It was a warm, sticky afternoon in a small cafe in Kuching, Malaysia, far from my classroom back in Riverside, California. Just weeks earlier, I’d been sitting comfortably in South Hall, reading about Malaysia and Singapore and how these countries navigate the delicate dance
between tradition and modernity. At the time, I had pictured this balance in simple, abstract terms. But here, sitting across from Diana Roase, a local Batik artist, who spoke passionately about the struggle to preserve her craft in a fast-modernizing economy, the idea took on a more profound weight. She wasn’t just describing an idea; she was sharing her life. I began to see that, for many, holding onto tradition isn’t just a choice but a way to honor history while adapting to the demands of today. At that moment, I began to understand what it means to walk the line between past and present.
My days in Malaysia were filled with moments like this, each revealing how Malaysians grapple with their cultural identity in an evolving world. Wandering the lively streets of Georgetown, Penang’s historic heart, I admired the murals that decorated the walls of the Hin Bus Depot. This street art didn’t just embellish the area; it felt woven into the neighborhood’s spirit, reflecting the cultural richness and struggles of the people. These pieces were alive, telling stories of family and history, inviting every viewer to pause, reflect, and remember. This was art meant to reach out and include everyone—it was a shared history in paint, accessible and open.
In Singapore, the contrast was immediately clear. Standing in the sleek, minimalist spaces of the Singapore Art Museum, I could feel the difference in approach. Singapore’s art scene was more carefully curated, reflecting the country’s commitment to fostering culture as part of a larger, state-supported narrative. But even in this formal setting, I encountered works that spoke
volumes about the blend of tradition and transformation here. One exhibit that stayed with me was a short film documenting life in Tanglin Halt, one of Singapore’s oldest public housing neighborhoods, where memories, stories, and lives were interwoven with local birds—a metaphor for the community’s experience of being uprooted by redevelopment. This simple, beautiful film captured the suffering and resilience of residents coming to terms with their changing homes and the memories left behind. It reminded me that even in a highly modernized city, art can capture nostalgia and cultural connection to the past.
In one conversation at the Singapore Art Museum, a gallery worker told me how he had once studied art but eventually grew discouraged by the limited opportunities for independent expression. “Art here has no ‘tangible function,’” he said, noting that the focus on collective themes often overshadows more personal, experimental work. His story emphasized the complexity of creating art in a place where the lines between personal creativity and public purpose can be rigidly drawn.
Even within these boundaries, artists in Singapore find ways to tell their stories and challenge norms through metaphor, symbolism, and subtler storytelling. I found myself drawn to works that explored memory, community, and identity—especially those that reflected Singapore’s complex postcolonial past. Despite government oversight, Singapore’s art scene still carves out spaces for self-expression, with artists using metaphor and narrative to quietly explore social issues that might otherwise go unspoken.
As I reflected on my time in Malaysia and Singapore, I began to appreciate how art in these places captures the tension between preserving the past and adapting for the future. In California, art celebrates individual voices and the freedom to question norms. But in Malaysia and Singapore, art speaks to a collective memory, where stories of family, culture, and history are preserved and honored. The contrasts were striking, yet what united them was the power of art to communicate, preserve, and celebrate cultural identity.
Now that I’m back in California, those memories are still vivid. I often think of the Batik artist in Kuching, the gallery worker in Singapore, and the murals of Georgetown. Their stories remind me that art, whether celebrated or constrained, is more than mere expression—it is a bridge, a keeper of memories, a powerful witness to both the beauty and hardship of change. Through these experiences, I see now that art does more than entertain or inspire. It holds space for both the past and the future, an enduring testament to the resilience and spirit of its creators and the communities they represent.
—Olivia Genobaga, Class of 2026: Art