Yaldei :: Picture Talking Therapy

Picture Talking Therapy

So many families who come through our doors share the same frustration and sense of hopelessness in regards to their child’s lack of speech: “if only I could find a way to reach him – if only I knew what was going on in his head…” These families of non verbal children are constantly searching for the tools that will enable them to connect with their children.

Picture Talking, now being piloted at Yaldei with very positive results, is an innovative new therapy that uses drawing as a means of communication. Many children with autism, global developmental delay and speech impairments think in pictures, rather than words. Too many words tend to confuse and frustrate them. They respond better to what they see and do than to what they hear.

Picture Talking takes full advantage of these children’s visual minds by teaching them how to communicate through the language of drawing and other forms of creative visuals. The ultimate goals of Picture Talking are to:

This demonstration of emotion while both of us were so upset would have never occurred if Ellis would have had to find the appropriate words to convey his full understanding of the situation.

These drawings illustrate Ellis’ empathy towards me, his understanding of consequences and his ability to ascribe the correct emotions in a given situation.

It’s time to eat. Dinner is simmering and I tell myself that it’s about time Ellis helps me. I don’t care if he has autism; he is a bright kid, if somewhat ungrounded. I have lost count of how many times I have asked Ellis to help me set the table. I started by asking him to get two plates, two cups, and a set of forks and knives and put them onto the table. That was years ago when he had just turned five.

Now I know better. I ask Ellis for only one knife and one fork. I speak slowly. I use the fewest number of words I can; “Ellis. Get... one fork. One knife”. Using one hand, I point to the fingers on the other to further clarify my words. Ellis is listening. I know he is. Ellis turns to the utensil drawer and stops half way. He is confused. I walk up to him and try again. “One fork. One knife”. He stumbles towards the kitchen, still unsure of what I am asking and, grabbing hold of two spoons, he wanders around the room forgetting all about the table.

I know he understands my words. I know he wants to help. Why can’t he perform such a simple task?

I put the spoons back and try again. This time I escort Ellis to a Little Tyke’s chalkboard set up in the middle of the living room. I draw a rudimentary fork and knife. It takes me 3, maybe 4, seconds to sketch. Ellis watches and is uncharacteristically engaged. I point to the rough drawing and say again, “Ellis, get fork. Get knife”. I watch in amazement as Ellis makes a beeline to the kitchen, grabs his fork and knife, walks up to the chalk board, matches the utensils in his hands to the drawing and, in a gesture of utter authority, slaps them onto the table. I am speechless. It is like watching the Berlin wall crack.

That was when it hit me. Ellis thinks in pictures, not in words. My words simply confused him and caused him to retreat further into the safety of his own predictable, ordered world. I began to understand how Ellis was cut off from the world by his inability to understand and control his environment.

Drawing became the bridge in our relationship. I drew to give meaning to every detail in Ellis’ life. I was able to explain to Ellis the reasons why I was happy, sad or angry. Instead of simply telling Ellis not to cross the street, I could explain in a drawing why it was dangerous. I drew to demonstrate to Ellis what I wanted him to do next. I drew to recall a funny event that we had just witnessed. Slowly but surely I began to bring Ellis into my world. My goal was to show Ellis everything he was missing out on so that one day he would choose to embrace life. Life had much more meaning and he was gaining confidence. So was I.

The changes in him were remarkable. His crippling tantrums decreased by more than half because he understood me more often and even in public I was able to communicate effectively with quick sketches on whatever paper was available.

Then one day, Ellis floored me yet again. During a therapy session I drew a picture of me and Ellis jumping on a trampoline, Ellis on one leg. I took his hand to lead him to the trampoline but Ellis had other ideas. He walked to the chalkboard and added his other leg. He wanted to jump on two feet. Ellis had drawn back. It was a wonderful moment.

Ellis was on a role. One morning while making breakfast, in a spectacular feat of mess making proficiency, Ellis managed to destroy a whole box of eggs. It was 6 am, I was hungry, tired and had eggs dripping down my walls, soaking into my carpets, and even oozing into my cutlery drawer. In retrospect, I must say that it was quite an accomplished mess. Poor Ellis was unable to help me. He wasn’t even able to say he was sorry. So I cleaned up as Ellis ran to his room feeling terrible.

Fifteen minutes later I realized Ellis had been quiet the whole time I was cleaning up. Naturally, I assumed the worst. Ellis was never quiet on his own. I ran to his bedroom and melted when I witnessed him drawing broken eggs on his chalkboard. When I entered the room, he turned to me, pointed to each egg and said “craaaack, uh oh, broken.”

If our Berlin wall cracked through my efforts to draw to Ellis, it crumbled once he showed the world he could draw back.

The drawings that followed were nothing short of astonishing. All the truths that I took for granted about autism, and by extension Ellis, (ie antisocial, uncreative, rigid and the need for extreme predictability to get by) were challenged through his picture conversations. He not only proved that he had inherent capacities for flexible, non-linear thinking, but that these dynamic qualities defined who Ellis really is. Humour, irony, a desire to connect to others and even empathy are abundant in Ellis’ drawings.

What I witnessed was the awakening of the little boy suffocating under his autism. Each time Ellis drew a revealing drawing, it felt like I was meeting him for the first time, over and over again. Even after all these years of picture talking I still feel privileged to make the acquaintance of the wonderfully funny, quirky, boy who is my son.