​Lately, the greatest joy in my studio comes from witnessing the remarkable growth of my students. When I see their transformation unfold right in front of me—through every brushstroke and pencil mark—I feel a deep sense of fulfillment as an educator.

​The first set of images features a crushed soda can rendered in graphite and paint. These pieces demonstrate a dramatic improvement in the student's understanding of form, light, and contrast. Where there was once hesitation, there is now confidence. They’ve learned to observe closely and translate three-dimensional reality onto a two-dimensional surface with remarkable sensitivity.

The second painting of blooming lilies growing out of a skull embodies emotional and symbolic depth. This student explored themes of life and death, beauty and transience, and turned them into a striking visual narrative. From concept to execution, it’s clear they’ve begun to express their inner world through art.

The third painting, a misty forest watercolor, is a clear example of how far one student has come. What once was simple color-filling has now evolved into atmospheric storytelling. The layering, textures, and subtle use of negative space show a new level of maturity. This student is no longer just learning technique—they are becoming a thoughtful visual storyteller.

​A Teacher’s Quiet Joy
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One of the most meaningful parts of teaching art is seeing students grow—not just in skill, but in confidence and creative voice. Recently, I’ve been reminded of this through the work of several students.
From a delicate forest landscape in watercolor to a realistic drawing of a crushed soda can, and a symbolic painting of flowers blooming from a skull, each piece reflects the student’s dedication and progress. They are learning not only how to handle materials, but also how to express ideas and emotion through art.
As a teacher, I simply try to provide the space and encouragement they need. Seeing their growth is both humbling and inspiring. It reminds me that good teaching isn’t about showing off what I know—it’s about helping others discover what they’re capable of.

Exploring Creativity Through Art at SchoolNova
Original Facebook Post
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At SchoolNova, creativity is not just encouraged—it is celebrated. This year’s art program offered a vibrant and immersive experience for students ranging from grades 1 through high school. Under the guidance of passionate art educator Anna Koh, young artists explored a rich spectrum of visual arts that culminated in stunning public exhibitions.
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From whimsical hand-painted fans to intricate textile works and expressive bird illustrations on handmade paper, the students demonstrated both creative vision and impressive technique. Each project reflected a thoughtful integration of traditional skills with imaginative storytelling, making the final displays deeply personal and visually engaging.

Anna Koh, who leads the program for older students, shares:
“Art at SchoolNova is more than just drawing and painting—it’s about discovering new ways to see, create, and express.”

Her classes included everything from classical plaster cast drawing to fiber arts such as knitting and paper-making, encouraging students to explore materials and mediums beyond conventional boundaries.
This year's exhibitions, held at the end of each semester, showcased the joyful results of this journey. Visitors had the chance to see firsthand how each student’s individual perspective shaped their artistic output.

With programs like these, SchoolNova continues to nurture the next generation of creators—reminding us that when students are given the tools and freedom to create, they often surprise us with how deeply they understand the world around them.

​Beginner-Friendly Knitting Support Board
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A Gentle Entryway into Knitting for First-Time Young Learners
 
Knitting can be a surprisingly challenging activity for children who are just starting out. It requires not only fine motor coordination but also the ability to use both hands in different roles simultaneously. Much like playing the piano, knitting demands that the left and right hands move independently yet harmoniously, making it a complex skill that calls for focus, spatial awareness, and patience.
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To help ease this initial difficulty, I developed the Knitting Support Board—a simple but effective tool designed to visually explain the structure of knitting and support the tasks typically assigned to the left hand. This board helps stabilize the yarn and maintain tension, allowing students to focus more fully on manipulating the hook with their dominant hand.
 
🔹 Key Features of the Board:

• Grooves and clips to secure the yarn in place
• Prevents slipping and loosening, making it easier to maintain even tension
• Visually demonstrates how chains are formed, improving understanding
• Reduces physical strain on the non-dominant hand and builds confidence in motion

 
What impressed me the most was how quickly and intelligently the students responded to the board.

They observed carefully, asked thoughtful questions, and showed an impressive ability to understand the structure of yarn flow and chain formation.

Their insight, adaptability, and ability to internalize the concept reflected just how bright and perceptive they truly are.

As they worked with the board, the students were not simply mimicking movements—they were grasping the principles of stitch-making, chain building, and tension control. Once they felt comfortable, they naturally transitioned to using both hands without the board and found joy in the freedom of independent knitting.

Far beyond just a support tool, this board became a stepping stone for self-directed learning.

It allowed children to approach knitting with confidence, curiosity, and a deeper sense of engagement.
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Seeing how many of them were able to start knitting enjoyably and independently through this small invention was deeply rewarding.

With just a few days left until the SchoolNova Art Show, I visited the exhibition space to prepare as the art teacher. The room was quiet, its walls still bare, and the air held that unique stillness that always comes before something meaningful. But I know from experience—this silence won’t last long. Soon, the space will be transformed by the vibrant presence of our students’ artwork.

In moments like this, I’m reminded of a scene from A Little Princess, a story I loved as a child. In one of its most touching chapters, the main character Sara returns to her freezing attic room after a long, difficult day. But instead of the usual cold and emptiness, she finds her room magically changed—warm blankets, glowing candles, and hot food waiting for her. It turns out someone had quietly come in and transformed her world without her knowing. That gentle, silent magic always stayed with me.

I feel something similar when I witness an empty gallery come alive with student art. Each piece brings warmth, light, and imagination to the space. The transformation is quiet but powerful, and suddenly the room feels full of life and possibility.

These works are more than just pictures—they carry the emotions, observations, and inner worlds of each student. They reflect how our young artists see and interpret the world around them with sincerity and creativity. That is why I always fall in love with this process, year after year. There is a kind of magic in watching their work come together, speaking softly to anyone who takes the time to look.
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I feel truly grateful to be part of this. To help guide and witness these moments of transformation—of both space and spirit—is one of the greatest joys of being an art teacher.

This watercolor painting is something I recently created myself. It depicts a quiet scene of ducks gathered at the edge of the water—some swimming gently, others resting or simply observing. Each duck faces a different direction, yet they coexist in calm harmony. To me, this moment captured in nature speaks to something deeper: the beauty of individual rhythm within shared space, and the quiet connection that can exist without the need for uniformity.

When I observe my students creating, I feel something similar. Each child approaches art differently—some with caution, some with bold strokes, and others with unexpected bursts of imagination after moments of stillness. My role as a teacher is not to shape them into the same mold, but to honor their unique pace and guide them with patience and care.

Art education, in my view, is not about rushing toward results. It’s about allowing space and time for students to dwell in their thoughts, to notice, to explore, and to express. True creativity cannot be forced; it emerges naturally when a student feels seen, respected, and unhurried. And that’s what I aim to provide—a space where art is not only taught, but lived, observed, and slowly unfolded.
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This painting is a quiet reflection of those beliefs. It holds within it my observations as an artist, but also as an educator. I painted it not just to depict a scene, but to capture a feeling—a reminder that beauty often lies in stillness, and growth often happens in silence. Teaching, like painting, is often about waiting for the right moment—and recognizing it when it comes.

When I first began my journey as an artist, all I wanted was to be in my studio, quietly painting my own work. I dreamed of long, uninterrupted hours in the soft light filtering through the window, with the scent of paint in the air and only my thoughts for company. My goal was to grow as a painter—to express, explore, and deepen my own artistic voice. Teaching was never part of that vision. In fact, when people asked if I would consider teaching children, I often turned them down. It didn’t feel like the path I had chosen.

But time passed. I continued to paint, to exhibit, and to live through both fulfilling and difficult seasons in my creative life. Gradually, something began to shift. A small moment here, a quiet conversation there—a child asking an earnest question while looking at one of my paintings, or the unexpected joy of guiding a young student in a short workshop—these gentle interruptions planted seeds of change.

I slowly began to realize something I hadn’t fully understood before: art and education are not so different. Art, at its core, is a language of sharing, of translating inner experience into something others can see, feel, and interpret. Teaching, too, is not about imposing knowledge, but about discovering meaning together. It’s about presence, patience, and the quiet act of believing in someone’s potential even before they see it in themselves.

In the classroom, I started to witness moments of genuine magic—the kind of spark that happens when a child sees what they’re capable of for the first time. Their wonder began to reawaken my own. Questions I had carried alone in my studio found new life through their perspectives. My art grew richer, more layered—not despite teaching, but because of it.

I no longer see art and education as separate pursuits. I now believe that to teach with sincerity is to engage in one of the most profound forms of creative practice. Waiting, observing, encouraging, guiding—these are deeply artistic acts. I still cherish my quiet studio time. But now, the sounds outside that space—the laughter, questions, and curiosity of my students—have become an equally vital part of my creative world.
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This is why I continue to paint, and why I continue to teach. Art may begin as a solitary path, but I’ve come to learn that it often reaches farther, and touches more lives, when we walk it together.

And when that creative exchange extends beyond the classroom and into the wider community, its impact grows even stronger. Art, when shared in public spaces, becomes more than personal expression—it becomes a form of connection. It invites others to pause, to feel, to reflect, and perhaps to see the world a little differently. That is the quiet but powerful ripple effect of art shared with others.

This is why events like our annual art show are so meaningful. They are not just displays of student work, nor are they merely school traditions. They are living, breathing moments where young artists step into a larger conversation—where their voices, often still forming and delicate, are given space to be seen and heard. In these shared spaces, art becomes a bridge: between students and their families, between generations, between the school and the community around it.

When families, neighbors, and friends gather to view the works, something special happens. They don’t just see images on paper—they see effort, imagination, growth, and individuality. They see a child’s interpretation of beauty, of complexity, of hope. And in that exchange, community is not just observed—it is built.

As an educator and artist, I’ve come to believe that this kind of sharing is essential. It reminds us that art is not meant to stay confined within studio walls or classroom corners. It is meant to move—through people, through spaces, through hearts. And it’s in these collective moments, like an art show, that we are reminded of how art can quietly but powerfully bind us together.
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That is the deeper purpose of this art show. It is not only the culmination of a year's worth of lessons—it is the unfolding of something far greater: a community coming together to witness and celebrate the voices of its youngest creators.

​All of this is why I look forward to this art show with such a full heart.

It is more than an event—it is a moment where my roles as artist, teacher, and community member come together in the most meaningful way. I see my students stepping into their voices, families connecting through creativity, and a quiet space transformed into a place of joy, reflection, and discovery.
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This show is not just a celebration of art—it is a celebration of growth, of connection, and of the shared beauty that emerges when we create and witness together. And that is why, every year, I wait for this moment with both gratitude and anticipation.

I first encountered Maxine Greene during my graduate studies in art and education. She wasn’t just a philosopher—she was a visionary who saw art as a way of being more fully human. Through her writing, especially Releasing the Imagination, I came to understand that education is not about the transmission of facts, but about liberation—about helping people see, feel, and imagine the world differently.

Greene believed that imagination allows us to envision what could be, not just what is. For her, art was not something to admire from a distance, but a means of becoming wide-awake to the world around us and within us.
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That philosophy became a cornerstone in the development of my own approach to teaching. As I took courses, I found myself asking deeper questions—not only about what I was creating, but why I was creating it. I realized that my work wasn’t just a technical result; it was a process of searching, questioning, and responding. In that process, I wasn’t just making art—I was discovering myself.

Art Class Should Be an Expedition, Not Just Instruction

Even now, I often think of Greene when I’m teaching in the art classroom. To me, art class should never be reduced to a fun pastime or a skills lesson. Instead, it should be a space where students see the world anew, reflect on their surroundings, and connect with others—locally and globally.
Art is not simply about learning how to draw; it's about learning how to feel, observe, imagine, and express. That’s what Greene called “wide-awakeness”—the state of being fully present, morally and emotionally aware.
When students begin to engage with their inner lives and with the broader world through creative practice, something transformative happens. Art becomes a language of empathy, and the classroom becomes a space of possibility.

The World We Hope For

Greene once said, “The arts are not luxuries. They are necessities.”
I believe this with all my heart. If we can create learning environments where students are invited to reflect, to feel deeply, to imagine justice and beauty—then we are building not only better classrooms but a better world.
Her philosophy still breathes through my teaching.
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Every day I ask myself:
“What does this class make possible?”
“Whose life might be changed by this hour of art?”
Those questions are where the journey begins. And that journey—that process of creating, connecting, and questioning—is, for me, what art truly is.

 * Maxine Greene (1917–2014) was a renowned American educational philosopher, writer, and advocate for the arts in education. She believed that imagination is essential to learning, and that education should awaken individuals to the world around them. Her work emphasized the role of aesthetic experience, social justice, and personal agency in transforming both individuals and society. As a long-time professor at Teachers College, Columbia University, she inspired generations of educators to see teaching not just as instruction, but as a moral and creative act. Greene argued that art enables us to perceive what might be, not just what is, and that education should help students become “wide-awake” to possibility, empathy, and change.