The Innovative Parent. Erica Curtis

of fabric?” and so forth.

DESTRUCTION

      Just a few weeks before our final session together, Christopher begins dismantling the structure on which he has worked so hard during his year in therapy with me. He tears off the toilet paper roll chimney, detaches the cardboard roof, and rips off the button and string that serve as a secure latch for the door. As he removes each piece, he places it back in the supply bin from where he originally got it. A colleague surmises either that the destruction represents his anger about the upcoming goodbye or that he doesn’t trust me to keep his structure safe after he leaves. Another hypothesizes that he wants to destroy the memory of our time together, to make goodbye more tolerable. The following week, I watch and narrate as the destruction continues. I comment only on what I see, rather than making assumptions or judgments (see also appendix 1: “Guidelines for Talking about Art and Life”). I remark: “I see you’re taking it all apart and then putting the pieces back from where you got them.” He looks up at me, “Yes. That way you have them to help the next child, just like you helped me.” Christopher isn’t angry. In fact, he isn’t destroying anything at all. He is acknowledging his own healing and paying it forward.

      When we think about art, we think about making stuff. Rarely do we think about dismantling or destruction. We smile at the thought of our children drawing pictures (not scribbling over them), manipulating pipe cleaners into flowers (not chopping them into hundreds of pieces), and playing rhythms (not banging as loud and hard as possible). When we get handed an “I love you” drawing, we respond with: “Ahhhh.” Drawings of buildings exploding get an: “Ohhhh.” When we see something that looks like destruction, either during or after the creative process, we may jump to negative conclusions and unnecessarily cut the expression short. We may also miss the opportunity to explore the meaning behind the action.

      Sometimes what looks like destruction isn’t at all destructive. It is productive. This section examines the productive nature of destruction in children’s art. We’ll look at how we can better understand, discuss, and embrace the scribbles, scrunches, and explosions that are part of art and, metaphorically speaking, life.

       Mess-ups and meltdowns

      My son expects a lot of himself. He hates it when he forms his numbers and letters “wrong.” He likes his drawings to look “just so” and berates himself when they don’t. When he’s not satisfied, he scribbles over his art or writing, scrunches it up, and gets stuck in a funk. While I want to reassure him, I don’t try to convince him that his mistakes “look fine” because that approach won’t work. On many occasions, I try to problem-solve with him about how he can change mistakes into something new. I encourage him to think about how to fix what he doesn’t like. For inspiration, I read him the book “Beautiful Oops” by Barney Saltzberg (2010). Sometimes my strategies work. On many occasions, they don’t . . .

      One day my son is drawing, and he “messes up.” I try to comfort him. He shouts,“I’m so stupid at this!” I try to encourage him to fix it. His agitation grows. I remind him he can start over. He begins taking it out on everyone around him. I look at the scrunched-up paper in front of him—his little wad of frustration, disappointment, and anger. In a flash of insight, I try an entirely different approach. “Look what you made!” I exclaim, pointing to the crumpled paper. He stops and looks at me. I have his attention. “You made a sculpture of your mad brain. Can we title it and put your name on it?” He smiles. We write “Mad Brain” on his sculpture along with his name. Then we photograph it.

      Weeks later, I find my son drawing at his table. In front of him are a couple of drawings and three wads of scrunched-up paper. “Look, Mommy!” he announces cheerfully. “I made three mini-mad brains!” He smooths out the wads of paper, shows me his mistakes, and then scrunches them up again. “You can tell I’ve been working hard this morning, can’t you?” he says with a grin. I smile back. “You sure have.”

      Sometimes when kids destroy their art, they want it gone—forever—but just as plants grow from fertile soil after fire, dismantling or destroying what was originally there can make room for new creation to emerge. Our adult impulse may be to fix or repair (whether it be art, homework, or feelings), but when we embrace what is present, rather than trying to make it better, sometimes it resolves on its own. In this example, rather than trying to alter my son’s experience, I simply acknowledged it without judgment or expecting it to be different. It was from this mindset that I was able to respond more creatively. It was from this place that my son could be okay with his mistakes.

      Helping kids embrace their mistakes may be even more important than we realize. According to Sir Ken Robinson (2011), internationally acclaimed author and expert in arts education and business innovation, innate creativity is destroyed when we stigmatize mistakes. He asserts that those who are not prepared to be wrong will never come up with anything original.

      Embracing mistakes is also characteristic of a growth mindset that supports learning and creativity. Carol Dweck (2006), professor of psychology at Stanford University, defines a growth mindset as one that embraces mistakes as part of the learning process, which enables positive risk-taking and greater academic achievement. This contrasts with a fixed mindset that avoids challenges and making mistakes because of the belief that capabilities are fixed and limited. A fixed mindset may say, “I’m not good at this” and avoid engagement for fear of revealing deficiency; whereas, a growth mindset may say, “I can learn from this mistake” and pursue a challenge toward achieving mastery. Both behavioral observations and neuroimaging reveal vastly broader brain engagement in students with a growth versus fixed mindset when doing the same cognitive task (Moser et al. 2011). Not surprisingly, students whose brain scans showed greater engagement were more successful at learning from their mistakes, and at making fewer future errors, than their fixed mindset counterparts. The good news is that a fixed mindset can become a growth mindset under the right learning process that embraces mistakes and rewards effort.

      . . .

       TRY THIS:

      Make a binder that celebrates oopses, errors, and unexpected surprises. Read Barney Saltzberg’s Beautiful Oops or Peter Reynolds’s Ish with your children for inspiration on ways to turn mistakes into opportunities. Keep a binder for each of your children, where they can celebrate their messes and mistakes whether in art, schoolwork, or other activities. Share an observation such as “I notice you didn’t give up on this homework project” or “I heard you say you messed up, and yet you turned it into something new! Would you like to put it in our special place of honor?” So as not to embarrass them, make adding “oopses” to the binder optional. Alternatively, place a jar in a communal area where children and parents alike can place a colorful pom pom every time they make a mistake from which they learn (see fig. 2.5). Rather than something about which to be embarrassed or frustrated, this simple activity can transform mistakes into something to celebrate.

      . . .

      2.5 “Learning from mistakes” jar

      As with all aspects of parenting, helping your children learn how to tolerate mistakes in life takes a little trial and error. In chapter 3: “Survive the Day” we will explore ways to talk to children about their art through “useful praise,” such as reinforcing qualities that you want to develop, helping your child reflect on his own work, and being accurate while being encouraging. While many of these tools are useful when your child is feeling frustrated by his art, you may need some additional approaches in those especially tough moments. Here are some to try:

      • Acknowledge feelings—With any fumble in life, art making or otherwise, try to acknowledge feelings (without interpreting them) before jumping in