Reading:
Gerofsky, S. & Ostertag, J. (2018). Dancing teachers into being with a garden, or how to swing or parkour the strict grid of schooling. Australian Journal of Environmental Education, 34/2, 172-188.
In this article, Gerofsky and Ostertag use the metaphor of the “grid” to describe the rigid, uniform, and often unchangeable structures of the school system. They argue that from the design of school buildings and classroom layouts to desk arrangements, worksheets, and curricular expectations, schooling is organized through grids that shape how learning happens. Working closely with teacher education programs, the authors invite preservice teachers to become aware of these constraints and to explore ways of moving within and beyond them. Through projects such as gardening, dancing, and swinging, they demonstrate how embodied, place-based, and relational practices can interrupt the rigidity of the grid. Rather than rejecting the grid structure entirely, Gerofsky and Ostertag encourage teachers to creatively “dance” or “parkour” through the grid, and to find a balance that allows for more meaningful ways of teaching and learning.
Stop 1:
“It begins with noticing that teachers are in the squared-off boxes of classrooms for most (or all) of their teacher education experiences. That seems to follow logically and seamlessly from other, previous educational experiences, from preschool through to advanced university degrees, in which teachers and learners sit inside rectilinear rooms, at tables, chairs, and desks, and talk about things that are not present, within the straight-line, right-angled grid structures that are always present. ” p. 173
After spending over 20 years in schools, first as a student and now as a teacher, I had never questioned the “grid” of schooling. Classrooms, desks, schedules, and worksheets all felt natural, as if this was simply how learning was supposed to happen. Reading this article, I started picturing a literal square box in my head, with people moving inside it but rarely stepping outside. I think this comes from a kind of fixed mindset that if the system has always worked reasonably well, why question it? Yet Gerofsky and Ostertag’s question,
“Can we absolutely reject the grid (in environmental education and in garden-based learning) when we are, at least in part, implicated and entangled in it — when it is an intimate part of ourselves and our way of being in the world?” (p.175)
made me realize that the issue may not be about abandoning the grid entirely, but about noticing how deeply it shapes our thinking. The grid may have helped schools function efficiently, but this reading made me stop and wonder: how might we interrupt or merge it in ways that allow for richer, more embodied forms of learning?
Stop 2:
“As new teachers, we desire in some way to command attention and control learners (for the purposes of learning, safety, order)— and at the same time, we recognise the illegitimacy of usurping the freedom of others. We are simultaneously within and beside ourselve,s and the persona of ‘teacher’ we are in the process of adopting. Rather than conforming to this persona, what other ways of being teachers might be possible? Can we dance or daydream teachers into being with a garden?” p.180
This passage really resonated with me, especially as I still consider myself a new teacher with less than two years of classroom experience. I often find myself caught in the tension the authors describe: wanting to maintain attention, order, and safety, while also feeling uncomfortable with the idea of controlling students in ways that limit their freedom. I am constantly thinking about how to improve my teaching, and I have many ideas I would love to try. At the same time, I am aware of very real constraints such as time, resources, curriculum demands, and the level of support available from the school. As a result, much of my energy ends up being spent on classroom management and covering content, rather than experimenting with more imaginative or embodied approaches. While I believe teachers can “dance or daydream” their way into new possibilities, this reading made me reflect on how much institutional support is needed to turn those dreams into reality.
Discussion questions:
In what ways might we interrupt, bend, or work within the “grid” to support richer and more embodied learning experiences for students?
What kinds of conditions or supports could schools put in place to make creative risk-taking more possible, especially for early-career teachers?
** I have no talent in art, so please excuse my limited sketching skills**
I sat on my balcony on the 7th floor and sketched what I could observe from above. For clarity, I intentionally left out the security bars in my drawing so the sketch would better reflect what I saw through my eyes. The living things I sketched included a human, a dog, and plants, while the non-living elements included buildings, pathways, and a water fountain.
In the human-made, non-living objects, I noticed strong patterns and clear structures. The buildings appeared very square and rectilinear, and the water fountain was carefully designed with intentional angles. The pathways were tiled in repeating patterns, including rectangular tiles in some areas and hexagonal tiles in others. In contrast, the living things appeared far less rigid or structured. Their lines were more curved, irregular, and dynamic. This difference makes sense to me, as living things are constantly in motion, while human-made objects are typically static and designed for stability and order.
I was especially drawn to the repeating patterns in the building windows and the tiled pathways. I imagine these patterns exist not only for aesthetic reasons but also for functional purposes, such as organization, construction efficiency, and even guiding movement through space. This type of close observation and sketching activity could be a powerful way to help students learn about lines and angles. It naturally invites questions such as: Why do these patterns exist? Why are certain shapes repeated? How are the lines aligned? Could we calculate how many tiles are needed for a specific area? These questions could lead to rich mathematical explorations involving geometry, measurement, and spatial reasoning.
I also see strong possibilities for experiencing lines and angles through whole-body movement. For example, students could use their bodies to form straight lines, curves, or different angles, either individually or collaboratively with peers. This would not only make geometry more embodied but also more playful and engaging. In relation to the living world, outdoor activities such as observing plant growth, tracing natural paths, or even constructing simple structures could further connect mathematical ideas of lines and angles to real, lived experiences.







