Drawing On The Imagination in Young Children N. H. Freeman
Drawing On The Imagination in Young Children N. H. Freeman
Drawing On The Imagination in Young Children N. H. Freeman
N. H. Freeman
Abstract
There has been a tradition of regarding the period when children are aged something like six
or seven years as the time when great discoveries start to be made in drawing. It is true that a
flowering can occur then. We review recent experiments on asking children to draw fictional
characters, experiments that demonstrate how much support five-year-olds need before they
become relatively self-reliant in using their imaginations to generate brand new drawings.
But that can only be part of the story. Another part of the story concerns how children get
themselves organised in the period before schooling, when drawing emerges largely untaught
from scribbling. We review recent simple techniques that show how pre-school children
monitor what they are doing with the pencil and categorise shapes on the page in the course of
acquiring what deserves to be termed a 'theory of pictures'. Once we understand that theory,
then we can understand what it is that children are grappling with in the period when they are
on the threshold of discoveries that generate systematically inventive drawing, and why
Children differ amongst themselves in their understanding of art. Part of that variation
might be due to the fact that tastes differ. No one would deny the fact. But current
conceptions of taste are pretty limited. The question is, what do children conceive of the
pictures about which they express differing tastes. And we must add to that the question of
how children conceive of their role as picture-producers. The heart of the matter is that
children grow into an intuitive theory of art as they develop (see Freeman, 1995).
Presumably, encounters with challenging artworks advance the development; but whether an
individual's development be fast or slow, the first task is to formulate what it is that develops.
elements: (a) the picture plane itself with markings on it, (b) what, if anything, the markings
represent, (c) how the organisation of markings was arrived at, usually through the agency of
the artist, and (d) the role of the viewer, whether that role be conceived of as that of a passive
observer or of an active interpreter. Our task is to take a look at how we can specify changes
in the organisation of the relations between the four things, in the light of the opinions that
children express about their own drawings and other people's drawings.
The phrase 'theory of art' refers to the theory that young people acquire in the course
of their daily experiences and their encounters with artworks. It is right to call it a 'theory'.
Although the term sounds pompous, the consensus is that the term 'theory' should not just be
reserved for professional researchers and intellectuals, as though they were the only ones to
acquire organised structures of beliefs and knowledge (see Wellman, 1990). In the course of
everyday life, people acquire theories of various domains, such as the worlds of biology,
physics and everyday mathematics. The domain of the arts is no exception. Conceptions of
the visual arts involve more than developing matters of taste; people work out deep-seated
beliefs about their relation to art, and they vary in the assumptions they are readiest to make.
People acquire a set of concepts, beliefs and desires about visual art, a conceptual framework
that they use to explain to themselves what art can do for them. People do not keep to sharp
divisions in their everyday thinking. For example, Belver (1989) found very high correlations
between people's judgements of how beautiful they thought particular pictures were and how
interesting they found them. There is no sharp frontier between the two types of judgement.
People vary in how developed or coherent their theory may be. A huge variation in
developmental psychology, with its wide range of difference across huge differences in age, to
It is not so long ago that there was a phase in education where the arts were considered
to centre on matters of feeling and intuition that foster creativity and self-expression. So the
other school subjects. That cannot possibly be true. Coming to terms with the meanings of
artworks, as both producer and viewer, involves children in making deep intellectual
In one sense the discoveries are simple, but a better term is 'fundamental', because those early
discoveries serve as the bedrock of an elaborate, developing theory of art. Let us start with
discoveries in production, noting along the way how they attest to conceptual development as
Children in nursery school experiment eagerly with drawing materials. But the
children are often more interested in the process of making marks than in what the marks look
like when they have finished. They enjoy the activity but will also end it abruptly in favour of
other activities. They characteristically pay rather fleeting attention to the finished result of
their activity. What would impel their attention to the finished product? It seems that some
pretend play. Thus, children may use a marker as a pretend rabbit, say, and make it hop across
the paper, leaving traces that are a record of the hopping, like footprints in the sand (see
Freeman, 1993; Gardner and Wolf, 1987). Three things come together in such a case: (a) the
activity involved in production, (b) the referent that lends meaning, and which is (c) used as
the instrument that makes marks. Along with such activity comes scribbling. That may be
done for the fun of it, or with representational intent, or both. Even when an independent
observer cannot tell what the scribbles represent, children may claim representation if asked
what the drawing is of. But often enough no answer is forthcoming. It has been difficult for
observers who want to make statements about the roots of representation to formulate what is
going on in the scribbling phase. But in 1997, a paper by Adi-Japha, Levin and Solomon
appeared that did give an incisive indication of a nascent representational process at work. It
conditions. At first sight, the paper we are going to consider seems to be a trivial advance in
technique. But the advance enabled the experimenters to introduce a battery of new
conditions that cumulatively led to an incisive suggestion. The technique was to ask two-
year-old scribblers about parts of their scribble rather than about the finished product as a
whole. The experimenters were careful to point to examples of two types of mark in the
scribbles when they asked children what those parts were. One type of mark was a smooth
sweep, defined in terms of the geometry of production as recorded from the electronic bitpad
on which the children drew. The results here were the usual: sometimes some children would
say that the mark was something, a cat or a hat or whatever, and sometimes no answer was
made. But when the type of mark was inflected with a sort of V-shape somewhere in it, or
was a broken line, the number of representational claims made by the children significantly
increased. The suggestion is that the act of making an inflection in a line involves some
investment of attention, as can be detected from the kinematics of the children's production on
a bitpad (their speed of pen-sweep, for instance). When a line discontinuously changes
direction, an effort of close control is needed in wielding the pen. The suggestion is that this
Is that suggestion warranted? On its own, the inflection-advantage could mean almost
anything. The significance of the finding lies in another condition which the experimenter
the child's scribble and questioned the child about that. So it was not the case that the
inflection-advantage was due entirely to differences between smooth and jagged marks. That
is fully congruent with the suggestion that the crucial factor is the child's registration of her
own effort as a producer. There is no suggestion that the representations claimed by the
children were anything other than post-hoc. But that is not a weakness in the finding. Indeed,
there is a sense in which the finding is stronger if it is the case that the children were not
recalling a representational intention but were seeing a significance in the mark because of a
memory of an effort of production that was fulfilled in a change in direction on the picture
mostly rationalisation after the act; but that is consonant with a long tradition of arguing that
young children learn by doing. If the child is aware of having concentrated on controlling the
direction of the pen, she takes it that effort merits significance. Or maybe that one effort
should be followed up by another effort, this time in studying the mark to see what its
significance might be when the adult shows that he is interested in that mark. The mentality
anything much.
It should be noted that the inflection-advantage also disappeared if there was a long
delay (long for a two-year-old, that is) before the questioning was done. That is further
evidence that the fresh memory of production was important, not just the shape of the mark.
It is not until some three years of age that evidence emerges for a conception of the fulfilment
of a prior intention. For such evidence, we can look to a paper by Bloom and Markson
(1998), where again the suggestion is that doing is important, not just the shape of the mark
on the paper.
Let us set the work in the context of a traditional problem in philosophical aesthetics.
representational picture? It is, in principle, possible for an ant to leave a trace on the sand that
looks very like Winston Churchill (see Putnam, 1981). The pattern on the sand is a natural
kind, produced by a force of nature. Here nature supersedes the role of the artist. Someone
might be willing to claim the role of artist and thereby turn the sand pattern into a picture.
One could take a cast of the sand pattern and put it on display. Such is the logic behind the
gallery display of objets trouvés. The resulting products rely for their effect on the ambiguity
between attributing responsibility to the natural producer and to the keen eye of the artist. It
is no accident that Damien Hirst's shark, framed in a tank, and Carl André's unframed bricks,
challenge the hard-won reasoning of a vast section of the viewing public. The challenge is to
child-centred analogue of the problem? Gelman and Ebeling (1997) showed three-year-olds a
variety of crude pictures, each of which could be seen as representational of an object (a bear,
for instance). A set of the pictures was given to a group of children with the remark that the
pictures were intentionally produced, so those pictures represented the efforts of an artist
(even if the pictures were not very good). The same set of pictures was shown to a matched
group of children with the introduction that the pictures had been produced by accident, like
paint being spilled onto the page. The data came from asking children to describe each
picture after it had been introduced as being intentional or as accidental. The crucial data are
the extent to which children mentioned the name of the object that could be seen as
represented in the picture. That tendency was much stronger in the intentional condition.
Naturally, this finding is open to different interpretations. Perhaps the experimenter's remarks
about prior intention alerted children that something or other was being attempted, so they
had the mental set of looking for something to say about a picture, and the representational
content grabbed their attention. Yet if the representational content was that highly attention-
grabbing, one would expect children in the accidental condition to comment on it. There is a
way of starting to investigate how the effect works. It would be to vary the recognisability of
what could be seen in pictures, so one could see if (a) the prior-intention effect applied across
the board to pictures of different levels of recognisability, just occurring more frequently in
one group than the other, or (b) scaled out so that one group lowered their criterion for
depiction and accepted cruder pictures as representational. That is, one can start to model
what is going on in the child's mind by varying intention against apparent successfulness of
One reason for doing that bears on another fundamental problem in philosophical
aesthetics. That problem concerns what we have been cavalier about in the above exposition:
the way that marks themselves have effects regardless of the artist's intention. Pictorial
realism can be specified as 'the quality of a picture that allows us quickly and easily to
recognise what it is a picture of' (Sartwell, 1994, p. 5). Realism lies 'not in quantity of
referent appearances, can often be more quickly identified than photographs, so caricatures
and McLean (1990) showed that untrained adult viewers recognised caricatured birds as
accurately as they recognised undistorted images. Bird-experts found caricatures even more
recognisable than undistorted images. That is a neat finding because the bird-watchers had
not been specially trained in caricature interpretation: their expertise in discriminating the
referents gave positive transfer to picture interpretation. Caricatures are obviously examples
Let us put together the points that (a) three-year-olds seem to approach picture-
description in a representational way if a prior intention has been announced, with (b) whether
children take a realist stance on pictures. Bloom and Markson (1998) asked 24 three-year-
olds and 24 four-year-olds to make a pair of drawings of either a balloon and a lollipop, or of
the experimenter and a self-portrait. Such pairs of drawings usually turn out pretty
indistinguishable when you are that young (and sometimes the drawings are not that
recognisable to an independent viewer, either). The children then did something else for 7
minutes, and were then asked to name their drawings. There was significantly greater than
chance appropriate naming: the three-year-olds named drawings in accord with prior intention
76% of the time, and that rose to 87% in the four-year-olds. Clearly, when shape does not
distinguish the pairs of drawings, so that each is equally recognisable as representing each
referent, children take prior representational intent as the discriminating variable. Intent is
taken as a criterion when realism is equated. The authors produced a formulation that rather
reverses the usual order of exposition of why shape is so important in naming pictures as
representational: 'Children might call a picture that looks like a bird "a bird" not merely
because it looks like a bird, but because its appearance makes it likely that it was created with
the intent to represent a bird. In general, appearance - and shape in particular - is seen as an
excellent cue to intention' (Bloom and Markson, 1998, p. 203). Perhaps that bold formulation
realism. An earlier attempt had been made by Bloom and Markson (1997), but they made
realism too strong. Thus, they had an artist looking at a fork and carefully drawing, but the
finished drawing looked like the spoon that lay to one side. When asked to name the drawing,
almost everyone at any age called it a spoon rather than the fork at which the artist had been
looking whilst she drew. Under a condition where the drawing was made in such a way that it
was about equally plausible as a contender for being a fork or a spoon, almost everyone, even
four-year-olds, called it a fork in accord with their construal of the artist's intention. But one
should be wary, as Bloom and Markson (1998) pointed out, because it is a sort of trick
situation really. However, it does seem reasonable to suppose that children see it as unlikely
that an artist would make a drawing that very clearly triggered a recognition of a referent
Let us now take that latter point and put it in a slightly different way. At the outset, I
pointed out that a child's theory of art has to encompass relations between four things: picture,
referent, artist and viewer. It has proved possible to explain a variety of drawing strategies
from children by identifying how children use the picture to serve a communicative function
in getting a viewer to recognise a particular referent (see Cox, 1991; Davis, 1985; Freeman &
Janikoun, 1972; Lewis, Russell & Berridge, 1993; Light and McEwen, 1987; Sitton & Light,
1992). The term 'recognise' has become established in the philosophical aesthetics literature
as a broad term (see Schier, 1986; Cummins, 1996) ranging from a portrait being clear enough
for a viewer who knows Jim to recognise Jim in the picture, to a child's drawing being clear
enough so that someone who can recognise a picture of a dragon recognises that she is
looking at a child's dragon-picture. The child's conception of how to draw something that a
viewer will recognise enters into her setting her pictorial objective. Let us now apply that
notion to experiments on asking children to draw fictional things, like a 'man who doesn't
exist', as done by Karmiloff-Smith (see her 1992 book). The request to draw something 'that
doesn't exist' can be met by depicting something recognisably man-like at the same time as
depicting the fact that the referent is necessarily fictional. Both recognitions have to be
component of the child's theory that specifies what she as an artist can communicate to the
viewer.
Karmiloff-Smith simply asked children to draw a man (and a house and an animal)
that does not exist. Five-year-olds readily drew incomplete people (houses, animals), altered
the size of a body part by, say, giving the person a gigantic foot, and nine-year-olds also went
in for freely transposing anatomical relations (e.g. drawing a leg where an ear should be) so
that their monstrosities were more radically monstrous than those of the five-year-olds. Note
that we are not here discussing how well a child draws the shapes she has conceived of
drawing: the account concerns the resources she can summon up for her particular project.
taken from six experiments reported by Berti and Freeman (1997). The first experiment
involved 62 five-year-olds and 62 nine-year-olds. The modification was simply to ask the
children to explain how they had managed to draw their 'man who does not exist'. That
should enable one to distinguish a child who relies on an external resource like 'a ghost' or 'a
giant' from a child who relies on an internal resource and generates a picture entirely 'out of
her own head'. Not all children were explicit enough in their accounts to make the judgement,
but from those who were sufficiently explicit (36 five-year-olds and 52 nine-year-olds) a
statistically significant crossover in the data occurred. A majority of the younger children
(61%) named an external fictional character as their model, and a majority of the older
children (67%) explained how they had made up their innovation from their internal
resources. The reason why that finding is interesting is that the shift from external to internal
resources occurred despite the older children's familiarity with a greater range of fictional
characters. We asked independent judges separately to assess how innovatory each drawing
was and how pertinent and explicit each accompanying explanation was (that did not prove
too obscure a request: the judgements tallied 92% of the time). Amongst those children who
told us that they had relied on an external model which they identified for us, there was no
association between how pertinent their verbal account was and how creative the drawing was
child will be successful in distinguishing the drawing from her normal drawing of an existing
man that we had solicited just before the experiment began. In contrast, amongst the
remaining children whom we take to have relied on internal resources in the absence of any
evidence to the contrary, there was an almost perfect association between drawing innovation
and verbal report. That is indeed interesting since there are no reasons for thinking that
graphic skill and verbal skill are in general correlated. That suggests that as internal resources
for graphic innovation increase, so does the verbal material one can effortlessly get from the
Let us briefly pull the emphases together. Developing thinking about drawings can be
traced to two conceptions. One conception runs from artist to picture to viewer: a conception
that intention determines what a viewer should see a drawing as representing. Another
conception runs from referent to picture to viewer: a conception that the shape of a referent
determines the shape of the marks as the viewer sees them. Those two conceptions may work
together or against one another in particular cases and particular contexts. We shall shortly
consider a little evidence on that. For the moment, it is easy to see how disputes can arise
about how a picture should be regarded. It is also easy to discern how a child will further
develop. Artworks after all are more than pieces of paper with marks on them. They are
about something. This means that they must be understood and require interpretation, implicit
or explicit, on the viewer's part. That activity of interpretation is difficult for children to
understand because it requires a sophisticated insight into the agency of the viewer. As we
have traced the story up to now, there is actually rather little room for a conception of the
agency of a viewer, because such a role is squeezed between the conception of a picture as
determined by the artist's intention, and a conception that the shape of the referent is what the
Let us now consider what happens when a child has to juggle with two conceptions at
once, and ask which is likely to win out at different phases in development. The question is
follows. An abstract picture is looked at for the interest and beauty it may seem to have. A
representational picture is also looked at for its subject matter, and it is here that it is easiest
for young children to make a simplifying assumption. The assumption is that the picture is a
mirror of the subject matter, so that the picture picks up the attributes of the subject matter. If
the child is interested in the subject, for instance having a liking for horses, the simplifying
assumption is that horse-pictures are likely to be interesting. If the child finds horses
beautiful, the simplifying assumption is that pictures of horses are likely to be beautiful. Let
us note a small part of one study. Freeman and Sanger (1995) worked with children who had
no art training in their school, beyond the chance to paint and draw once a week at a class on
Sundays run by the local church. The children were rural children on a small island. For
these children, when asked whether an ugly thing would make a worse picture than a pretty
thing, 10 out of 12 eleven-year-olds said, 'Yes'. We asked them why that should be so. In the
main, the children's reasoning can be represented as 'if something is ugly, you would have to
draw an ugly picture, and an ugly picture is a bad picture'. That is a very neat and very simple
argument: (a) beauty or ugliness exists in the world, (b) it becomes transferred onto a picture
surface, and (c) you just map the terms 'pretty' and 'ugly' onto the terms 'good' and 'bad', so (d)
if something is ugly then it must be bad. The majority of the eleven-year-olds were absolutely
clear about their reasons. There seems to be no room for the work of Chaim Soutine or of
Francis Bacon here. Turning now to the fourteen-year-olds, 9 out of 12 of them said that it
did not follow that if something was ugly a picture of it would be bad. So we asked, "Why
not, how come, if something is really ugly it wouldn't make a worse picture?". The children
conveyed that the outcome depends on the artist's skills and enthusiasm. Now that is rather a
nice age-related shift, because what the older children were doing was spontaneously
invoking the picture-producer. That is one way in which one detects when a generative theory
is developing in the mind of a child, when she takes a straight question and gives an answer in
terms that had not been explicitly mentioned. In studies in England, exactly the same shift
occurred (Freeman and Sanger, 1993). This, time the shift (a) away from 'pictures are of
something,' to (b) an artist determining picture properties, tended to occur between the ages of
point of interest lies in whether children from another culture undertake the same shift in
reasoning. This conceptual shift seems to be occurring in an English city, and a small
Caribbean island in the same sort of way, just perhaps on a different timescale. Maybe in
urban children who have art classes and a lot of magazines, round about age nine is the time at
which they pick up the generative theory which respects the power of artists.
The final question is when can we expect a theory of pictures, encompassing all the
relations between picture, referent, artist and viewer, to start to become 'automated' so that it
is ready for use without trouble or doubt. One way of getting at automated assumptions about
art is to ask people to explain what a framed picture on display means to them. There is a
single word in Spanish that means literally 'frame' but is used to refer to the whole display
piece: a cuadro. In a short study we have just completed in Gibraltar, Kyranne Parody asked
for explanations from 91 children aged between 7 and 12 years. Children were interviewed
twice, at about a week's interval, so we gave the children a great deal of opportunity to
formulate information they might want to give. Most of the children, 59 of them, mentioned
that display pieces were decorative, but only 13 mentioned any other function. None of the 7
- 8 year-olds even mentioned artists, and only 13 of the older children did. No child
mentioned the significance of the fact that someone decides to put framed pictures on display.
The results were replicated with a wider age-range by Katerina Maradaki-Kassotaki with the
Greek kathro (Maridaki-Kassotaki and Freeman, in prep.). The results were clear. Four-year-
olds and 8-year-olds told us that a kathro goes on the wall and decorates it. But the 14-year-
olds and adults told us that a kathro (a) was decorative, (b) could celebrate the work of an
artist, and (c) could let you judge the taste and education of the person who had chosen the
display items. At or before adolescence, the basic map of the pictorial domain that connects
pictures to artists and other people is fully in people's minds, ready for them to use whenever
they want, with no deep questioning needed, or prompting, or long discussion. Of course, one
also wants to look more deeply in extended interviews with younger people to see how the
looks like what it represents or what an artist says it represents? To become aware of one's
own interpretative activity, and to allow that awareness to influence one's response to art,
requires one to be aware that the character of one's response to a work is partly a function of
one's own particular personality or situation. Such a stance amounts to abandoning the belief
that one can get the meaning of a picture simply by seeing what is objectively there to be
seen, or that viewers will all decipher the intentions of the artist in the same way. The work of
Parsons (1987) is still the most insightful book on that long drawn out process. In sum, it may
rightly be said that the young child starts by discovering that pictures look like things they
depict, and that artists produce the effects: the last thing they discover is the active mind of
the viewer.
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