(Chiếc ghế ngồi)
A collaboration with Pham Triet
The Sitting Chair centers around a symbolic piece of furniture. Through images, videos, and physical prints, this project invites viewers to join them in a visual journey. By pausing to sit and examine the familiar, viewers are encouraged to discover new meanings and perspectives.
The project extends to creating a zine centered around the traditional Vietnamese flute kite. With deep roots in the Northern delta provinces, this kite has been a cherished pastime for generations.
Website
(Tôi mơ tôi không là)
A collaboration with Pham Triet
During the COVID-19 lockdown, my daily life was often dominated by monologues. It was a time when I realized that my daily activities were merely a way to escape from being human, from being myself. Without social interaction and a specific schedule, I fell into the chasm of a turbulent flow of time. There, I gradually became discontented with my body and my existence.
I would close my eyes, or open them but not look anywhere, and enter a daydream. I dreamed of my own non-existence. I surrendered to desires that I considered fundamental to being human. A simple desire. A fantasy of a temporary death.
The first half of the book simulates these daydreams. The daydreams which I saw myself becoming a scene, a living or non-living entity, and even something more abstract: a touch, a glance. And every night, I was in a state of self-denial, seeking comfort in my dreams. However, the ongoing dreams made me realize that, no matter what I became, that very thing would still lead to decay. The dreams gradually became distorted and bizarre, torturing and rejecting me.
Was I too naive? Naive to think that I would find salvation by dissociating from reality?
The book is created by compiling images (both old and new) that represent my feelings during that period, using photos by myself and Pham Triet. The chaotic and uneven colors of the images signal to viewers that what they see is merely a simulation of reality, or perhaps even an exaggeration. The images are arranged according to the distortion of a dream: the scenes become harder to identify, and the subjects of the photos gradually avoid acknowledging their own existence.
This photobook was also displayed at “Imaging Rhizome“ exhibiton, a collaboration with Studio 3Nam and curated by Lien Pham and Dat Vu, a special exhibition featuring a collection of dummy books crafted in recent years by 15 Vietnam-based photo artists.
For the full walk-through of this photobook: Here!
CMYK color printing
112 pages
148x210mm
Review by Câu lạc sách ảnh Thăng Long.
(Mở miệng, kể chuyện gia đình)
This project explores my complex relationships with my family: my parents, sister, and grandmother. Through photography, I delve into feelings of distance and inferiority towards my parents, empathy for my grandmother's pain following the loss of her husband despite their troubled marriage, and a profound connection with my sister, marked by a longing for her continued presence in Vietnam.
(1): My father singing a sorrowful karaoke song.
(2): A portrait of my mother with her first child.
(3,4): My grandmother peeling grapefruit, her deceased husband's photo present on the altar.
(5,6): A shared night of sleep before my sister's departure to America.
(7,8): On Tet, I took a photo of my aunt, her leg was bruised and swollen due to diabetes.
The Blade of the Grass Collaborative zine
by khoitle and sprblooom
“Underneath all the longing and sorrow of our past lives, there is a warmth still. and it echoes. it is not that our scars have healed, but rather, become more familiar and fond with time. it is through its tender heart that we are revealed truth. so, what is grief if not love preserving?
this book was idealized during a time of grief, a heartbreak felt deeply on the beaches of da nang, vietnam. as the grains of sand blew along the shoreline and the sky became a mirage of pink and white, the conception of “the blade of the grass” was born. during this period, writing became my method of healing and meditation. it made the heartache ache less and the quiet quieter.”
- khoi le
Living in a country where the spirit of community is the standard, “family” makes its appearance in public discourse as the very core of the nation, solidifying the “standard family” as a social structure worthy of praise and reinforcement. The standard familial values are deeply engraved, taking roots in my siblings and me through the governmental policies, the media, and even the literature we study in school.
Family pressures/expectations, combined with the achievement-oriented culture in Vietnamese education (by the authorities, heads of school, and teachers), created pressures that were difficult to resist. Grades and academic achievements have gradually become the instrument to measure the value of a student, of a child.
As if an invisible institution, I self-inflict the burden of the duty to be a “good” daughter, a “good” citizen. When my childhood comes into question, my memories intertwine, becoming a painful knot. I have come to the realization that by repressing my pain and negative emotions for all those years, my memory has been damaged, turning my childhood memories corrupt.
Through my practice, I want to dissect the contradictions of those living in the constraints society has put on them, and the ones they have put on themselves; as well as the reactions invoked by existing in an undesired reality. By deciphering the fading fragments of memory, I shall confront the childhood traumas and the role they play in the erosion of the very same memories.