Aldo van Eyck and Lina Bo Bardi were two subversive figures. Their visions of collectivity and playfulness—though applied to very different kinds of structures—shared a common ground: an idea of architecture that goes beyond design. For both, architecture was a living space, animated by appropriation, movement, and exchange. From Dutch playgrounds to thw São Paulo Museum of Art, their ideals intertwined, reinforcing the notion of an architecture where anyone could become a child again.
Kindergarten architecture has long stood apart as a realm where design and imagination converge. Unlike most building typologies, these spaces are conceived not only to shelter and function but to shape the earliest experiences of curiosity, play, and social interaction. Throughout history, the design of kindergartens has evolved alongside pedagogical shifts, moving from modest, utilitarian beginnings to highly intentional environments that stimulate both learning and wonder. In this context, architecture becomes more than a backdrop — it becomes a silent educator, capable of nurturing emotional, cognitive, and physical development.
How do nature and landscape dialogue within spaces designed for children? How are architecture and urban design capable of shaping natural atmospheres that integrate practices of play, participation, and exploration? From participatory projects that involve children in the design process to built environments that incorporate furniture adapted to their needs, the conception of spaces for childhood entails the creation of places for encounter, learning, and coexistence. At times, these spaces are able to strengthen the relationships between interiors and exteriors, connecting their users with nature and the surrounding environment. Depending on their cultures, customs, and histories of attachment to place, several contemporary projects deploy tools and strategies that integrate architecture, nature, and pedagogy to form broad experiences of learning, play, and discovery.
In South American Indigenous communities, a child’s place is wherever they choose to be. Babies crawl on the earthen floor, approach the fire, investigate anthills, and experience the world with their whole bodies. They learn by feeling: discovering limits, recognizing dangers, and gathering lessons no manual could ever teach. In urban contexts, by contrast, children are often confined to spaces designed for adults, filled with rules that—though well-intentioned—tend to distance them from essential experiences. Rather than judging which model is “better,” what matters is recognizing that when cultures observe one another, there is always room for learning.
From an architectural perspective, this childhood with little freedom of time and movement challenges us to rethink how we shape daily environments. Why restrict spontaneous exploration to controlled settings? Why create physical and symbolic barriers between children and the natural world? And, above all, how might contemporary architecture break away from this paradigm and, inspired by Indigenous childhoods, design environments that restore to children their wild, curious, and complete dimension?
Play extends beyond its recreational dimension, unfolding as a social act that encourages children to learn, interact, be creative, and engage with their spatial context. As Johan Huizinga notes in Homo Ludens, it is a fundamental element of culture, where kids form bonds and explore ways of coexisting. When the architecture of play spaces excludes certain bodies or modes of participation, the collective experience becomes fragmented and loses part of its meaning. Designing with inclusion in mind, therefore, means recognizing that the actual value of play lies in its potential to be shared by everyone.
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The world certainly looks different through the eyes of a young child; enormous, intriguing, and somewhat overwhelming, and it has long been believed that what we encounter as children shapes our perspective of the world. When asked about his childhood memories in Switzerland, Peter Zumthor shared that the memories of his youth contain the deepest architectural experience, which has become reservoirs of the architectural atmospheres and images that he explores in his work as an architect today.
Having a complete understanding of how children change and grow physically and psychologically throughout their childhood requires an in-depth observation of different factors, such as their hereditary traits and genetics, the interactions they have with other children and adults, as well as the environment they are living, playing, and learning in. In celebration of World Children's Day on November 20th, we look at how architects and designers stimulated children's autonomy and promoted their mental and physical well-being through architecture and interior design. This initiative aligns with the theme of World Architecture Day 2024: "Mobilizing the Next Generation for Urban Transformation," emphasizing the crucial role that thoughtful design plays in shaping a sustainable and inclusive future for our cities and the communities within them.
Have you ever considered how spaces are perceived, experienced, and enjoyed from a height of 95 cm? Considering urban design from the child's perspective is essential for fostering inclusive, healthy, and secure cities. Components tailored to these needs benefit children and enhance the experience for adults, the elderly, and people with disabilities. Blocks play a pivotal role in this discourse as key urban elements. These spaces provide several opportunities for utilization and adaptation within urban environments. They can be modified and designed in diverse ways, incorporating strategies to better cater to the specific needs of children.
This article was originally published on CommonEdge as "How Design Education Can Transform Our Schools".
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