Art Therapy - It’s Probably Not What You Think It Is
I don't write much about art therapy, even though art and creativity are where my inner and outer worlds collide most and is a large part of what this business that I’m building is all about. The work I do through art feels intensely personal—and despite being an open book in most areas of my life, this is one I hold close. But I understand the power of art therapy, and if I don't share that, it feels selfish. So here we are. Let's talk about what art therapy actually is, what it isn't, and what a session looks like.
First, let’s talk about what it’s not:
Just for kids - Art therapy is effective across all age groups, from children to older adults. Adults often find it particularly valuable for processing complex emotions and experiences.
An art class - The focus isn't on technique, skill development, or creating beautiful artwork. It's a therapeutic process where art serves as a tool for emotional expression and growth, not the end goal itself.
Only for people who are "good at art" - Artistic skill or talent is completely unnecessary. The therapeutic value comes from the process of creating, not the final product's aesthetic quality.
Requiring an interest in art - While openness to trying something new helps, you don't need to love or even like art beforehand. Many people discover art as a helpful tool through therapy.
Arts and crafts time - Unlike recreational art activities (which, btw, are very therapeutic in and of themselves), art therapy is guided by a registered art therapist (ATR) or therapeutic art practitioner (hi, me!) with specific therapeutic goals and interventions in mind.
A substitute for traditional talk therapy - It's a distinct therapeutic modality that can complement talk therapy, but it uses different approaches and may access emotions differently than verbal processing alone.
About interpretation or analysis of your artwork by the therapist - The therapist doesn't analyze your drawing like a personality test. You remain in control of the meaning, and the therapist helps you explore what emerges.
Avoiding difficult emotions - Art therapy helps you face and process challenging feelings, not escape them through distraction.
I could probably add another dozen things to this list, but these are the most common misconceptions. Now let’s move onto the good stuff and talk about what it is and what an art therapy exercise might look like.
What Art Therapy Is: Learning from My Own Process
I practice art therapy on myself regularly. Not just because it's good modeling or professional development, but because I need it. When I was considering leaving my stable(?) job to build my own practice, I was completely paralyzed. I knew what I "should" do, but my body was screaming something different. So I sat down with my art materials and worked through it the only way I know how.
Working Through My Own Fear
I pull out old planner pages from that job—pages full of appointments, tasks, obligations. I’ve only written about it once before and shared some “ugly” finished pages (proof that it’s not about the creation of beautiful artwork), but I still work through it regularly, especially on days when the fears and self-doubt speak louder than the relief of escaping a massively toxic environment. Looking at them still makes my entire body tense up. My jaw clenches. I start wringing my hands without realizing it, a gesture I always make when I'm second-guessing myself.
I decided back then to cover them up. Not throw them away—cover them. I use tissue paper, magazine clippings, paint, whatever I have at the moment or whatever feels right. I make "smoosh art" by folding painted paper and pressing the colors together. I layer and layer until those rigid calendar grids disappear under something softer, something that has movement and color. I'm making something pretty out of something that became painful.
The hesitation is constant. Every time I reach for a new material, I pause. Is this the right choice? Should I use this color or that one? My hand hovers over the paint tubes, suspended in indecision. I notice myself holding my breath. This is trauma in action. Just holding and looking at something that represents something so painful and degrading, even though it’s no longer a part of my daily life, still makes me question myself.
But something always shifts when I stop trying to plan the outcome and just let my hands move. When I smoosh the paint and don't know what pattern will emerge. When I tear paper without measuring. My shoulders drop. I exhale. The tight knot in my chest loosens just slightly.
By the end of each session, I've transformed those planner pages into something unrecognizable—layers of texture and color, soft edges, organic shapes. The rigid structure is completely buried. And sitting there looking at it, I feel something click into place in my body: I'd been trying to cover up who I actually was to fit into that old role. The pretty things I'm creating? That's what happens when I stop forcing myself into someone else's template.
For me, in this particular situation, the trauma still runs deep. No one session will magically fix everything. But each time I learn something new. Each time I walk away with a sense of relief that I don't think I'd be able to find any other way.
What I’ll Look for in My Clients
This is why I will pay such close attention to the body when I work with clients. Not just what they're making, but how they're making it.
I’ll watch for pauses—those moments when someone's hand hovers over materials, when they freeze mid-motion. That hesitation tells me something important is happening internally, some negotiation or questioning that hasn't made it into words yet.
I’ll notice tension. When someone rubs their shoulders or rolls their neck while they're working, I'll track that. When I see a tight jaw or furrowed brow, I'll note where in the process that showed up. Was it when they first looked at the blank page? When they made a particular mark? When they stepped back to look at what they'd created?
I'll also be feeling for the energy shifts. There's a quality that changes when someone moves from thinking to doing, from controlling to allowing. Sometimes I can feel it in my own body—a subtle release, like we're both breathing easier. Sometimes it's in the pace of their movements, the pressure they use, whether their gestures become more fluid or more constrained.
When I see these physical responses, I’ll know they're accessing something real. The body doesn't lie the way our thinking minds do. When someone's shoulders drop after making a bold mark, when they exhale after placing something just right, when tension releases—that's information. That's the body saying "yes, this" or "finally" or "here's the truth."
Translating Body Knowledge into Insight
With my own planner pages, the insight comes from recognizing the pattern: I keep covering things up in the art, just like I'd been covering up parts of myself in that job. The relief I feel when I let go of control in the artmaking mirrors the relief I'd feel if I stopped trying to control the outcome of my career decision.
With clients, I’ll help them make these same connections. When I notice someone's body relax after they've been tense, I might say: "I noticed your shoulders just dropped. What was happening right then?" When I see hesitation, I might ask: "What's it like to choose right now? Where do you feel that in your body?"
Because here's what I know from doing my own work: the art externalizes what's happening inside. It makes the invisible visible. And the body—the pauses, the tension, the releases—shows us where the truth lives before we have language for it.
When I work with clients, whatever brings them to therapy, I'm not just looking at what they create. I'm tracking the whole experience: How does their energy shift? When do they hold back versus lean in? What does their body do when they make a choice in the art? Because that's the rehearsal. That's where they practice listening to themselves, trusting their hands, making something real out of the chaos.
The art holds what words can't reach. And the body shows us the way there..
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About the Author
Gal is an autistic artist, late-diagnosed at 49, and the creator of AuRTistic Expressions—a space where neurodivergent truth meets creative survival. Through books, blog posts, printables, and coaching, Gal explores what it means to unmask safely, communicate authentically, and make art that doesn’t ask for permission. Stick around—there’s plenty more where this came from.
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Cover Photo by Anima Visual on Unsplash
