Introduction 

“Oh, it looks like a man burping flowers,” a student exclaimed, eyes fixed on Tau Lewis’ strikingly beautiful piece in the Making Their Mark exhibition at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive (BAMPFA). The work, Saint Mozelle in the Aphid Orgy, is a hand-stitched, freestanding textile sculpture—bold, majestic, and wide open to interpretation. The child’s comment, delivered in pure awe, responded to the large, enigmatic face that loomed from the wall. 

Another child chimed in, “It looks like the person is slurping up noodles.” Laughter followed. 

“No,” corrected another, “they’re burping out the noodles!” 

And so it went. We stood together—children and adults alike—translating what we saw into what we knew: noodles, burping, flowers, a person, a man. This was the rhythm of most tours. The debates were rarely settled, but every perspective led us somewhere familiar—into the worlds of their own making. 

As an educator and artist, I found these conversations refreshing—sometimes humorous, always illuminating, and often challenging. Children don’t just see art; they feel it. They interpret it

through their imaginations, shaped by their everyday experiences. My role wasn’t to correct their interpretations but to guide them—to create space for their meaning-making to unfold. 

This reflection explores my experience as an education and research intern at BAMPFA over two semesters. Drawing from personal notes, tour observations during the Making Their Mark exhibition, and conversations with brilliant colleagues, this reflection is a case study on how children engage with art—differently than adults, but no less deeply. They connect, question, imagine, and sometimes walk away puzzled—but that too is part of the wonder. 

The students I worked with, ranging from 2nd to 4th grade, came from schools within the Berkeley Unified and West Contra Costa Unified School Districts. Their insights, questions, and laughter shaped not only our tours but also my understanding of what it means to see art through a child’s eyes. 

 

Museums Through the Eyes of a Child – Visual Thinking Strategy 

As a pedagogical approach to teaching and learning through art, I implemented Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS) to enhance students’ abilities to describe, analyze, and interpret images by closely observing and discussing visual art (Nolan, 2023). The core questions of the technique are designed to spark imagination and invite meaning-making in whatever way they are framed: 

• What do you see? 
• What is going on in this picture? 
• What do you see that makes you say that? 

These questions open space for dialogue. Sometimes, one question leads to an endless stream of interpretations—a Pandora’s box that refuses to close. Other times, students from different schools and backgrounds surprisingly arrive at the same answer. 

For the Making Their Mark exhibition, we opened our tour with Cecily Brown’s towering piece, The Demon Menagerie. At eight feet tall, it immediately drew reactions. The first sound I heard as we entered the room was a collective, “Wow.” The painting seemed to stare back at the students, inviting them into its world. Brown once said of her work, “I want them to be troubling. They depend on what the viewer brings to them” (Godfrey et al., 2023, p. 310). 

The piece references the motif “The Concert of the Birds,” in which various bird species perch among trees. When asked, “What do you see?”, the children gave answers that surprised even me:

“A stick. Oh, I see a long stick in the middle.” 

“No, I see a stick and there’s a man on top of it.” 

“That’s not a man… hmm. It’s like an alien, sucking the life force from everything around it.” 

And with that, the painting seemed to shift into what was being describedspoken. Then came more: a monkey, a dolphin, bananas, a waterfall, the sky. The list kept growing—until, gently, I had to “close the box.” Despite differing views of the abstract painting, nearly all students agreed it represented nature, interpreted through vivid, energetic brushstrokes and jarring colors. 

The second VTS question, “What is going on in this piece?”, offered an entry point into more complex abstract works, such as those by Joan Mitchell. Her untitled nine-foot painting, spread across two canvases, often left students marveling at its energy and scale. First, they noticed the division: “It’s like the artist painted the same thing on two canvases, then flipped one upside down to make it look different.” 

Other responses followed: 

“It looks like a butterfly,” one said, pointing to the purple center as the body and the yellow as the wings. 

“Now it looks like a bouquet—see, the green drips are the stems and the yellow is the flower.” “No, I think it’s a lion walking across the two canvases.” 

These conversations were not just about shapes and colors—they became lessons in perception, in metaphor, in attention. As students discussed what was happening, they began noticing brushstroke techniques, layers of paint, and how texture changed across the canvas. They were not just seeing—they were investigating. 

The final questions—“What do you see that makes you say that?” and “What has the artist done to show us this?”—held students accountable for their interpretations by asking them to cite visual evidence. 

This was especially powerful during our viewing of Save the Babies by Elizabeth Talford Scott and a nearby piece, Harriet Quilt, by her daughter Joyce J. Scott. Displayed side by side, the materials contrasted strikingly. 

“Well, they’re both quilts,” said one student, “but one is made of beads and the other is made of fabric.” 

Another added, “I think the other one has sequins on it,” pointing to Save the Babies. 

To the students, these works were not just artworks—they were maps, cups, hearts. They dug deep into shape, pattern, and material to “prove” what they saw, developing visual literacy in real time.

 

The Role of the Museum as Space 

Our tours always began with circle time. This was a moment to ground the students before entering the gallery. During circle time, we shared the ground rules—using inside voices, respecting others’ opinions, and keeping two arms’ length from the artwork. Though simple, these reminders set the tone for the tour. 

I believe beginning with this kind of conversation is essential. It’s a way of saying to the students: You belong here, and your thoughts about the art matter. Museums can feel intimidating, even to adults. Their quietness often acts as a silent cue to stay silent, to tread carefully. But to children, still learning how to carry themselves in formal spaces, that silence can be confusing—or ignored altogether. 

Historically, museums weren’t created with children in mind (Schofield-Bodt, 1987). And though museums have evolved, many still carry an atmosphere of stillness and seriousness that can feel out of sync with a child’s natural energy and curiosity. 

That’s why starting with circle time is more than just a routine–t’s an invitation to be present. It creates spacefor students to ask questions, share ideas, and be themselves. It’s a quiet acknowledgment that they are not visitors to someone else’s world, but participants in a shared experience. 

 

The Role of the Educator – Facilitator of Wonder 

My pedagogical approach is also deeply rooted in bell hooks’ concept of the classroom as a place of pleasure, where learning brings excitement and joy (hooks, 1994). In museum education this means guiding children through moments of curiosity and awe while encouraging them to express their perspectives openly.. The goal isn’t just to teach children about art but to give them a meaningful and memorable museum experience. 

Even when I wasn’t the lead educator I saw facilitating wonder part of my responsibility.. And by wonder, I mean honoring every student’s contribution—no matter how off-track or unusual it might seem. Simple affirmations like “Tell me more,” “Wow, that’s so interesting,” or “Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that,” go a long way in making a child feel seen and valued. 

Of course, the role also comes with challenges. Sometimes students ask questions like, “When did the artist die?” or “Why did they paint it that way?” And you won’t always have the answers. But facilitating wonder doesn’t mean knowing everything—it often means creating space for curiosity to flourish.. In those moments, I learned to work with colleagues to model a spirit of learning alongside the children. 

Facilitating wonder also requires active listening and attunement to the energy in the room. This isn’t always easy. There are days when you’re tired or distracted, but children follow your lead. If they sense that you’re not genuinely excited about the art, they might mirror that disinterest. Enthusiasm is contagious—and so is apathy. 

 

Children as Critics 

“I think the artist just sort of splashed paint on the canvas,” one student said bluntly while observing Cecily Brown’s work. Another chimed in, describing a different piece: “You know, it looks like a french fry that was painted green and stepped on.” That sculpture—Little Island / Gut Punch—was created through digital 3D modeling processes, including collision simulation (Godfrey et al., 2023, p. 404). The critique may not have been technical, but it was honest, imaginative, and uniquely their own. 

Children are bold and unfiltered in their observations. Sometimes their interpretations are humorous, and other times strikingly insightful. Take, for instance, their reaction to Sarah Sze’s Crisscross, a complex multimedia installation that became a favorite stop on the museum walk. A central theme of Sze’s work is the exploration of how today’s digital era contrasts with earlier epochs (Godfrey et al., 2023, p. 315). Students often called the piece “a glitch” or “a broken TV.” Some noticed a bird flying through the scene in a descending pattern—something many adults might miss entirely. Their interpretations were rich with metaphor and layered meaning, even if they lacked formal terminology. 

Still, not every student was an outspoken critic. Some were quiet throughout the tour, taking it all in.This led us to create opportunities for smaller group discussions, especially during what we called “exploration time.” This was a guided free-range period where students, in small groups with their chaperones, were invited to explore the gallery on their own terms. They were given laminated adjective sheets—not as strict guides, but as gentle prompts to support observation. 

This became one of my favorite parts of the tour. Students who seemed reluctant to contribute in large groups discovered their voice in smaller circles.. The gallery would come alive with soft laughter, excited whispers, and bursts of insight. It was during these moments that children truly became critics—curious, expressive, and engaged. 

Their critiques reminded us that art is not only about expertise but about experience. Children might not use art or museum terminology, but they bring something else: wonder, honesty, and a unique lens that often reveals more than theory ever could.

 

Conclusion 

“I’m going to be a judge,” a student declared proudly at the end of our final museum session, stretching across the floor with crayons and pencil in hand during our Art Making Session. 

“I’ll remind you one day, when you’re a judge, that I once led a museum tour for your class,” I said, smiling. 

“Are you even going to remember me?” 

“How could I ever forget a judge?” 

That moment stayed with me—not just because of its sweetness, but because it captured the essence of what it means for a child to feel seen in a space that wasn’t originally built with them in mind. When children see art, they don’t just see it—they feel it, inhabit it, transform it. They relate it to their world: to noodles and aliens, birds and bouquets, memories and dreams. In doing so, they make the museum their own. 

Museums can be places of stillness and silence, but they are also places of imagination, joy, and revelation—especially for children. If we let them, children will show us new ways of seeing. My hope is that this reflection invites educators, curators, and parents to listen more carefully to what children see and say in these spaces. 

So, what do children see in a museum? 

They see colors and shapes. 

They see stories and symbols. 

They see themselves. 

They see possibilities. 

And sometimes, they see french fries and lions. 

And that, too, is enough.

References 

Godfrey, M., Siegel, K., Belasco, D., Adamson, G., Bell, K., Brown, J. B., & Sutton, G. (2023). Making their mark: Art by women in the Shah Garg Collection. Gregory R. Miller & Co. 

Hooks, B. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom. Routledge. 

Nolan, S. (2023). Visual thinking strategies as a pedagogical tool: Initial expectations, applications, and perspectives in Denmark. Journal of Visual Literacy, 42(3), 210–227. https://doi.org/10.1080/1051144X.2023.2261222 

Schofield-Bodt, C. (1987). A history of children’s museums in the United States. Children’s Environments Quarterly, 4(1), 4–6. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41514609

 

Bio

Beulah Nimene is a Liberian writer, storyteller, and award-winning poet pursuing a master’s degree at the University of California, Berkeley, Graduate School of Education. She is an education intern at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, where she leads tours for young students and explores best practices for teaching art to children. With seven years of teaching experience and a background in policy and program management, Beulah’s work bridges education, art, and advocacy. Her research focuses on African students in U.S. higher education, reflecting her commitment to equity, empowerment, and transformative learning.