A welcoming art room gives students the confidence to create self-portraits that reveal their artistic growth and change how they see themselves.

Raine Dawn Valentine

Over the years, Iʼve heard students say, “I wish I could stay in here all day.” Teachers linger in the doorway saying they donʼt want to leave, and parents tell me they wish they could take my art class too. Some might think they were responding to the atmosphere, but I know they were responding to something deeper… the energy. They were responding to how the room made them feel.

That realization changed the way I think about teaching. I stopped asking myself how I could create an inspiring classroom and began asking how I wanted students to feel when they walked through the door. Every choice I make—from the lighting to the layout of the room—is my way of answering that question before I ever say a word.

As artists, we understand that every creative decision communicates something. Color creates mood. Composition guides the eye. Light changes perception. Our classrooms do the same. Long before instruction begins, they communicate what we believe about the young people who enter them. I hope mine says, You belong here.

That sense of belonging becomes especially important during one of the most vulnerable projects we complete all year: self-portraits.

Every year, when I announce the project, I hear the same responses:

“I canʼt draw faces.”

“Mine is going to look terrible.”

Middle-school students are still discovering who they are, and asking them to study their own reflection can make them feel incredibly vulnerable. Instead of beginning with demonstrations or expectations of perfection, I hand each student a mirror and ask them to simply draw what they see. Their first self-portrait isnʼt graded or corrected. Itʼs an honest starting point. Most laugh uncomfortably or make jokes about their drawings in the beginning.

Over the following weeks, we practice observation, proportion, and drawing from life. More importantly, we practice patience. Students begin looking more carefully, trusting the process, and recognizing that growth happens one drawing at a time. We discuss the importance of observation and the crossover from art to everyday life. The more we look, the more we see. Students create about four to five practice self-portraits before the final.

At the end of the unit, I lay out every self-portrait each student has created—from the very first attempt to the final drawing. Together, they tell a story that no grade ever could.

The room slowly quiets from groans and shifts to amazement. Someone inevitably says, “Wait... I drew that?” Soon, students are celebrating one another.

“Look how much youʼve improved.”

“That looks just like you.”

Those comments rarely come from me. They come from the students. Thatʼs the moment I wait for every year. Not because theyʼve mastered facial proportions, but because theyʼve begun seeing themselves differently. Their first drawing no longer represents who they are, it simply shows where they began.

Those moments have reinforced over and over that art is about far more than developing technical skill. While we often think of empathy as understanding another personʼs experience, Iʼve come to believe it begins somewhere closer to home. Before students can truly see others, they first need opportunities to see themselves—with honesty, curiosity, and compassion.

As students become more aware of their own growth, they naturally become more generous with the people around them. They celebrate one anotherʼs successes, encourage classmates who are struggling, and begin replacing comparison with curiosity. Self-awareness becomes empathy, and empathy creates belonging.

Every August, Iʼll still hang the lights, arrange the tables, and organize every paintbrush before students arrive. Those quiet rituals remind me that teaching begins long before the first lesson. Every choice communicates something about what we believe is possible for our students.

I hope my choices tell them they are welcome, that they are capable of growth, and that they are worthy of being seen. Because art has never been only about making something visible, it’s also about recognizing what has been there all along.

Raine Dawn Valentine is an award-winning art educator, artist, speaker, and associate professor at Notre Dame of Maryland University. An enrolled citizen of the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa Indians, she teaches middle school art and Holistic Art Education at Towson University. Raine is the recipient of the 2025 National Middle Level Art Educator of the Year award and the 2026 Eastern Region Art Educator and Middle Level Art Educator of the Year awards. Her work centers on belonging, empathy, creativity, and helping students discover their authentic voices through art. raine.dawn@gmail.com

The Art of Seeing: Cultivating Self-Awareness, Empathy, and Belonging