By Micheline Robinson
When Will walked into his high school art classroom as a 16-year-old student, he carried more than a sketchbook. He carried the weight of a home fracturing under his parents’ divorce. The shouting matches had faded, and he was now living with his dad, but the constant tug-of-war over his loyalty left him feeling like a rope fraying at both ends.
Will’s grades were plummeting and his mental health was suffering. However, in the quiet sanctuary of his school’s art classrooms, he found a lifeline, and one now that may be eventually at risk as New Zealand’s education system reshapes how students engage with art.
Art history, a key component of the curriculum, plays a surprising role in the mental health of our students.
Learning about Frida Kahlo, whose vivid self-portraits transform pain into beauty, teaches that you can turn brokenness into power. Edvard Munch’s The Scream validates anguish, capturing the anxiety of a rapidly modernizing world—a feeling that echoes across time to each and every one of us. Te Manaia Jennings, whose vibrant paintings and public advocacy directly address mental health themes, helps students with mental health challenges by encouraging creative expression of emotions, reducing stigma and isolation.
The study of art history demonstrates that every generation has its voice, channelling their era’s triumphs and turmoil into works that speak to others, making us feel less alone.
Numerous studies, including the 2023 study from the American Psychological Association found that creative expression, including visual art, reduces cortisol levels and improves mood in stressed adolescents. The art room can be a nonjudgmental space where one can process emotions without words. Understanding the social context helps students place their own creations in a continuum, recognising their struggles as part of a shared human story.
A combined curriculum might make art more accessible, especially for those who don’t see themselves as historians, however, I share the concerns of educators and some editors, who fear this integration could water down art history’s depth by reducing it to a few token lessons. Worse, it might signal a broader deprioritisation of the arts, as STEM-focused policies often overshadow creative subjects.
The arts contribute significantly to New Zealand’s economy and culture, and the global impact of our film and design industries is substantial.
Diluting art history risks losing the critical lens it provides, one that helps us understand our own creations and place in the world.
For many, art isn’t just a class—it’s a lifeline. The latest UNICEF Innocenti Report Card underscores a troubling decline in the mental well-being of young people in Aotearoa New Zealand, making creative outlets like art more essential than ever. If the integration of art history into Visual Arts is done thoughtfully by preserving the depth of historical study alongside practical creation, it could empower more students to find healing through art. But if it’s a half-hearted merge, as skeptics fear, we risk robbing students of a tool that can guide them through personal storms. For those caught in chaos, art and its history together offer a beacon. Let’s ensure that light doesn’t dim…