Art is for Everyone, but Everyone Learns Differently
- Umme Salmaa Bharmal
- Aug 9
- 4 min read
Updated: Aug 9
Umme Salmaa Bharmal
Contact me at: 9920492453
I have always believed, with every fiber of my being, that art is for everyone.
You don’t need to be “born with talent” or possess the mythical “artist’s gene” to create something beautiful. What you do need is a way of learning that makes sense to you.
As an art educator , I see my role not as simply handing out a set of instructions, but as finding the pathway that allows each student to connect deeply with the process of making art.
Because no two students will walk that path in the same way.
For one child, it might mean breaking a lesson down into small, clear, bite-sized steps so they never feel overwhelmed or lost.
For another, it’s giving them the freedom to run wild with an idea, to explore without boundaries, before we gently refine it together.
And then there are times when my role is simply to encourage them to make a “mistake” and keep going—showing them that art doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.
Sometimes, the smudge or the crooked line becomes the most interesting part of the piece.
The Shy Smile That Changes Everything
There’s a special kind of magic in watching a shy child transform in an art class.
When they first walk in, they often avoid eye contact. Their voice is barely audible when they answer a question.
They hesitate to show me their work, as if the paper might reveal flaws they’d rather keep hidden. I can sense their inner dialogue—
What if it’s not good enough?
What if everyone else is better than me?
In those moments, I know my job is not to rush them, but to make the class feel like a safe, pressure-free space. My voice stays gentle, my feedback kind but specific, and I let them decide when they’re ready to share. Sometimes I’ll sit beside them and start sketching quietly.
There’s no “teacher” or “student” in that moment—just two people creating together.
And then, one day, something shifts. They bring me a painting—not because I’ve asked, but because they want to.
Their shoulders are a little straighter.
Their eyes meet mine without hesitation.
They tell me about their process, even laugh about a color that didn’t turn out as expected.
When they leave the room that day with a smile and say, “See you next week!”—I know the change runs deeper than learning how to blend paint or sketch a tree.
They’re learning to believe in themselves. And that’s a skill far greater than any technique I can teach.
Why Tweens and Teens Are Different to Teach
Teaching younger children is often about harnessing raw enthusiasm. They’ll try almost anything without overthinking. Mistakes? They don’t care—they’re too busy enjoying the process.
Adults, on the other hand, often bring patience but also fixed ideas of what they can and cannot do.
Tweens and teens? They live in a space right between those two worlds.
By this age, they’ve become more self-aware. They have preferences, sometimes fiercely so, and they’re often deeply sensitive to how others perceive them.
This makes them wonderfully unique to teach, but also more complex.
A single piece of feedback can either encourage them or make them second-guess themselves.
That’s why my lessons for this age group are never one-size-fits-all. I might adapt the same activity in three different ways:
One version for the extrovert who thrives on group interaction, where collaboration sparks their best ideas.
Another for the perfectionist who needs exercises that encourage letting go—quick sketches, abstract experiments, or timed challenges.
And a quieter, more private version for the observer who works best in their own space, where they can process at their own pace before sharing.
For me, teaching tweens and teens is as much about reading personalities as it is about teaching techniques. It’s a balance of structure and freedom, technical instruction and emotional safety.
The Joy of the Return
If you ask me what my favorite part of teaching is, it’s not the perfectly blended colors or the straightest, most precise lines. It’s something far less visible but infinitely more rewarding.
It’s that moment when a student—especially one who once doubted themselves—walks out of my class with a lightness in their step.
It’s when they come back the following week, eager to begin again, because they’ve found a place where their art feels truly theirs.
A place where their work is respected, celebrated, and understood, no matter what stage they’re at.
I’ve learned that art isn’t just a skill—it’s a language. It allows us to say things we can’t always put into words.
And when I teach tweens and teens, my goal isn’t only to show them how to draw or paint. It’s to give them the tools to express who they are—loudly, quietly, or somewhere in between.
And every time they choose to return to that creative space we’ve built together, I know they’re not just learning art.
They’re learning self-trust, resilience, and joy.
And to me, that will always be the real masterpiece.
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