, the soul must be open, and the body must be willing.” (Maria Teresa “Chacha” Vidales)
 
In Montessori, you'll frequently hear about the importance of the adult observing. But what exactly does observation mean in its truest sense?
 
Observation is an art that allows us to continuously evolve, shaping our perception of the world and our place within it. It goes beyond simply seeing – it's an active, engaged process that leads to meaningful outcomes. Unlike sight, which can be influenced by preconceived notions, genuine observation is anchored in the present moment. As life is in a constant state of change, observation helps us appreciate the ever-evolving nature of existence.
 
When we observe without bias, we open ourselves to seeing the world through the eyes of others, particularly the child, who reveals the intricate paths of their development. Each moment becomes a fresh opportunity to perceive the essence of the child anew. Our dedication to observation is a gift to the child and a reflection of our own journey toward self-awareness and growth.
 
Becoming a skilled observer takes consistent effort, repetition, and practice – it’s a lifelong process that requires us to step out of our comfort zones and embrace the dynamic nature of reality. To observe fully, we must quiet our minds, allowing our authentic selves to connect with the present moment.
 
To become an adept observer, the inner preparation of the adult is needed. Inner preparation of the adult involves more than just having tools or focus; it requires an internal readiness to truly perceive what is in front of us. While setting up the physical environment is straightforward, preparing ourselves mentally and emotionally takes more effort. This internal work is essential, as we must be fully present, both mentally and physically, to establish a meaningful connection between the child and the environment.
 
We cannot offer what we do not possess. Understanding and fulfilling our own needs allows us to better support the child. By practicing observation and setting aside biases, we enable the child to develop independently. Observation helps us recognize the child’s evolving developmental path and adapt our guidance accordingly.
 
Our role is to observe deeply and quietly, remaining fully present with the child and creating a nurturing environment. Humility is key – observation fosters our own growth and strengthens our connection with the child. Keeping an observation journal helps build this skill through practice.
 
We must also embrace our own growth, letting go of past mistakes, and understanding that perfection is not the goal. The aim is to continually improve and restore our innate capacity for observation, which modern life often diminishes. In doing so, we foster deeper connections with the child and the world around us. Patience and grace are essential. The child seeks not a perfect adult but one who is striving to offer their best.
 
With that being said, observation is one of the most important works of the adult. It allows us to fully understand and perceive the child. There are three types of observation:

1. Self-observation: By turning our attention inward, we improve our ability to observe others effectively. Keeping a journal can be a valuable tool for articulating our thoughts and clearing biases. This practice helps us move forward without the burden of self-criticism or preconceived notions. Just as we observe children with openness and clarity, we must apply the same scrutiny to ourselves, examining who we are and our role in life.

2. Observing children (Direct): We should aim to be unnoticed, remaining quiet and still to avoid drawing the child's attention. Avoiding direct eye contact helps maintain the child's focus. Simple outfits, free of flashy accessories or jewelry, minimize distractions. Deliberate and mindful movement is also essential. Staying fully alert during observation is key. Focus solely on what is in front of you and record observations by hand, without rewriting, to capture the essence of the moment.

3. Interacting observations (Indirect): Observing while actively working requires practice. This challenge is particularly strong at the start of the year, when children are still adjusting to the environment. Mario Montessori emphasized the teacher's "sixth sense" for knowing what happens behind their back, highlighting the importance of observing even while engaged in other tasks. Record-keeping is important for tracking observations over time, as it provides insights into the children’s progress and needs, especially when it’s easier to observe the materials than the children directly.

In the Young Children’s House, it is essential that all adults in the environment are actively observing, especially during the early days of the school year when the children are still adjusting to their surroundings. I recently had the privilege of sitting down for a direct observation (being a "fly on the wall"), allowing me to witness the magic of real time development. Although the children had only been in school for a month, I was captivated by their ability to show concentration, empathy, and growth – so much happening in such a short time for children aged 16 months to 2 ½ years.
 
One moment that deeply touched me was when I saw a child retrieve a tissue. He carefully walked across the room, and I watched, wondering what his intent was. He approached another child, who was busy climbing up and down the stairs, and who had mucus running from her nose. He seemed unsure whether to hand her the tissue or perhaps wipe her nose himself, but after some deliberation, he went to an adult for assistance, signaling his desire to help his friend. This small, yet profound act of empathy reminded me of how important it is to observe without preconceived notions. Had I approached the situation with assumptions, I might have thought the tissue was for himself or worried that he was going to make a mess. But by staying present and open, I was able to witness his thoughtfulness unfold naturally.

Another wonderful moment involved a child engaged in flower arranging. She took her time carefully placing flowers in vases, and when an adult asked where she would like to put one particular vase, she confidently placed it on the seat of a tricycle in the middle of the room. To her, the trike seemed to need a little decoration! All the adults exchanged knowing smiles, respecting her creative choice without intervention. And, after some time, she decided on her own to move the vase to a table. No one had prompted her – she simply made the decision independently. This moment emphasized the importance of giving children the space to explore their environment and make decisions without unnecessary adult interference. It was her process, her learning, and we were simply there to observe and respect it.
 
The classroom, though full of movement, was also full of meaningful work. Each child was engaged in their own task, all unique yet interconnected in their purpose. One child practiced standing and sitting from a chair, learning how to maneuver his body; another was carrying a tray, carefully balancing it as she walked to the table; yet another was polishing a door, ensuring every last drop of polish was used with care. One child meticulously arranged flowers, thoughtfully deciding on placement, while another flipped through a book, adjusting his position repeatedly but never losing focus. Every child was working, learning, and mastering their own unique tasks, each at their own pace and in their own way.
 
What struck me most was how the act of observation is not a one-way street. As we adults model observation – quietly watching, reflecting, and respecting the process – the children, too, show their ability to observe us. There’s a mutuality in this process. Children watch adults, learning how to interact with the world, and in turn, they show us the depth of their own perceptions. They observe their peers, their environment, and their own actions. Through this mutual observation, growth and discovery happen organically in the classroom.
 
It’s moments like these that remind us how necessary it is to remain present and open, trusting in the child’s ability to navigate their environment. By observing without judgment and resisting the urge to intervene too quickly, we allow children the freedom to express their creativity, empathy, and problem-solving skills. In turn, we learn so much more about who they are, how they think, and how we can best support their journey. Through observation, we create a bridge between their inner world and ours, guiding them while allowing them the space to grow into their fullest potential.  That is the true work of a Montessorian.