There’s a phenomenon that researchers have noticed for decades. Somewhere between the ages of 9 and 10, a significant number of children simply stop drawing. They put down their crayons, their markers, their pencils, and they never really pick them up again.
For years, experts assumed this was just a natural part of development. Kids get older, they get busier, they move on to other things. But the more I’ve watched my own grandchildren grow, and the more I’ve read about childhood creativity, the more I’ve come to believe something else is happening.
These children aren’t naturally outgrowing art. They’re being talked out of it. And the people doing the talking? Usually someone they love and trust.
The comments I’m about to share aren’t cruel. They’re not said with malice. In fact, most of them come from a place of genuine care. But words have weight, especially when they come from parents, grandparents, teachers, or coaches. And sometimes the heaviest words are the ones we barely remember saying.
1) “What is that supposed to be?”
This one seems harmless enough. A child runs up with a drawing, eager to share, and the adult squints at it trying to make sense of the shapes. So they ask. What is it? What are you drawing there?
The problem is what this question communicates underneath the surface. It tells the child that their drawing should be something recognizable. That art is about accurate representation. That if a viewer can’t immediately identify the subject, something has gone wrong.
Young children don’t draw to create photographic replicas. They draw to express feelings, to process experiences, to explore what their hands can do.
Research from the National Association for the Education of Young Children shows that early mark-making is deeply connected to emotional and cognitive development, not just visual accuracy.
When we ask “what is that supposed to be,” we’re essentially telling them their internal world needs to be translated into something we can label. And for a child who was just enjoying the process of creation, that’s a confusing and often discouraging message. After hearing it enough times, many kids decide it’s easier to stop drawing altogether than to keep explaining themselves.
2) “That doesn’t look right”
I remember watching my grandson draw a horse once. The legs were all different lengths, the head was enormous, and the tail looked more like a palm tree. It was wonderful. But I also remember biting my tongue, because my first instinct was to gently correct him.
We do this with good intentions. We want to help. We want to teach. But when we tell a child their drawing doesn’t look right, we’re imposing adult standards of realism onto a developing mind that isn’t ready for them, and frankly, shouldn’t have to be.
Children’s drawings go through predictable stages. The scribbles, the tadpole people, the floating houses with chimneys that defy gravity. These aren’t mistakes. They’re milestones. And when we correct them too early, we interrupt a natural progression that needs to unfold at its own pace.
The child who hears “that doesn’t look right” learns that their perception is flawed. That they can’t trust their own eyes or their own hands. And once that seed of doubt is planted, it grows fast. By age 10, many of these children have decided they’re simply “not artistic” and they carry that belief well into adulthood.
3) “Let me show you how to do it properly”
This one hits close to home for me. I’ve done it myself, more times than I’d like to admit. A child is struggling with something, and the adult swoops in to demonstrate the “correct” way. We take the pencil, we draw our version, and we hand it back expecting gratitude.
What we’ve actually done is shown the child that their attempt wasn’t good enough. That there’s a proper way to draw, and they haven’t figured it out yet. That they need adult intervention to create something worthwhile.
As noted by creativity researcher Sir Ken Robinson, children don’t need to be taught how to be creative. They need to be allowed to stay creative. Our job isn’t to show them the right way. Our job is to give them space to find their own way.
When we take over, we also rob them of the struggle. And struggle is where growth happens. The child who wrestles with how to draw a hand, who tries seventeen different approaches before finding one that satisfies them, learns persistence and problem-solving. The child who watches an adult do it for them learns dependence and self-doubt.
4) “You’re so talented” or “You’re not really an artist”
These two comments seem like opposites, but they do the same damage. Both of them frame artistic ability as something fixed. Something you either have or you don’t.
The child who hears “you’re so talented” might feel good in the moment. But they also learn that their worth comes from natural ability, not effort. And when drawing gets harder, as it inevitably does around age 9 or 10, they face a choice. Keep trying and risk losing their “talented” status, or quit while they’re ahead.
The child who hears “you’re not really an artist” gets the message even more directly. Why bother? Some people have it, some people don’t, and you’re in the second group.
Research by psychologist Carol Dweck has shown that this kind of fixed mindset thinking is devastating for children’s motivation and persistence. Kids who believe ability is fixed give up faster when things get difficult. Kids who believe ability grows with practice keep pushing through.
Every time we label a child as talented or untalented, artistic or not artistic, we’re nudging them toward that fixed mindset. And for many children, the nudge is enough to make them walk away from drawing forever.
5) “Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for that?”
This might be the most heartbreaking comment on the list. Because it doesn’t criticize the child’s ability at all. It criticizes their right to keep trying.
Somewhere along the way, we decided that drawing is for children. That serious people put away their crayons and focus on serious things. And we communicate this belief to our kids in a thousand small ways. The eye roll when they ask for art supplies. The suggestion that they spend their time on something more productive. The subtle message that creativity is a phase to be outgrown.
I’ve mentioned this before, but I didn’t start writing until I retired. For decades, I told myself I was too old, too busy, too practical for creative pursuits. And I wonder now how different my life might have been if someone had told me, when I was 10 years old, that making things was a lifelong gift, not a childhood hobby.
The children who keep drawing into adolescence and adulthood almost always had someone who treated their creativity as valuable. Someone who hung their pictures on the fridge not out of obligation, but out of genuine appreciation. Someone who never suggested they were getting too old for joy.
What we can say instead
If you’re reading this and feeling a bit guilty, you’re not alone. I’ve said versions of all five of these comments at various points in my life. The goal here isn’t to make anyone feel terrible about the past. The goal is to do better going forward.
When a child shows you their drawing, try responding to the process instead of the product. “You worked really hard on this” acknowledges effort. “Tell me about what you made” invites them to share without demanding explanation. “I love watching you create” reinforces that the act of making is valuable in itself.
When they struggle, resist the urge to fix it for them. Ask questions instead. “What do you think you might try next?” or “What part are you most excited about?” These keep the ownership with the child, where it belongs.
And when they get older, when they’re 9 or 10 and starting to feel self-conscious about their abilities, remind them that drawing isn’t about being good. It’s about being human. People have been making marks on surfaces for tens of thousands of years. It’s in our bones. It’s not something we outgrow. It’s something we’re taught to abandon.
The window stays open longer than we think
Here’s the encouraging news. The children who stopped drawing at 10 can start again at 20, or 40, or 70. The window doesn’t close permanently. It just gets a little harder to open the longer it stays shut.
But it’s so much easier to keep it open in the first place. To be the adult who celebrates the weird drawings and the messy experiments. To be the person who never once suggests that creativity has an expiration date.
My youngest granddaughter draws constantly. Horses, mostly, though they still look a bit like palm trees with legs. I don’t correct her. I don’t ask what things are supposed to be. I just tell her I love watching her work, and I mean it.
What would have happened if someone had said that to you when you were 10?
