Where Personal Meets Professional: Lines That Connect Us

My work often follows me home, and my experiences often follow me to work. I imagine that’s true for many of us. I once read that teachers can’t help but bring a part of themselves into their classrooms, and I couldn’t agree more. I just hope it’s always the best part of us that shows up.

Recently, that part of me showed up in the form of lines, lines that connected my travels, my curiosities, and ultimately, to the children in the atelier.

This past summer, I spent time sorting through travel photos, snapshots from all over the world, from the intricate architecture of Russia to the driftwood-covered beaches of Jekyll Island, and countless places in between. As I studied them, one thing began to emerge.

Lines.

They appeared everywhere stretching across buildings, tracing the curve of roots, and zigzagging in the sand; once I noticed them, I couldn’t stop seeing them.  Soon, even simple walks turned into a kind of scavenger hunt.

On a hike with Keith, I pointed out the roots twisting across the path and said, “Those look like wavy lines.” A few steps later, I noticed zigzags in the dirt. Before long, he was in on it too spotting a snail’s spiral on a tree and calling it out like we were kids on a treasure hunt.

It was contagious. And somewhere along that trail, it dawned on me: this could be something.

Each year, I try to introduce a school-wide study. It’s always a challenge as I work with children spanning a six-year age range. Choosing a topic that engages everyone while still connecting us all takes a bit of magic and plenty of flexibility.

I decided to start by seeing if the children were interested in lines. I mentioned lines, asked the children where they might see a zigzag or a straight line, and listened. They had ideas, stories, and excitement to share.

And so began our study of lines.

For our youngest children, this was all about process. They rolled golf balls dipped in paint, drove toy cars through puddles of color, and watched lines appear as if by magic.

The older children were more intentional, drawing, constructing, and telling stories through their lines. They searched for lines on campus, created intricate designs, and explored how lines could show movement, emotion, and connection. What started as a simple curiosity turned into a school-wide exploration filled with discovery, collaboration, and joy.

As I wrapped up the study, I found myself reflecting, as I often do after these projects, on just how capable children are when we give them the opportunity to be.

Through a conversation in the hallway with our music teacher, I learned that she, too, had been inspired by the work. As I shared some of my reflections, she began to imagine how this study could take shape in her music room. Soon, she was inviting the children to listen to different kinds of music and draw lines that reflected the rhythm and emotion they heard.

In the coming months, we hope to collaborate - mixing music, art, and lines to offer the children yet another way to express themselves and connect ideas.

There’s a lot that goes into these studies-the planning, the prepping, the documenting.

The planning is exciting.

The preparation is, well… a little tedious.

And the documentation? That’s where the magic comes full circle, a reminder of just how much is possible when curiosity leads the way.

These studies always begin as something small and personal, something noticed, felt, or experienced. But once they enter the atelier, they grow. They become collective explorations that connect children, teachers, and ideas in unexpected ways.

And that’s the beauty of it all. Every study, no matter how it starts, becomes a line connecting us to each other, to our environment, and to the world.

I hope the next time you’re walking, sitting, or even just looking around, you take a moment to notice the lines around you, the curve of a branch, the shadow of a fence, the swirl in a puddle. What lines can you find, and what stories do they tell?