Why I Teach Art to Adults

The Emotional Lessons I’ve Learned From Teaching Adults

Early in my teaching career, I focused on the "how-to." I worried about lesson plans and light sources. I was just a beginner watercolor painter myself, after all, and I was afraid I wouldn't know enough. But as I spent more hours at the head of the class, I realized that the work wasn't just happening on the paper—it was happening in the minds, hands and hearts of the people sitting in front of me.

Teaching adults has taught me that art is rarely just about art; it’s a profound emotional exchange that works both ways. Here is what I’ve learned about that connection.

1. I am a Guardian of Their Bravery

For an adult, picking up a brush for the first time in twenty or thirty years is an act of radical vulnerability. Many walk in carrying a creative wound—a comment from a childhood teacher or a parent that convinced them they weren't good enough. I understand this very well, because I had a disparaging art teacher myself in the eighth grade, who made me cry once in class and also told me that my work was, at age 14, "derivative." Thankfully, my 9th & 10th grade teachers were much more encouraging. Point is, I have felt the feeling that I wasn't "cut out" for art. So many folks I encounter tell me they love watercolor but don't have a creative bone in their body. Or that they can't draw a stick figure. It's nonsense, as the ability to paint or draw can be taught; it's a skill like almost anything else that requires at for most of us non-savants some technique and much practice. Yet our culture has mystified -- or perhaps mysticized is a better word -- the ability to make art. And the critics, both internal and external, can be loud and unkind.

I’ve learned that my primary job isn't to critique my student's perspective; it’s to protect the often fragile courage it took for them to show up. When they trust me with their "bad" paintings, they are trusting me with their self-esteem. I take this utterly seriously. I am adamant about pointing out the good moments as well as areas for improvement. We are all hard enough on ourselves. We all need encouragement as well as constructive critique, especially when starting out.

2. My Classes are a Safe Space for Release

I’ve worked with adult students who are navigating loss, divorce, health issues and more. I’ve learned that for many of my students, the studio is the only space in their week where they aren't the boss, the caregiver, or the patient. Witnessing the moment a student lets out a deep sigh as they finally get that graded sky wash right is a reminder that I am providing a sanctuary for creative souls. That emotional release is a gift they give to themselves, and being allowed to witness it is a privilege I don’t take lightly. In fact, I often encourage my students to "remember to breathe!" which always gets a laugh, as we are all taking things so seriously and it's good to be able to collectively laught at ourselves.

Loneliness is another aspect of life for many of my students. Often they’re just looking for connection, and I am fully aware that at times the weekly class or Friday's *free* watercolor happy hour on Zoom is the only time they are connecting — really being seen and heard — in their day. I started hosting the Zooms during the pandemic shut in, when it was so obvious we were all seeking connection. But I've realized that art as a hobby can be a solitary endeavor; that’s why I kept the Zoom going (we are about to hit a milestone of 300 weeks!) . To create a space where people can connect, if even just for an hour. I don’t like to talk about this but I feel it’s important to acknowledge how lonely and how scary our world can be, especially right now, and most especially for my senior students. On the Zoom, and in my live workshops, we see each other. We see each other, we listen to each other, and we lift each other up. We are like-minded creatives. Art becomes the language we can all speak together, while at the same time it’s a refuge. Whether we are talking about serious subjects or new art supplies, we are connecting.

3. Empathy is my Most Important Tool

I used to think my "eye" for detail was my greatest asset. Now, I know it’s my ability to read the room. I’ve learned to spot the student who is frustrated with a technique, and the student who is having a breakthrough moment. Teaching has taught me to meet frustration with kindness instead of just a technical fix or worse, a soliloquy on art. It has made me a softer, more patient person, both in and out of the studio. Recently one of my students told me she had an experience with an extremely unsympathetic & rigid teacher. My heart went out to her and I created a safe space for her in my next workshop series. For those teachers out there who insist on students doing it “their way” — a word of advice: Being kind is more important than being right.

4. Mutual Growth Through Shared Struggle

There is a unique bond that forms when you struggle through a difficult piece together. When I admit to a student that I also find that week’s happy hour subject difficult to capture, or that I ruined a painting last night, the power dynamic shifts. We become two humans navigating the absurd yet mysterious act of creating art using “silly marks” on paper, paint and water (I’m paraphrasing the great Tom Hoffmann). This mutual vulnerability has taught me that I don’t need to be an untouchable expert to be a great teacher; I just need to be an honest companion on their journey.

5. The Joy of the "Second Chance"

Perhaps the most emotional lesson I’ve learned from teaching is that it is never too late for a "second act." I myself rediscovered art at age 50 as a result of a debilitating illness, and needing something to keep me occupied and positive. The healing power of art is one of the reasons I started to teach senior classes, through CSULB’s volunteer-run OLLI program (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute). Watching my mostly retired students discover a talent and passion for watercolor painting has fundamentally changed my own perspective on aging. It has taught me that the human spirit remains hungry for beauty and expression until the very end, and that while as we age we may give up things, like the ability to travel or be physically active for example, we can absolutely continue to grow and reinvent ourselves, and redefine what brings us joy. My students have given me a sense of hope that no gallery sale or professional accolade ever could. They’ve taught me how to age well.

Final Thoughts

I entered the classroom thinking I would be the one changing lives, but my students have been the ones changing mine. They have taught me that art is a bridge—a way for us to see each other, support each other, and find our own voice through artistic process. Along the way, I’ve made so many friends. One of my students always tells me I’m “like family — but better than family.”

To this amazing acquired family of mine, I say ”Thank You.”