Why Expressing Emotions Through Art Is Important For Kids: A Classroom Teacher’s Perspective
Last Wednesday, I was stacking crumpled construction paper after morning free art, when I glanced over at Leo’s table. Leo is a quiet 7-year-old in my second grade class who draws the same stick-figure T-Rex almost every day, never raises his hand, and only speaks when I call his name. That day, his paper was covered in layer after layer of black crayon, so thick the wax cracked at the edges. In the exact center, he’d scribbled a crumpled red ball so hard the paper tore through. I walked over, leaned against the edge of the table, and asked what he was drawing. He just hunched his shoulders and stared at his shoes.
Two days before that, his mom had emailed me. She said Leo had been throwing his Lego sets at his 4-year-old sister every night after dinner, for three weeks straight. They’d tried time-outs, taking away screen time, sitting down to talk about what was bothering him—nothing worked. She wondered if he was acting out at school too, if something was going on with his friends.
I didn’t push him that day. I just said, “That red is really bright. It stands out a lot against the black. I’ll leave this extra box of crayons by your spot if you want to add anything later.” Then I walked away to help a kid with glue, didn’t bring it up again.
After literacy centers, Leo showed up next to my desk, tugging on my sleeve. He pulled me back to his table, and pointed to the two tiny marks he’d added: a little green stick figure next to the red ball, and a single blue line dropping from its head. “That’s me,” he mumbled. “The red is how I feel when Dad says we can’t get a dog anymore. ‘Cause we have to move for his new job.”
I just nodded, said “That red ball must feel really big, doesn’t it? Like it takes up all the room in your chest.” He nodded hard, and that was all he wanted to say that day. That night, I emailed his mom. I didn’t dump a big speech on her, I just told her Leo was processing the move, and that he’d put his feeling into art because he couldn’t put it into words yet. I suggested she try one small thing: instead of asking him “what’s wrong” every night after dinner, leave a stack of old copy paper and a box of crayons on the kitchen counter while she packs lunch for the next day. If he wants to draw, let him draw. If he wants to talk about it after, that’s fine, but don’t push him to talk before he’s ready.
A week later, she wrote back. She said she’d tried it. The first night, he just scribbled another big red blob and crumpled it up, threw it in the trash. The next night, he drew a moving truck with a dog crate tied to the back. By the end of the week, he hadn’t thrown a single Lego. She said she couldn’t believe it—she’d been bugging him for weeks to open up, and all it took was letting him draw instead of talk.
This is the question I get more than any other at parent-teacher conferences. Parents look at our weekly art schedule, and they lean in and ask, “Is art really that important? Don’t we need to focus more on reading and math?” A lot of people see art as a nice extra, a rainy-day activity or something for kids who are already “good at drawing.” But after 12 years teaching elementary school, I’ve seen over and over that art isn’t just about making pretty pictures. It’s how a lot of kids process big emotions, when they don’t have the words to do it.
Most adults assume kids need to talk through their feelings to feel better. But even older kids don’t have the vocabulary for the messy, big stuff: moving, losing a friend, a grandparent getting sick, parents splitting up. I’ve worked with fourth graders who can write a 5-paragraph essay about climate change but can’t say “I’m scared I’ll be the only one who doesn’t make the travel soccer team.” They can draw that fear, though. They can scribble it so hard the paper tears, and that’s enough to take the edge off.
The best part is, it doesn’t take any special skill or fancy supplies to do this at home. You don’t need an art easel or a $30 set of colored pencils. I tell parents to just keep a stack of scrap copy paper and a box of old crayons (the broken ones work fine) in a spot where kids can get to them anytime. If you know your kid is stressed about something, don’t grill them for details. Just say “I got a new pack of crayons if you want to draw how you feel later.” That’s it. You don’t have to interpret their drawing, or fix whatever is wrong, just let them put it on the page.
I also tell parents not to panic if their kid only draws dark, scary stuff. A few months back, a mom called me worried because her son had only drawn monsters for a month after they put their family dog down. I told her to leave him be—he was putting his sadness and anger into the monster, instead of yelling at his little brother or shutting down at school. Six weeks later, he started drawing puppies again, and that was that.
Right now, Leo’s drawing of a golden retriever sitting in front of his new house is taped to the wall by our classroom door. He still draws T-Rexes most days, still doesn’t raise his hand very often. I don’t know if the move will go smoothly for him, or if he’ll get that dog a year from now when they settle into the new house. But I do know he now has a way to get all that big, messy stuff out before it builds up enough to come out as yelling or hitting or silence.
Art doesn’t solve every problem. It won’t make a bad thing go away. But for a lot of kids, it’s the easiest way to say what they need to say, when words are too heavy or too confusing. That’s more than enough to make it worth the time, for me and for the families I work with.
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