Why Cognitive Scaffolding Is The Basis Of Art Therapy
Throughout history, some of the most intimate and moving art has emerged from the depths of human suffering. In such moments, artists managed to channel their pain to bring something value into the world: something beautiful, cathartic, and even cosmic in its magnitude. Perhaps without realizing it, these artists used their artwork not only to manifest their suffering and state of mind but also to make sense of it, and perhaps work through it. As Friedrich Nietzsche famously exclaimed:
“Creating — that is the great salvation from suffering, and life’s alleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed, and much transformation.”
Why is creating art during our darkest times so effective as a kind of therapy for the soul?
I believe cognitive science offers a clear explanation. For the artist, channeling suffering into a tangible form works so well because of what’s called cognitive scaffolding. This refers to the fact that human cognitive abilities (understood in the broad sense of encompassing all mental processes, including emotions, memories, and motivations) are not just dependent on internal neurological processes but are deeply intertwined with external resources. Thus, scaffolding refers to a causal relationship where environmental resources (scaffolds) support and enhance mental capacities (scaffolded).
Cognitive scaffolding comes from the often-debated field of extended mind hypothesis, pioneered by philosophers Andy Clark and David Chalmers, which posits that the tools and objects in our environment that we use reliably and consistently are actually part of our cognition. By delegating information to our environment, we extend our cognitive processes.
A classic example is using pen and paper to take a note of something valuable, which is a behavior that externalizes what would otherwise have to be remembered. If we have this note ready to be used, say in our pocket, it’s just like having a memory ready to be retrieved. If we lose the note because we are careless, it’s like forgetting the memory.
Seen in this context, for the artist, their artwork becomes their cognitive scaffold. As the artist creates, their mind reflects itself back through the artwork in an intimate, introspective way. Without this external tool — the painting, sculpture, or song — the artist would struggle to process their emotions, thoughts, and the complexities of their inner world.
The art acts as a continuous scaffold, allowing cognition to work more effectively. It enhances the artist’s ability to confront and process their suffering, helping them to work through their problems in a deeper, more meaningful way. The disarrangement inside their mind is channeled into a perhaps not-so-disarranged artwork that begins to show patterns, relationships, and meanings. It’s like talk therapy, where the therapist and our act of narration function as scaffolds that help us work through our confused suffering.
This explains why art created during times of anguish feels incredibly raw and intimate. Consider the works of Vincent van Gogh, Edvard Munch, or Frida Kahlo. Their art channeled their depressive and traumatic states, becoming a direct extension of their own cognition. As we admire their works, we are essentially confronting parts of their consciousness during those periods of suffering. We are therapists, evaluating their cases.
Importantly, it’s not just acute psychological suffering that art helps to make sense of. Many artists have used their craft to explore broader existential problems, spending years grappling with themes like death or faith. Michelangelo’s series of Pietà sculptures, especially the unfinished Rondanini Pietà, is a prime example. Created just before his death, it reflects his evolving faith in old age, showing Christ (or the artist himself) more resurrected than deposed from the cross. The same can be said for Leonard Cohen and David Bowie, whose final albums in 2016, created in the face of their impending death, are filled with existential conflict, spiritual doubt, and end-of-life reflection.
What these examples demonstrate is that, for artists (like for everyone else), their consciousness confined to their own body and brain isn’t enough to work through their struggles. They’ve developed a lifelong habit of channeling their confusion, suffering, and existentialism into their art. Their cognition has been wired this way through their lived experience and the many cognitive scaffolds they have continuously used to make sense of that experience.
But it’s not just artists. Many people feel that their life experiences — from anguish to ecstasy — are best expressed through creating something meaningful, valuable, and beautiful. This is why art therapy works. It allows someone to manifest their inner state in an external form through a form of participatory knowing. The cognition creates an artwork, which in turn shapes the cognition, providing immediate feedback and helping them open up and lose themselves in the process of creation. Through the act, they transform their experience and themselves in the most intimate participation possible.
