Nine in-depth answers covering the assumptions still embedded in school design, the model we use instead, how it differs from the open-plan experiments of the past, and what's actually possible in budgets large and small.
EDI is a licensed architecture practice. Our principals are licensed architects, and the firm holds architectural registration in multiple jurisdictions.
On projects worldwide we serve as architect, and on many we are architect or engineer of record. When we partner with local firms for production and construction administration, design authorship and architectural leadership remain with EDI.
Back to top ↑This model was designed for student compliance and factory-era management, not empowerment. The "cells and bells" arrangement — students sitting in rows, grouped by age, receiving knowledge from a single authority — was an industrial-era solution to managing children efficiently. Despite decades of pedagogical progress, it still underpins the vast majority of school buildings today.
Two other assumptions compound this. First, the belief that childhood is merely a rehearsal for adult life, which produces environments that are sterile, rigid, and disconnected from children's emotional, physical, and creative needs. Second, the assumption that learning is a strictly linear process best managed through standardization — driving a design bias toward identical rooms, narrow corridors, and testing infrastructure rather than spaces for exploration, wellness, or collaboration.
The shift we need is fundamental. Schools should not be designed to deliver instruction. They should be designed to unleash learning — replacing control with trust, isolation with connection, and uniformity with diversity. Architecturally, this means interconnected learning communities instead of corridors lined with cells, and studios, hubs, and breakout spaces where educators serve as facilitators rather than gatekeepers. The physical environment is not a backdrop for learning. It is a participant in it.
Back to top ↑The ideal school cannot be reduced to a single blueprint. It is a living ecosystem that adapts to the needs of its learners and community. Physically, it is organized around learning communities, each serving around 100 to 150 students with a team of 4 to 6 teachers who share responsibility for the group. Within each community, varied spaces support different learning modes: learning studios, breakout zones, project areas, quiet corners, maker spaces, and common hubs for gathering.
Movement is natural and encouraged. Students do not sit in one place for six hours. The architecture invites them to move between zones that suit the task at hand. Visual transparency, open lines of sight, and indoor-outdoor continuity break down the isolation that traditional schools impose. And the design does not dictate how learning happens. It offers options and trusts students to take the lead.
Most importantly, the ideal school is a community anchor, not a fortress. It includes spaces that welcome families, invite partnerships, and reflect the culture and values of its local context. Schools that achieve this stop feeling like institutions and start feeling like places of possibility.
Back to top ↑Our work is often confused with open-plan schooling, but in reality we are responding to its failures, not replicating them. The open-plan models of the 1970s and more recent iterations in countries like Australia and New Zealand were based on good intentions but lacked acoustic planning, zoning, professional development, or cultural readiness. Many schools ended up creating noisy, disorienting environments and eventually reverted to traditional classrooms.
But reverting is not a solution. It is a retreat. What we design instead is the Small Learning Community (SLC) model: a thoughtfully organized ecosystem of interconnected zones that support a wide range of learning modes. Students are not confined to a single space or a single way of working, and teachers become facilitators and mentors rather than content deliverers.
Architecture alone will not make this work. Spaces that support autonomy and self-directed learning require even more adult involvement, not less. Educators need deep professional development to shift from delivery to coaching. And our metrics must evolve: standardized test scores largely measure memory and compliance, not creativity, collaboration, or well-being. Schools must also stop seeing parents as outsiders. The parent community has to become an integral part of the school ecosystem, a partner in shaping truly personalized and human-centered learning. The solution to "cells and bells" is not radical openness. It is thoughtful coherence, grounded in research and supported by a culture of trust.
Back to top ↑There is absolutely room for direct instruction — just not as the dominant mode of learning. The problem in traditional schools is not direct instruction itself; it is its overuse, where students are expected to passively receive knowledge from the front of the room for most of the day.
In the learning communities we design, direct instruction becomes one of many tools educators can draw on. A teacher might gather a group in a quiet learning studio for a focused explanation or skill-building session, while others work independently, collaborate in a commons, or create in a maker zone. The physical environment, teaching strategy, and learner autonomy work in harmony rather than at cross-purposes.
We are not replacing direct instruction. We are restoring balance — giving educators and students the spatial and pedagogical flexibility to choose what works best for the moment, the learner, and the task.
Back to top ↑Student well-being is not an add-on to learning. It is the foundation. And school design plays a major role in supporting it. The patterns below are not theoretical; they are features used across dozens of projects, affirmed by students, educators, and research.
Welcoming entries — a warm, human-scaled entrance reduces anxiety and signals care from the moment a student arrives. Natural light and visual access to nature are powerful mood regulators that reduce stress, boost attention, and create calm throughout the day. Indoor-outdoor fluidity through direct access to outdoor zones supports both mental clarity and emotional balance.
Small social commons that feel more like living rooms than cafeterias support organic social connection and help students feel seen. Soft seating and flexible furniture let students sit in a way that suits their mood — feeling more in control and more comfortable. Quiet zones and reflective spaces, nooks for solitude, honor different temperaments and help students self-regulate.
Many of these features are part of the design vocabulary laid out in The Language of School Design. That book was never meant to be prescriptive. It was created to offer a shared language for creating environments that support the whole student — emotionally, socially, and cognitively. Good school design does not just house learning. It creates conditions where young people feel grounded, respected, and free to grow into who they truly are.
Back to top ↑Most conventional schools are built for compliance, not autonomy: rows of desks, locked doors, fixed schedules. To promote real agency, school design must offer choice, support movement, and create trustworthy flexibility.
Learning studios that support multiple modalities — unlike rectangular classrooms, learning studios accommodate different types of learning within the same space, with quiet zones, small-group areas, and project corners. Project zones and maker spaces let students pursue hands-on, self-paced work that builds both competence and ownership. Breakout areas and shared commons, adjacent to learning studios, give students natural options for small group work, quiet focus, or peer learning.
Caves, campfires, and watering holes — archetypal spaces for reflection, storytelling, and social learning help students navigate between environments that match their cognitive and emotional needs. Glass walls and passive supervision create enclosed but visually connected spaces — building trust without constant policing. Students feel seen without being surveilled. Flexible, student-directed furniture — movable chairs, standing options, and reconfigurable tables — reinforces a sense of ownership over how students learn.
Designing for autonomy is not about removing structure. It is about creating environments that support student agency within structure, sending a clear message: we trust you to make good choices.
Back to top ↑Sustainability in schools should not be treated as a checklist or a separate initiative. It should be embedded into the daily experience of students and educators — visible, lived, and part of the culture. A truly sustainable school teaches children how to live in harmony with their environment, not just how to consume less of it.
Design the building as a teaching tool. Display solar energy generation in real time, make rainwater collection visible, showcase natural ventilation strategies. The building itself can become part of the curriculum. Use passive design principles — proper orientation for daylight and ventilation, courtyards, shaded areas, and natural airflow reduce energy use while connecting students to natural rhythms.
Create nature-integrated outdoor learning environments. Gardens, biodiversity corridors, water features, and quiet pockets for observation serve as meaningful learning spaces that promote ecological awareness and emotional well-being. Choose materials that are healthy and local — low-emission materials, natural textures, and locally sourced resources reduce environmental impact and create more inviting spaces.
Design for adaptability over time. The most sustainable building is the one that does not need to be torn down. Spaces designed to evolve stay relevant and useful for decades. Cultivate sustainable habits through design — composting stations, edible gardens, bicycle parking, and shared tools reinforce values through daily routines.
Back to top ↑Design does not have to be expensive to be effective. The key is not how much money is spent, but how intentionally a space is aligned with the school's vision for learning.
In lower-budget settings, meaningful change often begins with mindset: challenging the belief that learning must happen in fixed classrooms, on rigid timetables, under constant supervision. Schools can make significant progress by exploring how existing spaces might support more movement, choice, collaboration, and trust. Even modest environments become powerful when they encourage learners to take ownership, foster belonging through adaptable spaces, and reflect student voices and evolving projects rather than static displays.
That said, well-designed infrastructure remains an important equity issue. All students deserve environments that are safe, welcoming, and suited to human development. The goal is not to make do with less indefinitely. It is to build toward a model of education where the quality of design supports the dignity and potential of every learner.
Back to top ↑Every school is different. If your question isn't answered here — or you want to talk specifics about your context, your budget, or your community — we'd be glad to start a conversation.