Space matters. I’ve always been fascinated by how the environment shapes learning, engagement, and atmosphere. Classrooms, hallways, and schoolyards aren’t just neutral backdrops — they actively influence how students feel, how teachers teach, and how the entire school community interacts.
During my professional career, I’ve had the privilege of working and visiting in dozens of schools in more than 20 countries. I’ve walked through the poorest public schools in rural Africa and India, where overcrowded classrooms have little more than chalk and benches, and I’ve stepped into wealthy private schools whose lobbies look like the reception of a five-star hotel. And I’ve seen everything in between.
One thing stands out: school buildings always reflect the culture and context they’re built in — deliberately or not. Some send a clear message that people matter here, that this is a place to belong and to learn. Others seem designed mainly to store children for an agreed period of time each day. And others aim to impress visitors walking past, with little thought for what happens inside once the ribbon is cut.
In international private schools especially, I’ve noticed a recurring pattern: when a new school is planned, the building takes the biggest chunk of the budget. Huge sums go into architecture and finishes, but in the spreadsheets I’ve seen, the investment lines for guaranteeing educational quality — teacher training, leadership development, student well-being programs — are often missing entirely.
If the building is going to be the thing you pour most of your money into, it had better do more than look good from the street. It should actively support learning, foster well-being, and make both students and teachers want to be there. Otherwise, it’s just another beautiful shell, full of missed opportunities.
Space as a Silent Teacher
Psychologist and educator Loris Malaguzzi, founder of the Reggio Emilia approach, called the environment “the third teacher” — alongside adults and peers. I’ve seen that truth play out many times. The design of a learning space sends constant, often unspoken messages:
Are you welcome here? Is your voice valued? Is this a place where it’s safe to take risks, make mistakes, and grow?
For me personally, aesthetics has always mattered a lot. I naturally pay attention to both the overall look and feel of a space as well as the small details no matter where I go. I can quickly sense whether a space feels inviting or repelling.
When I worked as a teacher and later on as a teacher trainer rotating from one client school to another, I couldn’t control the colour of the walls or the design of the hallways. But I could do my own small magic in the classroom I was given for my training sessions or lessons. My habit was to push all the tables aside and arrange the chairs in a dialogue circle. That physical order set the tone I wanted: openness, honesty, respect, paying attention to others. No hiding behind desks — we were all participants.
I’ve learned that even when budgets are tight and walls can’t be moved, small choices in how we arrange and use space can shape the “silent teaching” that happens before a single word is spoken. In this blog series, we’ll later take a deeper dive into how factors like light, air, acoustics, and flexibility influence learning in Post 5: Designing for Well-Being – Light, Air, Noise, and Nature. But the main point is this: whether grand or modest, every learning environment teaches — the question is, what lesson is it sending?
Well-Being and Belonging
One thing that we as school designers must remember; school is more than a place for lessons — it’s where children spend a huge part of their lives. The way a space makes them feel directly shapes how well they learn. From my visits around the world, I’ve seen schools that immediately make you feel welcome and safe, and others that feel cold, chaotic, or impersonal — even if architecturally impressive.
Well-being starts with meeting basic needs like light, air, and comfortable temperature. Belonging goes deeper: it’s about whether students feel seen and valued. Simple touches — a corridor lined with student artwork, a reading nook in a sunny corner — send a clear message: you matter here.
I remember visiting a small primary school in Costa Rica. The building was simple, but the surrounding nature was stunning, every wall was covered with students’ projects and colourful signs. The owner said, “We want our children to feel proud of where they learn.” That pride was visible in their smiles and confidence.
By contrast, state-of-the-art facilities can feel empty and impersonal, sending an unintended message that the building is for show, not for living and learning. Ultimately, well-being and belonging aren’t bought with flashy design — they are cultivated through choices that make the school feel like our place, not just a place.
Why This Series
This blog series is my way of reflecting and exploring how physical spaces shape learning — not just in theory, but through real-world experience. I want to share what I’ve learned visiting schools around the globe, combining research with practical insights, so educators, school leaders, architects, parents and learners can think differently about the environments we create for learning.
In the coming posts, we’ll dive deeper into topics like designing for well-being, fostering creativity, encouraging flexible and adaptable learning spaces, involving students and teachers in shaping their environments, extending learning beyond the classroom, avoiding common design pitfalls, and exploring trends and practical strategies that help turn a vision for a learning-centered school into reality.