The Monster on the Page: Why Your “Bad” Art Is the Key to Better Mental Health

By Pamela Hayes Malkoff 

Introduction: The Middle School Curse

In my decades as a board-certified art therapist, I’ve com

e to believe that most of us carry a quiet creative wound from childhood. Around age eleven—what I often call the “Middle School Curse” something shifts. We stop playing freely with color and form and start judging ourselves against an impossible standard of realism or perfection.

For many people, it only takes one offhand comment from a teacher, parent, or peer “That doesn’t look right” to shut the creative door for good. By middle school, countless kids have already internalized the belief that they are “not the creative type.”

I hear this constantly in my office and in workshops: “I can’t even draw a stick person.” But here’s the paradox I love to share...that perceived lack of talent is actually your greatest asset.

Art therapy is not about producing something beautiful. It is a way of speaking directly to the subconscious, and it requires little technical skill, and skill can be learned. In fact, the less you know about “good” art, the more easily you can bypass your logical mind and access deeper truth.

(Listen to full interview at: https://soundcloud.com/voices-of-esalen/pamela-hayes-malkoff-art-therapy-and-the-power-of-the-creative-process )

Your Subconscious Speaks a Different Language

Art is its own language. One that lives outside words. Many of us struggle to articulate complex emotions like anxiety, grief, or shame, but our subconscious communicates fluently through color, shape, and movement.

I often prefer working with people who don’t identify as artists. Their work tends to be raw, honest, and unfiltered. Trained artists can sometimes get caught up in composition or aesthetics; beginners are far more likely to let their inner world spill onto the page without censoring it.

In art therapy, the power is not in the finished product, it’s in the process. I’m less interested in what you draw than in how you draw it.

I pay attention to things like:

• The hesitation before the first mark

• The pressure of the crayon or paint

• Whether you erase, rip, or crumple the paper

• How you respond to certain smells, like crayons or Play-Doh, which might pull you back into childhood memories

Old-school interpretations, like assuming a droopy tree always means depression, miss the point. I look for the sensory texture of the experience.

Managing the “Ants” (Automatic Negative Thoughts)

In my Creative Cognitive Therapy approach, I blend the structure of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) with intuitive art-making. A core part of this work involves what I call “ANTs”—Automatic Negative Thoughts.

These are the quiet but relentless messages like:

• “I’m not good enough.

• “I’m going to fail.”

• “I don’t belong here.”

When we translate these thoughts into images, their emotional weight becomes lighter. I often guide people through a simple but powerful exercise:

Identification: First, you write down your specific negative thoughts.

Visualizing the Weight: If you have twelve ANTs, you draw yourself carrying twelve objects. Perhaps in a heavy backpack or stacked precariously on your head. Suddenly, it becomes obvious why you feel stuck: you’re literally weighed down by your own inner critic.

The Release: In later drawings, you decide which of those burdens you are ready to set down.

The Ground Line: Before moving forward, I ask you to draw a solid ground line across the page. This represents stability, your foundation.

Planting Intentions: Finally, you draw new intentions taking root. Trees, flowers, or bushes growing from that ground. These symbolize healthier beliefs and behaviors you want to cultivate.

The 8.5 x 11 “Monster”

One of the greatest challenges in healing is that our struggles often feel limitless. To counter this, I use a technique I call externalization. I invite people to “vomit” their difficult feelings onto the page in the form of a monster.

The brilliance of this exercise lies in the size of the paper: 8.5 x 11 inches.

When a fear lives only in your mind, it feels boundless. But once it’s drawn, it becomes contained on that paper. You can look at it, observe it, and even have a relationship with it, without being consumed by it. You are separate from it.

When you externalize your monster, your struggle no longer defines you. It becomes something you can witness rather than something that controls you.

As I often tell my clients: “If people can externalize their big emotions, they’re not quite as scary as when they’re in our heads.”

“Thank goodness you have a monster, too”

The most moving moment is always the big “reveal.”

When directed to draw their anxiety monster (or anger monster or addiction monster or sadness monster) someone who looks polished and put-together reveals a jagged, messy, “yucky” monster. And the entire group exhales in relief: because they are not alone. We all have monsters. If we let it it will eat away at your self esteem. But if we acknowledge it, talk to it and make it our ally, we can thrive.

The Physiological “Hack” for Safety

In my Creative Cognitive Therapy Method, I combine art and CBT therapy, because they are more powerful together than either alone. Like a Reese's cup.

One of the most profound aspects of art therapy is its effect on the body. Even while discussing painful or traumatic memories, the physical act of making art, moving a brush, blending colors, molding clay, naturally calms the nervous system. Heart rates slow. Shoulders drop. Breathing deepens.

This creates a new neurological association. The brain learns that it can revisit difficult topics while remaining safe and regulated. Over time, you are literally retraining your nervous system to tolerate discomfort without going into fight, flight, or freeze.

In other words, art becomes a bridge back to safety.

Community and Environment Contributes to the Healing

While individual therapy is powerful, my group workshops offer something uniquely transformative.

In my Creative retreats, the environment itself becomes part of the healing. People often gather sticks, leaves, and natural materials to incorporate into their creations, blurring the boundary between inner and outer worlds.

In that shared vulnerability—often filled with tears and laughter—people realize they are not alone. The isolation that feeds mental suffering begins to dissolve.

Conclusion: Beyond the Stick Figure

Art therapy may begin with something as simple as a stick figure, but it leads somewhere profound.

I often start clients with that very simple drawing. Then I ask them to add just one element. Something the stick person is holding. Then wearing, Then standing on… Before long, a whole world emerges on the page.

This is how the Middle School Curse is broken—one crayon at a time.

When we shrink our biggest fears down to the size of a single sheet of paper, we reclaim the mental space they once occupied.

So I’ll leave you with this call to action:

Draw your monster. See it separtae from yourself. Ask it what it wants. And tell that little fella that you love it, you know it's just trying to keep you safe, but you will not be controlled by it.