Perak-born artist's Chinese ink paintings on display in Bayan Lepas till June 1
The exhibition, titled 'Depicting the Beauty of Nature' features dozens of masterpieces created by the 86-year-old artist using expressive brushstrokes and delicate ink dabs.
While most are individual paintings, some come in a set.
The works, displayed throughout the Buddhist organisation's building, highlight Hon Peow's deep connection to Malaysia's natural beauty.
'The ink paintings are a blend of natural landscapes, native flora and local culture.
A 'guzheng' performance at the exhibition launch at the Soka Gakkai Malaysia branch in Bayan Lepas.
'I'm grateful to have the opportunity and platform to share my works with the public,' he said during the exhibition's launch by Human Resources Minister Steven Sim, who praised Hon Peow's unique approach.
'Chinese ink paintings traditionally have simple zen strokes.
'There are a lot of details and originality in Hon Peow's intricate works,' said Sim.
He also stressed the importance of making art accessible to all Malaysians, regardless of background.
'We need to continue to interact person to person, art to art. And I hope that there will be more interaction between different communities when it comes to art in Malaysia, to create a harmonious multiracial society,' said Sim.
Hon Peow (right) showing the exhibition catalogue to Sim while curator Tan Chin Joo looks on.
'Penang is not just a centre for development of art and culture but also a democratic space to bring together multiracial diversity through the arts,' he added.
Also present were SGM (Penang branch) chairman Low Siew Kee and Penang Chinese Brush Painting Art Society president Loh Kooi Loong.
Born in Manong, Perak, in 1939, Hon Peow is a graduate of the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts (Singapore), where he studied Western painting.
Despite his broad foundation in both Eastern and Western styles, he chose to dedicate himself to the discipline of Chinese ink painting.
A former art director at Hua Lian Private High School in Taiping, Perak, Hon Peow has spent decades nurturing young artists and promoting art education.
The exhibition, which runs until June 1, is free and open to the public from 10am to 4pm daily.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Star
12 hours ago
- The Star
Heart And Soul: A daughter honours her late mum and dad for Parents Day today
Do you have any real-life, heart-warming stories to share with readers? We'd love to hear from you. Please keep your story within 900 words. Photos are optional and should be in JPEG format (file size about 1MB, with caption and photo credit). There is no payment for stories, and we reserve the right to edit all submissions. Email your story to: heartandsoul@ with the subject "Heart and Soul". In Malaysia, Parents Day is celebrated on the fourth Sunday in July, which falls on July 27 this year. My late parents – my father, Chan Kok Yiam, and my mother, Tiew Cho – were a humble, hardworking couple, grounded in simplicity and perseverance. They earned a living by selling cut fruits by the roadside along Jalan Melayu, or Back Street, in Klang. Today, it is known as Jalan Stesen Satu. In the early 60s and 70s, Jalan Melayu was famous for its food offerings. Every morning, the place was full of vibrancy and bustled with activity. Stalls and shops sold fragrant chicken rice balls, Hainanese curry rice, noodles, cendol, Chinese medicine, cloth, shoes, jewellery, clocks, and watches. In the back alleys and along the sidewalks, there were barbers, cobblers and clog sellers. There was a famous Chinese sinseh (traditional doctor) whom people from near and far would wait one to two hours just to consult. My mum used to help relatives by getting them a queue number to save time. The first bak kut teh shop originated from this street. It was along this very street that my parents would push their fruit cart from Rembau Street (now known as Jalan Tengku Kelana), where we lived, to sell fruits, starfruit drink, pickled fruits, and cigarettes like Three Five, Rothmans, Camel, and Lucky Strike. My father used to send me to kindergarten (now known as the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes) and later to Convent School (now SRK Convent and SMK Convent Klang) on his old bicycle. The writer's father, Chan (pic), valued education and was proud when she gained admission to Universiti Malaya. He understood the importance of a good education. Being uneducated himself, he would point to the red marks in my school report book and ask me what subjects they were. I would lie and say they were "unimportant" subjects like Physical Education, Art or Moral Studies. The truth came out when he attended the school's Open Day. Mrs P Jambunathan, my class teacher, told him that I always failed Mathematics and Bahasa Melayu. After that, my dad sent me for tuition classes for those subjects. In those days, it was costly, as he only earned a few ringgit a day. He used to buy me The New Straits Times, and later The Star newspaper, so I could improve my English. I could feel how proud he was when I finally got a place to study at Universiti Malaya. My mum helped my dad at the fruit stall. Every day was a 8am to 9pm stretch of hard work, rain or shine. She still had to come home to cook and clean for the whole family in between. My three brothers and I were looked after by relatives who stayed in the same row of shophouses. Even during Chinese New Year or other special occasions, it was work as usual for my parents. Back then, I couldn't understand why they never took a day off. Only when I grew older did I realise that a day of rest meant a day without income. The writer (second from right) with her mother, Tiew Cho (first from left), and her three young daughters. — Photos: CHAN YEE AI My mum even tried to earn some extra money. She would sew press-stud buttons or hooks on new saree blouses, which she got from Indian tailors. These tailors were always stationed outside the cloth shops along Jalan Melayu with their sewing machines, waiting for customers. All those years of hard work took a toll on her health. She developed high blood pressure and diabetes. All these sacrifices my parents made for me and my siblings may be similar to what other parents did for their children. But what made my parents truly special is that they were my adoptive parents. I was adopted from a relative when I was just two to three months old. My adoptive parents never hesitated to spend money on me so I could have a better life than they did. Love never discriminates. Though they have both passed on, I am forever grateful to them and deeply indebted. Happy Parents Day to all parents.
New Straits Times
15 hours ago
- New Straits Times
The schoolteacher who helped build a multiracial army
IN the sweltering heat of July 1952, a young schoolteacher from Batu Pahat, Johor, folded away his lesson plans, turned in his chalks and made a choice that would alter the course of his life — and etch his name into Malaysia's military history. Peter Ng Boon Hwa was just 21 when he came across a newspaper advertisement calling for officer cadets. It wasn't just any recruitment notice — it was a quiet turning point in the making of a multiracial army. The Federation Regiment Bill had just passed on July 3, opening the door for non-Malay youths — for the first time — to serve in defence of a still-forming nation. Two years earlier, Peter had tried to enlist, but options were few: the Malay Regiment or the British Army. Neither path was suitable for someone like him. Now, in the flicker of an ad, that barrier was gone. And he could step up to answer the call of duty. It wasn't a decision made lightly. In Chinese families, cultural warnings loomed large: good sons don't join the army... for they may return in a wooden box. But Peter chose to go anyway. He left the safety of the classroom for the unknown of the parade ground, trading books for boots, guided not by rebellion, but by a quiet sense of duty and the hope of something larger — the birth of a nation. After a rigorous selection at the Malay Regiment headquarters in Port Dickson, Peter was eventually among the 12 young men handpicked by General Sir Gerald Templer, the British high commissioner of Malaya, to serve as an officer in the new regiment. They would become the founding pioneers of what was to be Malaysia's multiracial armed force — a group history would come to know as the "Templer Superb-12". On Aug 13, 1952, the officer cadets were personally welcomed by Templer at The King's House in Kuala Lumpur. From Port Dickson's 5th Mile Coast Road to Eaton Hall in Cheshire, England, their journey began in earnest. After basic training in the Pre-Officer Cadet Training Unit (Pre-OCTU) in Port Dickson, Peter was sent to England for further training. On Sept 5, 1953, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant and posted to the 1st Federation Regiment. His tall and commanding presence earned him a rare honour — appointment as aide-de-camp (ADC) to Lt-Gen Sir Harold Briggs, commander of the Federation Division. He served with distinction before returning to active duty as a troop commander in his regiment. In the mid-1950s, the Emergency was raging. On May 25, 1956, Peter was selected for a jungle warfare course at the elite Far East Land Forces Training Centre. He would later bring these battlefield skills to real-life conflict zones and beyond Malaysia's borders. In 1960, he completed his Company Commander's Course and was promoted to major in the 2nd Royal Cavalry Regiment, commanding a recce squadron. A year later, he was deployed to Belgian Congo as part of the Malayan Peacekeeping Force, which was tasked with restoring law and order during one of Africa's most volatile civil conflicts. Yet, even amid the chaos of war in the country, Peter remained a soldier of spirit and adventure. In true "soldier of fortune" fashion, he fulfilled his boyhood dream of going on a safari and returning home with two massive elephant tusks that would later be mounted at his regimental headquarters as a symbol of valour and morale. By the late 1960s, Malaysia faced renewed communist threats. After completing his Senior Officers' Course at the Army War College in Mhow, India in 1967, Peter was transferred to the Royal Rangers Regiment as the second-in-command. He would serve on the frontlines during the second Emergency (1968-1989), once again defending his homeland in the dense jungles of Malaysia. His leadership extended beyond national borders. One of his career highlights was training south Vietnamese troops in counter-guerilla warfare at the request of the United States army to resist the communist advances during the Vietnam War. It was a mission shaped by the global urgency of the Cold War and the "Domino Theory" propounded by then president Dwight D. Eisenhower. Peter rose to the occasion with quiet resolve and duty. LIFE OF SACRIFICE In June 1980, after decades of service, Peter was promoted to lieutenant-colonel and appointed commanding officer of the 304 Infantry Battalion (Territorial Army). His task was to secure the newly constructed East-West Highway linking Grik in Perak to Jeli in Kelantan. Stationed on a hilltop overlooking Pulau Banding and its bridge, he led with vigilance and calm assurance. I had the honour of visiting him in April 1981 — his camp, maintained by my army engineers, stood as a testament to his enduring commitment to service. Though Peter retired on Aug 26, 1983, after 31 years of distinguished service, his influence never waned. Known affectionately as "Peter Boon" by his peers, he was admired for his humility, warmth and unwavering principles. As a senior major for 20 years, he was more than just a rank — he was a moral compass, a decision-maker and a true officer of the nation. I came to know him during my years at the Taiping Garrison, between 1978 and 1980, while overseeing the construction of 288 Class G married quarters. Peter was the administrator then — a commanding figure who led not with noise or display, but with quiet authority, warmth and unwavering fairness. His presence was steady. His kindness unspoken, but deeply felt. For his decades of distinguished service to king and country, he was awarded the Kesatria Mangku Negara (KMN) — a fitting honour for a man who gave so much, and asked for so little. On March 1, 2020, Peter passed away peacefully at the age of 89 in Penang General Hospital, on what was poignantly the 87th anniversary of Army Day. He leaves behind five children — three sons and two daughters — and 12 grandchildren, a number that echoes the symbolic "12" of the Templer Superb-12, to which he proudly belonged. Of that founding cohort, only two remain today: Lt-Gen Datuk Abdullah Samsuddin, 95, and Lt-Col Khong Kim Kong, 94. Their numbers may dwindle, but their legacy stands — etched in barracks and battlefields, in classrooms and parade grounds, and in the quiet courage of men like Peter. As Malaysia marks Hari Pahlawan on July 31, we remember not just a soldier, but a pioneer. A patriot. An officer and a gentleman. We salute you, Sir.
Sinar Daily
16 hours ago
- Sinar Daily
'Your English is So Good' - Raciolinguistic reflections from Malaysia and how this is more complicated than you think
"YOUR English is so good'. Many of us Malaysians, especially those who use English regularly, may have heard this at least once. And when we travel to English-speaking countries, it often continues. During my early years in the United Kingdom in 2012, a kind British neighbour once said this to me. He meant it warmly, even noted that I spoke standard English, not a regional variety. He asked how I came to speak English so well. I smiled and explained that I learned it as a second language in Malaysia. The moment stayed with me. Over time, what struck me more was how many native speakers spoke in ways that did not always match the English we were taught, or taught to revere, as proper: rarely textbook grammar, and often far from the formal 'standard' we were trained to emulate. This is not a critique of how they, or anyone, speak or use the language. Language is diverse and contextual. Rather, it is a reflection on how unevenly linguistic authority is distributed. Their English was never questioned. Ours often is. That is what makes comments like 'Your English is so good' feel more complicated than they seem. They may be well-intentioned (and often are) but they are rarely neutral. Such remarks carry the assumption that fluency or proficiency is surprising, even exceptional, when it comes from those who do not fit dominant expectations of what an English speaker should look or sound like. This is not just about English. It is about who is allowed to speak without explanation and who is always expected to account for their voice. I was reminded of how deeply this runs while attending Residential 2025: Applied Linguistics and the Global South – English and Other Problems at Lancaster University. Professor Ryuko Kubota's talk, based on interviews with racialised students and instructors at a Canadian university, revealed patterns that felt immediately familiar: 'compliments' that function as microaggressions, the pressure to sound 'native,' and the subtle ways names, accents, and heritage languages become sites of judgement. Though her research focused on Canada, much of it resonated with Malaysian realities - where language politics are just as layered and just as unequal. In Malaysia, English occupies a complicated space. It is a colonial legacy, a class marker, a passport to global mobility and often, a quiet test of how 'intelligent', 'modern' or 'credible' someone is perceived to be. Yet fluency and proficiency are rarely judged on their own terms. For instance, two people may demonstrate equal command of English, yet be heard and evaluated differently, depending not on what they say, but on how they sound, who they are, or how they are perceived. We are taught, often implicitly, that English spoken with certain accents is more legitimate, more impressive, more 'correct'. But most of us speak with accents shaped by our histories, our communities, and our multilingual lives. Accents are not errors to fix but traces of where we come from - shaped by contact, identity and history, not deficiency. Here, over 1,500 join Payang Fun Walk and Run to promote healthy living and community spirit in Terengganu on July 11, 2025. (BERNAMA PHOTO) Accent is not the opposite of fluency, and sounding local is not the same as sounding less capable. If someone speaks with a British accent, à la Simon Cowell or an American one shaped by media exposure, let them. If someone speaks English with a Malaysian accent shaped by the rhythms of Kelantanese or Terengganu Malay, let them too. Accents are not errors to fix but traces of where we come from - shaped by contact, identity and history, not deficiency. Some of us carry traces of belacan or budu in our pronunciation and that, too, is English. The problem is not how we speak, but how our speech is filtered through racialised and classed expectations. But the hierarchies do not end with English. Bahasa Melayu, while officially upheld as the national language, is often treated as the cultural property of the Malay-Muslim majority. Chinese and Indian Malaysians are expected, even required, to speak it fluently, especially within the school system and state discourse. Yet when they do, their fluency is not always met with uncomplicated acceptance. Comments like 'You speak Malay so well!' may sound like praise but often carry an undercurrent of surprise - as though fluency alone cannot undo the presumption of ethnic distance. It is not that they are not expected to speak Malay - they are. But even when they speak it fluently, their command of the language is often treated as surprising, as if Bahasa Melayu is still something they had to acquire from the outside, rather than something they have a rightful, everyday claim to. It remains coded as not fully 'theirs', even though they are expected to know it. Meanwhile, when Malay speakers become proficient in Mandarin or Tamil, they may be met with raised eyebrows or half-joking questions like, 'Eh, how come you tahu cakap ni?' These moments reveal that language, in these cases, becomes less about communication than about containment - a way to monitor who belongs where, and who might be crossing lines drawn by race. These expectations are not just contradictory but also exhausting. Racialised speakers constantly navigate a shifting set of demands: to be fluent, but not too confident; to represent diversity, but not speak from it too loudly. The result is a kind of linguistic performance that never quite satisfies. In classrooms, meetings, interviews and conferences, many of us have learned to edit ourselves mid-sentence, softening an intonation, recalibrating a register, sometimes not because we lack fluency, but because we anticipate judgement, or feel the unease of speaking under someone else's expectations. Names carry this burden too. In a raciolinguistic system, names are not just identifiers - they are preloaded with assumptions. They shape how one's English is anticipated, heard or judged before we have even spoken. In classrooms and job interviews, names often function as shorthand for linguistic competence, cultural capital and social value. They trigger expectations and limitations - about who is likely to be articulate, and who will be asked to prove themselves. So, what does resistance look like? It looks like refusing to apologise for our accents. It looks like refusing to let our names be trimmed down or reshaped to fit someone else's tongue. It looks like teaching, writing, and dreaming in Bahasa Melayu, Tamil, Mandarin, or any mix of the languages that shape us. It means rejecting the idea that English fluency or proficiency signals intelligence, or that one language should dominate our understanding of knowledge, worth, or modernity. And it means recognising that when someone says, 'Your English is so good' or 'Your Malay is so good' or 'Your Tamil is so good' or 'Your Mandarin is so good' - they are not just reacting to language. They are reacting to who is speaking it. And that is precisely the problem. So, then we are allowed to ask: 'Why wouldn't it be?' Siti Nurnadilla Mohamad Jamil is a linguist and discourse analyst whose research focuses on language, ideology, and the legitimisation of violence in media and political discourse. She is currently a Visiting Researcher at Lancaster University and an Assistant Professor of Linguistics at the International Islamic University Malaysia. The views expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect those of Sinar Daily.
