Professional Position Statements · May 2026
Garreth J. Heidt
Six Positions for What Comes Next
“Space is not neutral. It is curriculum.”
These statements draw on thirty-six years of intellectual work — from a 1990 senior paper on postmodern aesthetics, through a 1998 graduate literature review of the New Urbanism, into thirty years of classroom practice, a refereed book chapter, a TEDx talk, and the daily work of NOVA Lab. Each statement leads with the most distinctive credential I bring to that field and closes with the specific value I offer.
Statements 01–04 address the established fields. Statements 05 and 06 are newer: a writing-pedagogy position grounded in three decades at Bard’s Institute for Writing and Thinking, and an educational futures-thinking position built on NOVA Lab’s 2024 protopian work at Fluxspace. Statement 06 is, in many ways, the lead position — the field where my practitioner credibility, published voice, and philosophical grounding most clearly converge.
- 01 Educational Space Design
- 02 Educational Consulting
- 03 Higher Education
- 04 Museum & Cultural Institutions
- 05 Writing Pedagogy & English Education Leadership
- 06 Futures Thinking & Educational Foresight
The Teacher Who Became the Client — and Has Been the Theorist Since 1998
I don’t arrive at educational space design from the outside. In 1998, as part of a graduate seminar in American material culture at Temple University, I wrote a twenty-seven-page literature review of the New Urbanism — a deep reading of Witold Rybczynski, Lewis Mumford, Christopher Alexander, and the pastoral suburban tradition that runs through American town planning. That review wasn’t about classrooms. It was about why some built environments make us feel human and others don’t — and it has been the central question of my professional life ever since.
The classroom is not a container for learning. It is learning — if you design it that way.
Eighteen years later, in 2016, I translated those principles into an actual classroom: student-led design thinking, a $2,500 district grant, whiteboard-top tables on casters, stackable stools, a cave space for introverts, and foam campfire clusters for ideation. The Steelcase 360 research you almost certainly keep on your shelf describes exactly what we built. My book chapter, published by ARC Humanities Press in 2023, extends that work into a full philosophical account of why design at human scale matters in learning environments.
Since November 2019, I have brought multiple cohorts of NOVA Lab students to Fluxspace and Corbett Inc. — a six-year documented partnership that includes blog posts, student presentations, and a shared mission about what learning spaces should make possible. What I bring to a design firm isn’t enthusiasm. It is a thirty-year philosophical apprenticeship to the question your firm exists to answer, paired with a practitioner’s scar tissue from real implementation and a writer’s ability to translate your design vision into language that moves teachers, administrators, and the students who actually inhabit the spaces you make.
Design Thinking as a Tool for Citizenship — and for Anyone Who Teaches It
Most professional development asks teachers to receive. My practice asks them to make. My work is grounded in design thinking as a civic and pedagogical methodology — not as a Silicon Valley import, but as what I and co-author Scott Warner, PhD, called in The Technology and Engineering Educator a “tool for citizenship in a democratic society.” That refereed publication represents a bridge most PD consultants can’t cross: between theory, practice, and peer-reviewed argument.
The architecture of assessment mirrors the architecture of space. Both either invite or foreclose genuine encounter.
I have built and facilitated design-based learning curriculum at the middle and high school levels for more than twenty years. I have coached teachers through the discomfort of student-determined learning, facilitated Touchstones-style Socratic discussions (for which I was named Touchstones Discussion Project Teacher of the Year in 2013), and presented at EduCon — one of the most respected practitioner-led education conferences in the country — in consecutive years.
What I offer a district or reform organization is rare: a practitioner who can write and speak at a theoretical level, who has designed curriculum for both gifted and lower-track students, and who has the forensics coaching background to facilitate even the most contentious faculty conversation without losing the room. I can keynote your conference, facilitate your design sprint, build your PBL curriculum, and leave your teachers with tools they will actually use on Monday morning.
The Classroom as Encounter: Teaching Pedagogy, Space, Performance, and Meaning
My intellectual range at the college level is wider than my recent classroom title suggests. As an undergraduate at Temple I studied English with concentrations in American literature, religious studies, art history, and philosophy. My 1990 senior-level paper for a postmodern film seminar — a twenty-two-page analysis of David Byrne’s Stop Making Sense and True Stories through Jean-François Lyotard’s theory of micronarratives — proposed an aesthetic I called “show-and-tell,” in which performance and narrative are inseparable and meaning emerges in the act of expression. Thirty-six years later, that framework is still the spine of how I think about pedagogy, identity, and design.
Where experience describes passive reception, encounter requires presence, movement, and relational engagement.
What this means in practice is that I can teach across an unusual range. My refereed ARC Humanities Press chapter, “Experience to Encounter,” provides the philosophical foundation: I can teach pre-service teachers, design students, or graduate students in educational leadership in the language of museum and classroom pedagogy. I can also teach undergraduate seminars in postmodern aesthetics, American material culture, or semiotic approaches to the built environment. I have taught Temple freshman composition, lectured nine consecutive years at Millersville University, and designed graduate-level curriculum for Gratz College.
I do not come with a syllabus built for someone else’s course. I come to design the encounter itself — which, as my book chapter argues, is the difference between a classroom that delivers content and one that asks something of the body, the imagination, and the relationship between teacher and student.
The Museum as Performative Space: Education, Experience, and the Art of the Encounter
In 1990, fresh out of Temple, I stood in the Fels Planetarium and learned something I have spent thirty years confirming: the right space, used with intentionality, makes knowledge unavoidable. The Franklin Institute was my first laboratory. The Berman Museum of Art at Ursinus College was my second — a place I returned to repeatedly with students, where I co-designed and presented a professional development workshop, “Images as Language / Images Into Words: The Museum as Classroom,” in 2010.
The museum is not a place where learning is delivered. It is a place where learning is structured into a confrontation with the real.
The museum has been a recurring subject of my intellectual work, not just a field trip destination. My ARC Humanities Press chapter directly addresses the museum and classroom as sites of aesthetic encounter — building on Dewey, Buber, and David Perkins to argue that meaning-making in spatial learning environments depends on how the body is invited into the work, not just the mind.
I am suited to design and lead educator professional development, adult programming, school partnership curricula, or interpretive frameworks for a museum or cultural institution. My literary voice — the same one that writes essays, gave a TEDx talk, and has been featured on more than a dozen podcasts — translates complex ideas for a public audience without condescension. My design thinking background means I build programs by starting with the visitor’s experience and working backward, not forward from a collection catalogue.
Writing as Ontological Ritual: The Practitioner Who Has Spent Thirty Years on the Question of How Writers Are Made
Writing, in my classroom, has never been compliance. It has never been the five-paragraph essay. It has been what I call — in my essay Writerly Ways of Being — an “ontological ritual,” the slow, recursive practice by which a student becomes visible to themselves. This is not a fashionable position. It is a position I have held for more than two decades, grounded in continuous study at Bard College’s Institute for Writing and Thinking, where I have taken classes in freewriting, writing to learn, and revision since 1996.
To teach writing is not to assign essays. It is to midwife voice.
My practice draws on Peter Elbow’s freewriting, Lewis Hyde’s theory of the gift, Whitman’s democratic poetics, and the lived experience of running summer creative writing workshops at Ursinus College, organizing community readings, overseeing the publication of student anthologies, and initiating my middle school’s month-long National Poetry Month celebration as its founding master of ceremonies. I have taught Temple freshman composition. I have published essays myself — a personal essay in Bard’s Writing from the Inside-Out anthology, a synthesis piece in SchoolArts Magazine on the parallels between poetry and graphic design, a poem in A Gathering of the Tribes , and a sustained body of public writing at onlyconnects.wordpress.com.
What I offer an English department, writing program, MFA program, or organization like the National Writing Project is a teacher-writer who has spent thirty years refusing the false binary between rigorous practice and humane pedagogy. I have built reading and discussion cultures around Touchstones-style Socratic methods, taught the same students through grammar, close reading, and the genuine work of finding a voice. I can lead a writing across the curriculum initiative, design a low-residency MFA pedagogy seminar, run a summer institute for teachers, or build a writing program from scratch. I know what works because I have spent thirty years failing forward at it.
The Failure of Imagination Is the Crisis: Educational Futures Thinking as Moral Practice
Most education organizations talk about “the future of learning” as a marketing phrase. I have taught it as a discipline. In the fall of 2024, NOVA Lab students completed a twenty-four-day futures-thinking project anchored in PBS’s A Brief History of the Future , the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals, and the practice of signals-and-trends scanning. They built protopias — not utopias, not dystopias, but achievable, community-grounded futures — and presented them at Fluxspace to an audience of design educators and entrepreneurs. In my thirty-two years of teaching, it was one of the deepest projects I have ever facilitated.
When we lack the imagination at the level of leadership to even dream of different futures, we are in deep trouble.
What makes futures thinking a moral practice, not a corporate-strategy exercise, is the diagnosis behind it. Our governments, our schools, and our cultural institutions are suffering not from a shortage of information or technology, but from a failure of imagination. We cannot dream futures beyond the ones the present hands us. The result is climate inaction, political stagnation, ossified schooling, and a generation of young people fed dystopian fictions instead of livable visions. Futures thinking, taught with rigor, is the antidote: it teaches signals, trends, scenario building, and — most importantly — the moral responsibility to imagine forward.
This is the work I want to lead going forward. I am positioned to consult, keynote, and design programs for school districts, independent schools, foundations, and think tanks engaged in the question of what education is for in a VUCA world (volatile, uncertain, complex, ambiguous). I bring the practitioner credibility of having actually taught this with high school students; the published voice to write about it for educators, administrators, and policy audiences; and the philosophical grounding — from Project Wayfinder forward — to make the case that a curriculum built around foresight, navigation, and protopian imagination is not a luxury. It is the only education adequate to the moment.
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