NBBJ’s Westmark School is Designed for Learning Differences

On a recent summer day, Westmark’s Head of School Claudia Koochek met me, along with design team members from architects NBBJ and landscape architects SWA, for a tour. Immediately the chaos and heat of the surrounding San Fernando Valley dissolved into a sense of cool and calm. On the site of what had been a cluster of small, 1950s-era modular buildings is now a two-level, semi-circular village of 10 classrooms, gathered around a central green filled with birds, insects, and a mix of native plantings, rocks, water, and a single Sycamore Tree.  

Koochek likens the design process to a kind of natural ecology. Each element grew out of design research, scientific study (to inform its approach, the school partners with researchers from the UCSF Dyslexia Center and the USC Neuroimaging and Informatics Institute, among others) and outreach to the school community. For instance, students, teachers, and family were invited to give feedback on a mockup of one of the classrooms. NBBJ has long incorporated neuroscience into its design approach, an initiative spearheaded by longtime firm advisor Dr. John Medina. 

The lower school’s semi-circular arrangement, notes Koochek, encourages socializing and togetherness, building a community within the school’s larger community while also opening up to and embracing the whole school (which includes a middle and upper school). Its varied scale and porous massing provides areas of both togetherness and intimate refuge; a connection to the environment around; and a sense of both enclosure and view-filled possibility. “There are pockets of space that allow you to participate at different levels,” says NBBJ principal Philip Schmunk, who walks us through little nooks, expansive openings, shady escapes, and sunny viewpoints.

“It’s like you’re up in a tree,” says Schmunk, describing the warm, floating sensation on the second floor, where slightly larger classrooms serve the lower school’s older children. 

The constant connection to nature, enhanced via indoor/outdoor circulation like outdoor stairs, corridors, balconies, and patios, responds to the notion that natural surroundings can help calm the mind and foster a sense of well-being. It also teaches students about natural systems—part of a concerted effort to make the building a learning tool. The school is targeting LEED Gold and ILFI Zero Carbon Certification, thanks to its CLT floors, ceilings and panels, passive cooling, water collection basin, solar rooftop panels, native plantings, and more.

Walking into the classrooms, you feel focused, almost meditative. But behind that sensation are endless intentional features. Natural light arrives in a soft, balanced fashion via clerestories and skylights. Artificial light, provided by thin LED strips, is soft and minimal. Views are directed to the courtyard or the trees. Sound is buffered via wood and fabric surfaces. Clutter is contained via built in storage. Colors are muted and elegant—in opposition to the jarringly bright surfaces used in most elementary schools. Small reading nooks allow for private moments, and whiteboards built into desks allow students to iterate freely, without fear of making a mistake.

A system of support spaces serves as an armature, supporting each of the school’s unique learning goals. Resource rooms, overlooking the neighborhood with corner windows, are flexible breakout spaces that can be used for meetings, focused work, or extensions of the classrooms. Service panels and raised floors allow systems to be easily fixed via simple removal. Each classroom has its own bathroom, not just for convenience, but to prevent students from using an external bathroom as an excuse or escape when they get frustrated. Instead, they are encouraged to name their feelings and decompress outdoors.

“Cognitive overload is real, right from the moment they set foot on campus,” says Koochek. “It’s about using the right word—then you take a brain break inside, or you can go outside, you can run around, you can take a tricycle that you have and go around the building and do something that will help you calm down.”

The complex also features a teacher’s lounge, counselor’s office, occupational and speech therapy rooms, common bathrooms, and an elevator—although everyone is encouraged to use the stairs if they’re able.

Circling the compound—winding its way in and out of buildings, up and down changes of grade—is a fascinating trail, further bringing students into nature, filled with comfortably scaled program along its length. Printed playfully with the paw prints of various animals, it leads students through an outdoor eating area, outdoor theater, gardens, playgrounds, and into the school’s black box indoor theater.

“We really tried to leverage the site, to add as many programs and landscapes as we could,” says SWA managing principal Ying-yu Hung. Indeed, while the trail is on a very tight site, its variations make it feel larger and more interesting. The building and landscape work together, with cantilevers providing shade and greenery providing a weighty connection to the earth and a buffer for the neighborhood.    

The endless details and adjustments are, perhaps ironically, a little exhausting to keep track of. But that’s what makes it such a special space: each piece plays its part, seamlessly integrated into the larger whole.

“In most schools, when these buildings are designed—and I’ve seen quite a few—the teachers have to adapt to the learning environment that has been built for them, right? Here the building was built with the community in mind. It was custom made,” concludes Koocheck.

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