Inspiring Children’s Awe: Mandala-Making With Inner-City Elementary School Students

Julia Richardson, M.Ed.

While undertaking my graduate work at UCLA prior to the pandemic, I participated in a year-long experiential training with Inner-City Arts that focused on integrating creative, trauma-informed practices into classroom curricula. A non-profit arts education provider based in Skid Row, Inner-City Arts serves students from low-income families in Los Angeles.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, I found myself often turning to Inner-City Arts practices in response to the anxiety I saw in my 1st-grade students. The school year at Elysian Heights Arts Magnet began virtually, with teachers and students signing onto Zoom from living rooms across central Los Angeles. I learned about the different ways my students and their families were affected by the pandemic. Numerous parents and caregivers suffered job loss and financial insecurity. Some students were grieving the death of a loved one due to the virus. Many of my students spoke of feeling lonely, as they were isolated from family members and friends. One practice that became particularly soothing and strengthening for my students was mandala-making, a practice that led to this story about children’s awe and a teacher’s amazement.

A mandala (Sanskrit for “circle”) is an “artistic representation of higher thought and deeper meaning given as a geometric symbol used in spiritual, emotional, or psychological work to focus one’s attention,” according to the World History Encyclopedia. The art of mandala-making dates back to 1500-500 BCE in India. For thousands of years, cultures around the globe have practiced mandala-making. Mandalas have been used as a meditative tool in the belief systems of Jainism, Buddhism, and Shintoism, and they show up in Persian art, Mesoamerican architecture, Celtic art, and more. While the meaning of the mandala details varies, “mandalas in every culture serve, more or less, the same purpose of centering an individual or community on a given narrative in order to encourage introspection and, ultimately, an awareness of one’s place and purpose in the world; this awareness then allows for peace of mind.”

Over the course of the school year, my class made mandalas integrating state standards in geometry, science, art, and history. I wove in mindfulness techniques to support my students’ coping skills: focusing on our senses, breathing consciously, making mistakes and letting them go, noticing what emotions or thoughts present themselves. Studying geometric shapes and patterns, we observed and discussed mandalas in architecture around Los Angeles and in photos from around the world. Learning about the different cultures that have used and use mandalas encouraged a celebration of commonality and unity with people across the globe.

We created our own mandalas with pattern blocks. We also gathered natural materials (leaves, flowers, sticks, rocks, and seeds) to arrange into cascading patterns following concentric circles. We explored color sense and how mood relates to color, such as in the American Blues and Picasso’s blue and rose periods, and made mandalas that reflected our emotional state.

My students often asked to make mandalas, even during free choice time, and it became a beloved tradition, both virtually and in person once we returned to our school campus. When we regularly shared our reflections after creating our mandalas, students repeatedly said how relaxed and peaceful they felt. Sometimes, these discussions would lead to students speaking about their loneliness and their wishes for things to return to normal, and other students would chime in to empathize or help lift their mood.

To celebrate the closure of our year, we made mandalas on the last day of school. I played a video of kaleidoscopic, shape-shifting mandalas set to relaxing music; entranced, the students worked in silent concentration. As they drew, I talked a bit about how mandalas reflect patterns in nature and our bodies. My students asked me how this could be and why it was possible. I remembered a video slideshow illustrating examples of sacred geometry that had a particular impact on me. I had considered showing them this video beforehand but hesitated because I thought they might be too young to find it engaging. However, their questioning was persistent and I decided to show it.

As we watched the 12-minute video, some of my students stopped drawing and simply sat in their chairs mesmerized. The golden ratio repeated itself in cycling images of a nautilus, a tightly wound fern frond, an octopus tentacle, an aerial view of a hurricane, and in the proportions of the human body. We watched an artist use a compass and ruler to draw a mandala filled with echoes of each image. A couple students, with amazed expressions on their faces, stood up to watch the rotating images. We continued watching the video. The spokes of a bicycle wheel turned, a galaxy spinned, and we stared into the blue-green flecks of a human eye. A strand of DNA rotated, a latticework of shapes revealed itself to be the exquisite tiling of a mosque, and the artist created an intricate wheel-pattered mandala. Turning to me, my students said, “Whoa” and “What?!” “How is that possible?!” another muttered, eyes wide.

My students’ reaction amazed me. I had never seen them react this way before. Not every student was affected, but a handful seemed to be in a hushed state of awe. I felt I had really given them something. At the same time, my understanding of what young children are capable of was forever altered.

Education philosopher Darrell Calkins writes, “I’d contend that the greatest scientists of all time, who certainly merit our attention in considering their methods that led to great surprises from which we continue to benefit – including Einstein, Curie, Galileo, Newton, Copernicus, da Vinci – at some point realized that they were no longer looking at science but were looking at the details of divine art.” I wonder how these students might see and feel the world differently as they grow older, with a hint of the mysteries that might be hidden in science and geometry. Beyond that, I witnessed the power for my students of feeling there is sacred order in our natural world in the midst of such chaos and anxious uncertainty. It helped them, as it has helped me, to find a trust in something larger and feel connected to others around the globe in search of that. Stress and trauma are in no short supply around the world; perhaps other classrooms may find healing or soothing from making mandalas, reconnecting to everyday beauty, and listening to our own inner landscapes, as our shared humanity has done for thousands of years.

References
Calkins, D. (2021). Leaning into art. Darrell Calkins Publications. Retrieved from https://darrellcalkinspublications.com/2021/05/16/leaning-into-art/
Wang, D. (2019). How sacred geometry is embedded in your DNA: Secrets of geometric art. [Video]. Youtube. https://youtu.be/Mynr7uik5-0
Mark, J. J. (2020). Mandala. World history encyclopedia. Retrieved from https://www.worldhistory.org/mandala/