Last week The Atlantic put out an article called “Throw Your Children’s Art Away.” That publication, a New York-based thought journal that intentionally rides the fence between liberalism and Leftism, does turn out thoughtful pieces from time to time.
But was this one of them?
Children create art for different reasons than adults. With a child’s limited vocabulary, emotional understanding, and ability to articulate, crayons can speak more eloquently, or forcefully, than language at times. They also learn quickly that making a nice picture makes parents, grandparents, teachers, or others happy. When they want to put a smile on an adult’s face, a bit of child art does the trick.
They also use art as a way to convey their idealism. Children can draw or paint the world they want, whether it is plausible or fanciful.
Regardless of why or how done, children’s art also has a practical positive outcome. Any time a child reads a book, actively plays outside or inside, listens to music and thinks about it, or creates their art, this builds brain power. Crayons build minds and intellectual capabilities while interactive screens do not.
The article, written by Mary Townshend, a professor of Philosophy at St. John’s University in New York, focuses on parents who do keep every piece of art that their children create.
Part of the context of articles in a publication like The Atlantic include their audience. Most who consume that publication have advanced degrees, are upper middle class to wealthy, but since they are also generally urban they live in more constricted spaces and perspectives than most of those who live outside of cities.
Her arguments reflect a focus on the short-term and the “now.” What is the meaning of art created by a child now? What utilitarian, or practical, purpose does it serve the child and the parent? Are the parent’s purposes for keeping the art more or less important than the child’s in creating it?
Townshend argues that the utilitarian purpose lies almost entirely in the creation of the art, that it has a limited “shelf life” of meaning. She asserts that parents trying to hold onto art either want to make tangible the ephemeral elements of a childhood moment, which are usually forgotten not long after the fact, or that parents subconsciously keep the art out of pride or their own anxiety about mortality.
“The point of life isn’t to prolong youth, but to have grown up,” she states.
Classical Greece started the Western tendency to categorize human endeavors separately, but the ancient method of passing down knowledge was the chronicle form. For example, the Old Testament serves as a chronicle of the Jewish people up to classical times. It contains in more or less intertwined fashion theology, history, law, philosophy, and even art. The Old Testament does not separate these aspects intentionally, but gives them as a full story of the Chosen People of God.
Russia created in its history the Primary Chronicle telling its early story. King Alfred the Great of Anglo-Saxon England started the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle during his reign. For between two and three centuries monks continued to add stories to it, thus creating a rich tapestry of work.
Though it may lack complete historical accuracy, it does relate well the times and people of early Middle Ages England.
A child’s art is their chronicle, whether they draw, write, or record themselves singing. It serves as their response to the world around them, telling about love, fear, hopes, dreams, or that they want to eat cake for dinner. Some of it has significance, other pieces just doodle away the time.
Townshend is correct to say that the creation of the art has significance, but loses the point in arguing that no practical reason exists to keep it.
She points to parental nostalgia as an insufficient reason to keep childhood art, yet that word understates the meaning. Nostalgia, as defined by Merriam-Webster, involves a “wistful or sentimental yearning” for “some real or romanticized past” that often brings “happy memories or emotions.”
Townshend properly states that childhood art can inspire these feelings, but is wrong when she diminishes the utility of this. What negative can come from a middle-aged mother and father of an adult child pulling out a box of old drawings and paintings to reminisce about their children? How many forgotten memories of family life can resurface when reexamining these treasures?
And of course the time spent with loved ones sharing great memories in itself becomes a wonderful remembrance.
When cleaning out my father’s house after he passed, I came across two pieces of childhood art. One was a creation of mine that I had made in kindergarten for St. Valentine’s Day. I cut shapes of hearts and pasted both the heart and the cutout on construction paper, then wrote “I love you Daddy” on it. My Dad hung it on his wall and kept the objet d’art his entire life.
Only as an adult did I realize what this must have meant to him. That previous year, he and my mother had split up, headed for divorce. My dad moved out. As an adult, I know that this was a reaffirmation for him and must have helped to heal. I was five and didn’t get that at that age, but I sure do now.
Another piece of childhood art, in a sense, came from my father. He, who later became director of employee communications for United Parcel Service, had submitted stories at the ages of 16 and 17 to Sports Illustrated. His writings reflected correct grammar but, alas, did not have much else going for them. I met my wife after my father passed and these writings helped me to not only learn more about his progress in his writing (he did become very good) but also to tell her more about him.
Similarly, in art that I have from my own children, I have a chronicle of their lives to share. As they grow older and have children, their own children will wonder about what their parents were like as children. My son a few years back came into my office and saw one of his own masterpieces from childhood, a tin can with paper glued to it, painted pasta glued to that, and a message for Dad.
He made it when he was four and I still keep pens and pencils in it. I see it and my 5’11 veteran young man instantly reverts to the skinny little kid who was always smiling and running somewhere with a ball.
Those memories make the mind and heart feel good in that moment. One cannot understate the value of this, especially in times of stress.
And here is the greatest value of keeping childhood art. Parents have a very different perspective about their children’s childhood than their children. One can learn so much about one’s Mom or Dad from one’s grandparents. When they haul out the childhood art, the old videos, and photo albums, a grandchild gets a marvelous history lesson.
Part of growing up, and growing old, involves curiosity and wonder about the past. An adult might look back at his or her own childhood art and divine meaning from it not understood before. Children can look at their parents’ juvenile creations and learn so much about who they were, and also are.
That is the point of a chronicle, to not only hand down the facts, but the feelings, the thoughts, and the sensations of the past. Keep your kids’ art, maybe not every scrap, but anything that evokes something meaningful, even if they just handed it to you and said “I love you!”
Because time will tell just how valuable they are.
