How the artist game opens every classroom door

If it is handled right, a short, carefully designed icebreaker can become the foundation that opens every other door in the semester, from participation and interaction to storytelling and inclusion. Over time, the artist game has become a foundational ritual that shapes the learning culture of the semester.

I’ll go first. 

After the usual administrative steps to start the session, I introduce myself to the class – not just as an academic but as a person. I show them photos – of Paris (my favourite city) and David Bowie (my favourite artist, and a reference that sometimes requires generational translation) – as well as sketches of an aeroplane (to share my love of travel) alongside a coffee cup with steam curling upwards (my daily cappuccino). My drawing is terrible. The students laugh.

When it’s their turn, students pair up and briefly share a passion or ambition with their partner. Each student then draws their partner’s passion – not their own – and when we reconvene, they introduce their partner to the class using the drawing as a visual aid. 

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What makes the artist game a strong icebreaker is not the drawing itself but the design principles behind it; it is low stakes, time limited, relational and structured. Students are not asked to demonstrate expertise or confidence; they are invited to share something human. Because each student both listens and speaks, participation is built directly into the task.

Effective icebreakers share these core features. They are also inclusive by design and clearly facilitated. Activities that reduce social threat while increasing structured peer interaction are more likely to increase students’ willingness to participate later in the semester. Arts-based and participatory tasks have been shown to increase psychological safety and reduce performance anxiety in culturally and linguistically diverse classrooms.

How the artist game turns action into classroom magic

Starting the artist game is simple. Students will find coloured markers and a sheet of paper for each person on their table. I explain the task and students pair up and start drawing. 

A surprising number share that their only passion is sleeping; others are devoted dog or cat lovers. Netflix enthusiasts might find themselves depicted as sprawled on a couch. Each picture sparks laughter, connection and recognition of the room’s diversity – cultural, gendered, sexual and personal.

When we reconvene, a roaming microphone helps the class to hear each introduction clearly, particularly in larger rooms, and I ask each student to stand before taking it. This tends to bring an immediate hush of attention from the room. For some, it is the first time they have spoken into a microphone, and it quickly becomes a small milestone in building confidence.

Students introduce their partner to the room – not to the lecturer – which helps shift the focus from the front of the classroom to the learning community itself. I deliberately stand at the far side of the room.

They hold up the artwork as a visual aid. The stories are brief: one name, one passion. Yet the shift in the room is immediate. Names are repeated, classmates applaud and the room quickly fills with energy.

Tips for practitioners: rituals of respect

1. Be explicit about naming the space as safe

This game is not a performance test; it is a safe learning space. We are here to support one another, not to judge. Before anything begins, I tell students that it’s OK to be nervous, to make mistakes and if your drawing “sucks”. My own rough sketches at the outset show that a stick figure is a success. Modelling imperfection creates humour and lowers anxiety. Naming safety upfront gives all students permission to participate imperfectly, particularly those navigating a new language, culture or academic environment.

2. Do all the class admin first

Begin the class with subject outlines, assessments and key dates. Then, while the atmosphere is still tense, introduce the artist game. It provides the perfect emotional release and prepares the room for deeper engagement later.

Put paper and coloured markers on tables before class so the room is ready for a shift in energy.

I deliberately make this the only substantial interactive activity in the first week. Its purpose is connection, not content mastery. If too many interactive tasks follow immediately, the icebreaker can feel transactional rather than foundational.

3. Embrace noise and silence

During the drawing phase, noise is not disruption; it is the sound of barriers falling. During introductions, protect silence. Pause if side conversations arise. Classes bigger than 40 require tighter facilitation and clearer time boundaries.

Sometimes I use music to regulate energy. Soft background music during drawing can ease hesitation. Slightly louder music signals that it is time to reconvene. These cues reduce the need for constant verbal instruction.

4. Lead the applause

Applaud the first pair, then each table. End the session with a standing ovation. Collective recognition dramatically boosts confidence, particularly in diverse classrooms.

Occasionally, a student – often from nerves – continues speaking at length once holding the microphone. In those moments, I gently thank them and begin clapping, signalling completion while preserving dignity. Gentle facilitation protects the group’s attention without embarrassing the speaker.

To keep the activity moving, I ask students to share only one defining passion or ambition. Occasionally, a student will begin with a longer biography of their partner – where they live, what they study or other background details – or mistakenly introduce themselves first. When that happens, I thank them, lead the applause and gently remind the class to keep introductions simple: one name and one defining passion, so everyone has time to participate. 

Why it works: shared connection and belonging

Like any participatory activity, the artist game requires clear facilitation. One challenge is managing the energy of the room once introductions begin, as students often continue chatting with their partner while others are presenting. I pause the room and reset attention before each introduction to ensure everyone is heard. Another challenge can be students feeling uncomfortable about drawing. I reassure them that artistic skill is irrelevant: simple symbols or even words are fine, and some students use images on their phones or tablets for inspiration.

The impact of this foundational activity emerges across the semester. Student reflections consistently describe a shift from early uncertainty to confidence, participation and belonging.

Drawing – even basic, uneven or what some might call a “bad” technique – shifts the dynamics of a classroom. It moves meaning away from language proficiency and verbal confidence into shared visual expression. Students are no longer performing English; they are making meaning together.

A simple drawing allows students who might otherwise remain silent to participate, be seen and be understood.

Natalie Cummins is a lecturer in the Business School at the University of Technology Sydney, Australia.