I Chose the Classroom, and History Took Its Own Course

A life in art, memory, and influence

— Yeh Chi Wei

I have often been asked a question that arrives quietly, almost apologetically:

“If you had not become a teacher, would your name today stand alongside Liu Kang, Chen Chong Swee, Chen Wen Hsi, or Cheong Soo Pieng?”

I have never answered this directly.Perhaps because it is not a question that belongs to me alone.

I began, as many artists of my generation did, with drawing before knowing what art would become in this part of the world. In the early years, there were few institutions, fewer exhibitions, and no clear notion of what it meant to be a “Singapore artist.” We painted because we had to. We learned by observing, by travelling, by sketching tirelessly from life.

My contemporaries — Liu Kang, Chen Chong Swee, Chen Wen Hsi, and Cheong Soo Pieng — each forged paths that later came to define what is now recognised as Singapore’s pioneer art movement. Their contributions were monumental, and history has rightly preserved their names.

Had I chosen differently — had I devoted my life entirely to exhibitions, travel, and self-promotion — perhaps my name might today be spoken in the same breath. I possessed the same discipline, the same urgency to observe, the same commitment to the language of ink and form.

But life does not unfold through hypotheticals.

The Choice to Teach

When I accepted the responsibility of teaching art at Chung Cheng High School and later Chung Hwa High School, it was not a retreat from art. It was, to me, an extension of it.

Teaching demanded a different kind of clarity.To explain composition, one must understand it deeply.To guide observation, one must observe relentlessly.To nurture creativity, one must respect individuality.

The classroom became another studio — one filled not with canvases, but with young minds.

Students Who Carried the Torch Further

Over the years, many students passed through my classroom. Some would go on to pursue other professions. A few, however, continued with art — quietly at first, then with growing conviction.

Among them was Lim Tze Peng, whose dedication to calligraphy and ink painting later achieved extraordinary depth and recognition. His ability to merge tradition with lived experience was something I observed early on — not taught, but encouraged.

Another was Choo Keng Kwang, whose sensitivity to form and discipline of practice reflected a seriousness that could not be manufactured.

There were others — in Singapore and Malaysia — who did not always become household names, but who carried forward an approach to art grounded in observation, integrity, and respect for craft. Some became educators themselves. Some became quiet practitioners. All became part of a lineage.

Influence Is Not Always Visible

Influence does not announce itself.It reveals itself decades later — in brushstrokes, in attitudes, in the way artists speak about their work.

My influence was never about style. I did not ask students to paint like me. I asked them to see — to measure proportions carefully, to understand structure before expression, to respect both Chinese tradition and the realities of Southeast Asian life.

If my students achieved more visibility than I did, then perhaps the choice to teach was not a sacrifice, but a redistribution.

Reputation, Reconsidered

History often favours those who produce the most visible milestones — landmark exhibitions, international exposure, institutional collections. I do not dispute this. My contemporaries earned their recognition.

Yet reputation can also be measured differently.

Not only by how many works are collected, but by how many hands are steadied, how many eyes are trained, how many voices are allowed to develop without imitation.

If my name is spoken less often, but echoes quietly through the work of others, then I accept that form of presence.

Looking Back

Today, when I see former students still painting, still questioning, still committed to the discipline of art, I find no regret.

I did not disappear into teaching.I multiplied through it.

And perhaps that, too, is a way of belonging to history.

Editor’s Note

Yeh Chi Wei’s legacy lies not only in his own artistic practice, but in the generations of artists he shaped through education. His influence forms an essential, though often understated, pillar of Singapore’s art history.