As educators continue to navigate online learning, community building remains pivotal to student success (Bond & Lockee, 2014; Kucuk & Sahin, 2013). This piece explores how photo sharing can be used within online learning spaces to build a sense of community among learners at institutions of higher education. Due to the important role of learning communities and the growing popularity of online learning, educators must find ways to engage learners and cultivate community in virtual learning.
Online Learning
Online learning continues to gain popularity. Whether learning occurs in a virtual format due to necessity or choice, it is important for students to feel connected to instructors and classmates. Numerous studies show that learning communities play a vital role in educational spaces (Cleugh, 2013; Jeong & Hmelo-Silver, 2016; Kozlov & Große, 2016). A learning community is defined as “a learning atmosphere, a context providing a supportive system from which sustainable learning processes are gained through a dialogue and collaborative construction of knowledge by acquiring, generating, analyzing and structuring information” (Carlen & Jobring, 2005, p. 273). Learning communities provide a space for collaboration to occur, which positively impacts student learning.
Role of Learning Communities
The role of learning communities in both offline and online educational spaces is significant. Carlen and Jobring (2005) placed emphasis on the importance of creating a unified space for students. When learning communities were successfully created, there was an increase in the effectiveness of the learning environment (Kucuk & Sahin, 2013) due to an increase in one’s ability to collaborate and interact with his or her classmates. Not only do learning communities provide a space in which learning can occur, they also afford students with a space for collaborative exploration. In an educational setting, the role of learning communities is essential to students’ success as well as their satisfaction with online courses.
Due to the important role of learning communities and the growing popularity of online learning, educators need access to diverse tools which can be implemented to better establish a sense of community among learners in their online courses. Educators will be better able to virtually support students when they have a plethora of tools at their fingertips. One way to better generate community in online learning spaces is through the use of photo sharing as photography has been found to be effective in enhancing a sense of community between people (Marquez-Zenkov & Harmon, 2007).
Photo Sharing in Online Courses
One simple way to include photo sharing in online courses is to encourage students to share photos of themselves in their introductory post to the class. Both Blackboard and Canvas, which are learning management systems (LMS), allow for photo sharing. This activity allows students to put a face with a name, which assists in establishing feelings of connectedness and community. The author encourages students to share a photograph of themselves at the close of their introductory post, which is the first post students create and submit in Blackboard, the LMS the author uses. This is always an optional step, but most students include some type of photo. As students and the author respond to others’ posts, many post comments about the picture that was shared, complimenting the family or pet that was posted, sharing similar experiences or hobbies, or even asking a question regarding the photo itself. These comments can lead to wonderful conversations.
One participant from the author’s broader qualitative phenomenological study shared her desire for all online instructors and students to share photographs of themselves. The participant experienced this in a few of her online courses, noting it was beneficial for building learning communities. They disclosed, “I like being able to put a face with a name, I wish that that was mandatory. I keep thinking I’ll update my own profile...I think I had a picture at my old school, but I don’t think I have one for this university. But that kind of gives me a sense of security, too, just knowing who I’m speaking to.”. As evident in this example, encouraging students in online courses to upload and share a photograph of themselves is an instantaneous way to add a sense of community within an online learning space.
Additionally, it can be helpful for students to see photographs depicting scenarios regarding course content. For example, the author was a classroom teacher before securing her current position as an assistant professor. As she teaches her current students about best practices in the classroom, it is helpful to share photos supporting whatever topic or skill is being taught. In sharing photos of her previous classrooms, the author is not only building relationships with students, she is also showing the applicability of coursework. These real-world scenarios reinforce course content and reiterate the importance of the purpose behind each course.
Furthermore, in writing this piece I attempt to show the ways in which I humanize the students taking my courses and foster a senser community by sharing personal photographs in weekly announcements to the class. These photos vary and can be of a weekend adventure, a new food tried, or even funny photos of a family pet. These types of photos allow students a glimpse into their instructor’s life, which assists in establishing a sense of community. I enjoy cooking and baking and often share both photos of new foods as well as recipes with students. Students in my online courses have emailed me describing recipes they tried after seeing the photo in their course announcement. These small acts allow for connections to be made, which positively impact a student’s experience in their online learning environment. Additionally, students always have the option to share their own photos if they choose. They are able to share photos through email correspondence or in Blackboard itself. There is no pressure to share, but many students end up sharing photos of their families, pets, or fun events they attended recently. Students have also shared photos depicting happenings in their classrooms, always without their own students’ faces. These photos give a glimpse into their work lives and can be beneficial as they implement a new strategy or teach a new topic.
Educators, Consider This!
By implementing photo sharing within online learning spaces, educators can positively influence the growth of community among learners. Photo sharing affords connections to be established between not only educators and students, but also among peers within a course. These connections have been shown to positively increase student achievement and participation, which could additionally impact student retention (Drouin, 2008; Rovai & Wighting, 2005).
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The seeds of my belief in and later my passion for literacy were planted early.
I remember, when I was three, my parents holding me close, reading to me and
making it so much fun. When I was four, I sat on my mother’s lap while she read the
Gettysburg Address over and over, talking about the words, underscoring each one
with a long, graceful finger, until I could recite the speech from memory. It was our
secret. She sewed an Uncle Sam costume just for me and when I stood proudly in it and performed President Lincoln’s poetic speech at Grace Methodist Church, I wowed the crowd. A kid never forgets a thing like that.
My parents played cards with another couple. The wife was an artist who always always had art paper and supplies laid out ready for me on nights when we went to their house.
Before the adults started their game, my artist friend sat down next to me and showed
me some new skill I could practice. What a treat for a five-year-old! I loved going to their house. At six, I made up my first poem. I loved walking through the kitchen to see it published on the refrigerator door. Imagine my pride when I started school and
discovered that not everyone could already read like I could.
Skipping forward twenty-six years, Little Turtle’s Big Adventure was published by Random House in 1969. It’s the story of a turtle whose quiet life beside a pond is ruined when road builders come through with big, noisy machines and replace the pond with a highway. The small turtle spends the rest of the story looking for a new home. The story ends with him sunning contentedly on a log beside the still water of a new pond. The idea probably originated from my boyhood when I was prone to wander along rivers and ponds. I met many a turtle in those days, wandering too.
The wandering turtle in my book landed me my first invitation to speak as an author. When I stepped on stage at a conference at Lindenwood College (now University), I was 32 years old. Later on, Mr. Green Jeans read my book to a national audience on the Captain Kangaroo television show. An experience 43 years later reminded me what a special connection to a book can mean to a child. After a talk, a mother brought her young daughter to meet me. “Two days ago, she was inconsolable,” her mother said. “She couldn’t eat, sleep, or stop crying.” The family had recently moved from their old home and school and friends to a new neighborhood. Their daughter was broken-hearted. Nothing her parents could do helped. Then the librarian at her new school sent home a copy of Little Turtle’s Big Adventure. After reading the story, the little girl informed her parents that if a turtle could be happy in a new place, she could too. That night she slept with the book under her pillow. “Next morning, she was back to being our sunny little girl,” her mother said.
Children’s authors often see examples up close and personal of how books change lives, especially young lives. A six-year-old girl sat on her mother’s lap and listened while her mother read a new book over and over. Then the girl read the book silently to herself. She read it aloud. She asked an adult friend to sit down and listen to her read her new story. She asked the adult to take turns reading with her. The girl began acting out some of the parts, leaping and waving her arms and dancing in exuberant interpretations of what she heard and felt and saw in her imagination. Next day she took the book to school. There she organized her classmates into teams. As the book was read aloud, the children performed the girl’s choreographed movements. I had written the book, but the little girl had made my story her own. Another child loved a story (Piggy Wiglet’s Great Adventure) about a runaway baby pig so much that when she grew up, she had Piggy and the last verse in the book tattooed on her leg. When a boy who struggled with reading discovered poetry, his reading began to improve. He said once he felt the beat of the words in his head, reading them got easier. I have seen kids so excited they could hardly stand still, waiting in long lines for a chance to actually see a favorite author and get a book signed. Some become so awed they can scarcely speak when their turn finally comes.
.
The seeds of my belief in and later my passion for literacy were planted early.
I remember, when I was three, my parents holding me close, reading to me and
making it so much fun. When I was four, I sat on my mother’s lap while she read the
Gettysburg Address over and over, talking about the words, underscoring each one
with a long, graceful finger, until I could recite the speech from memory. It was our
secret. She sewed an Uncle Sam costume just for me and when I stood proudly in it and performed President Lincoln’s poetic speech at Grace Methodist Church, I wowed the crowd. A kid never forgets a thing like that.
My parents played cards with another couple. The wife was an artist who always always had art paper and supplies laid out ready for me on nights when we went to their house.
Before the adults started their game, my artist friend sat down next to me and showed
me some new skill I could practice. What a treat for a five-year-old! I loved going to their house. At six, I made up my first poem. I loved walking through the kitchen to see it published on the refrigerator door. Imagine my pride when I started school and
discovered that not everyone could already read like I could.
Skipping forward twenty-six years, Little Turtle’s Big Adventure was published by Random House in 1969. It’s the story of a turtle whose quiet life beside a pond is ruined when road builders come through with big, noisy machines and replace the pond with a highway. The small turtle spends the rest of the story looking for a new home. The story ends with him sunning contentedly on a log beside the still water of a new pond. The idea probably originated from my boyhood when I was prone to wander along rivers and ponds. I met many a turtle in those days, wandering too.
The wandering turtle in my book landed me my first invitation to speak as an author. When I stepped on stage at a conference at Lindenwood College (now University), I was 32 years old. Later on, Mr. Green Jeans read my book to a national audience on the Captain Kangaroo television show. An experience 43 years later reminded me what a special connection to a book can mean to a child. After a talk, a mother brought her young daughter to meet me. “Two days ago, she was inconsolable,” her mother said. “She couldn’t eat, sleep, or stop crying.” The family had recently moved from their old home and school and friends to a new neighborhood. Their daughter was broken-hearted. Nothing her parents could do helped. Then the librarian at her new school sent home a copy of Little Turtle’s Big Adventure. After reading the story, the little girl informed her parents that if a turtle could be happy in a new place, she could too. That night she slept with the book under her pillow. “Next morning, she was back to being our sunny little girl,” her mother said.
Children’s authors often see examples up close and personal of how books change lives, especially young lives. A six-year-old girl sat on her mother’s lap and listened while her mother read a new book over and over. Then the girl read the book silently to herself. She read it aloud. She asked an adult friend to sit down and listen to her read her new story. She asked the adult to take turns reading with her. The girl began acting out some of the parts, leaping and waving her arms and dancing in exuberant interpretations of what she heard and felt and saw in her imagination. Next day she took the book to school. There she organized her classmates into teams. As the book was read aloud, the children performed the girl’s choreographed movements. I had written the book, but the little girl had made my story her own. Another child loved a story (Piggy Wiglet’s Great Adventure) about a runaway baby pig so much that when she grew up, she had Piggy and the last verse in the book tattooed on her leg. When a boy who struggled with reading discovered poetry, his reading began to improve. He said once he felt the beat of the words in his head, reading them got easier. I have seen kids so excited they could hardly stand still, waiting in long lines for a chance to actually see a favorite author and get a book signed. Some become so awed they can scarcely speak when their turn finally comes.
.
The seeds of my belief in and later my passion for literacy were planted early.
I remember, when I was three, my parents holding me close, reading to me and
making it so much fun. When I was four, I sat on my mother’s lap while she read the
Gettysburg Address over and over, talking about the words, underscoring each one
with a long, graceful finger, until I could recite the speech from memory. It was our
secret. She sewed an Uncle Sam costume just for me and when I stood proudly in it and performed President Lincoln’s poetic speech at Grace Methodist Church, I wowed the crowd. A kid never forgets a thing like that.
My parents played cards with another couple. The wife was an artist who always always had art paper and supplies laid out ready for me on nights when we went to their house.
Before the adults started their game, my artist friend sat down next to me and showed
me some new skill I could practice. What a treat for a five-year-old! I loved going to their house. At six, I made up my first poem. I loved walking through the kitchen to see it published on the refrigerator door. Imagine my pride when I started school and
discovered that not everyone could already read like I could.
Skipping forward twenty-six years, Little Turtle’s Big Adventure was published by Random House in 1969. It’s the story of a turtle whose quiet life beside a pond is ruined when road builders come through with big, noisy machines and replace the pond with a highway. The small turtle spends the rest of the story looking for a new home. The story ends with him sunning contentedly on a log beside the still water of a new pond. The idea probably originated from my boyhood when I was prone to wander along rivers and ponds. I met many a turtle in those days, wandering too.
The wandering turtle in my book landed me my first invitation to speak as an author. When I stepped on stage at a conference at Lindenwood College (now University), I was 32 years old. Later on, Mr. Green Jeans read my book to a national audience on the Captain Kangaroo television show. An experience 43 years later reminded me what a special connection to a book can mean to a child. After a talk, a mother brought her young daughter to meet me. “Two days ago, she was inconsolable,” her mother said. “She couldn’t eat, sleep, or stop crying.” The family had recently moved from their old home and school and friends to a new neighborhood. Their daughter was broken-hearted. Nothing her parents could do helped. Then the librarian at her new school sent home a copy of Little Turtle’s Big Adventure. After reading the story, the little girl informed her parents that if a turtle could be happy in a new place, she could too. That night she slept with the book under her pillow. “Next morning, she was back to being our sunny little girl,” her mother said.
Children’s authors often see examples up close and personal of how books change lives, especially young lives. A six-year-old girl sat on her mother’s lap and listened while her mother read a new book over and over. Then the girl read the book silently to herself. She read it aloud. She asked an adult friend to sit down and listen to her read her new story. She asked the adult to take turns reading with her. The girl began acting out some of the parts, leaping and waving her arms and dancing in exuberant interpretations of what she heard and felt and saw in her imagination. Next day she took the book to school. There she organized her classmates into teams. As the book was read aloud, the children performed the girl’s choreographed movements. I had written the book, but the little girl had made my story her own. Another child loved a story (Piggy Wiglet’s Great Adventure) about a runaway baby pig so much that when she grew up, she had Piggy and the last verse in the book tattooed on her leg. When a boy who struggled with reading discovered poetry, his reading began to improve. He said once he felt the beat of the words in his head, reading them got easier. I have seen kids so excited they could hardly stand still, waiting in long lines for a chance to actually see a favorite author and get a book signed. Some become so awed they can scarcely speak when their turn finally comes.
.
The seeds of my belief in and later my passion for literacy were planted early.
I remember, when I was three, my parents holding me close, reading to me and
making it so much fun. When I was four, I sat on my mother’s lap while she read the
Gettysburg Address over and over, talking about the words, underscoring each one
with a long, graceful finger, until I could recite the speech from memory. It was our
secret. She sewed an Uncle Sam costume just for me and when I stood proudly in it and performed President Lincoln’s poetic speech at Grace Methodist Church, I wowed the crowd. A kid never forgets a thing like that.
My parents played cards with another couple. The wife was an artist who always always had art paper and supplies laid out ready for me on nights when we went to their house.
Before the adults started their game, my artist friend sat down next to me and showed
me some new skill I could practice. What a treat for a five-year-old! I loved going to their house. At six, I made up my first poem. I loved walking through the kitchen to see it published on the refrigerator door. Imagine my pride when I started school and
discovered that not everyone could already read like I could.
Skipping forward twenty-six years, Little Turtle’s Big Adventure was published by Random House in 1969. It’s the story of a turtle whose quiet life beside a pond is ruined when road builders come through with big, noisy machines and replace the pond with a highway. The small turtle spends the rest of the story looking for a new home. The story ends with him sunning contentedly on a log beside the still water of a new pond. The idea probably originated from my boyhood when I was prone to wander along rivers and ponds. I met many a turtle in those days, wandering too.
The wandering turtle in my book landed me my first invitation to speak as an author. When I stepped on stage at a conference at Lindenwood College (now University), I was 32 years old. Later on, Mr. Green Jeans read my book to a national audience on the Captain Kangaroo television show. An experience 43 years later reminded me what a special connection to a book can mean to a child. After a talk, a mother brought her young daughter to meet me. “Two days ago, she was inconsolable,” her mother said. “She couldn’t eat, sleep, or stop crying.” The family had recently moved from their old home and school and friends to a new neighborhood. Their daughter was broken-hearted. Nothing her parents could do helped. Then the librarian at her new school sent home a copy of Little Turtle’s Big Adventure. After reading the story, the little girl informed her parents that if a turtle could be happy in a new place, she could too. That night she slept with the book under her pillow. “Next morning, she was back to being our sunny little girl,” her mother said.
Children’s authors often see examples up close and personal of how books change lives, especially young lives. A six-year-old girl sat on her mother’s lap and listened while her mother read a new book over and over. Then the girl read the book silently to herself. She read it aloud. She asked an adult friend to sit down and listen to her read her new story. She asked the adult to take turns reading with her. The girl began acting out some of the parts, leaping and waving her arms and dancing in exuberant interpretations of what she heard and felt and saw in her imagination. Next day she took the book to school. There she organized her classmates into teams. As the book was read aloud, the children performed the girl’s choreographed movements. I had written the book, but the little girl had made my story her own. Another child loved a story (Piggy Wiglet’s Great Adventure) about a runaway baby pig so much that when she grew up, she had Piggy and the last verse in the book tattooed on her leg. When a boy who struggled with reading discovered poetry, his reading began to improve. He said once he felt the beat of the words in his head, reading them got easier. I have seen kids so excited they could hardly stand still, waiting in long lines for a chance to actually see a favorite author and get a book signed. Some become so awed they can scarcely speak when their turn finally comes.
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