Teachers probably aren't the audience Austin Kleon had in mind when he wrote Don't Call It Art.​

The book is marketed to artists, writers, musicians, and creators—people trying to stay curious and continue making meaningful work. But somewhere around the chapter on discovery, I realized I wasn't reading a creativity book anymore.

I was reading a book about learning.

More specifically, I was reading a book about everything we often get wrong in schools.

The irony is that Kleon rarely talks about classrooms. Instead, he tells stories about musicians, filmmakers, poets, and painters. Yet the principles underlying those stories line up remarkably well with decades of educational research.

That's what made the book stick with me.

It isn't offering teaching strategies.

It's describing the conditions under which people learn.

Discovery Lasts Longer Than Explanation

One passage immediately caught my attention because it echoed something I've wrestled with as an instructional coach.

Kleon quotes jazz pianist Bill Evans reflecting on how he taught.

His basic point is simple:

If you tell students too much, you rob them of the joy of discovering it for themselves.

That's almost word for word what Jean Piaget argued decades ago when he wrote:

That quote is often misunderstood. Piaget wasn't arguing against teaching. He wasn't suggesting we abandon instruction and simply let students figure everything out on their own.

He was making a subtler point.

Learning isn't something teachers deliver.

It's something learners construct.

Our job isn't to eliminate every struggle.

Our job is to design struggles worth having.

Unfortunately, schools often do the opposite.

We explain.

Then we explain again.

Then we provide guided notes.

Then an example.

Then another example.

Then a review guide.

Then a Kahoot.

Then a study guide.

By the time students finally encounter the problem themselves, we've already done most of the thinking for them.

They may remember the procedure.

They rarely remember the discovery.

Experts Forget What It Feels Like to Be Beginners

One of Kleon's recurring themes is that expertise can become a trap.

The more we know, the harder it becomes to imagine not knowing.

Anyone who has ever taught algebra has experienced this.

You solve an equation almost automatically because you've done it thousands of times.

Your students, meanwhile, are encountering ideas that feel completely foreign.

The danger isn't expertise itself.

The danger is forgetting what it felt like before expertise.

Great teachers never really lose their beginner's mind.

They remember confusion.

They anticipate misconceptions.

They leave room for exploration because they know understanding can't simply be transferred from one brain to another.

It has to be built.

Curiosity Is More Important Than Coverage

Schools reward completion.

Curiosity often gets squeezed out.

We race through pacing guides.

We finish units.

We prepare students for assessments.

Somewhere along the way, learning becomes synonymous with coverage.

Kleon's book quietly pushes against that mindset.

Throughout the book, he returns to play.

Experimentation.

Questions.

Wonder.

These aren't distractions from learning.

They're the engine of learning.

Children don't naturally separate work from curiosity.

Adults teach them to.

Nobody Knows Anything

One of my favorite chapters centers around screenwriter William Goldman's famous observation:

He was talking about Hollywood.

No one can reliably predict which movie will succeed.

But I couldn't help thinking about education.

Teachers often assume someone, somewhere, has finally discovered the perfect instructional strategy.

District leaders chase the newest initiative.

Consultants package certainty.

Publishers promise transformation.

The truth is less glamorous.

Teaching has always been a profession of informed experimentation.

We use evidence.

We refine our practice.

We observe.

We adjust.

We try again.

The best educators I know aren't the ones who claim certainty.

They're the ones who remain curious.

Maybe We Should Stop Calling It Teaching

Kleon's title is provocative.

Don't Call It Art.

The point isn't that art doesn't exist.

The point is that labels create pressure.

Calling something "Art" often makes us too afraid to actually make it.

I wonder if education suffers from something similar.

Maybe we spend too much time trying to look like teachers.

Delivering information.

Maintaining control.

Following scripts.

Covering content.

Perhaps our work would improve if we spent less time performing teaching and more time designing learning.

Those aren't always the same thing.

The Book Isn't Really About Creativity

By the time I finished Don't Call It Art, I realized I hadn't learned much about becoming an artist.

I had learned something more valuable.

Curiosity isn't the beginning of learning.

Curiosity is learning.

Every meaningful educational framework I've encountered—from Piaget to Papert, from inquiry learning to constructionism, from productive struggle to modern learning sciences—points toward the same conclusion.

People don't remember what we tell them.

They remember what they discover.

Austin Kleon may have written a book for creators.

But teachers might be the ones who need it most.

What I'm Wondering

One of the things I love most about reading is discovering ideas I would have never found if I'd stayed in my own field.

So I'd love to hear from you:

What's a book that changed the way you think about teaching—even if it wasn't written for educators?

Just hit reply. I'm always looking for my next great read.