“My Four-Year-Old Could Do That”: What Childlike Simplicity Really Means in Art
If you’re an abstract or intuitive artist, you may have heard — or at least imagined — the familiar put-down: “My four-year-old could do better than that.” It’s a comment that circulates in social media, in galleries, and sometimes in conversations with people who don’t quite “get” abstraction.
To me, this phrase is interesting for at least two reasons.
The Challenge of Painting Like a Child
Pablo Picasso famously said: “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.” The point is not that children are great masters, but that there is something profoundly difficult about making art that feels spontaneous, unguarded, and fresh. A child’s drawing isn’t concerned with technique, proportion, or marketability. It’s free of the heavy weight of expectation. For adults, finding that freedom again can be a lifelong struggle.
Why Copying Isn’t the Same as Creating
It’s easy to dismiss a work that looks simple and say, “Anyone could do that.” But the real question is: Did you? Copying the marks of an abstract painting is far easier than conceiving them in the first place.
I know this firsthand. A couple of times over the years, clients have asked me to “redo” an existing work — perhaps to replicate a mixed-media piece in oils, or to enlarge something made on paper into a canvas. Each time, I’ve found it frustratingly difficult. Why? Because I wasn’t in the same state of inspiration. The original flowed with energy and enthusiasm; the replica felt laboured, uninspiring, and almost impossible to re-capture with the same spark. The freshness of the first gesture simply couldn’t be forced a second time.
That’s the hidden truth behind “simple” or “childlike” art: it’s not the execution that matters, it’s the originating impulse. Once the energy is gone, it’s nearly impossible to fake.
A Lesson From Art School
This is something I first experienced at art school. Monday to Thursday were reserved for tight, anatomically correct life drawings. We measured, shaded, corrected — all the discipline of learning to “draw properly.”
But Fridays were different. Fridays were everyone’s favourite day because it was play day. We were encouraged to let go — to bring coloured paper, crayons, pastels, whatever we had, and to make work without worrying about proportions or perfection.
The painting shown here came from one of those Fridays. It’s loose, exaggerated, almost childlike in its simplicity. And yet, it carries a kind of raw energy that was often missing from the careful, measured drawings of the week. That contrast stayed with me. It reminded me that looseness and immediacy are not signs of weakness in art — they are strengths. They are, in fact, the hardest things to hold onto as we train ourselves to be “serious” artists.
The Power of Simplicity
Consider a master like Mark Rothko. On the surface, his work appears to be just large blocks of color — easy to imitate, perhaps. But stand in front of a Rothko in person, as I have in New York museums, and you feel something different. The glowing layers, the subtle vibrations of hue, the sheer scale of the canvas — they hold a presence that is impossible to reproduce by simply “painting two rectangles.”
This is why abstraction, in its best form, is anything but childish. It’s deceptively simple, yet deeply challenging. The most powerful works may look like they were dashed off in a moment, but they carry with them years of practice, countless failures, and an artist’s unique energy that cannot be replicated.
Conclusion
So the next time you hear, “My child could do that,” remember Picasso’s words. Simplicity is not easy. Freedom is not easy. And originality — the act of creating something truly fresh — is perhaps the hardest thing of all.
