I'm an architect and tend to think like an architect. We often think in terms of models and precedents when looking for inspiration as we approach designs. In the 18th century, Jean Jacques Rousseau used the primitive hut as an example of a pure expression of architecture in service of man. Unspoilt by the overwrought designs of the academic architects of his time, it was simple, functional, beautiful, and worthy of being a model and inspiration for all. Rousseau saw it as a representation of the search for that which is essential in the human condition.

In the same spirit, I would like to propose, as the new "primitive hut" of architecture for children, the Cardboard Refrigerator Box: a model capable of informing our search for the essential in the human condition writ small. In the quest to create wonderful spaces for children, it's also useful to look at several other non-traditional models and examples of how children behave "in the wild." But, you ask, do we really need a new and somewhat counter-intuitive paradigm for children's spaces? Why not? The current models (acknowledged or latent) are, to a great extent, inappropriate, exhausted of their creative potential, or followed so closely so as to have become bad recipes rather than powerful inspirations. New models could invigorate our thinking about design for children.

Architects and models

Architects rarely create buildings or environments without precedents, or models, in mind. Whether the model is a success in guiding the design process can be based on three criteria: 1) the appropriateness of the inspiration, 2) the richness of the inspiration, and 3) the skill with which it has been applied to the design problem at hand. Ideally, a rich, appropriate model or models would be artfully employed to inspire the design of space, building, or landscape. Alternately, a highly appropriate, very rich model could be completely bungled (think of a bad Frank Lloyd Wright house imitation) or a model of questionable merit could conceivably be turned into something extraordinary (think of Frank Gehry mining the memory of a carp in his grandmother's bathtub as inspiration for the Guggenheim museum in Bilbao with its shiny scales). The odds of success go up if one pays attention to all three criteria.

Is the model appropriate?

First of all, it's worth noting that purpose-built child care spaces have a relatively short history. Using existing child care spaces as inspiration for new child care spaces, while possible and to some extent inevitable, is also inherently limiting. While it may end up being a good idea to use a barn (or a carp, or a 1958 Chevrolet) as inspiration for your next museum design, it's comforting, both for the architect and the client, to know that there are hundreds of years of museum design history to draw upon and learn from.

Most child care centers designed today can trace their lineage back either to houses or schools and too many inadvertently draw on the institutions that many schools drew upon (prisons, for example — security, surveillance, efficiency and control). Between house and school, the house may be the more appropriate and the more fertile source of inspiration. The practical rub is that using the house as inspiration for a setting for 100 or more children in a limited amount of space can be a daunting task, particularly within a set of building regulations that equate children to non-ambulatory hospital patients. Faced with this challenge, many architects, consciously or unconsciously slide back into a more institutional mode. Conversely, when the house model is followed too literally, it can result in either serious functional limitations or a kind of kitschy parody. In either case, the architect may find him/herself trying to overcome the inspiration rather than being actually inspired by it. Leaving aside, for the moment, the question of whether or not a cardboard box is an appropriate inspiration for children's spaces, let us consider the second criteria.

Is the model rich?

Does the model evoke rich and diverse possibilities? We can think of this as analogous to the value of various props and settings for children's dramatic play. If a prop is generic and simple (let's say a 2 foot wide by 2 foot wide piece of plywood) very creative children may find inspiration in it, but many children may see fairly limited play possibilities. Add legs to the plywood to make a table that one can go under, over, sit around, etc. and the possibilities expand. Put a simple roof over the table and suddenly the variety of situations that children can create increases exponentially. But paint the whole thing purple and call it "Barney's castle" and you've sharply reduced the creative play possibilities that don't involve overcoming the inspiration to one. A fertile source of inspiration requires a balance of evocative richness and non-specificity. In general, the richer, more fertile the model(s), the richer the final project.

Is the model skillfully employed?

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