Have you ever witnessed a live performance so powerful that it still lives in your mind weeks later? “129BPM: Động Phách Tách Kén” is not your usual hip-hop breakdance battle, but a contemporary dance performance combining live music with Vietnamese folk elements. It is a journey that requires your full presence and attention to appreciate its fleeting and transformative moments.

“129BPM: Động Phách Tách Kén,” presented by H2Q Dance Company, was a 70-minute contemporary hip-hop dance performance that took place at the Southern Military Theatre for two nights on December 6–7, 2024. It marked choreographer Bùi Ngọc Quân’s first (proper) independent production in Vietnam after over two decades with Les Ballets C de la B in Belgium, one of Europe’s most renowned dance companies. The performance blended dynamic live music by the duo Tiny Giant and drummer Đan Dương, evocative stage design by German artist Mara Madeleine Pieler, and captivating choreography performed by eight talented street dancers: Nguyễn Duy Thành, Lâm Duy Phương (Kim), Lương Thái Sơn (Sơn Lương), Nguyễn Ngọc (Mini Phantom), Chiêm Thị Thảo (Balienzz), Bùi Quang Huy (Snoop Gee), Nguyễn Đỗ Quốc Khanh (Nega), and Vũ Tiến Thọ (Joong).

The title “Động Phách Tách Kén” sparks curiosity with layered meanings: “Động” means moving or vibrating, “Phách” refers to mind and soul or rhythm unit, “Tách” means detaching and deconstructing, and “Kén” represents cocoon or shelter. Together they reflect the performers’ journey of co-existing, breaking free from imagined cocoons, and embracing transformation for growth. The thematic question “How to live together with differences?” was raised through non-verbal expressions and powerful dance movements, with performers seeking their own answers during the individual and collective journey.

Limits of the body and complexities of human relationships were consistently challenged and explored throughout the performance. Tireless movements punctuated by moments of standing, sitting, lying down, gliding, flying, jumping, rolling, twisting, compressing, and releasing carried the wordless story. The dancers poured their energy into every gesture, and interaction which included opposition and support. 

At one point, the upbeat music ceased, and everyone breathed in sync before a storm with the sounds of lightning and pouring rain. Dance movements expressing frustrated, tangled emotions were performed with clenched fists embodying tension inner turmoil. Dim light took over and the singing grew louder, as anxious eyes filled. The dancers turned in the same direction and towards individuals withdrawing in themselves, while their eyes kept searching for something. With all elements of the performance pushed to their limits, it was the most vulnerable moment throughout the performance.

Guided by the everyday sounds including the rhythm of heartbeats, the sounds of a downpour, and vibrant singing, the experience was crafted via the collective movements and stares. Each dancer revealed their unique strengths and individuality during solo highlights, yet a deep sense of harmony and connection remained throughout the performance.

What set this contemporary dance performance apart was its ability to embrace experimentation. By incorporating Vietnamese folk elements in experimental sounds and upbeat live music, a sense of cultural depth and nostalgia emerged within the narratives and emotions conveyed through the performance. All these elements highlighted the harmony between individuality and collectivity, tradition and modernity.

After more than 70 minutes, time seemed to stand still or dissolve entirely. As the performance was reaching its end, the drum sounds signified the arrival of spring. The dancers bloomed in their movements and invited the audience to join them on stage for the celebration, transforming the finale into a shared dance of joy and renewal. This closing not only marked the conclusion of the performance, but also symbolized a new beginning.

More information and recaps of “129BPM: Động Phách Tách Kén” can be found on H2Q Dance Company’s Facebook page.

Step into Severine Phương Trần’s first-ever exhibition in Saigon, where you can explore the artist’s inner world of vibrant colors and different emotions. To fully enjoy this exhibition, it is best to let your inner child and imagination roam free and allow the flow of colors and different sceneries to guide you through a journey of creativity, self-discovery, and personal artistic transformation.

“Colours, colours!” is a solo exhibition by Severine Phương Trần at 22 Gallery, featuring her most recent works of oil paintings and digital sketches. Once an artist who avoided using colors in her works, Severine worked mainly with monochromatic sketches. According to the exhibition text, everything changed during her trip to Málaga, Spain, where she encountered beautiful sceneries and felt the warmth of people and their friendliness. This has changed her methods and artistic expressions, in which she began to see the worlds in colors and bring them into her works. This exhibition allows the audience to step into the artist’s world of vibrant colors in her most recent artistic period: the nature of flowers, the spirit of women, the innocence of children, and the beauty of nature.

Severine’s series of digital sketches on Parisian storefront displays can be considered the starting point for this exhibition, which showcases her love for fashion and the beginning of her creative journey. “When I paint, I am myself. It takes me back to my inner child, back to the time when creativity was my entire world,” said Severine. She also shares that her childhood was filled with drawing, she was drawing girls wearing dresses with flowers. Now, with a background in fashion and having lived in Saigon, Florence and Paris for the past 10 years, she incorporates her aesthetics into her digital art and adds more colors.

Prints of digital sketches of fashion storefronts in Paris (2021–2023).

After creating digital sketches that reflected her interest in fashion, storefronts and moments of her daily life, Severine started expanding her knowledge on different artistic materials, from watercolor, acrylic, and gouache to pastel, until she found oil paint as her true calling. She felt an instant connection with oil paint, as it allowed her to fully express her intentions and deliver her emotions through her brushstrokes.

For the partly abstract landscape paintings, two highlight works of the exhibition are ‘Bird and fish, the sea and the sky’ (2024) and ‘Mountains, hills and clouds’ (2024). In them, she explores vibrant colors and showcases their different shades and hues  With uniquely arranged compositions, the works take the viewer into her point of view and invites them to immerse themselves in the emotional harmony as provided by nature.

‘Bird and fish, the sea and the sky,’ 2024. Oil on canvas.

‘Mountains, hills and clouds,’ 2024. Oil on canvas.

Other highlights of the exhibition are her works of flowers and portraits, which feature contrasting colors. For some works, such as ‘Camellia flower’ (2024), she used pencil to create clear and definite lines between the colors. Her portrait paintings mostly feature women and children, as inspired by the trip to Málaga that transformed her colorful artistic approach. They reflect her journey through different cultures and remind the viewers of the pure joy of artistic creation.

‘Camellia flower,’ 2024. Oil on canvas.

‘Girl with emerald earrings,’ 2024. Oil on canvas.

When asked about what comes next after this first solo exhibition, the artist shares: “Creativity knows no bounds, and I believe that I can always discover new ideas on my artistic journey. I would love to try new artistic mediums and techniques to enrich my works in the near future.” 

Installation view of “Colours, colours!” at 22 Gallery.

“Colours, colours!” by Severine Phương Trần is now on view until December 15, 2024 at 22 Gallery. More information on the exhibition and reservation can be found on this Facebook page.

Tuimi, a Vietnamese German singer and rapper, has become one of the most notable female voices in the local hip-hop scene and been making big waves since her return in 2019.

In 2020, Tuimi made an explosive debut on Vietnamese television when she took second place in the smash-hit show King of Rap, but her rise to stardom started much earlier in Western Europe. Tuimi, whose real name is Phạm Thuỳ Mi, was born to Vietnamese immigrant parents in 1994 Dresden, Germany. She was the first Vietnamese female artist to receive grants from the country’s annual art incubator program, and one of the few Vietnamese to have worked at Universal Music’s German headquarter.

Tuimi, one of many talented new artists leading the hip-hop scene in Vietnam.

In grade school, having an affection for R&B and hip-hop, she began developing an interest in doing music, which she pursued as she got older and moved to New York, eventually earning an internship at a prominent record label and becoming more involved in the underground music scene. By 2017, Tuimi’s time come when her single 'Purpose' took a top spot on Spotify charts just two weeks after its release.

Though she was born and raised abroad, Tuimi's parents made sure she had a great command of Vietnamese. At one point, Tuimi’s family even sent her to their hometown so that she could learn to read and write the language.

“In 2018, I returned to Vietnam after six years and saw a lot of changes in the country. Major streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music had sprouted up, and I thought it was the right time and a good opportunity to capitalize on. Vietnamese were also more thoughtful in choosing and consuming music, thus I decided to come back,” Tuimi says.

Considering her early success in Germany, one would assume that Tuimi would develop her career there. But at the end of 2019, the young artist made a decisive return to Vietnam in hopes of bridging the Vietnamese art scene with the world.

Upon returning, a fresh face with practically no industry footprint, Tuimi found herself fortunate to have a promising start. “I knew and connected with a few Vietnamese artists before returning home, some of whom were prominent names like Suboi, Datmaniac or Kimmese. I actually even got to share a stage with Suboi way back in 2018.”

Tuimi and Datmaniac in the recording booth.

To test the water, Tuimi released 'Menina Misteriosa' — an sultry track that boasts R&B and melodic rap sounds, which helped her gain attention and solidified her arrival.

As of now, Tuimi's songs are still predominantly written in English because her Vietnamese needs further polishing. "But recently, I've been reading books of all kinds, from spiritual guides to fiction novels, to improve my vocabulary and word usage. I think I need to work harder on my Vietnamese lyrics," she says.

'Menina Misteriosa.'

Tuimi's first breakout act in Vietnam was when she became a runner-up on the first season of King of Rap, where she scored major points by delivering fiery and powerful stage performances week after week.

The rapper admits that she was hesitant to join the show, but signed up after being encouraged by friends and families, and ultimately gave the performances of her life. Ironically, the further she advanced in the competition, the easier she took it, as she realized that it was merely a playground for rappers, and there was nothing to “lose.”

“Every time I went on that stage, I performed as if it were my last,” she says. With that spirit, she presented to the audience a new side of her every broadcast, each more impressive and colorful than the last. In turn, her ability to own the stage and her Vietnamese lyrics reached new heights.

A visual from "softcore | hardshell," Tuimi's debut full-length album.

Thanks to her King of Rap momentum, Tuimi's musical releases, even those from before the show, received more interest from listeners.

Among them is her debut album "softcore | hardshell” — an experimental production composed in three languages ​​— English, Vietnamese, and Portuguese. The album is a stellar blend of R&B, hip-hop, and melodic rap; and features local rappers such as Ricky Star, Gizmo, and Zuy, showing a growing Vietnamese influence in her creative process.

A successful album is something that you can listen to 50 years later and still be satisfied with its production.

Shedding light on releasing an album as a rookie, Tuimi compared her album making process to planting a tree. To have a tree, one must choose a plant, sow the seed, fertilize the soil, and watch for pests until the tree can bloom and bear fruit. Likewise, an album needs to be planned, composed and given the right songs, then produced, arranged, photographed, and edited to perfection so that it can be enjoyed by everyone. .

Tuimi confessed that she didn’t have very high expectations for "softcore | hardshell," and was pleasantly surprised when the "tree" she had planted was nourished by outpouring support from fans, friends and colleagues alike.

After a successful debut album and a victory in the battle arena, the hip-hop vocalist has shown distinctive growth in her musical personality. This is also a leverage for her to plant the seed for her next studio album, which is expected to hit shelves in December of this year. According to Tuimi, her sophomore album would be a reprisal of R&B that’s sure to keep fans on the edge of their seats with up-tempo sensual melodies.

To kickstart her new album, Tuimi released the single ‘Sao Hoả’ (Mars) with feature artist 16 Typh — a sirenic track where she continues to conquer listeners with her sultry R&B vocals.

Music video of  'Sao Hỏa.'

When asked about the inspiration for the song, Tuimi laughs: "I was depressed about being on Earth, and I just wanted to fly to the moon or Mars, so I just wrote down what I felt. The beat had been made before that. After I finished writing the lyrics, I found the beat again and thought that it fit, so I went ahead and used it."

One of the things that Tuimi felt most satisfied about when producing this track was "the ability to write Vietnamese lyrics more fluently, sounding more native than ever before."

“'Sao Hoả’ was my least expensive music video ever. It didn’t cost me any money because I used free stock footage, and the female actress’s figure was similar to mine too," Tuimi reveals.

In less than two years since her debut in the Vietnamese hip-hop scene, Tuimi has been making strides thanks to her steadfast devotion to R&B, and her exquisite lyrical and melodic expression. We can't wait to see how her musical tree will continue to flower in the time to come.

[Photos courtesy of Tuimi]

This article was originally published in 2021.

In the depths of my childhood memories lies a peculiar ritual: my grandfather feeding me baby powder while Vietnamese revolutionary songs, or “nhạc đỏ” (red music), played in the background. Without these melodic accompaniments, I would refuse to eat.

Our family's music shelf embodied Vietnam's complex cultural landscape: red music albums sat alongside bootlegged copies of Thúy Nga's Paris by Night — the glamorous variety shows produced by Vietnamese refugees in North America that were technically forbidden in our homeland before the age of YouTube. This contradiction was unremarkable to us then; it was simply the soundtrack of our lives. Years later, as a student in the west, this complex musical inheritance would lead me to an unexpected revelation. Far from home, surrounded by unfamiliar sounds, I found myself drawn back to those revolutionary songs, discovering in them layers of meaning that my childhood self could never have grasped.

The symbolism of ‘Cô gái mở đường’

One song in particular has stayed with me through the years: ‘Cô gái mở đường’ (The Girls Who Opened the Road), a haunting tribute to the young women who maintained Vietnam's vital supply routes during the American War along the Hồ Chí Minh Trail. The version played most often on our VCD player was performed by Vũ Dậu, one of red music's most prominent figures, celebrated among the People's artists.

‘The Girls Who Opened the Road,’ performed by Bích Liên, Vũ Dậu, and Vietnam National Music Song and Dance Theatre's female choir.

This seemingly simple childhood memory would later spark an academic journey into the heart of Vietnam's socialist realism movement and its profound influence on the nation's artistic expression. The intersection of politics, art, and personal expression during this era reveals a complex narrative about how societies shape their cultural identity during times of revolution.

Consider the opening lines of ‘Cô gái mở đường,’ written in 1966 by Xuân Giao: “Walking under the night sky, stars twinkling, a song echoes through the forest trees. Could it be you, the girl who opens the road? Can't see your face, only hear your song.” These verses paint a vivid picture of a soldier marching through the darkness, guided by an unseen young woman's voice. What's most striking is the deliberate anonymity of this female figure — she remains faceless, representing countless youth who sacrificed their personal identities for the revolutionary cause.

Young volunteers on Trường Sơn Road. Photo via Báo Chính Phủ.

Xuân Giao's composition technique was characteristic of the era: he gathered material directly from the field, meeting young volunteers in Vĩnh Linh, Quảng Trị, one of the war's fiercest battlefields. Most of these volunteers were women in their twenties who had devoted their lives to fighting American forces and, more broadly, to building a communist future. However, instead of telling their personal stories, Xuân Giao aimed to create an image of the selfless, revolutionary Model Youth who represented every young soul in the country.

Young volunteers on Trường Sơn Road. Photo via Báo Chính Phủ.

Two years after the song's release, this dedication would be tragically embodied in the Đồng Lộc junction incident, where 10 young female volunteers lost their lives to an American bomb while hiding in a tunnel. The song's enduring power lies in how it transforms these individual sacrifices into a collective narrative of revolutionary progress. The faceless girl becomes a symbol of all those who worked tirelessly for not only Vietnam's liberation but also its progression toward what was believed to be the final stage of societal development, communism. Their personal stories were subsumed into a larger narrative of historical inevitability.

This artistic choice wasn't merely aesthetic. It reflected a broader philosophical framework that dominated Vietnamese art during the war years: socialist realism, an artistic doctrine imported from the Soviet Union that would shape Vietnam's cultural landscape for decades to come.

From Russia, with realism

The roots of socialist realism can be traced back to 1932 Soviet Russia, where Ivan Gronsky, a literary critic and Bolshevik Party official, first coined the term after meeting with Soviet leader Joseph Stalin. By 1934, it had evolved into a comprehensive artistic philosophy under Party Secretary Andrei Zhdanov, who famously declared writers to be “engineers of human souls.”

Zhdanov's vision for socialist realism went beyond mere documentary representation. Artists were expected to depict reality not just as it existed but in its “revolutionary development” — a concept deeply rooted in Karl Marx's theory of historical materialism. This meant grounding artistic expression within a grand narrative of societal advancement, moving through distinct stages from primitive communism to the eventual triumph of scientific communism.

‘Tình ca’ in the form of music sheet.

This artistic movement found fertile ground in Vietnam through the efforts of Trường Chinh, the Secretary General of the Communist Party of Vietnam from 1940 to 1956. His 1948 speech, “Marxism and Vietnamese Culture,” definitively declared that “in our era, the revolutionary culture is the socialist realist culture.” This pronouncement would shape Vietnamese artistic expression for generations to come.

But what did this mean for artists? Take the case of Hoàng Việt, whose story illustrates both the power and limitations of socialist realism. Originally writing romantic music under the pen name Lê Trực in South Vietnam, he was labelled a “reactionary” songwriter and sent for re-education in 1949. After joining the revolutionary cause and moving to Hanoi in 1954, he left behind his wife and three children in the south.

In 1957, inspired by a letter from his wife after three years of silence, Hoàng Việt composed ‘Tình ca’ (Love Song), perhaps the greatest piece in the entire red music genre. What made it exceptional was precisely how it deviated from socialist realist principles — instead of subordinating personal experience to collective struggle, it gave voice to individual longing and separation.

‘Tình ca’ as performed by Kiều Hưng.

The song's reception reveals the strict ideological constraints of the era. It faced criticism for displaying “personal weakness and tragedy.” Cultural authorities initially banned it, and Hoàng Việt was pressured to modify it to emphasize its propaganda value. Tragically, he died in an American bombardment in 1967, the same year the song was finally allowed to be performed. ‘Tình ca’ was first performed by Quốc Hương, who belonged to the first generation of red music singers, and quickly became a hit.

This tension between personal expression and political doctrine highlights a fundamental critique of socialist realism: its tendency to prioritize ideological certainty over human experience. The movement's unwavering optimism about historical progression often came at the cost of individuality, replacing lived reality with political imagination.

Hoàng Việt and his wife.

Contemporary scholars have suggested that socialist realism eventually evolved into what Russian American anthropologist Alexei Yurchak calls the “Soviet hegemony of form” — a standardized ideological language. This theoretical framework emerged from a fundamental disagreement between Stalin and Marx over the nature of language itself. While Marx viewed language as part of society's political superstructure, controlled by the dominant class and thus inherently unable to truthfully represent the masses' reality, Stalin took a different view. He argued that language existed outside the superstructure, making it possible — even necessary — for the state to shape and standardize language in service of the people's revolutionary consciousness.

Under Stalin's new linguistic vision, Soviet citizens were required to use a kind of “pure language” that would signify reality correctly. They learned to navigate this linguistic framework to avoid persecution, even as the gap between official discourse and personal experience widened. This standardization of artistic expression created a parallel reality where artists had to master the art of speaking in approved forms while finding subtle ways to convey genuine human experiences.

Trường Sơn Road. Photo by Võ An Khánh.

Yet even within these constraints, artists found ways to speak to diverse personal realities. The enduring popularity of songs like ‘Tình ca’ suggests that the most powerful works of this era succeeded not because they perfectly adhered to socialist realist principles, but because they managed to channel genuine human experiences through the required ideological forms.

The role of socialist realism today

The legacy of socialist realism in Vietnam is complex. While officially abandoned after the country's 1986 economic reforms (Đổi Mới), its influence on Vietnamese artistic expression persists. The movement's emphasis on collective struggle and historical progress helped forge a national identity during times of war, even as it sometimes silenced individual voices.

Today, as Vietnam navigates its place in the global community, the question remains: how do societies balance the need for collective narrative with individual expression? The story of Vietnamese red music suggests that the most enduring art often emerges from this very tension — works that speak to both personal truth and shared experience.

A sketch of Hoàng Việt.

As I reflect on those childhood moments with my grandfather, I realize that the power of these songs lies not just in their political message but in their ability to capture human experience in all its complexity. They remind us that even within the most rigid ideological frameworks, the human spirit finds ways to express its fundamental truths.

Songs must speak of what's true in our hearts. As history unfolds, people look back to Vietnam's musical legacy and choose those songs that speak to the visceral emotions of their souls, regardless of political orientation. That's why, far from home, I re-encounter songs that belong not only to my childhood, but also to my country's nuanced past. I love and cry for the artists who courageously remained lovers of life in times of war and destruction.

Looking back at this cultural moment, we might ask: Is there still a place for Hoàng Việt's kind of honesty in modern artistic expression? Perhaps the enduring resonance of these revolutionary songs suggests that the most powerful art will always find ways to speak both to and beyond its historical moment, capturing something fundamentally true about the human experience, regardless of the political context in which it was created.

The story of Vietnamese revolutionary music serves as a reminder that art, even when shaped by political forces, retains its capacity to touch hearts and transform lives across generations. In the end, perhaps that's the most revolutionary thing about it.

How did daily life on the battlefield look from the perspective of first-generation Vietnamese photojournalists? Why did colorful stamps and propaganda posters play such a significant role in the war and nation-building? Other than their original roles in communication, these historical artifacts tell us a bigger story: of long, turbulent, and resilient histories, and the birth of a nation.

“Crafting a Message: A Permanent Collection Exhibition” by Dogma Collection features a large collection of posters, photographs, newspapers, and stamps, with a range of mediums and artistic techniques used in Vietnamese socialist and anti-imperial cultural production between 1945 and 1985. Messages of unity, empowerment, and resistance throughout the wartime period and nation-building progress were reflected through selected works of woodcut, paint and photography. Other than showcasing the political campaigns and reflecting social changes at that time, the exhibition also aims to highlight artistic craftsmanship through each historical artifact and work of art.

A glimpse of wartime journalism was revealed through photographs and newspaper clippings by first-generation photojournalists of Vietnam News Agency (VNA), which was founded by Hồ Chí Minh on 15 September 1945. In contrast to the typical tragic images of violence and death from western mass media during the Vietnam War, VNA journalists portrayed a completely different mindset with headlines like “The new spirit of production,” or “The Heroic North Defeating the US on the Transportation Front.” Main subjects in their photographs included trucks running through the Hồ Chí Minh Trail, agricultural laborers and factory workers working hard to reinstate the economy, etc. Despite the lack of resources of camera equipment during the war, journalists still managed to capture the essence of daily life and the unbeatable spirit of the citizens and soldiers.

Moving upstairs, we encounter an impressive stamp collection from 1946 to 1976, which includes detailed research materials and historical background. Flipping through each page, we travel back in time with some of the earliest hand-painted stamps, old over-printed Indochina stamps, stamps that highlight anniversary dates and friendships with other communist countries. The hand-painted stamps are presented together with short bios and autographs of some renowned artists; such as Trần Huy Khánh, Đỗ Việt Tuấn, etc.

According to the curatorial text, most issued stamps were only valid in North Vietnam and only in some parts of the South, which was dominantly occupied by the French. In 1945, the North Vietnamese government issued overprints on remaining stocks of old Indochina stamps, which were not valid in the international postal system because Hồ Chí Minh’s government had no international recognition. However, the act of issuing stamps was a significant move of self-declaration towards independence. The first original design was created by artist Nguyễn Sáng and features a full-face portrait of Hồ Chí Minh. The production of stamps mostly occurred within the country, but some were also occasionally printed by the Litho State Printing Works in Havana, Cuba to highlight the Cuban-North Vietnamese friendship.

Postal stamps are often regarded as a necessity for mail and documents, and sometimes as souvenirs when one travels abroad. Stamps also play an important role as cultural and historical artifacts that represent a country’s identity and values. In the context of Vietnamese history, they also serve propaganda purposes and reflect its changing social and political climate. Other than images of the national leader, other main subjects reflect propaganda images, such as soldiers holding rifles, celebrating the shooting down of American planes, words of encouragement on expelling invaders and unifying the nation, with agricultural and economic development, local specialties and the diversity of ethnic minorities.

Towards the end of the exhibitions, a collection of colorful and lively propaganda posters are on display, featuring some of the most renowned propaganda artists: Sỹ Thiết, Minh Phương and and Dương Ánh (former Indochina College of Fine Arts graduates); Dương Ánh was also a member from the Central Workshop for Propaganda Paintings (established in 1966). Propaganda posters were considered as a powerful weapon that reflected the resilience of the Vietnamese people: from ideas on anti-imperialism and resistance against invaders during wartime, to ideas on collectivity, equality, labor, agricultural and economic reforms in the postwar period.

Despite the shortage of conventional materials during the war; such as paper, colors, canvas and silk, artists still managed to actively create propaganda art with any available materials. Instead of mass printing, most of the posters on display were meticulously hand-painted with watercolor and gouache. A few were wood prints. Artists sometimes reused papers from their drawing classes to create posters, which explained the display of double-sided paintings in the exhibition.

Photojournalism, stamps and propaganda posters transcend their original roles in communication, and highlight the significance of craftsmanship in the construction of social and cultural narratives. The exhibition also serves as the intersection between art and history, and represents a sense of unity, national identity and independence during the transformative period of the nation.

“Crafting a Message: A Permanent Collection Exhibition” is open from 10am–6pm every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday until January 10, 2025 at Dogma Collection. More information on the exhibition, reservation and public programs can be found here on the Facebook page.

It’s 12:03am in Saigon. You've just finished a movie at the last screening of the day. The asphalt in the parking lot is coated in a layer of golden light from the streetlight. You walk gingerly to your vehicle. A surprisingly cool breeze meets your skin, and you nearly shiver. It’s time to head home. What music do you put on?

To be honest, you can probably enjoy a ride with any type of music that makes your heart sing, but there’s just something about a night trip that yearns for tunes that are introspective, atmospheric, and a little solitary. Saigon has the reputation of a city that never sleeps, so one is never completely alone at any moment while careening on local streets, but the late hours of the day often peel back the layers of the chaotic metropolis that can be hard to love: bumper-to-bumper congestions, rampant noise and air pollution, and just so many people. A late evening drive, to me, is the ideal time to take a step back, slow down, and appreciate the urban textures of Saigon, those that are usually obscured by clutter during daytime: rows of heritage dipterocarp trees, shophouse architecture, or just the way streets contour along canals and rivers.

Some genres seem tailor-made to be the soundtracks of night drives, like synthwave, lo-fi, R&B, and dream pop as they tend to feature rhythmic beats with understated instrumentation that often aims to evoke a relaxing mood rather than showcasing bombastic vocals. City-pop, in addition, was born in the 1980s from a desire to capture that “urban” feeling of living in Japan’s megalopolises. While these music categories are all foreign-born, in the past half a decade or so, Vietnamese artists have been frequently experimenting with global musical influences, coming up with many records that pair incredibly well with those nights alone on Saigon streets.

CITOPIA (Album) | Phùng Khánh Linh

Phùng Khánh Linh showed that she’s immune to the sophomore slump with the release of CITOPIA in 2022 after a strong debut album, which was even part of Saigoneer’s picks of best music in 2020. Dubbed by fans as “Vietnam’s first city-pop album,” CITOPIA isn’t just a nod to the Japanese genre, it completely leans into the musical style and aesthetics. It’s a gimmick, to be sure, but a fun one that makes for an immersive multimedia experience. The tracks all come with lyric videos showcasing 1980s-inspired anime visuals — think Sailormoon and Ranma, but lo-fi. CITOPIA’s sparkling ambiance and wistful lyrics lend well to any type of night ride, from angsty to jubilant. Hell, even the visuals for ‘năm ngoái giờ này’ already feature a driving protagonist.

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Shimmer (Album) | Tuimi

Tuimi’s debut album “softcore | hardshell” was one of my most-played records in 2020, presenting a stylish, self-aware, and observant creative work that demonstrates Tuimi’s talent at writing music. In “Shimmer,” she continues flexing creative muscles in the playground where she’s best at: R&B, trap and soul — all of which are very conducive for an evening ride. ‘Smile,’ for example, is a stripped-back ballad featuring only vocals and tender piano melodies. The many facets (and categories) of relationships are the main subjects for the album’s lyrics, a thematic shift from her previous works, making this the one album to put on if you need some introspective musings.

Read our interview with Tuimi here.

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32 (Album) | Thành Luke

Following the disbandment of Cá Hồi Hoang, it’s been a particularly productive year for the band’s former main vocalist Thành Luke: “32” is his second album coming out this year alone. This record has neither the strong aesthetic nor genre tribute of the prior two in this list, as Thành Luke opted to use acoustic and classic rock instrumentations as the base for his storytelling. Thành Luke’s passion for story writing has always been ever-present in his music, be it as part of Cá Hồi Hoang or in solo projects, so much so that it even resulted in a Thành Luke-authored novel, For The Beginning. In “32,” as nightriders, we discover tunes that are soft and healing, encouraging us to slow down and reflect rather than speed home.

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After Party (EP) | Vũ Thanh Vân

For anyone in search of the perfect soundtrack to a late-night drive, Vũ Thanh Vân’s “After Party” is an apt addition — the last track is already named ‘Driving Music.’ Known for her ambient pop style, Vân’s music has always leaned into mood over forcefulness, setting a calm atmosphere with narrative-driven lyrics. This EP shifts gears slightly, bringing a touch more tempo without losing her signature introspective sound. Tracks like ‘Hmm..’ blend her hypnotic vocals with producer itsnk’s knack for pacing — each pause and beat feels calculated to pull listeners in just a little deeper, perfect for when the empty road stretches ahead. While previous releases might feel almost too relaxed for cruising "After Party" finds a balance that’s both danceable and immersive, a vibe that hits just right when the city lights blur by.

Read our interview with Vũ Thanh Vân here.

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Nghe Tiếng Đêm (Album) | KoQuet

Admittedly, KoQuet’s debut album might be a lesser-known record than the previous selections, but it is the most thematically in-sync with this list — the title literally translates to “listen to the sounds of the night.” In the intro track, the narration murmurs: “Let’s sit down to listen to the sounds of the night and the sounds of our hearts.” These soft-spoken snippets appear across the album in the intro, interludes, and outro, reminding me of the evenings of my childhood listening to the radio. For 45 minutes of the album, KoQuet is often reflective, occasionally passionate, and always earnest. The songs never stray too far from the central nocturnal theme, creating a seamless listening — and evening driving — experience.

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“When we finally finished the project, I was just like ‘Yay, we’re done!’ Then I went to sleep to go to work tomorrow. I guess life just goes by like that,” recalled Thông, a member of Coïncidence, regarding when he wrapped up production for the band’s debut EP “Không Ngủ Quên.”

Hoàng Thông and Hữu Hảo have been friends since middle school. Photo by Trần Phúc.

The story of Coïncidence starts with the group’s two key members, Hoàng Thông and Hữu Hảo, who have been friends since middle school. They took French-language classes together and shared a mutual enthusiasm for French music. Back then, they even played acoustic music together. They lost touch while attending different high schools, but eventually reconnected six years later when they were both college students stuck at home during COVID-19 lockdown.

At that time, Thông played guitar in alternative rock band Cheffin’, while Hảo was a drummer for indie group KLAF. During the social distancing period, Thông spent a lot of time expanding his music-producing skills, branching out beyond rock. He eventually came up with a dreamy, electronic demo instrumental after playing with synthesizer plugins downloaded from the internet. In the process, Thông fortuitously came across a SoundCloud track that Hảo had made for fun.

Soon enough, Thông shot Hảo a text, and the two began talking again. Thông’s demo would eventually be turned into the pair’s first song together, ‘Không giống những đôi chân chạm mặt đất.’ Released in August 2021, it’s a dream-like, floating track featuring atmospheric, progressing synth pads sprinkled with bright arpeggios and minimalist drum sounds. Towards the second half of the record, resonant synth leads emerge to guide the composition into a grand and radiant electronic soundscape.

The group shared that the lyrics reflect the themes of “free-spiritedness, tranquility in thoughts, and in one’s way of living.” Hảo conceptualized them by drawing from his personal experiences and emotions while living in a pandemic. 

The pair named themselves “Coïncidence,” the French word for “coincidence,” as it reflects their happenstance reunion and their shared interest in French music and culture from middle school. Furthermore, their current electronic, synth-driven sound is heavily inspired by French musicians, especially the Parisian nu-disco outfit L'Impératrice.

Image by Ngọc Tạ and Dương Trương.

After the lockdown was lifted, the two occasionally met up to work on new tunes. But a new challenge emerged: post-pandemic life required Hảo and Thông to juggle between chasing their musical passions and their personal career goals. Thông had to focus on completing his university degree, while also securing a job in sound design as it related to music production. Meanwhile, Hảo started a new life in Lille, France to pursue his master’s degree. 

“Things were delayed for quite a while. There were times when we were too busy with life to focus on creating new music,” Thông said. Over the span of three years, from 2021 to 2023, the group managed to release a total of five singles. While it may seem like the two young artists are moving slowly on their musical journey, they remain committed to their path. In August 2024, Coïncidence dropped their first ever EP — “Không Ngủ Quên.”

“Không Ngủ Quên” consists of five tracks and serves as a refined collection of Coïncidence’s works over the years, with two brand new tunes added into the mix. Additionally, the older songs in the tracklist have been remastered to improve the mixes and make them more sonically cohesive with the EP’s overall sound. Meanwhile, the two new additions, ‘Không Ai’ and ‘Một Bài Nhạc Nhảy,’ offer the audience a glimpse into the type of sounds that the two are currently exploring.

The cover of their first EP “Không Ngủ Quên.”

In a way, the concise mini-album encapsulates Coïncidence’s musical identity. In nearly every song on the EP, at some point in the track, a monologue in French appears. This idea came from Hảo, who often samples voice recordings of himself, others, and audio segments that he finds interesting, to further enhance the themes of the song. 

An example of this technique is in the 4^th track ‘Màu Đêm Xanh’ featuring June San and Bảo Vox. In the intro, the group uses an audio excerpt from the 1974 French film Un homme qui dort (The Man Who Sleeps); it's an inner monologue of the film’s protagonist, a young college student who feels isolated and indifferent to the world around him. This soundbite was used to highlight the song’s concept, which revolves around “a person who grows weary of the external factors affecting their ability to make a decision, but ultimately, they choose to embrace their personal choices.”

Coïncidence with their friend and frequent collaborator A Fishy Bit (right). Photo by Trần Phúc.

Cinema also influences Thông's approach to music production. Thông envisions crafting a song like making a film score, rather than sticking to the conventional verse-chorus structure. “I enjoy using varying tempos and dynamics to guide the listener, and then everything will build up to a climax,” Thông shared. 

This film-scoring approach is evident across the EP, with every song seeming to have a “final act” where vocals and numerous instruments fuse to culminate in a grand, sonic peak. Meanwhile, a clear example of the group’s appreciation of playful structure is the EP’s lead single ‘Một Bài Nhạc Nhảy,’ a disco-inspired tune with mellow synths layered on top of funky guitar basslines, made simply for people to dance to.

‘Một Bài Nhạc Nhảy’ starts off fast-paced, setting the tone for its danceable nature. But as the first verse arrives, the tempo suddenly slows down, Hảo’s vocals start harmonizing on a soulful, rhythmic jam, letting the listeners warm up. The tempo picks up again for the chorus, signaling that it’s time to groove. Then the second verse arrives, featuring new synth leads and arpeggios; there are no vocals, just the synthesizers taking center stage. The vocals come in again in the final chorus alongside new sounds that are added to enrich the instrumental’s details and create an energetic and vibrant conclusion.

Photo by Trần Phúc.

The EP took about a year to come to fruition, with the band using their time off from work and college to rework old tracks and create new ones. They titled the project “Không Ngủ Quên” (Don’t Fall Asleep) because they used the phrase to remind themselves during the production process to “make sure to finish [this] part before going to sleep, don’t leave things unfinished.”

An EP wasn't the only new material that Coïncidence worked on during their year-long process. They are planning to release a live session video in late 2024, with Hảo and Thông performing tracks from “Không Ngủ Quên,” along with a new single that isn’t part of the EP's tracklist. 

“In a live setting, the sound becomes thicker and richer, listening to it will be like a treat to the ears,” Thông said. The group will arrange the backing tracks to leave spaces for instruments like guitars, drums, or synthesizers to be performed live. Hảo typically manages the vocals and drums, while Thông will take care of the guitar and synth. Occasionally, some of their collaborators will join in as well. “When the instruments are played by real people, it brings a more human touch to the sound. I really like that,” Thông shared.

Coïncidence at a live show at Saigon's Yoko Cafe. Photos by @saxichuongduong.

The upcoming live session was recorded during Hảo's three-month visit to Vietnam, after which he returned to France. So these sessions also serve as a way for the band to document the special occasion when Coïncidence core members are not 10,000 kilometers apart.

“In a live setting, the sound becomes thicker and richer, listening to it will be like a treat to the ears. When the instruments are played by real people, it brings a more human touch to the sound. I really like that.”

So what's next after “Không Ngủ Quên?” Well, they’ll probably return to their daily lives, pursuing their passion for music whenever time permits. They’ll continue to collect stories and ideas while messing around with musical instruments and shaping the Coïncidence sound. No one knows what the future holds for them, but regardless of the outcome, their mindset is simple: “In the end, the best part of it all is those moments when we get to make our own music, and when all of you guys get to hear them.”

Looking upward, downward, left and right, we follow an invisible yet powerful flow of energy in the dark, then carefully gaze at the artworks as if they are living entities. To enjoy this multi-sensory experience, it is best to slowly spend time with each artwork with a concentrated mind and without looking for an immediate context from it. Let our imagination roam freely, and embrace all the emotions and memories resurfacing within us.

“In absence, presence” is a group exhibition held at Nguyen Art Foundation, featuring works by Oanh Phi Phi, Lêna Bùi, Nguyễn Thúy Hằng and Linh San. Curated by Bill Nguyễn, the exhibition explores the affective qualities and sensorial sensitivities of artistic materials, and how processes of material transformation may, in turn, affect the way artworks are perceived and experienced. The first part of the exhibition is located in EMASI Vạn Phúc (Thủ Đức City), featuring works by Phi Phi Oanh and Lêna Bùi, while the second part at EMASI Nam Long (District 7) features works by Nguyễn Thúy Hằng and Linh San.

Through each artist’s unique way of working with different materials, with constant innovation and experimentation, paintings, sculptures, and invisible words become living entities. Instead of offering explanations of the artworks, the curator encourages viewers to use their own senses, alongside concentration and imagination, to encounter and fully embrace the existence of the artworks living in front of them.

Upon arrival, we enter an experimental laboratory of “lacquerscopes,” and embark on a journey back in time to the origins of our existence. Oanh Phi Phi’s light sculptural installation ‘Palimpsest’ (2011–ongoing) takes us into an imagined realm of cells under the microscope, and the greatness of the universe through the telescope. Breaking away from the traditional method of applying many layers of sơn ta (Vietnamese lacquer art) on vóc (a baseboard on which lacquer is applied), the artist painted dozens of lacquered “skins” or strips of patterns on glass slides, then magnified them on a semi-transparent screen through light projectors.

Oanh Phi Phi. ‘Palimpsest,’ 2011–ongoing. Glass, sơn ta resin, pigment, aluminum, inox, cork, aramid fiber, epoxy, gold, silver and aluminum leaf, steel.

Oanh Phi Phi. ‘Palimpsest,’ 2011–ongoing. Glass, sơn ta resin, pigment, aluminum, inox, cork, aramid fiber, epoxy, gold, silver and aluminum leaf, steel.

‘Inalienable Parts’ (2024) appears in the shape of the human form and represents three different generations of women from the same bloodline: the artist herself, her mother, and her daughter. As time has gone by, the human body constantly grows and decays, lives and eventually dies. Multiple layers of lacquered cuirasses resemble time being frozen, as “empty shells now with no insides, armours now with no bodies to defend, people now with no identity," according to the exhibition literature. 

Oanh Phi Phi. ‘Inalienable Parts.’ Sơn ta resin on carbon fiber and kevlar epoxy composite.

To enter the space filled with Lêna Bùi’s works and enjoy this moment to the fullest, phones should be put away and shoes should be taken off before entering. We let our bare feet touch the ground and lead us along the dashed lines between the works; our eyes gaze at layers of colors and details, while our ears listen to faint vibrations from different directions. We find ourselves navigating between what our body holds, what our body feels from the external world, and the spiritual world beyond our control. With the combination of visual and audio, there exists an internal dialogue between the works. ‘Electrical impulses no.1,' ‘Cosmos no.2’ and other translucent silk paintings such as ‘Circulations no.3,' present many different life functions happening within us: cell multiplication, vein pulsation, heartbeats, and endless flows of energy flowing all over our body.

Left: Lêna Bùi. ‘Electrical impulses no.1.' Ink and watercolor painting on silk and archival paper.
Right: Lêna Bùi. ‘Cosmos no.2.' 200-knot handwoven wool carpet, sound installation.

Lêna Bùi. ‘Circulations no.3,’ . Ink and watercolor painting on silk and archival paper.

In the last room, the body of ‘Cosmos no.1’, made of handwoven wool, hovers slightly above the ground, facing ‘Light’ up on the ceiling. Looking up, we observe moving images of insects gathering around a bright circle of light, and in the next moment, it constantly changes into different landscapes. Perhaps, after observing the actions happening within the body and nature, we now reach the final moment of the life cycle: cleansing and letting go, life and death, decomposition and resurrection. Then, life starts all over again.

Lêna Bùi. ‘Cosmos no.1,’ 2021. 200-knot handwoven wool carpet. 190 x 120 cm.

Lêna Bùi. ‘Light.' Video, color, sound.

Moving to the next exhibition venue, we encounter more sculptural works of human and non-human forms: life and death, words that cannot be spoken, living memories, nostalgia, and time that remain in silence. Nguyễn Thúy Hằng's series titled ‘The Warriors’ consists of muslin-covered metal half-man, half-animal figures standing and twisting upwards and downwards from the ceiling as if they are wandering around aimlessly into nowhere. The toughness of the metal figures is covered with soft layers of fabric, which resemble the wrinkled skin of human bodies that have lived through great turbulence. Whether these figures come from this lifetime or remain from the past life is unknown; however, it is clear that there is a departure but no arrival, a lack of sense of belonging, and the desire for elsewhere.

Nguyễn Thúy Hằng. ‘The Warriors.' Muslin, metal, acrylic. Dimensions variable.

Nguyễn Thúy Hằng. ‘The Warriors.' Muslin, metal, acrylic. Dimensions variable.

‘Bowl of Sorrow’ and ‘The Chair’ were mainly made of two materials with contrasting characteristics: the vulnerability of bản paper that can be easily torn, and the density and roughness of wood. Among the intimidating yet intriguing muslin-covered iron warriors that are depicted as perpetually wandering, these two sculptures stay still. Yet, their stillness and assumed silence reveal a strong sense of spiritual energy, and each constructed layer beneath the sculpture contains the passing of time and forgotten memories.

Nguyễn Thúy Hằng. ‘Bowl of Sorrow.' Wooden cabinet, bản paper, silver leaf, insects, acrylic. 

Nguyễn Thúy Hằng. ‘The Chair.' Wooden chair, bản paper, silver leaf, acrylic. 

With a background in literature, Linh San creates works that resemble simple objects of memories from daily life by using ceramics. In ‘nights,' which consists of 1,096 pieces of “paper” made of porcelain, the artist laid out stacks of imagined letters full of words that cannot be spoken. Each shape represents different states of porcelain paper: flattened, folded, balled up, piled up onto each other, and wrinkled.

Linh San. ‘nights.' Bát Tràng porcelain.

According to the curatorial text, “for ceramic to come alive, earth must sacrifice its living.” Working with ceramics tests every ounce of patience and care of the artist; the clay is constantly kneaded and shaped until it reaches the desired form and is ready to go into the kiln. It is a labor of love and a testament to patience, care, and time.

Linh San. ‘nights.' Bát Tràng porcelain.

In a hidden space filled with silence and almost pitch darkness, three ceramic pieces ‘Embracement #1: This wrist, that wrist’ float in the air. Strips of clay take on the shapes of the collar and cuffs of a shirt that the artist’s mother used to wear while working on a farm. To see each one carefully, one needs to hold a flashlight and gently gaze at the porcelain-made “fabric” piece, where meticulous details of embroidery stitches are revealed as the dim light sweeps through.

Linh San. ‘Embracement #1: This wrist, that wrist.' Bát Tràng porcelain.

As time goes on, materials may change or decompose, human beings will grow old and eventually die one day. How does one preserve nostalgia and the passing of time? How to turn forgotten memories into something visible and eternal, and let it be seen, heard, and touched? The darkness takes over the exhibition space, which makes us pay attention to the silence and absent presence, the unknown in front of us. In between the cycle of life and death, mortality and immortality, toughness, and softness, the near and the far, the past and present, we keep looking for remains of something that has been gone forever.

Installation view of ‘In absence, presence’ at Nguyen Art Foundation (EMASI Nam Long).

“In absence, presence” is now on view until February 2025 at Nguyen Art Foundation’s two venues EMASI Van Phuc and EMASI Nam Long. More details on reservation, opening hours and public programs can be found here on the Facebook page.

Tử Mộc Trà, whose real name is Phạm Thùy Dương, is a young artist born and raised in Hanoi. Her artistic pursuit was nurtured by an innate sense of creativity, family traditions, and her time spent on the road traveling.

I discovered Dương for the first time as part of the “Chúng ta đang nghịch gì?” art exhibition (What are we tricking?) held at the Vincom Center for Contemporary Art in 2021. Amongst 125 diverse artworks, ‘Sợi vàng’ by Tử Mộc Trà was a tale told via a quotidien palette that was more rustic and understated than the others.

‘Sợi vàng’ was inspired by linen, a crude but precious material made by H’Mông people. Weaving linen requires much hand labor and attention to detail, but the resulting product is breathy on hot days, and warming on cold nights.

'Sợi vàng.'

“I was enthralled by the colors, designs, and techniques of the incredible level of details of beeswax drawings handmade by H’Mông artisans,” Dương explains the inspiration behind the work, the image of a spinning wheel and how it forms a sheet of linen fabric.

‘Sợi vàng’ is an important piece making up the artistic identity of Dương, “Tử Mộc Trà.” Following many excursions to the highlands, Dương collected many stories of the land from sketches and local materials she sampled. These tales were “retold” onto a number of mediums like paper and textile, forming a more multidimensional creation than installation artworks. Her art is characterized by a blend of different cultural influences, including analog printing techniques and other traditional crafts like dyeing, embroidery, and appliqué.

An astronaut in the universe of materials

Dương’s knack for creativity surfaced when she was little and had a chance to encounter a plethora of different art forms. Her family has been in the textile trade for generations: her grandfather is a tailor while her mother and aunt are fabric vendors. As natural as being, she formed a bond with textile and started gaining experience the same way an apprentice seamstress would. “It was an atmosphere of familial labor, constant interactions, and sensing of our family material,” she reminisces.

Tử Mộc Trà with her artwork ‘Thoi đưa’ at an exhibition at the VCCA.

Dương’s journey toward professional art practice began at a tuition class to prepare aspiring students for the entrance exam of the Vietnam University of Fine Art. Learning here gave her the knowledge she needed and a respect for the craft. Her outside-the-box way of thinking was honed through interactions while studying at the space. There, with the aid of paper and pens, she really discovered her own path.

Then, with each field trip and personal travel to the mountainous region, Dương’s creative spark for these materials grew stronger. Her pieces often explore subjects relating to linen, weaving, knitting, other handmade trinkets from the northwestern area, as well as other quotidien objects like pebbles.

‘Tơ.’

“Those visuals are really spectacular and romantic! Besides farming on terraced fields, local women enjoy spinning wheels on the hillside, meticulously treasuring the legacy of their ancestors. I also got to see firsthand how Mông and Dao artisans apply the indigo dyeing technique and make brocade using colorful patterns,” she shares.

“One time I was up there during Tết, so even though winter had gone, the gale was lingering. The early morning dew floated downhill, coating the village and the blue dawn. Amid that ambiance, twirls of silvery clouds hugged the mountain foot, enchanting my eyesight,” Dương explains.

Printing works.

Recreating reality from introspection

“I don’t like just standing there looking at a framed painting,” Dương tells me. Installation work, according to her, is not just putting objects in a physical space, it is also a dialogue between the creator, the created work, and the audience. In an installation work, the concept, the narrative and the materials combine in a freeing space that’s both different and evocative.

‘Lặp.’

A trip to Du Già Village in Hà Giang Province made Dương realize many things about the textile trade. Contrary to common beliefs, the members of the H’Mông community here don’t just dress in brocade dresses, belts and aprons, but also nylon clothing items in bright colors.

Over time, traditions like weaving and linen dyeing are not being passed down enough as they call for high levels of precision and flair. Thankfully, older artisans are still continuing that craft, but often not to make clothes. They create raw, undyed linen to bundle up newborn babies or pad the insides of coffins.

Details of ‘Thoi đưa.’

Moved by the cultural shift, Dương created ‘Thoi đưa.’ The artpiece reimagines a breathtaking Du Già, where the shuttle still holds fast to traditional looms and threads, but is missing part of the H’Mông people’s rich past. ‘Thoi đưa’ was made from sculpted wood and cyanotype-dyed fabric. Besides, the work features a large-scale mirror and pebbles to evoke the mountainous landscape.

In the piece, Dương re-envisions what she experienced and witnessed in sketches and prints and sculpted the scenes on the materials before arranging them into a complete entity. Working with textile was different thanh with paper; textile is thicker and more elastic, requiring more attention during the printing process to ensure that the ink flows the way Dương intended.

Cyanotype-dyed textile.

“It was a risk to print,” Dương recalls. “At times, [the colors] turned out more gorgeous and stable than I expected. When I do paintings, I only have to wash pens and brushes, but doing it this way, there are so many other items like rollers, printing plates, and palettes; not to mention that the more colors are involved, the more complex the process is.”

Cultural preservation is no cakewalk

From artworks like ‘Lặp’ — which earned her an award at the Young Art Festival 2022 — to ‘Sợi vàng’, each creation by Tử Mộc Trà has its own story to tell. That could be the traditional weaving techniques of an ethnic minority community in Sủng Là (Hà Giang Province) or the dynamic fabric and handmade trinket trade at Bắc Bà Market (Lào Cai Province), or just simply the beauty of tiny creeks and foliage.

‘Thoi đưa’ depicts the landscapes of a mountainous commune.

After decades, due to many reasons, ethnic customs might transform and develop to adapt to new realities. It’s most worrying when some face the risk of obsolescence and loss of distinctive features. Through her installation works, Dương wants to introduce the beauty and core values of some of these customs: “Preserving cultural traits of ethnic minorities is not something to take lightly, as only they, who have lived and bonded with them, can call the shots on whether they should be continued. I can only spread the words and retain what I’ve experienced and seen to present it in an artistic way.”

‘Dệt.’

When asked if she feels worried about diving into this interesting but sensitive realm, Dương is quite assured: “I just do it, I don’t overthink it! Sometimes things we don’t think too much about have their beauty. I don’t delve too deep or pressure myself to know everything in detail. I simply admire its beauty and delight, and I want to recreate that.”

Over her many trips up and down the mountainside to refresh, meet new cultural communities and interact with different materials, Dương’s creative identity slowly took shape. During those journeys, she became a storyteller, sketcher, and archivist and then an installer, helping the language of beauty become more accessible to Vietnam’s art-loving souls.

Taking place in Đà Nẵng and Hội An earlier in August 2024, the traveling art week Nổ Cái Bùm 2024 became a platform for local artists to showcase artworks, and attracted the attention of many local and international participants. From a museum space to a bar or cafe corner, from a beach site to a theater — any site can become a space for exhibitions, talks, screenings and performances.

Nổ Cái Bùm (NCB) is a traveling contemporary art week curated by artists in Vietnam. The festival was co-initiated by Đào Tùng (Nest Studio), Nguyễn Thị Thanh Mai, Trương Thiện, Hoàng Ngọc Tú (Mơ Đơ) and curator Lê Thiên Bảo (Symbioses) in Huế in 2020. The second season of NCB, “Đà Lạt Mộng Mơ 2022,” (The Dreaming Đà Lạt 2022) was co-organized by Sao La Collective and Hoàng Anh (Hey ! Storm).

Running its third season this year, “Nổ Cái Bùm 2024: Tập thể (dục) / Collectivity-in-(act)ion” was co-organized by A Sông, MORUA and Symbioses, which took place in Đà Nẵng and Hội An earlier from August 22 to 28, 2024. With the participation of more than 100 artists and art collectives across three regions Vietnam, the festival featured more than 20 events in diverse formats: exhibitions, installations, film screenings, performances, experimental dance and theater, traditional and contemporary music, workshops, talks, hip-hop battle and art tours, focusing on introducing artists from the central region.

A Roundtable: “From friendship to Nổ Cái Bùm” with guest artists: Nguyễn Thị Thanh Mai (co-founder and co-organizer of NCB 1, Huế), Nguyễn Kim Tố Lan (co-organizer of NCB 2, Đà Lạt), moderated by Lê Thiên Bảo. Photo courtesy of Xuân Hạ.

Taking the term “tập thể" (collectivity) as the starting point, the organizing committee of NCB 2024 highlighted how individuals from different locations, with different approaches and purposes, can work together to organize and run a large-scale art festival. The word “dục” in “giáo dục” (education) promotes critical thinking on how artist collectives work in Vietnam. Meanwhile, “tập thể dục” (exercise) requires continuous movements and interactions between individuals, which is crucial for a collective to work together. Organizing public programs in various locations encourages participants to move around the two cities. The participatory elements from most public programs would cultivate new encounters and friendships, and also strengthen the relationship between organizers and artists; and between local and international participants.

Participants at the opening event of Nổ Cái Bùm 2024. Photo courtesy of Mood Food.

The art week started with exhibitions, performances, talks and film screening events in Đà Nẵng. The exhibition “Qua Ngày Đoạn Tháng” (As Time Gone By) at Da Nang Fine Arts Museum was curated by Duyên Lê và Bảo Hân Nguyễn. Through different materials from paintings, installations and photography works, the exhibition allowed visitors to examine their relationship, between humans and non-human elements under the theme of family, of domestic space and household objects filled with memories. As time has gone by and our society is constantly changing, we ask ourselves what remains, what changes and what will be left forever in the past.

Mi Fa’s works from “Qua Ngày Đoạn Tháng" (As time gone by) at Da Nang Fine Arts Museum, co-curated by Duyên Lê và Bảo Hân Nguyễn. Photo courtesy of Mood Food.

“Nhà” (Home), co-curated by Nguyễn Văn Tôn and Nóte Flood at Cá Chuồn Space (Đà Nẵng). Photo courtesy of Nguyễn Văn Tôn.

Meanwhile, two parts of the exhibition “Nhà” (Home) took place at Cá Chuồn Space and the top floor of Bar Đồ Yêu (Đà Nẵng). Curated by Nguyễn Văn Tôn và Nóte Flood, the exhibition narrative revolves around a main question: “When can a group of strangers become a family?” Each artist offered their own definition and point of view on the attachment to “home,” the essence of connections, and what family means amidst the changes in contemporary life. 

Sharing the same space with “Nhà” (Home) at Bar Đồ Yêu, the open studio showcased works by Trần Quỳnh Nhi (Nhiditu), developed during her previous residency program at AirHue, and photography works by Mắt Bét. This was followed by a discussion between participating artists at the same exhibition space and the audience.

Video work “Ảo thật” (Fantastical Real) by Trần Quỳnh Nhi (Nhiditu), organized by AirHue Program, from Open Studio at Bar Đồ Yêu. Photo courtesy of AirHue.

“Năm mới, con xin chúc” (This new year, I wish…) by Mắt Bét, from Open Studio at Bar Đồ Yêu. Photo courtesy of Mắt Bét.

The film screening and workshop programs at Cá Chuồn Space (Đà Nẵng) also caught the attention of many local and international viewers. “Câu chuyện cá chuồn" (Flying Fish Tales) featured a selection of short films by Duy Nguyễn, Koa Phạm, Trà My Hickin, Thuỳ-Trang Nguyễn, and Ái-Như Võ. Curated by Berlin-based cultural practitioners Thao Ho (DAMN*) and Lưu Bích Ngọc, the workshop held space for an open discussion between the organizers and participants on a wide range of themes reflected through the works, such as migration, diaspora and identity, etc.

Workshop and screening event “Câu chuyện cá chuồn” (Flying Fish Tales), curated by Thao Ho (DAMN*) and Lưu Bích Ngọc. Photo courtesy of Mood Food.

As the day slowly faded away, more audiences started gathering by the beach and sat down on bamboo mats until late evening to enjoy the film screening events.

“Ngọn nước ngầm” (Undercurrents) was curated by Phạm Nguyễn Anh Tú, featuring short films by Nguyễn Thị Thanh Mai, Sylvia Schedelbauer, Lêna Bùi, Bjorn Melhus and Huỳnh Công Nhớ. The short films meander through “absent histories, faith and loss, displacements and conflicts, obsession and emancipation,” and hold a dialogue with each other. On the following night, “Cinema CNN#4: Đi mô đi miết…” (Where have you been, wandering aimlessly?) featured short films by Đàm Quang Trung, Nguyễn Lê Hoàng Phúc, Quế (Nguyễn Đức Hùng), Trương Minh Quý, Việt Vũ and Hà Đào. Curated by Mai Huyền Chi and Duy Lê, the program revolved around the theme of “mobility,” with inspirations taken from changes happening within the property and state of surrounding things and phenomena. The screening event was followed by a discussion between the curators, artists and moderator.

Film screening event “Ngọn nước ngầm” (Undercurrents), curated by Phạm Nguyễn Anh Tú. Photo courtesy of Tống Khánh Hà.

Film screening event and discussion of Cinema CNN#4: Đi mô đi miết, curated by Mai Huyền Chi and Duy Lê. Photo courtesy of Mắt Bét.

For those who were looking for a quiet corner in the midst of the art week, “Trạm Đọc” (Reading Station) served as a common “library” for everyone to read. The collection was selected and prepared by AirHue, Liên Phạm, 3năm Studio and Bay Library, featuring many rare art books and zines published by foreign and local artists. Since most of these publications are mostly unavailable for viewing, downloading or purchasing outside these days, the aim of this collection was to make art publications accessible to the public.

Trạm Đọc (Reading Station) by AirHue, Liên Phạm, 3năm Studio, Bay Library. Photo courtesy of Tống Khánh Hà.

Moving forward onto the last three days of the art week, the participants found themselves moving more than usual between various locations in Hội An, with more discussions, interactive installations, studio visits, performance arts, dance and theater from local artist collectives from the central region.

At the cafe and art workshop Rainbow Garden, interactive mixed media installation “Cờ Ạt Cờ,” by artist Trần Thảo Miên and researcher Nguyễn Vũ Tú Hằng, allowed multiple participants to pick their characters, analyze given scenarios in the art scene, and discuss solutions and strategies together. The book talk “Làm Nhóm Nhóm Làm” (Group Works) was held by artist and author Ethan Philbrick and moderated by Anh Vo, featuring Philbrick’s most recent publication “Group Works: Art, Politics, and Collective Ambivalence.” He offered different points of view on group experiments, focusing on individual artists, and works that speak for the process of group or community formation.

Interactive installation: Cờ Ạt Cờ by Trần Thảo Miên, at Rainbow Garden, Hội An. Photo courtesy of Chip.

Book talk Làm Nhóm Nhóm Làm (Group Works) by Ethan Philbrick and moderated by Anh Vo, at Rainbow Garden, Hội An. Photo courtesy of Lâm Hiếu Thuận.

The studio visit of Hoàng Thanh Vĩnh Phong, guided by curator Lê Thiên Bảo, was another unique program of the art week. His studio is located in a hidden corner of Hội An, where he has been living and working quietly for more than two decades. This was a rare occasion for the participants to walk through the studio, have a closer look at the materials, and initiate conversations with the artist. Throughout the program, Phong talked about his early days in art school, his artistic journey until now, and how he experimented with lacquer and signature bed frame artworks.

Studio visit of artist Hoàng Thanh Vĩnh Phong in Hội An. Photo courtesy of Lâm Hiếu Thuận.

Taking inspiration from their surrounding environment, some emerging artists developed their own site-specific performances by using different materials aligned with their own stories. They expressed their own perspectives, created a newly imagined landscape, and sometimes interacted directly with the audience.

Through movements, verbal or non-verbal gestures, appearances, sounds and interactions, the performers responded to their own personal challenges and existing social realities. For instance, in the performance “Đô thị” (City), Nguyễn Xuân Thành responded to the reality in which the roots and heart of his hometown Nha Trang were destroyed. Precious things that once existed in the coastal city have been replaced with film flam aimed at catching up with the era, as a result of urbanism and tourism.

Performance “Đô thị” (City) by Nguyễn Xuân Thành, at An Nhiên Farm — Triêm Tây, Điện Bàn, Quảng Nam. Photo by An Tran.

In another case where one needs to escape from discomfort and confinement, Tâm Đỗ brought a new life to an old abandoned brick kiln in a paddy field and turned it into a new imagined landscape of “Nhà gạch bay” (Flying brick house). The performer walked down from the brick kiln while holding a huge stack of balloons, moved towards the audience, invited them to join her, and ended the performance by reading a poem out loud.

Performance “Nhà Gạch Bay” (Flying Brick House) by Tâm Đỗ, at Lò Gạch Cũ (Old Brick Kiln) — Vĩnh Nam Village Stadium, Duy Xuyên, Quảng Nam. Photo courtesy of Lâm Hiếu Thuận.

Another major highlight of the art week was a mixture of experimental dance & theater, traditional & contemporary music, and even Hip-Hop Battle across different venues in Hội An. Most of the programs this time were recently developed from previous projects and are still continued by the performers. Through the language of movements, the performers found themselves navigating through the complex of personal and collective practices, while bridging the gap between the traditional and the contemporary.

(Left) Performance: “Nếu không nhớ thì sẽ quên, sẽ quên…” (To remember or to forget, forget…), by Nguyễn Hoàng Anh, Khang Nguyễn, Alex Phước Chương, residency program MÚA RỨA 2023, at Hoi An Traditional Art Performance House. Photo courtesy Nguyễn Ngọc Hải (Hải Ô).
(Right) Performance: Ka Lén Hát Nhảy, artist collective of Kim-Kim Hà-Genbou-Haki-Mai Linh-Zenky, at AVANA Vietnam Art Residence, Hội An. Photo courtesy of Nguyễn Ngọc Hải (Hải Ô).

The organizers have also made a significant move by promoting traditional Chăm culture, featuring Chăm artist collective Hagait Ni. Performer Vạn Huyền told us the story of the main character Kau in “Gilaong” (Direction), with questions regarding his long-lost origin, and the journey to find his roots and connect with himself. In the music and dance performance “Mai - Marai,” there was a dialogue between tradition and contemporaneity, where each performer brought with them sacred memories, connecting the past, present and future together.

Performance: “Gilaong” (Direction), by Vạn Huyền, Đại Khang, Ngọc Hữu Saranai, Thuận Ngọc Hòa, residency program MÚA RỨA 2024, at Hoi An Traditional Art Performance House. Photo courtesy of Nguyễn Ngọc Hải (Hải Ô).

Chăm music and dance performance: Mai - Marai, by artist collective Hagait Ni, tại Rạp Chiếu phim thuộc Trung tâm Xúc tiến Du lịch tỉnh Quảng Nam. Photo courtesy of Lâm Hiếu Thuận.

Every version of NCB is held in different cities, and co-organized by different individuals and artist collectives. In the words of Xuân Hạ, the artistic director and producer of NCB 2024, Đà Nẵng; and founder of A Sông Collective: “Nổ Cái Bùm is not just an art event, it is a large community consists of many individuals and smaller communities.” Not only does a sense of collectivity-in-(act)tion exist between the participants of the festival, but it also reflects the way the artist collectives have been running NCB since 2020. By having different generations of artists and art practitioners with multiple cultural backgrounds coming together, the festival also allowed space for open discussions, where everyone could freely express themselves, gain new perspectives, and cultivate new friendships and communities.

Ngô Thanh Phương and Red (Artistic Directors & Producers of NCB 2024, Hội An / Co-founders of MORUA) also said: “Nổ Cái Bùm is a consistent effort of the art community in Vietnam, in maintaining connections, initiating conversations, and experimenting based on the available resources of each locality.” From artists, curators, local business partners, and sponsors to volunteers and participants, everyone plays a crucial role in keeping the festival alive. In conclusion, the decentralized art week NCB plays an important role in featuring and supporting the art scene from regions outside the big cities of Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City.

More information and recaps of “Nổ Cái Bùm 2024: Tập thể (dục) / Collectivity-in-(act)ion” can be found here at this Facebook page. The art week is already over this year, but the festive spirit still lives on!

What does it mean for an artist to preserve and continue the legacy of traditional Vietnamese lacquer across generations? Through this solo exhibition, Nguyễn Xuân Việt showcases his vast expertise and his endless enthusiasm for lacquer painting.

“Nguyễn Xuân Việt: Keeper of the flame for lacquer painting” is a solo exhibition by artist Nguyễn Xuân Việt now on view at Eight Gallery, which features 58 works of lacquer paintings and oil paintings created between 1980 and 2022.

Widely known in Vietnam’s art community, Nguyễn Xuân Việt has devoted more than half of his life and creative energy to painting with sơn ta (Vietnamese traditional lacquer). Because of his passion for a material that requires a great deal of patience and meticulousness, art collector and writer Trần Hậu Tuấn regards him as the “keeper of the flame for lacquer painting,” an artist who considers lacquer art as a personal religion.

Installation view of “Nguyễn Xuân Việt: Keeper of the flame for lacquer painting.”

Born in Nakhon Phanom (Northeastern Thailand), Nguyễn Xuân Việt (born 1949) returned to Vietnam alone at a very young age to join the army in the Southern battlefield, attended Vietnam University of Fine Arts in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh University of Fine Arts, and became an apprentice of master painter Nguyễn Gia Trí (1908–1933) just one year after Reunification.

Spring, 1987. 60 x 120 cm. Lacquer.

Upon arrival at the gallery, we encounter a series of large-scale lacquer paintings. The main themes of his works featured in the space include landscape, human movements and nature. Lotus (2004) is a major highlight work of this room, with detailed brushstrokes and flexible flows of colors, and the combination of traditional lacquer with materials like egg shells, which elevated the texture and liveliness of the artworks.

Lotus, 2004. 118 x 257 cm. Lacquer.

Many of his works, including those featured in this exhibition and even from other collections outside of the exhibition revolve around religious themes. A variety of religious elements are featured in this exhibition: the birth of Buddha, a scene of Christmas Eve, portraits of statues from Hindu temples, human activities at Angkor Wat temple, and the portrait of a Muslim woman. When asked about the religious diversity of his works, Nguyễn Xuân Việt mentioned that he is typically drawn to the ruins of ancient temples. Since many well-known religious paintings belong to the category of oil painting. Therefore, Nguyễn Xuân Việt wanted to experiment with lacquer, and he was hoping to approach more target audiences from different cultural and religious backgrounds.

The birth of the Buddha, 1998. 80 x 60 cm. Lacquer.

Moving to the upper floor, we observe a series of landscape, nude and portrait oil paintings. This is quite a surprise to find in this exhibition and also from the artist in general because he is well-known for working with lacquer. It was later revealed that the artist has been working on landscape, portrait and nude paintings in silence, and most of these works have not been previously shown to the public. Most landscape oil paintings featured in this exhibition were created during his trip in Paris in 1999–2000.

Some works of oil painting from “Nguyễn Xuân Việt: Keeper of the flame for lacquer painting.”

In addition to Nguyễn Xuân Việt’s interests in landscapes, portraits and religious paintings, another significant career highlight is his abstract lacquer paintings. He is not the first painter to venture into this realm of abstraction with lacquer. However, his skills and control over limitless flow of lines and colors are exceptional. The artist implied simply that he did not intend to paint anything specifically, and he was just following his own freedom. Therefore, viewing his lacquer paintings is like venturing into the hidden depths of the unknown, where the audience can only feel it by using their imagination.

(Left) Abstract, 2021. 40 x 30 cm. Lacquer.
(Right) Abstract, 2012. 60 x 60 cm. Lacquer.

We also find some publications on display on the ground floor of the gallery. Throughout his apprenticeship under painter Nguyễn Gia Trí, Nguyễn Xuân Việt was constantly taking notes of the master’s words on painting techniques and thoughts on creation. As he realized that lacquer was still somehow underappreciated in the art scene in the 1980s, he collected all his records and research materials, and emphasized the history, significance and potential of traditional lacquer in the art world.

Three different editions of “Painter Nguyễn Gia Trí's words on creation” and poetry collection “Time and the Sea,” all written by Nguyễn Xuân Việt. The publications are now on display at the exhibition.

Three different editions of Painter Nguyễn Gia Trí's Words on Creation showcase his process of recording Trí’s important ideas and research materials on sơn ta. Meanwhile, the poetry collection Time and the Sea written by Nguyễn Xuân Việt reflects the artist’s personal background, nostalgia towards his birthplace and hometowns, his view of the world, and even inspirations from his travels. Flipping through the pages, the audience might find some similarities between his poems and paintings in the exhibition, as if they are all aligned and interconnected.

Landscape of Huong Pagoda, 1998. 80 x 180 cm. Lacquer.

Other than his expertise and preciseness, as reflected through each painting, there exists a great value of time hidden somewhere in Nguyễn Xuân Việt's works. The colors of his landscape works are not too bold and glamorous, and the surfaces feature a touch of old-school dark tones. These elements represent the traces of time, as the work ages in the finest way through months and years. Being the flame keeper of lacquer painting, Nguyễn Xuân Việt is continuing the legacy of the master painter who came before him, and also preserving an important heritage of the Vietnamese art scene for many generations to come. Sơn ta, as a material, has become his visual language. With pride, this is his own unique way of communicating with the world.

“Nguyễn Xuân Việt: Keeper of the flame for lacquer painting” is now on view at Eight Gallery until September 29. More information can be found in this Facebook post here.

“High school was when we all had lots of thoughts and reflections. And I felt like I didn’t fit in with the world around me at that time, so I turned to music as my companion,” Aprxel reflects on the period of time where her connection with music began to solidify, which ultimately set her on the path to become a music artist.

Vũ Hà Anh, who goes by the stage name Aprxel (pronounced as “April X-el”), is an experimental R&B artist hailing from Hanoi. She has been making music seriously for four years, but her bond with music started much earlier in her life. “Since I was a child, I’ve listened to a lot of music and often sang along. My mother enjoys singing too, and she has a beautiful voice. So perhaps my affinity for music was influenced by her,” she shares.

Aprxel found interest in R&B and soul genres, and as her bond with music grew stronger during her high school years, she eventually took her first steps in music making by learning music production, recording techniques, etc. on the internet and started uploading her demos on SoundCloud and Instagram. 

The EP art of “AM, PM”

Her official debut was in 2020 with a three-track EP called “AM, PM” created in collaboration with Lý Trang, an experimental musician-sound artist with whom Aprxel connected via social media. “The experimental scene back then was small, so it was easy to reach out to artists and share our passion for music. I couldn’t get enough of Lý Trang’s music because it was so distinctive, and she also liked my singing too. Everything clicked and after a while we had an idea of doing this mini-project,” she reminisces.

The creation of “AM, PM” embodied a bedroom musician style. Aprxel recorded using her headphone mic with GarageBand — a beginner-friendly music-making software that lacked the technical aspect to produce high-quality audio — downloaded on her phone. “I had to sit inside my wardrobe to get the best recording environment, and after each session, I always came out drenched in sweat,” she recalls. 

The two worked on the project for over three months, Aprxel handled the vocals while Lý Trang focused on producing. The two didn’t even see each other face-to-face during this time, everything was conducted via the internet with demos sent back and forth. The result was an ambient R&B record featuring Aprxel’s soulful, moody vocals, with her hums layered into the atmospheric instrumentals, thus creating soundscapes that wove ambient swells with echoing human voices.

This EP plays an integral part in Aprxel’s musical journey. She named Lý Trang as her largest influence and a mentor, not only in music, but also in life. This project also introduced Aprxel to the underground, experimental artists scene in Hanoi, a community full of young, passionate music makers unafraid of pushing musical boundaries. This carved out the next chapter of her music career, where she joined the alternative hip-hop/sound collage ensemble Mona Evie Collective.

Mona Evie started out as a Tyler, The Creator fanboy group who met online through Facebook and RateYourMusic forums, with Long Trần (Pilgrim Raid), Thiện Vương, Hồng Phước Văn as three primary members. Aprxel later joined the roster along with Gia Đức (Jaduk), Nguyên Nguyễn (NguyendowsXP), with some rotating members such as Spencer Nam Nguyễn and Zach Sch of experimental outfit Rắn Cạp Đuôi, and Lưu Thanh Duy, the guitarist of shoegaze band Nam Thế Giới.

“Each member may have various musical influences that differ from each other, but we share a common passion in trying our hands at a variety of genres,” Aprxel says. Thus, this was an era where Aprxel expanded her range of musical styles.

Aprxel was part of Mona Evie from 2021.

On the group's first full-length album “Chó Ngồi Đáy Giếng,” released in 2022, the lead single ‘Lên Đồn’ showcases Aprxel’s silky vocal harmonizing on a fun, rhythmic hip-hop and R&B fusion beat. Still, in much more melancholic tracks like ‘Omen 300,’ we see Aprxel using music as an outlet for release as she delves into her personal trauma through her lyrics. 

Aside from providing vocal performances, at times, Aprxel also contributed to the production. On the album’s grandiose 13-minute closing track ‘Bí và Ngô,’ you can hear her attempts at crafting unconventional instrumentals using the organ and electric guitar.

The album art of “Chó Ngồi Đáy Giếng”

About the group’s diverse style of music, Aprxel explains that “the motto of the group is being as creative as possible, we don’t want to be confined to any particular genre.” She would make music as part of Mona Evie starting from 2021, until she shifted her focus to her individual project in 2023, which was her first ever solo album “Tapetumlucidum<3.”

The title of the album, as confusing as it is, actually reflects the essence of the album. Aprxel came across this phrase while reading an Instagram post about animals and was intrigued by the word “Tape” and “lucid” inside the phrase, as “Tape” is a word used to refer to an album, while “lucid” is an adjective that describes her sound quite well.

Mona Evie on stage.

Furthermore, the phrase “Tapetum Lucidum” is a biological term referring to a tissue layer inside the eyes of certain animals that helps them absorb more light to see better in the dark. So she knew this was a fitting name for her first solo project, as the journey of making this album was a process of looking into herself.

“I have more space for self-expression, it feels more aligned with my identity, and it’s more personal than ever before,” Aprxel shares regarding the making of the album. Beginning production in mid-2022 and released in November 2023, “Tapetumlucidum<3” is the culmination of her 18-month introspective journey, encompassing themes of “nostalgia, memories, woman’s identity and love,” she says. 

Sonically, the record blends Aprxel’s sultry, lush vocal performances and ethereal, distorted R&B production. The music video for the second track ‘va’ng9999’ captures the general sound pretty well; it’s like watching vintage, occasionally glitchy VHS tapes and reminiscing about the old days.

“I have more space for self-expression, it feels more aligned with my identity, and it’s more personal than ever before.”

The second half of the album is more experimental, as it reflects a statement in her musical style, her desire to push more boundaries and explore new directions — such as the incorporation of harsh noise and industrial elements in the eighth track, ‘terrorizers.’ The song features production by Lý Trang, and the inclusion of this song, to Aprxel, is “a subtle throwback to my early days of making music with her.”

The album art of “tapetumlucidum<3”

Aprxel delves into various themes throughout this record. In the opening track ‘<3,’ she touches on love and loss, while ‘planet hollywood’ explores the theme of a girl in a big city. The track ‘terrorizers’ tackles the topic of patriarchy, whereas ‘inanna’ radiates her bold diva energy. The album feels like a collage of snapshots, capturing candid moments and emotions from her memories.

“Looking back, this album is like the culmination of a girl who had been living in Hanoi for 23 years,” she says. “Hanoi, with its humid weather, square-shaped concrete, raised me throughout these years, and this album is a closure to a big chapter in my life, allowing for a new one to unfold.” This new chapter followed Aprxel’s decision to leave Hanoi and move to Saigon.

“Hanoi has been my home for more than twenty years, which is a really long time, so I want to venture to a new area. I feel like doing so will be better for my personal growth,” she explains. Throughout the process of making “Tapetumlucidum<3,” aside from going through an emotional journey, Aprxel was also grinding hard on her day job as a graphic designer to save money to relocate. Around three months after the album’s release, she packed her belongings to move to Saigon, beginning a new era in her life.

Settling in Saigon, meeting new friends, acquaintances, music personalities, etc. Aprxel is already focusing on making new music. She recently premiered the music video for her new single, ‘CUBA.’ Where we see her exploring the Saigon Zoo, motor biking along the Nhiêu Lộc Canal, enjoying sủi cảo on Hà Tôn Quyền street, all presented with a fun, somewhat oddball, low-budget vibe.

“Hanoi, with its humid weather, square-shaped concrete, raised me throughout these years, and this album is a closure to a big chapter in my life, allowing for a new one to unfold.”

But Aprxel’s comeback won’t be just a single, but she is dedicating her time to crafting a new mixtape or album, aiming for a late 2024 release. At this time, she doesn’t know how this upcoming work will turn out, but for whatever sounds, samples, and creative directions that she will take, Aprxel is continuing her journey of looking introspectively and finding her own sound.

“Living away from my family, having to take care of myself, in just a few months, I’ve already felt like I’ve grown a lot more. There are difficulties but there is also more freedom, and I like it this way. So I think my upcoming project will be more and more reflective of who I am and closer to my personal identity.”

Tough-looking, yet elegant metal ribbons spark, spill, move and occupy all corners of the empty space: up and down, left and right, and in countless directions. Through a new series of sculpture works and a site-responsive sculptural installation, Vy Trịnh blurs the lines between the street scene and the exhibition space.

Spanning across three floors of Galerie Quynh, Vy Trịnh’s solo exhibition “ON DA DREAM,” curated by Thái Hà, showcases a series of new sculpture works and a site-responsive sculptural installation. Vy Trịnh does not consider city streets only as pass-throughs, but a site for her to borrow raw materials and create artworks. According to the curatorial text, the artist grinds, bends, wraps, ties, burnishes, and adds bling to raw materials that she found: from motorbike moped chassis to fanguards and electric wires. The dreams represented through her works are “grounded, always in motion, and always at full speed.”

The elegant ‘Chandelier’ (2024), made of found objects and decorated with metallic ribbon and rhinestone chains holding onto each other, appears right at the entrance. Motor electrical wires and rubber cables are often used as an electricity conduit that facilitate lights, but in this work, Vy Trịnh has turned these street-found materials into the lights themselves.

Installation view of ON DA DREAM at Galerie Quynh (Ground floor). Photo courtesy of Galerie Quynh.
Chandelier, 2024. Motor electrical wire, rubber cable end cap, multiple connector block, hex nuts, adhesive, metallic ribbon, rhinestone chain and cable zip ties approx. Dimensions: 420 cm, Ø 120 cm.

Moving forward, we encounter ‘DREAM’ (2024), which marks the starting point of the exhibition title and narrative, as well as the intersection point between the works. The Honda Dream moped chassis remains grounded, while steel bars and steel rods snake and curl aimlessly in space, just like how a motorbike driver moves through all corners of a street in a real life scenario. The works give us a glimpse of the significance of motorbikes in Vietnamese contemporary society, where the famous Honda Dream itself was a dream of countless families and individuals in the time of đổi mới reforms since the 1990s.

DREAM, 2024. Honda Dream moped chassis, flat steel bar, steel rod, custom-made steel frame, brass, flux, Dream sticker and Senko fanguards. Approx. dimensions: 157 × 230 × 208 cm. Photo courtesy of Galerie Quynh.

In Vy Trịnh’s works, something is always moving, and something is always evolving. It is not all about the “finished work,” but the process of “becoming” is the work itself. The process of welding is not highly considered as an art-making process but more of a manual labor, which requires high-level of demanding and precise tasks. ‘Streetlight 1’ (2024) and ‘Streetlight 2’ (2024) capture the fleeting moments of sparkling ribbons of lights that perhaps can be seen at a motorbike repair shop or somewhere on the street. With metal steel bars bursting from one central point into different directions, the artist has turned these materials into works that we can sense and feel at any “present” of our lifetime.

Streetlight 1, 2024. Motorbike disc brake, steel rod, nickel-plated steel ball chain, plastic beads, satin ribbon, organza ribbon and adhesive. Approx. dimensions: 152 × 200 × 195 cm.
Streetlight 2, 2024. Motorbike disc brake, steel rod, nickel-plated steel ball chain, plastic beads, metallic ribbon and silver wire twist ties. Approx. dimensions: 145 × 150 × 138 cm.
Photo courtesy of Galerie Quynh.

The presence of the black-and-white calendar in each room is another highlight, which allows the audience to engage directly with the exhibition. These tear-off calendars, which can typically be found in motorbike repair shops, contain text written by curator Thái Hà. Instead of having the gallery give away exhibition brochures, the audience are encouraged to tear off the calendar papers as they walk through the exhibition and read the text at their own pace to gain a deeper understanding of the exhibition. The act of taking away a piece of the exhibition and taking it home also implies that the exhibition does not end within the physical space itself, but it lives on even after one’s departure.

Towards the end of the exhibition, ‘Knock Sensor’ (2024) resembles powerful flows of energy that are about to explode, despite being constrained within a limited space. These flows of energy, made of flat steel bars, explode and spill over and beyond the room entrance. This site-responsive sculptural installation is no longer a work that remains still for one to simply gaze at it, but instead, it moves towards and surrounds the viewer with speed.

Installation view of Knock Sensor, 2024. Site-responsive sculpture flat steel bar, custom-made steel frame, brass, flux, nickel-plated steel ball chain, organza ribbon, satin ribbon and rhinestone chain. Site-dependent dimensions.
Photo courtesy of Galerie Quynh.

Daily objects and commodities occupy all possible spaces in front of shophouses and pavements, motorbike drivers roam through small alleys to the main street and move in different directions. As the day leaves space for the night to take over, flashing, blinking and sparkling lights gradually make their appearance on the street. The scene brings out these questions: what is the meaning of lights in the context of our urban life, what is so significant about physical and social mobility, and what are dreams made of?

Light is often considered a daily necessity to lead the way through day and night, but it also plays a role in representing the beauty and achievement of urban development. There exist humans who are constantly moving, roaming everywhere, and dreaming of mobility. Through every corner of our lives, the sparkling street lights offer us vision, as we ride on the dream fiercely and steadily, towards a future of prosperity and stability.

“ON DA DREAM” is now on view at Galerie Quynh until September 21, 2024. More information on the exhibition can be found here.

Having been abroad for more than a year, I was excited at the mere mention of Vietnam anywhere, so I was even more delighted when I learned of the popular musical Miss Saigon. Posters of it were plastered up in musical-themed bars in Manchester and different theaters across London. The musical is constantly on tour, having recently been staged in Brisbane, Manila, and Singapore. I was curious to see what about the play created such a cultural phenomenon in western theater and pop culture, especially when all people ever seem to know of Vietnam is the war and phở. The play, however, with its questionable history and writing choices, didn’t live up to my expectations.

First released in 1989, Miss Saigon was written by Claude-Michel Schonberg and Alain Boubil, the talents behind the musical adaptation of Les Misérables. Split into two acts, it begins by telling a story of love and lust between an American G.I. named Chris, first played by Simon Bowman, and a poor young Vietnamese girl, Kim, whose circumstances force her into prostitution. Kim was first played by Filipino vocalist Lea Salonga. After they fall in love, Chris offers to bring Kim to America but fails when the US suddenly pulls out of Vietnam. The second act then depicts a tragic tale of motherhood and sacrifices. Kim has given birth to Chris’ child while Chris grapples with his decision to abandon his family with Kim and stay with his new American wife, Ellen. 

The poster for a cinematic screening of Miss Saigon's original cast, featuring Lea Salonga as Kim and Simon Bowman as Chris. Image via IMDB.

Miss Saigon is one of the most influential musicals in theater history, having had one of the longest runs on Broadway. It launched Lea Salonga and Jonathan Pryce into international stardom and its 2014 revival set the world record for opening-day ticket sales. Much of the critics’ praise seems warranted: the set design is incredible and grandiose; the actors all deliver incredible performances; and each song makes a lasting impression. Part of what kept my attention until the end was the suspense and a desire to know the outcomes of each character, but unfortunately, most of my attention was devoted to trying to understand certain writing decisions.

Jonathan Pryce in yellow face as The Engineer. Photo via Blogspot user @adventureisinvertigo.

The play has been subject to controversies since its first staging. Early performances were met with outrage, especially within Asian communities in the west because of its casting choices and depictions of Asians. One of its main characters, simply named The Engineer, is a scheming French-Vietnamese pimp who was originally played by Pryce, a white man. He wore eye prostheses and bronze-yellow makeup to look more Asian. This yellowface was bad enough, but the character also perpetuates racist stereotypes of Asians as cowardly, calculating, and manipulative of innocent Americans. He is later seen licking the boots of the American dream, played for laughs. The song, aptly called ‘The American Dream,’ features The Engineer excessively praising America as the land of opportunities, exclaiming that he’d fit in there better as an aspiring capitalist than in Asia, where his talents for pimping girls are wasted.

“I'm fed up with small-time hustles
I'm too good to waste my talent for greed
I need room to flex my muscles
in an ocean where the big sharks feed
make me Yankee, they're my family
[...]
Greasy chinks make life so sleazy
in the States, I'll have a club that's four-starred
men like me there have things easy.”

Miss Saigon received a revival in 2014 and, thankfully, much was changed. The new iteration featured Asian actors for Asian roles and much of the racist language was removed from the script. The Engineer no longer calls his fellow countrymen “chinks.” Moreover, he was no longer played by Jonathan Pryce but by Jon Jon Briones, a Filipino-American actor. While it’s worth noting that most of the cast, aside from the American characters, consisted of Asians, no one in the main cast was of Vietnamese ancestry. These changes only made the play a bit less racist, not free from racism. No Asian character was depicted positively aside from the main character Kim, who was presented as unique from other girls. Since the core plot relies on stereotypical behavior, simply removing the use of the word “chink” doesn’t change the play’s racist and misogynistic overtones.

Kim clad in a sexualized áo dài, as seen in the Australian production of Miss Saigon, starring Abigail Adriano (left) and Nigel Huckle (right) as Kim and Chris. Photo by Daniel Boud via Lifestyle Asia.

Kim first enters the stage at a brothel/bar wearing a sexualized version of áo dài consisting of only the dress without the pants. She is fetishized with pedophilic undertones. Her innocence and demureness make Chris, fall in love at first sight. Her virginity and young age are also points of focus for many of the characters and she is even described as “little” and “jailbait.” She is simultaneously depicted as the shy and orientalist stereotype and the exotic, hyper-sexualized femme fatale stereotype.

While the characters at first see Kim as a stereotype, her behavior establishes her as an anomaly, different from the other Vietnamese girls who use crude language and aggressive, pushy behavior.

“The village I come from seems so far away
All of the girls know much more what to say
But I know
I have a heart like the sea
A million dreams are in me...”

Kim shares about her arrival at the bar, contrasting the vulgarity of the other Vietnamese bar girls. This contrast is shown in the lyrics sung by Gigi, another prostitute at the bar, and the titular Miss Saigon herself.

“If I'm your pin-up, I'll melt all your brass
Stuck on your ball, with a pin in my ass
If you get me, you will travel first-class
I'll show you, we will make magic, cheri.”

Thuy, on the other hand, is a Việt Cộng soldier with sadistic tendencies who is in love with his own cousin, Kim. He first appears in the middle of Act 1, disrupting the wedding ceremony between Chris and Kim. In Act 2, once he finds out that Kim has given birth to the child of an American G.I., he is ready to commit infanticide to absolve her of her sins and take her as his wife. So while Vietnamese women are depicted as either aggressive prostitutes or demure angels in white, Vietnamese men are either scheming cowards or barbaric soldiers.

Vietnamese bargirls dancing in Dreamland, the club owned by The Engineer where Kim and Gigi works. Photo via Twitter page @MissSaigonUK.

The depictions of Vietnamese characters are in stark contrast to the American characters. Chris is always righteous and after first rejecting Kim for being too young, he tries to do right by his Vietnamese lover. After they sleep together, he finds out about her tragic past and how she lost her virginity. He attempts to bring her to America to provide a better life for her but is unsuccessful. They are separated when the war ends. Five years later, he is married to an American woman, Ellen, and discovers Kim is still alive and has given birth to their son, Tam. He sets off to Asia with his wife to find and rescue his abandoned Vietnamese family. Feeling duty-bound to his ex-lover, he is determined to right his wrongs. “So I wanted to save, protect her. Christ, I'm an American. How could I fail to do good?” he says to his wife.

Alistair Brammer as Chris and Eva Noblezada as Kim in a show in the United Kingdom in 2016. Photo via The Guardian.

Even the more politically correct 2014 revival of the play fails to dispel racist and misogynistic overtones. The roots of racism and misogyny go deeper than just the use of yellowface or characters using an occasional slur. The story itself is built on stereotypes which the plot advances: without Kim’s innocence, which sets her apart from other girls, Chris wouldn’t have fallen in love with her; without the Engineer’s greed and scheming personality, the couple wouldn’t have met or reunited years later; without Thuy, there wouldn’t have been a clear antagonist in the story, and without the American’s savior complex, there wouldn't have been a second act. As stereotypes are so woven into the plot, with each main character representing a different caricature, it would be impossible to transform the play into something completely acceptable.

The Engineer (in red) played by Sean Miley Moore in a recent revival.

The only constant, undaunted, and admirable aspect of the story is Kim’s undying love for her child. Miss Saigon was inspired by a 1975 photograph of a Vietnamese mother seeing her daughter off at Tân Sơn Nhứt Air Base to give her a better life in America. It’s this maternal love that is the focus of the second act of the play. Time and time again, Kim sacrifices for her child, from prostituting herself in Bangkok to killing Thuy to protect him. The finale mirrors the photograph that started it all. The maternal sacrifice culminates in Kim’s suicide at the end of the play so all obstacles are removed for Chis to bring Tam to the US.

Abigail Adriano as Kim in the Australian production of Miss Saigon. Photo by Daniel Boud via Australian Jewish News.

Although racist and misogynistic tones exist throughout the play, Kim’s experiences of motherhood show that a good story could have been told if only the play had focused more on Kim, her experiences in the war, how she had lost her family, and how she had hoped to build a new one, rather than paying too much attention to a sleazy pimp and a virtuous American. Even if the 2014 revival, which continues to be performed around the world, aims to make itself more politically correct than its predecessor, simple script and casting changes are simply superficial modifications that fail to remedy the core problems.

Miss Saigon is one of the few times Vietnam gets the spotlight in the West. Instead of focusing on the resilience and resourcefulness of Vietnamese people during the war or at least shining light onto Vietnamese culture and values, the writers decided to depict the country as a land of immorality filled with helpless women, scheming men, and barbaric nationalists.

How does an artist turn haunting memories into powerful artworks that speak for himself and on behalf of countless lives? Mahdi Abdullah’s paintings serve as social commentary on the realities that the artist has witnessed and lived through, and allow us to rethink the chaotic world we live in today.

Imagine young people silently watching the outside world from behind a piece of wall, bullets and paper boats lying on the ground, humans in raincoats piling up and overlapping each other, a faceless woman in tears held hostage, while a volcano erupts with a golden chariot on fire. All these details are featured across 31 artworks by Indonesian painter Mahdi Abdullah in his solo exhibition “Memory and Body Mythology,” currently available for viewing at Vin Gallery.

One of Indonesia’s most significant painters, Yogyakarta-based artist Mahdi Abdullah is well-known for his works of realism that depict his anxiety towards realities he has witnessed, while focusing on the life of common people from his hometown of Banda Aceh. Long-lasting social conflicts, violent events and the devastating 2004 tsunami in Aceh has left him with trauma that demands to be released and expressed through art.

Installation view of Memory and Body Mythology at Vin Gallery.

Whenever violence, natural disasters, social and political conflicts happen, Mahdi’s past memories resurface, leaving him disturbed and compelled him to turn them into art: paintings, installations, sketches and notes in the form of drawings.

Taking unidentified humans in raincoats as the main point of departure for the exhibition narrative, Mahdi Abdullah combined his personal experiences and haunting memories with current social conflicts and wars around the world, and turned them into powerful realistic paintings. After witnessing a demonstration at the Indonesian National Monument (Monas) in Jakarta in 2008, Mahdi became more interested in the crowd's colorful raincoats worn because of heavy rain than the demonstration itself. Raincoats became a form of body language as Body’s wrapper (with capital B) in his recent works, representing Indonesia’s equatorial climate and serving as a contemporary symbol worldwide.

Memupuk dan Tumpang Tindih (Piled up and Overlap), 2020. 145 x 190 cm. Oil on canvas.

Mahdi’s artworks speak of his experience surviving violence and witnessing current events, and include historical and cultural elements specific to Indonesia. Although the tragedy and trauma in his works are portrayed indirectly, sometimes with calm and dreamy colors, the works are still powerful enough to haunt our memories and make us question the condition of our world at this moment.

Shooting Love, 2024. 120 x 140 cm. Oil on canvas.

He portrays armed conflicts, social conflicts and identity conflicts subtly in detail, which requires careful observation and critical thinking from the audience. He offers dualism via contrasting images of life and death, virtue and evil, visible and invisible, humans and the animalistic nature of man, past and present. For instance, ‘Shooting Love’ (2024) depicts a man and a woman “in love,” with the woman held hostage under a peaceful blue cloudy sky. Meanwhile, ‘Garizrah dan Laku Waktu’ (2021) shows two young men wearing raincoats — one is headless with two crows — silently and patiently watching an “unknown event” in blood red color through a piece of wall, while waiting for months and years to pass by.

Garizrah dan Laku Waktu, 2021. 150 x 150 cm. Oil on canvas.

A glimpse of colonial and post-colonial Indonesian history can be also found in some of Mahdi’s works. At the exhibition’s opening event, the artist agreed with the observation that the umbrella’s colors in ‘Bayang Melindung, Lindung Membayang’ (2019) resemble colors of the flag of the Netherlands, with a wayang character (Javanese shadow puppetry) being covered by a piece of transparent cloth. The work also features a man with a pair of white wings standing next to a young man in a pair of Converse shoes, with bullets, paper boats and broken objects lying on the ground. The aftermath of violence can be found through the painting, understandable with the context that Indonesia has experienced a long history of Dutch colonialism and internal armed conflicts.

Bayang Melindung, Lindung Membayang, 2019. 145 x 190 cm. Oil on canvas.

Meanwhile, ‘Kuasa Ramalan dan Terbakarnya Kereta Kencana’ (2020), translated as “Prophecy Power and the Burning Chariot,” portrays an alternative landscape of Yogyakarta, with two unknown men sitting with powerful postures on a paper armchair, negotiating, while red apples, a symbol for temptation and sin, falls upon them. In the background, a faceless silhouette of Prince Diponegoro (the national hero of Indonesia) appears behind them, Mount Merapi erupts, a golden chariot is on fire, and naked bodies lie on the ground.

Kuasa Ramalan dan Terbakarnya Kereta Kencana, 2020. 190 x 145 cm. Oil on canvas.

With clear brushstrokes and colors that emphasize accurate characters and settings, dreamlike scenes and symbolic images, Mahdi’s realistic paintings slightly cross the line into surrealism. Flawless details such as the folds and shading of raincoats and the physical features of humans and animals reflect his mastery of conventional painting skills, and his ability to construct thought-provoking scenes. Using realistic representational techniques and aesthetic theory of object accuracy, he has developed realism as his own artistic language that speaks for the pain he and his community has endured, for countless resilient lives around us, and for the future generation to reflect on the possibilities and challenges of our world.

Installation view of Memory and Body Mythology at Vin Gallery.

“Memory and Body Mythology” by Mahdi Abdullah is now on view at Vin Gallery until 24 August 2024. More information on the exhibition can be found here in the Facebook page.

The solo exhibition allows the audience to time travel to the world of the late painter Lưu Công Nhân. From watercolor sketches to large-scale paintings, old documents, and even a typewriter on display, the paintings will take us through different time periods of his artistic career.

“A Glimpse of Lưu Công Nhân” (Một thoáng Lưu Công Nhân) was curated by Hùng Nguyễn and Bùi Thị Phương Thảo (Lân Tinh Foundation) and organized by Annam Gallery. It features more than 35 watercolor works and oil paintings by renowned painter Lưu Công Nhân (1929–2007). The exhibition showcases his watercolor paintings from the 2000s, female portraits and nude paintings from the 1990s, scenes of Hội An Ancient Town from 1984 to 1985, western-influenced abstract paintings from the early 1970s, and wartime paintings of people and landscapes from the 1950s and 1960s.

Installation view of A Glimpse of Lưu Công Nhân.

In the Vietnamese modern art scene, Lưu Công Nhân is already a well-known name to art collectors and art enthusiasts. An alumnus of the Resistance Class (1950–1954) who taught in the Việt Bắc Resistance Zone at the Vietnam Fine Arts College, he was trained under the guidance of renowned painter Tô Ngọc Vân (1906–1954). During his early years as an art student, he already displayed drawing talents through his realistic sketches and achieved a high level of technical proficiency in the use of watercolor.

Watercolor paintings by Lưu Công Nhân from the 1990s until the early 2000s.

The exhibition starts with a series of watercolor works from the 1990s until his final days in Đà Lạt in the early 2000s when he faced challenges in creating large-scale paintings due to his declining health. The conventional subject matters in his paintings include nature, female portraits, and still lifes that feature flowers. Some may consider the paintings too simple or minimal. However, his expert use of colors and control over the brushstrokes are well reflected throughout his works, representing the passion and heartbeat of a true artist. There exists simultaneously a peaceful atmosphere, lively objects, and sceneries that coexist within the paintings.

Installation view of A Glimpse of Lưu Công Nhân.

Moving forward onto the inner exhibition space, we encounter Lưu Công Nhân’s large-scale oil paintings from the 1950s to 1970s. Despite the extreme difficulties of life during the war, as a state-sponsored artist, he had the privilege and freedom to access foreign art books and art supplies, engage in outdoor paintings, and travel across Vietnam. Hence, we see some variety in Nhân's painting styles and his own written records on the arts throughout his career. He consistently accumulated knowledge and experimented with different methods to master his own artistic language.

Portrait 02, unknown time. 70 x 50 cm. Oil on canvas.

Flower 13, early 2000s. 40 x 49 cm. Watercolor on paper.

During this time period, the main subject matters in his realistic paintings include people and landscapes during the war. It can be considered the peak of his career in portraying realistic subject matters: landscapes of towns, villages and nature, women in the resistance period, a military match, etc.

Abstract art is also another highlight of his career, which he researched and experimented with at his studio in Thác Bà Forest (around 1970–1972). Perhaps, the world of abstract art contains some kind of joy that an artist might not be able to find from realistic paintings, which encouraged him to explore and experiment with it. The mastery in his control of brushstrokes, colors, arrangements and forms are well reflected in his works from this peak period. Eventually, Lưu Công Nhân moved on from abstract paintings and shifted his focus back to what was “real” in his point of view.

Looking through the whole exhibition again, from his earliest works at the end to his final works, we see how Lưu Công Nhân started his artistic and life adventure with realistic paintings on different mediums, ventured into abstract painting, shifted his focus to the beauty of female portraits and nude paintings, and then returned to painting the real subjects around him in a calmer and more minimal style until his final days.

Installation view of Lưu Công Nhân’s typewriter.

Upon returning to the main exhibition space, we see a typewriter standing right in the middle of the room. The typewriter played a very important role in his life, where he composed missives and drafted letters for his friends and family. Other than painting, he was active in exchanging in-depth ideas and perspectives on arts and the must-have characteristics of an artist. This enriched his spiritual life and allowed space for self-expression and self-reflection through words and his own visual language. Both sides of the typewriter include two female portraits with Lưu Công Nhân’s signature on it. The standee is covered with his handwriting, and his words “Vẽ là sống” (“To paint is to live”) which sums up the essence of this exhibition.

“A Glimpse of Lưu Công Nhân” is now on view at Annam Gallery until August 4, 2024. More information can be found here in their Facebook page.

Even though both the painting’s creator and muse have left us behind, a part of their life will live on with us in an important relic of Vietnam’s 20^th century history.

As Tuổi Trẻ reports, Nguyễn Minh Thúy — the subject of the iconic oil painting ‘Em Thúy’ — passed away on July 9 at her home in Thanh Xuân District, Hanoi. She was 89 years old. 

‘Em Thúy’ is perhaps the best-known work by artist Trần Văn Cẩn, who’s widely considered one of the greatest Vietnamese painters of the modern age. The painting was officially bestowed the status of Vietnam’s National Treasure in 2013. The portrait has also been included in Vietnam’s public school syllabus for decades, further increasing its recognizability amongst Vietnamese.

Em Thúy, oil on canvas, 60 cm x 45 cm, 1943.

Born in 1935, Nguyễn Minh Thúy was Trần Văn Cẩn’s niece. One day in 1943, seeing his niece dressed in her light pink silk outfit, he suggested she sit down for a portrait. Thúy was eight years old at the time, a student at École Brieux (now Thanh Quan Secondary School) on Hàng Cót Street, a primary school for girls. It took numerous one- and two-hour sessions over several months to finish; he gave it a simple name: ‘Em Thúy’ (Little Thúy).

‘Em Thúy’ was first introduced to the public at Foyer de l’Art Annamite (FARTA) in 1943. FARTA was an art association founded in 1937 by Trần Văn Cẩn with his contemporaries, including Tô Ngọc Vân, Georges Khanh, etc. Even though the family didn’t pay much attention to the painting at the time, it helped Cẩn clinch the first prize at l'Association pour la Formation Intellectuelle et Morale des Annamites (AFIMA), alongside his other painting, ‘Gội đầu’ (Hair-Washing). Cẩn was recognized for his masterful use of oil, which was still considered a novel medium back then; he also painted a lesser-known portrait of Thúy in 1959, when she was 24.

Em thúy, oil on canvas, 1959.

During wartime, Thúy’s family had to evacuate the capital and the painting was lost during in chaos. Fortunately, the Vietnam Fine Arts Museum managed to buy back ‘Em Thúy’ in 1964, albeit with considerable wear and tear. It underwent an intensive round of restoration in 2004 with the help of Australian conservator Caroline Fry, and has settled down at the museum since then.

As for Thúy, she went to school to become a teacher and mainly taught literature, the humanities and home economics during her tenure. She also got married and gave birth to three children.

Trần Văn Cẩn (right) and his wife, Trần Thị Hồng (left), who was also a famous sculptor.

Trần Văn Cẩn was born in 1910 in Hải Phòng, though he moved to Hanoi to live with his grandmother in 1924. Even though Cẩn graduated from a technical school, majoring in textile painting and carpentry, his passion for visual art pushed him to sign up for École des beaux-arts de l'Indochine (EBAI), the region’s most prestigious art school and the alma mater of many other Vietnamese art icons like Lê Phổ and Mai Trung Thứ. Cẩn passed away in 1994 at home in Hanoi.

[Top image via VnExpress]

An exhibition that brings the audience through the transition between day and night, and movements between dream and memories. There is no beginning and no end, and all elements above somehow reflect the cycle of our existence.

Installation view of “Entrusting to Emptiness,” now on view at Wiking Salon.

Organized by Wiking Salon and Galerie BAQ, “Entrusting to Emptiness” (Kỳ Thác Hư Không) is a duo exhibition featuring more than 25 works by artists Tôn Thất Minh Nhật and Tuyền Nguyễn. These series of silk and lacquer paintings make up two different segments of the exhibition, where the audience will find themselves following the traces of movement, memory and heritage.

Upon entering the exhibition, one encounters ‘In Fluctuance’ (Chênh Vênh), a series of silk paintings by Tuyền Nguyễn (born 1990), with double-sided paintings hung alternatively to fill the empty space. The artist’s personal reflections and narratives are beautifully illustrated with soft but solid brushstrokes, with mazes of colours flowing across the painting.

Tuyền Nguyễn's ‘In Fluctuance’ series.

The human figures featured in Tuyền Nguyễn's paintings are like silhouettes from our dreams that live through various stages of emotions, fading away and slowly turning into past memories. We may not completely understand what exactly happens within the realm of these works; however, the flow of movements gives us a sense of what dreams and illusions look like when we are half asleep and half awake, with memories that continue living in our minds.

In Fluctuance #1 (2024). 80 x 120 cm. Watercolour and acrylic on silk.

Moving onto the next segment of the exhibition, one enters a different world of lacquer paintings by Tôn Thất Minh Nhật (born 1982). He draws inspirations from traditional temple architecture, communal houses, and royal structures of his home. By applying layer after layer onto his works, he creates structures that make up the “frame” of each painting, emphasizes the depth that each layer of black lacquer can possess, and gives us the illusion of gazing at a small pond and through a window.

(From top to bottom, left to right) Sunset (2024), Night #03 (2024), Moonlight (2024), Lanterns and moon #02 (2024). 60 x 60 cm. Vietnamese lacquer (sơn ta) on wood.

In contrast with Tuyền Nguyễn’s work, where movements are flowing and occupying all dimensions, the movements in Tôn Thất Minh Nhật’s work are confined within a “frame” made of multiple layers of lacquer on the edge of each painting. These works offer a unique experience where one witnesses the sunny and rainy seasons happening through a window, and gazes at the small pond to watch the sunset giving space for the night sky with the rising moon and lanterns entering the scene in silence.

(From left to right) A Tale of Sun and Rain series #1 (2024), A Tale of Sun and Rain series #2 (2024), A Tale of Sun and Rain series #3 (2024). 80 x 60 cm. Vietnamese lacquer (sơn ta) on wood.

Two different contrasting series of paintings, like yin and yang, coexist and harmonize with each other in the same space: one is fragile and translucent, while the other one is solid and reflective. The exhibition serves as a meeting point of nature, heritage, dreams and memories. Visitors become travellers witnessing the changes of seasons, the passing of time, and the visualisation of dreams and memories in the realm of our human existence.

“Entrusting to Emptiness” (Kỳ Thác Hư Không) is now on view at Wiking Salon until July 21, 2024. More information can be found here at their Facebook page.

To Đặng Thái Tuấn, the talent behind illustration project “Vietnam Retropunk,” whimsical depictions of robots and animatronics sprouting out from everyday objects and activities embody the space in between the ancient and the futuristic.

If Vietnam had advanced significantly in machinery and technology since the 1970s, what would it look like? Tuấn explores this question in “Vietnam Retropunk,” an ongoing series consisting of 16 total illustrations making up two books (so far). Woven throughout the series is a sense of nostalgia for Vietnam’s recent past, including important historical episodes like the subsidy era in Hanoi.

Everyday scenes with just a little sprinkle of cyberpunk.

Using a bright color palette and blending pop art, pen art, vintage, and futuristic style elements, Tuấn depicts quintessential Vietnamese everyday objects and activities such as bánh chưng, xe xích lô, street vendors, and mothers on a groceries run, with the addition of robots and animatronics: a cheeky little girl sits eagerly awaiting her robot to stuff, wrap, cook, assemble, and steam her bánh chưng; a mother with grey-streaked hair in floral pajamas is carried by a diligent cart-robot hybrid on the way to get groceries. “I love and wish to depict things that seem simple yet, upon closer observation, express unique stories and qualities of Vietnam,” Tuấn tells me in Vietnamese during our virtual chat.

The North-South Express reimagined as a robotic dragon.

The series is heavily imaginative. Tuấn calls upon childhood through commonplace motifs that are sure to resonate with many Vietnamese readers: toys, traditional food, street snacks, daily commute vehicles, and female figures — the mother, the aunt, the student in áo dài. “I hope that the motifs used evoke in audiences both feelings of familiarity and novelty,” Tuấn explains. “Most of what I depict, the everyday subject matter, feels familiar, but here and there, certain aspects feel altered or standout in a way that may surprise and make audiences think.”

Our childhood toys in mecha form.

In ‘Cảnh Phố’ or ‘Random Streets,’ for example, Tuấn points out how it might seem like your average train on first glances, but the precise inspiration is Hanoi's “tàu điện leng keng,” a network of old tramway criss-crossing in the capital from 1901 to 1991. This is one example of an element of a time Tuấn, having been born in 2000, barely experienced. “These images and way of life mainly exist through stories told to me by my parents and other adults in repetition, [details] that I relish on online archives such as Ảnh Hà Nội Xưa,” says Tuấn. This balance between familiarity and novelty, doused with imagination and recollection, encourages audiences to hold dear the smaller things that make up the Vietnamese way of life in past decades.

New ways to đi chợ!

“Vietnam Retropunk” is therefore a blend of classic (retro) and futuristic (punk) — the punkness here is from cyberpunk, a subgenre of science fiction in a dystopian futuristic setting. Art that is cyberpunk often uses a combination of lowlife and high tech juxtaposed with societal collapse to highlight the detrimental impact of drug culture, technology, and the sexual revolution. Tuấn cited Akira from Katsuhiro Otomo, Ghost in the Shell by Masamune Shirow, Cyberpunk 2077, The Blade Runner franchise, and Akira Toriyama as inspirations and personal heroes.

I also offered The Matrix trilogy, to which he agreed. We realized that there was a universality to the cyberpunk subgenre, especially its aesthetics — the doubtful yet eager reception of industrialization and technological revolution in the face of tradition and normalcy. Yet unlike most referenced cyberpunk inspirations, Tuấn’s work is anything but gloomy or nihilistic. With “Vietnam Retropunk” specifically, he wanted to connect with his roots — Hanoi specifically, and Vietnam at large — and embrace his love for where he came from in a way that was authentic to him.

Get your gas the futuristic way.

Given his current high demand, as seen in a thriving freelance portfolio encompassing well-known names such as TiredCity and Uniqlo, one would not have guessed that Tuấn recently graduated with a degree in IT. His journey to illustration has not been linear. “Having always had a knack for design, I had applied to design school at the end of my secondary years, failed short of that, made a pivot, only to find my way back through part time design jobs," Tuấn both bashfully and blissfully recalls.

He went through a period of assembling an amateurish CV and portfolio sparse with nothing but hobby-based drawings and secondary school projects, and getting rejected by all part-time positions except one, a graphic designer job at Memolas, a yearbook design and manufacturing company. It was here where the idea for ‘Bánh Chưng’ or ‘Banh Chung Making Machine,’ the first of “Vietnam Retropunk”’s illustrations, was conceived and realized on a shabby, off-brand tablet bought off of Shopee. As his designs gained traction, Tuấn rewarded himself with a second-hand iPad where the rest of “Vietnam Retropunk” came to be.

The first-ever illustration that started it all.

Having graduated from the simplistic short stories, Tuấn’s portfolio now boasts mesmerizingly detailed, larger-scale illustrations like ‘Hà Nội Rong’ or ‘Moving Hanoi’ that won him a design competition hosted by TiredCity. Looking forward, Tuấn plans to continue with “Vietnam Retropunk” and freelance commissions. He is slowly but steadily working on the first illustration for Book 3 of “Vietnam Retropunk,” as he believes there is still more ground to be covered with the series’ purpose, message, and central themes.

Tuấn's award-winning entry.

For now, through Vietnam Retropunk 1 and 2, Tuấn inspires his audience to not only remember but appreciate and hold dear the slower-paced, analogous way of life that is so enjoyably Vietnamese in this age of rapid technologization; to maintain focus on the small things of value; and to use advanced technology to serve the things that matter.

It’s not Hoàng Thùy Linh’s catchy dance track ‘See Tình’ or the crossover Mekong Delta hit ‘Con gái miền Tây,’ the first Vietnamese song to amass one billion — or bill-ion, if you will — on YouTube is a children’s song about ducks.

Earlier this week, it was announced that a music video for the children’s music classic ‘Một con vịt’ (A duck) has officially joined YouTube’s billion-view club, alongside prestigious earworms such as ‘Despacito,’ ‘Gangnam Style’ and ‘Humpty the train on a fruits ride.’ 

‘Một con vịt’ is written by composer Kim Duyên, and was first performed by Vietnamese children’s music icon Xuân Mai in 1998, when she was four. It is arguably the most well-known song in the country, thanks to its widespread popularity in kindergartens and during family meals as a propagandist tool to lull easily distracted children into opening their mouths for food — this writer included.

Lyrics-wise, Kim Duyên opted for a naturalist stance, depicting the anatomy and key behaviors of a domestic duck with hyper-realistic descriptions: “A duck spreads its two wings / ‘Quack quack quack quack,’ it says / When [it] sees a pond, it splish-splashes around / When on land again, [it] shakes the wings to dry out.” To most children growing up in urban areas, ducks are hard to come by in the flesh, unless that flesh is deliciously roasted with five-spice; so for generations of prepubescent city slickers, ‘Một con vịt’ has helped reveal the simple joys in the life of rural poultry.

The ‘Một con vịt’ video that just went billion-certified on YouTube, however, is not Xuân Mai’s version that most Vietnamese born in the 1990s and 2000s grew up with, nor does it feature her vocals. It’s a 3D music video rendered in a style one can mean-spiritedly characterized as “we have Pixar at home,” featuring flat textures, animatronic-esque movements, and dubiously numbered ducklings. Why are the ducks numbered? What is this? Squid Game?

I suppose the overall video is cute enough, and the bright, sharp color palette has no doubt appealed to the developing sense of sight of children, but as a former child raised on Xuân Mai music, this newfangled 3D-schmeedee doesn’t even come close to the delights of the original video, which features cameos from actual ducks!