A child dips its fingers into colour — wet, trembling, and full of quiet promise — and something unspoken is set free. Along the walls of Savera Hotel, each painting reveals a chapter of personal expression. Here, art is not a lesson imposed but an instinct outpouring from an inner world. At the exhibition, A Brush With Art (ABWA), showcasing talents of neurodivergent artists, every piece speaks of a journey: a subtle evolution from chaos to calm, from anxiety to deliberate focus.
Mothers in the gallery stand not as bystanders but as witnesses, seeing beyond labels and diagnoses. They recognise that, for their children, creativity is a way to negotiate an often overwhelming world. “These children don’t need fixing,” explains Mala Chinnappa, co-facilitator of ABWA and mother to 21-year-old Megha. “They need us to truly see them.”
For many neurodivergent children, conventional communication — words, eye contact, social cues — feels like a foreign dialect. ABWA’s programme, running for nearly a decade, offers another lexicon — paint, clay, collage. “We don’t ask them to draw a cup or a cat. We let them feel,” shares Mala.
The results are visceral. Vaageesh, 22, once scribbled chaotic equations during sessions. Now, he layers hues in silent concentration. “He talks to himself less when he paints,” says his mother, Lakshmi. “The colours calm him.” For Dr Vasantha’s son, art became a salve for anxiety. “Alex used to press crayons so hard they’d snap. Now, he plans compositions — how textures interact, how light falls. It’s given him agency.”
Not all journeys are linear. Mala recalls a boy who’d lie on the floor, overwhelmed by construction noise outside. “We’d wait. Then, slowly, he’d reach for pastels. By the end, he’d be smiling.”
Access to art remains fraught with hurdles. Many families juggle therapy costs, school fees, and societal stigma. “Art used to be the last priority,” Mala admits. “Now, parents see its power — not just as therapy, but as identity.”
Dr Vasantha agrees to this and shares, “People assume non-verbal means unintelligent. But watch Alex mix colours — there’s genius in his choices.” The exhibition challenges such myths. At a preview show, seasoned artists marvelled at the pieces’ sophistication. “One said, ‘I wish I had their instinct for composition,’” Mala recalls.
Yet recognition isn’t the goal. “They paint for joy,” Lakshmi says. When Vaageesh’s work sold last year, he asked for chocolate, not applause. “But seeing his art displayed? That matters. It tells him he belongs.”
The Savera Hotel exhibition, spearheaded by managing director Nina Reddy aims to spark such belonging. Mala says that neurodiversity is a metaphor, “It isn’t separate from ‘normal’ life. It’s woven into it.” Nina underscores the ethos: “Inclusivity isn’t charity. It’s recognising that every voice — spoken or unspoken — adds beauty to our world.”
For Dr Vasantha, the display is a quiet revolution. “When people ask, ‘Did they (the kids) really make this?’ — yes, they did. And they’ll keep making it, with or without our approval.”
Where: The Piano, Hotel Savera, Chennai
When: Till April 13, 7.30 am-11.00 pm (Open during restaurant hours)
All proceeds from the exhibition goes directly to ABWA and the young talented artists