What Is Essential Is Invisible to The Eye

By Eliza Bellones

We like to talk about giving children what they need. Food, shelter, clothing – all necessary, of course – but too often, we overlook the things that allow them to grow, to imagine, to discover who they are. In the Philippines, art is often treated as a luxury. It is one of the first things to disappear when resources are limited. We tell ourselves it is practical to prioritize survival, that creativity can wait, that expression comes second. But art is not an accessory to development. It is part of it. It is through art, in its many forms, that children learn to see themselves as thinkers, creators, and makers of their own worlds.

I spent the better part of this Saturday teaching pottery with my friends to a group of orphans through the LifeChild Asia Foundation. At first, the language barrier felt real. Our Filipino was far from perfect, and almost all the children spoke only Filipino. But it didn’t matter; art proved to be its own language. With clay and paint in their hands, the children made anything they wanted: pink polka-dotted houses, green suns, animals with three legs. There was no use for guidelines or templates; they simply shaped whatever came to mind, laughed when it fell apart, and started again. Every piece was entirely theirs, every idea mattered.

Watching them, I realized how rare it is for children to have moments like these, where they can let their imagination run wild and make mistakes without fear. Opportunities like this shouldn’t feel exceptional. They should be ordinary. Every child should have the chance to create and see that what they make has value.

And yet, for so many children – especially in the Philippines – spaces like this are few and far between. Schools often prod children towards rote learning and measurable outcomes, with little room for exploration and experimentation. Public programs rarely offer art to young Filipinos, and when they do, it is often short-lived or dependent on volunteers and donations. Creativity has become a privilege, not a right; something reserved for those who already have the support and resources to dream.

This made me think about what childhood could look like if that weren’t the case. If every child were in an environment where they could imagine without inhibitions, how much more confident, curious, and capable would they become? How many ideas are never brought to fruition simply because children are not given the chance to explore?

The way the children shaped pink polka-dotted houses, green suns, and three-legged animals reminded me that art is so much more than clay or paint. It’s a lens through which children see themselves as thinkers and creators, not just recipients of aid or instruction.  Watching their freedom to explore reminded me of the role art has always played in my own life. As The Little Prince says, “What is essential is invisible to the eye.” For me, that captures exactly what art teaches: the curiosity to keep asking questions, the patience to keep trying, and the courage to take risks even when the outcome is uncertain. Art showed me that the most important growth often comes from nurturing these invisible essentials, from giving ourselves the freedom to imagine.

Every child deserves space to create freely; not just on weekends or as a special project, but as part of everyday life. They deserve the ability to explore, to fail, and to invent without boundaries. If we want children to do more than survive — to grow, to discover themselves as makers of their own lives — we must make art accessible. The lessons imagination teaches may be invisible to the eye, but they are no less essential.