As my 18-month-old constantly sees me writing notes and scribbling exhibition plans in my notebook, he’s developed an interest in drawing himself. So, I decided to sit him on my lap and let him start drawing in my notebook since he refused to draw with or in anything other than what I was using.
His loops, scribbles, and energetic marks are now sprawled across the last pages of my BulletJournal notebook (which I cherish and protect for fear of my master plans falling into the wrong hands!).
My first reaction was a mix of parental pride and mild frustration (there went my pristinely tidy notebook, which I use for writing out my art world domination plans).
But then something clicked—these spontaneous marks bore an uncanny resemblance to works I’d seen hanging in major museums and in major art textbooks. Specifically, they reminded me of Cy Twombly’s expansive canvases with their gestural scrawls and emotive lines.
The comparison made me smile. After all, it’s the classic museumgoer’s quip: “My five-year-old could have done that.” But could they really? What separates my toddler’s spontaneous scribbles from the works that command millions at auction and prime wall space at MoMA?
The Initial Comparison
My child’s marks have all the hallmarks of early artistic exploration—looping circular motions, varying pressure that creates thick and thin lines, and a complete disregard for the boundaries of the page. The marks are pure motion and discovery, the physical pleasure of seeing a crayon or pen leave a trail. There’s no self-consciousness, no second-guessing, just pure expression.
When I look at Cy Twombly’s famous blackboard paintings or any of his other works, really, with their looping “lasso” scribbles, the visual parallels are striking. His “Untitled” works from the late 1960s feature white, chalk-like scribbles on gray backgrounds that look remarkably similar to a child’s first adventures with a crayon.
Cy Twombly - Untitled (1957.), source: Wikimedia commons
But Twombly is far from the only celebrated artist whose work invites these comparisons. Paul Klee’s playful lines and simplified forms, Jean Dubuffet’s childlike figures and textures, and Robert Motherwell’s bold, spontaneous gestures all share qualities with children’s art. These similarities are what make modern art simultaneously accessible and confounding to many viewers.
My Own Artistic Journey
Finding my toddler’s marks in my journal triggered memories of my own childhood artistic adventures. Art was a fundamental part of my growing up—I maintained huge binders full of drawings, paintings, and collages. I can still vividly recall watching “Art Attack” and rushing to try out each new technique or material introduced on the show.
This wasn’t just a childhood hobby; it was the foundation upon which much of my adult life would be built. That daily creative practice—the fearless experimentation, the problem-solving when things didn’t work out as planned, the satisfaction of creating something from nothing—shaped my career path and continues to influence how I approach challenges.
Looking back, I recognize how those countless hours spent making art developed my ability to think laterally, to see multiple solutions to a problem, to embrace the unexpected, and to find beauty in imperfection. The mindset that art cultivated in me has proven invaluable in every professional endeavor I’ve undertaken.
Why These Artists Matter – Beyond Simple Scribbles
What separates Twombly from my toddler is not necessarily skill or even visual outcome, but context, intention, and a lifetime of artistic dialogue.
Cy Twombly didn’t just scribble; he deliberately unlearned academic techniques to access a more primal form of expression. His marks reference classical mythology, poetry, and history. When he created looping lines reminiscent of handwriting exercises, he was consciously exploring the space between language and abstraction, between meaning and pure form.
Paul Klee famously studied children’s art. His work drew inspiration from children’s directness while adding layers of sophisticated color theory and composition. He didn’t imitate children’s art; he extracted its essence and incorporated it into his own visual language.
Jean Dubuffet rejected traditional aesthetics entirely, championing what he called “Art Brut” or “raw art”—works created outside cultural norms by children, psychiatric patients, and self-taught artists. His crude figures and textural surfaces were a deliberate affront to refined taste, yet they were created by an artist deeply knowledgeable about art history and theory.
Robert Motherwell brought intellectual rigor to his seemingly spontaneous gestures. His “Elegies to the Spanish Republic” series uses simple forms—ovals and rectangles—in ways that evoke profound emotional responses about mortality and political tragedy.
These artists don’t scribble because they can’t do “better.” They scribble because they’ve moved beyond conventional notions of “better.” Their childlike qualities are tools deliberately chosen after years of studying, absorbing, and ultimately transcending artistic traditions.
The Development of Artistic Expression
Child development experts tell us that artistic expression follows predictable stages—from random scribbling to controlled scribbling to basic shapes and eventually to representational drawing. Each stage builds upon the previous one, developing both motor skills and cognitive understanding.
My toddler is in the earliest stage of this journey, making marks for the sheer joy of causing an effect in the world. There’s something pure and beautiful about this stage that many adult artists strive to recapture.
I vaguely remember my own progression through these stages—the excitement of first drawing recognizable shapes, the pride in creating my first portrait, the gradual development of technical skills. What made the difference in my development wasn’t raw talent but the nurturing environment that encouraged experimentation and valued the process as much as the outcome.
There’s a fascinating paradox at work here: artists often spend decades mastering technical skills, only to work toward recapturing the uninhibited expression of childhood. As Picasso famously (supposedly) said, “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”
Creative Development and Life Skills
The thread connecting my childhood artistic practice to my professional life isn’t just about aesthetic appreciation; it’s about cognitive development. Research consistently shows that early arts education develops problem-solving abilities, enhances critical thinking, and builds resilience.
When I look at my professional skillset today, I can trace so much back to those hours spent creating art—the ability to envision multiple solutions, comfort with ambiguity, willingness to experiment, and the courage to start again when something isn’t working. These aren’t just artistic skills; they’re life skills.
The creative confidence I developed as a child has been perhaps the greatest gift of my early artistic explorations. While many adults hesitate to call themselves “creative,” fearing judgment or failure, my childhood art practice instilled in me the belief that creativity isn’t a special talent but a natural human capacity that can be developed through practice.
Nurturing the Next Generation’s Creativity
Watching my toddler make those first marks in my Bullet Journal has made me reflect on how I want to nurture their creative development. I hope to provide the same supportive environment that allowed me to develop my creative capacities—plenty of materials, encouragement without judgment, and exposure to a wide range of artistic expressions.
As an art historian who helps clients appreciate and showcase art through DLightful Services, I’m constantly reminded that creative development starts with these early scribbles and continues throughout life. Whether I’m curating an exhibition, providing art management services, or mentoring emerging artists, I see how important early creative confidence is in shaping our relationship with art. I’m also consistently reminded that the way we talk about art needs to be understandable to as broad an audience as possible, which includes the youngest generations who might grow up to become artists themselves and thus become pioneers of culture.
I’m already thinking about how to balance guidance with freedom. There’s a delicate line between teaching techniques and imposing limitations, between providing structure and allowing for discovery. I want to share what I know while respecting their unique path of exploration.
Most importantly, I want to preserve that uninhibited joy in creation that both children and great artists share. In a world that increasingly values standardized outcomes and measurable results, the ability to play, explore, and think differently becomes even more precious.
The Full Circle Moment
Seeing my toddler’s scribbles in my journal created a beautiful moment of connection across three points: my child’s beginning artistic journey, my own formative experiences with art, and the work of celebrated artists who spent lifetimes exploring mark-making.
The difference between my child’s scribbles and Twombly’s work isn’t simply that one hangs in museums. It’s that Twombly’s work contains both the spontaneous joy of mark-making AND the accumulated weight of artistic dialogue, historical reference, and deliberate aesthetic choice.
Yet there’s something profound in recognizing the common thread that runs through all creative expression, from the most spontaneous toddler scribble to the most sophisticated artistic statement. That thread is the fundamentally human desire to make a mark on the world, to transform thought into visible form, to communicate beyond words.
As for my Bullet Journal? I’ve preserved those pages rather than erasing them. They’re a reminder of the beauty of uninhibited expression, a connection to my own artistic roots, and perhaps—who knows—the beginning of another creative journey that might someday come full circle.
And I’ve bought my toddler his own set of big crayons and coloring books to get him started.
Dora Derado Giljanović, PhD is an art historian and founder of DLightful Services, where we spotlight art through curatorial services, art management, artist coaching and mentoring. We believe in making art accessible and meaningful for audiences of all ages and backgrounds.
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