Does Contemporary Vietnamese Art still have something to say? Part 1 of 3 by Laurent Colin
- cnualart
- Dec 22, 2012
- 8 min read
This essay, originally written in French by Laurent Colin, was first published in Vietnamese on the art discussion website Soi.com.vn. Since Soi does not currently publish in other languages, in collaboration with the author I edited the English translation shared here. The opinions expressed are those of Laurent Colin and do not necessarily represent my views. Copyright remains with Laurent Colin.
If we try to assess the evolution of the artistic production in Vietnam over the last twenty years, the immediate conclusion which comes to mind is rather depressing. It seems now clear that, whereas the economy has been growing since the end of the 80s, the arts during that time have been going through a period of stagnation, if not a regression. Oddly enough, this happened precisely when galleries and dedicated art shows, inside but also outside Vietnam, were flourishing with the inevitable “workshops”, “symposiums” and others vacuous “art talks”.
As noticed ironically by Mai Van Hien (1923-2006) when I last met him in Hanoi in 2003, there have never been so many artists and galleries in the capital of Vietnam but paradoxically so little art. The discourse about art appears to have progressively replaced art itself.
The fact that the Vietnamese art scene seemed unable to emerge on the international stage, whether in the context of sales organized by renowned auction houses [i] or in international art fairs – and in spite of desperate attempts to imitate Chinese or Indian kitsch which dominate these kind of events – or to awkwardly step in the world of video, performance or installation – illustrates what some people already call a failure. Others, more optimistic, still think it only marks a temporary empty period for Vietnamese art.
The impatience which prevailed at the beginning of 2000 in the face of unkept promises by the young generation, little by little, left room for disappointment, boredom and, finally, indifference. Tired of artists who were getting nowhere, the small circle of real art lovers in Vietnam seems to have given up, leaving the stage to the troops of foreign advisors, overseas Vietnamese or to rich expatriates, suddenly self-promoted established collectors.
The artists themselves are not at all fooled by this situation. The titles as well as the content of some exhibitions which I saw back in 2009 in Hanoi candidly reveal their state of confusion (Where are we now? ArtVietnam Gallery; Who do you think we are? Bui Gallery). Another sign of the time is that some artists decided to stop painting altogether. Do Phan, for example, now dedicates himself to writing, a means of expression still resisting the commercialization, superficiality and pretentiousness that nowadays too often characterize Vietnamese visual arts.
If, for once, we decide to leave aside the usual discourses which consist of getting over-excited by the first exhibition of any Fine Art School fresh graduate, or in expressing empathy for the “poor Vietnamese artist victim of his or her environment”, and try to analyze the real causes that led to this situation, we can understand quite easily that the responsibilities are varied and interlinked : galleries which are not doing their job, foreign institutions which run desperately behind a so-called Avant-Garde, immature artists following what they perceive as market expectations in order to receive in return international recognition, the non-existence of critical discourse and the absence of local public interest and domestic market.
Current trends
To begin, let’s forget about the robotic works of Nguyen Thanh Binh, Hong Viet Dung, Thanh Chuong, Bui Huu Hung and others which saturate the galleries. These actors have no other ambition than to sell by the kilo products meeting the expectations of foreign clientele. And, after all, why not if it works? Still it is sad to notice also that talented artists such as Dang Xuan Hoa or Hoang Phuong Vy tend too often these days to adopt mass production and even plagiarize themselves.
If we look more seriously at the young creations exhibited in galleries worthy of the name or institutions in Vietnam or on the international stage, the situation is no less worrying.
Le Quang Ha is probably one of the most gifted artists of the new generation, even if, given the general level, that compliment does not mean much. Having shown gouaches and very honest oils on canvas in the 90s, Ha quickly opted for big formats (oils but preferably lacquers) with political and provocative references: fat and contorted policemen with dark glasses, politicians or state officials with ties, sharp teeth and bulging eyes, handling threatening dogs, fighting with sprawling monsters. On some occasions, Ha also deals with international politics (e.g. with a reflection on terrorism, Bush, Bin Laden – The American Dream, Terrorists or Terrorized?). But at the end of the day, there is nothing really subversive in this criticism of the political/police violence or of the dehumanizing system. The content, as well as the technique and style, although masterful, are simplistic and the related commentary remains poor and harmless. We scratch the surface and stay at the level of the slogan or sterile provocation. The difficulties surmounted to exhibit such works in Vietnam cannot be considered proof of artistic quality, nor serve as content, any more than the commercial success presupposed by the fact that foreign collectors appear to be convinced of confronting a virulent diatribe, and reassured by the evident resemblances with what Chinese artists [ii] have produced for years.
Another rising star recently promoted by galleries is Ha Manh Thang, who recycles with a Vietnamese sauce, but with no imagination or qualms, the old recipes of Chinese Pop Art with the usual flavor of cynicism. He mixes traditional images of Vietnam (characters in costumes) or of communist propaganda (Bo Doi in uniforms) with symbols of modern life: brands (Moschino, Louis Vuitton, D&G, GAP…) and popular icons (Hello Kitty, Minnie, Batman…). In brief, here again, we find the same dullness which for years has invaded the galleries of Shanghai. Paradoxically, this rather weak production fully belongs to the westernized and mercantile influence the artist intends to condemn.
In the mid 1990s, the Hanoian art scene presented promising signs illustrated notably by the first works of three young graduates of Hanoi Fine Art School (Nguyen Quan Huy, Nguyen Minh Thanh and Nguyen Van Cuong) supported by their professor Truong Tan, this latter having rapidly acquired a certain fame due to the strength of his work on “do paper” as well as by the issues he tackled. Today, with hindsight, what remains?
Nguyen Minh Thanh has been very successful with his androgynous and often narcissistic portraits with a touch of buddhism and organic harmony. Even if aestheticism has now replaced the initial originality and if the simplicity of subjects and forms can no longer hide the lack of real content, there is no doubt that there will always be a foreign clientele for this niche.
Nguyen Quang Huy became notably known for his series of large canvases reproducing almost photographic portraits of ethnic minorities. The position of the characters diluted in blue/grey and the way they look at the viewer refers to some extent to the work of the Chinese artist Zhang Xiogang. In some cases, however, their eyes are doubled and blurred, a process already used in the 20s by Man Ray. But while Marquise Casati (Man Ray 1922) has wide open eyes full of desire and passion, the characters of Huy have lifeless eyes and, in the absence of real plasticity, his work is then reduced to an Orientalist ornament, quite close to a product by Bui Huu Hung, with enough modernity in the making to be commercially acceptable.
Finally, Nguyen Van Cuong, who began with a very interesting graphic work on paper, stagnates too and is now overstating the case by still denouncing without much imagination the usual social plagues (money, sex, corruption, and so on). He switched from “do paper” to acrylic painting or, as for Truong Tan, to lacquer. But the lacquer for Truong Tan (as for Le Quang Ha, Nguyen Minh Thanh or Nguyen Van Cuong) brings nothing. On the contrary, it sterilizes. The visual effect of lacquers replaces the spontaneity of the drawing. To convince oneself, one can compare current decorative and mannerist lacquers by Truong Tan, with his ink drawings of the 90s, in which simplicity and strength bloomed without any heavy aestheticism.
Here I have discussed some typical examples to illustrate the poverty of recent developments, but this list is far from exhaustive. To summarize, these are the issues that are damaging the credibility of contemporary Vietnamese art:
The mass production of consumer goods rather than works of art (Bui Huu Hung, Nguyen Thanh Binh, and co.) but also the absence of renewal affecting established artists (Dinh Y Nhi);
The proliferation of big formats as if Vietnamese artists were thereon paid per square meter by clients who want value for money;
The opportunistic use of lacquer as a traditional material in a contemporary context (Truong Tan, Nguyen Van Cuong, Le Quang Ha, Nguyen Minh Thanh), which supposedly also adds value in the eye of the collector (who too often, unfortunately, disregards works on paper). But this pseudo-diversion of a local medium has obviously nothing to do with the traditional technique. This latter includes repeated polishing of colors patiently applied layer by layer to obtain depth and lights. These principles are totally ignored by most current artists and result in flat works without mystery, in the end rather similar to the imitation lacquered reproductions of Air France ads of the 60s, or covers of Tintin comic books, such as those found in shops on Hang Bong street;
The overwhelming number of self-portraits: far from questioning who is looking at them (as was the case with the striking self-portraits produced by the elder generation, notably Bui Xuan Phai and Nguyen Sang), these are merely the display of insignificant egos (Le Quy Tong among others, but the list of Narcissus [iii] is long);
The contemplative aestheticism, which to a certain extent reminds us, although in a different medium, of Tran Anh Hung’s film. The range of artists with a decorator’s instinct is quite large (from Bui Huu Hung to Nguyen Minh Thanh), portraying each time a heavy mixture of false spirituality, ancestral serenity or guaranteed Buddhist atmosphere. Imagery includes, as needed, incense, draping robes and bamboo, but also repeated ethnic references, sometimes supposedly used to denounce the traps of exoticism (Nguyen Quan Huy);
At the opposite end of this decorative trend, we can find a strong focus on current social evils with simplistic sociological or political messages: critics of the consumer society (Pham Huy Thong, Nguyen Van Cuong), the fate of women in Vietnamese society (Nguyen Thi Chau Giang, Dinh Y Nhi), the solitude experienced in expanding big cities (the polluted megalopolis that attracts uprooted people from the countryside being opposed to the protecting structure of the village – Do Tuan Anh), basic condemnation of politics, police violence or corruption (Le Quan Ha);
Last but not the least, and as already mentioned: the repeated Chinese references [iv]. Vietnamese artists have apparently decided to follow the path already taken many years ago by their neighbors. The latter have definitely encountered vertiginous success in the contemporary art market (in terms of sales if not in terms of quality) followed by a crisis which has sharply corrected the excesses, with only a few established names remaining and benefiting from the upturn. But in Vietnam, the “Made Like in China” is still affordable, and the crisis, in spite of the reduction in sales and closure of galleries, proved not to be enough to unmask impostures and stop the plagiarism.
© Laurent COLIN, 2011
[i] If major auction houses organized Asian Modern Art sales on a regular basis (or even South-East Asian sales), we would notice that the proportion of paintings by Vietnamese artists is limited. In parallel, the number of works by artists from Thailand, Philippines or Indonesia has constantly increased – not to mention China and India, which have always dominated these sales. Today, Vietnam is mainly represented by artists of the very first generation who emigrated and died abroad. We thus find in every sale the usual “Bunches of Flowers” from Le Pho or numerous “Mother and Child” by the same artist or his colleague Mai Thu, or the vaporous landscapes of Vu Cao Dam. The auction houses, which do not really have any expertise on Vietnamese art, no longer dare present painters of the “Vietnamese Modernity” (Bui Xuan Phai, Nguyen Tu Nghiem, Nguyen Sang, Duong Bich Lien, Nguyen Tien Chung) after selling works which proved to be fakes – damaging their credibility. The new generation is absent.
[ii] Cf. Yang Shaobin and his series “Police”.
[iii] The Dogma Self-Portrait Award organized in 2011 was in principle an interesting initiative but led to uneven results. In the best cases, the artists’ technique managed to compensate for the lack of original introspection.
[iv] We could add in this list of Chinese influences and without being exhaustive at all, the “Hyper-realism” (cf. Le Vuong) or the “Neo-realism” (cf. Nguyen Van Phuc) which inevitably refers to the works of Liu Xiodong with the same approach of the body or the “Cynical Realism” directly inspired by Fan Lijun or Yue Minjum. Similarly, even if Tran Trong Vu’s artistic approach certainly does not belong to the same marketing logic, we can’t help it but think that his grinning characters look terribly like the hilarious chaps produced by Yue Minjum. Based in France, Vu decided several years ago to turn his back to the poetic works of the 80s/90s to opt for installations using in particular plastic support for his paintings. It is yet not sure that, in spite of the honesty and ambition of such projects, that these installations targeted at Institutions have more to say or in a more personal way than his first works.
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