What Happens When Animals Take the Brush: Exploring Their Creative Minds and the Great Animal Art Debate

“No work of art should, in the course of its creation, cause physical or psychological pain, suffering or distress to an animal.” This ambitious requirement, published by the College Art Association, marks how far the debate over animal art has progressed and how much more it is going to progress. For animal lovers and art enthusiasts, the question isn’t just whether animals can create art, but what’s really happening in those moments when a pig, parrot, or chimp picks up a brush.

Let’s start with the story of Pigcasso, the world’s most famous painting pig. When Joanne Lefson initially gave her a brush, Pigcasso didn’t merely dip in she plunged in, whirling colors onto the canvas with what Lefson calls “enthusiasm.” As time went on, Pigcasso’s technique became more sophisticated, evidence of her artistic mind. “I never taught the pig to paint. I only taught her to pick up a brush and to move it onto the canvas,” Lefson said in an interview recently. This method providing animals with tools and allowing them to call the shots has been a defining feature of ethical animal art, where the emphasis is on freestyle expression and enrichment and not performance.

So, what’s happening in an animal’s head when they’re in creative mode? Lefson observed that both Pigcasso and her protégé, Baansky the ram, painted in different moods. Pigcasso sometimes painted fast and dramatically, and sometimes slow and streakily. “They always knew that they could stop and leave the painting area whenever they wanted to as there are no confined space. On every occasion, it was usually I who wanted to make them stop otherwise they would have kept on painting.” This is consistent with findings by scientists among the primates: there are some chimpanzees who will continue drawing even in the absence of food rewards, indicating that the activity itself is self-rewarding for the animal.

The question of animal creativity is not merely about enrichment, however it is about authorship and agency. Should we consider animals the true authors of their work? Or are humans, who provide the materials and context, the real artists? The now-famous case of Naruto the macaque, who snapped a viral selfie, ended up in court when PETA argued the monkey deserved copyright. The judge disagreed, but the case sparked a global conversation about animal agency and legal rights in creative acts.

Scientific studies have established that numerous animals manifest intentionality and even aesthetic sense. Bowerbirds, for instance, carefully craft items according to size and color to entice mates, engaging in decoration choices involving “trials and ‘changes of mind,'” as UCLA’s Jared Diamond noted. Each bird has its own distinct bower shaped by individual taste and learned from observation a clear indication of cultural transmission and personal style in animal art.

Chimps such as Congo, who produced more than 400 paintings, were demonstrating intention and coherence in what they produced. If his painting was removed before he was done, he’d protest; if he finished it, he’d stop working. His works have even sold for more than paintings by renowned human artists in auctions, prompting questions about what value we attribute to nonhuman art.

Of course, not all animal art is equal or even ethical. Others criticize instances of elephants being taught to paint for tourist performances under dubious circumstances. As Ian Redmond, OBE, wrote, If the animal artist is in a sanctuary or rehab centre with free choice, and chooses to use non-toxic materials provided for enrichment, why not sell the result to help fund the sanctuary? If it is a situation where the animal has been acquired to entertain tourists and is painting on command, of course I’d oppose it strongly.

The ethical line, then, seems to rest on choice, welfare, and intent. Annette Lanjouw of the Arcus Foundation weighs in, too: As long as they paint of their own volition and because they want to…and can stop without any loss of benefits or treats…then I think it is without harm and maybe even very enjoyable for them. The Jane Goodall Institute concurs, calling painting a wonderful enrichment activity, even a kind of therapy, especially for those who may be confined due to injury or some other factor.

So what does this have to do with animal welfare and audience connection? For most sanctuaries and zoos, art has become an enrichment tool, preventing boredom and stimulating natural behaviors. Although one study of zoo elephants found no quantifiable decrease in stress through the act of painting, keepers and researchers both have noticed that the process of creating can be stimulating for the mind and fulfilling for the spirit of some animals (BBC Future).

There is also an emerging movement to acknowledge animal art as a means to bridge people with the internal lives of nonhumans. “The more people who can see the art, the more that can make a connection to the artist and to appreciate their intuitive creativity and intelligence,” Lefson says. This transformation is part of a larger “animal turn” in art and scholarship, in which animals are recognized not simply as objects or symbols, but as agents, feeling beings, and creatives (NPR).

Behind the scenes, scientists are going deeper into animal cognition, play, and culture. Research indicates that animals such as prairie dogs create new calls for new objects, cuttlefish employ innovative mimicry, and beavers modify their dam construction to suit local environments indicators that creativity is common and varied among species (EcoLit Books). Carol Gigliotti, author of The Creative Lives of Animals, suggests that “creativity means a dynamic process in which novel and meaningful behaviors are generated.” For her, process is as important as outcome.

Art therapy and enrichment activities in sanctuaries and zoos today reflect this knowledge. Activities are constructed to allow animals to explore, play, and express themselves, be it in painting, puzzle feeders, or new toys. The principle is to respect each animal’s uniqueness and agency so that participation is always voluntary and healthy.

The issue of authorship and ownership remains, particularly as technology dissolves the boundaries of human, animal, and even AI creativity. Others posit a continuum of authorship, acknowledging levels of intention and awareness between species and systems (Nature). While the art world and the law are struggling to make sense of these issues, one thing is certain: animal art is more than mere novelty. It is a glimpse into the minds, temperaments, and artistic souls of the creatures with whom we share our planet.

For animal and art lovers, these paintings are more than strokes of a brush they’re bridges, opening us up to see and appreciate nonhuman existence in its varied, expressive richness.