On worlds emerging from distrust
By Alana Malika

A&M's Fresh Faces is where we profile an emerging artist from the region every month and speak to them about how they kick-started their career, how they continue to sustain their practice and what drives them as artists. Read our profile on Vietnamese artist, Hà Ninh Phạm here.

Portrait of Hà Ninh Phạm. Image courtesy of the artist.

Could you talk about your background? And at what point in your life did you decide to pursue a career in art?
I was born in Hanoi in 1991. Back then, the city was much smaller than it is today. In my earliest memories, I remember that there were trucks and construction everywhere. Things seemed to change more quickly than it did before, especially after 1997, when Vietnam connected to the Internet. I think, similar to other kids of my age, I am used to embracing a contingent world that can be both welcoming and off-putting.

My family can be considered “typical”, if we use standards that were popular in the 80s, before my time. Both of my parents worked for the state. No one in my whole family worked in creative fields, let alone art. Some might think that, given this situation, I had to fight hard to pursue my art career. But actually, it was my father who forced me to study art at a very early age. He saw potential in me and tried his best to put me in this field with an unshakeable hope that I would succeed.

My father is the reason why I am in this industry. This is why I can’t say that I decided to do art. It was not my choice, but it has been a part of me since an early age, similarly to the way this contingent world exists around me.

“My drawings emerge from distrust. I create a world that does not belong to our reality. However, it has its own strange logic that I learn and invent at the same time.”

Could you share how you’ve maintained your practice after graduation? What are the important factors that kept you going?
I have had two graduations so far. The first was in 2014, when I graduated from the Vietnam University of Fine Arts (VNUFA) in Hanoi. The last was in 2018, from the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts (PAFA) in Philadelphia.

After the first graduation from VNUFA, I could not maintain my practice at all. I learned a lot at VNUFA, but I knew nothing about the reality of the outside world. VNUFA is like an isolated island in a romantic painting. It is beautiful and poetic, but it is not realistic. When I was faced with reality, most of my dreams fell apart. Some dreams, unfortunately, were gone forever.

PAFA was much different. We learned how to deal with the cruelty of the world. The process started with building up a philosophical and political vision, which plays as the core of the practice. Then we developed strategies to promote ourselves with whatever means we had. Also, we were not afraid of putting ourselves out there for opportunities, or even competing with popular culture. Eventually, we ended up being somewhere in the industry. Of course, not everyone still makes art, but it seems that most of us have been having some contributions to the field.

If I had not gone to PAFA, I would have quit my practice. Looking back, I think that the pragmatic attitude I learned from PAFA has kept me doing what I do now. Only by respecting this fact can I nurture my dreams.

How do your topographical drawings express your personal journey?
I am very sensitive to the social environments around me. I have traveled to many places with distinct social environments. Each of them has its own rules and settings. Each requires me to be flexible and adapt in different ways. In my journey, I have learned that I must give up the idea of what is absolutely right or wrong. I need to be detached from all the social environments so that I can navigate everything. I should not trust anything, including my ego. I believe that by distrusting I can be safe and calm.

My drawings emerge from distrust. I create a world that does not belong to our reality. However, it has its own strange logic that I learn and invent at the same time. This imagined world reflects some rules and settings in our world, but most of them have their own lives in the world of ‘My Land’. For some reason I have an impulse to “prove” it is real. By doing so, I feel important and powerful.

“I mean, the topics themselves are not bad at all, but these narratives have been reiterated many times that its conclusions become expected. If we allow these narratives to anchor our practice unconditionally, then perhaps what we make is not art. It might just be propaganda.”

You have been working on ‘My Land’ since 2017. How did the changes in both your personal life and the world impact the development of the project?
If we take a look at the drawings I made before 2020, we can see that back then they were much structured and calculated. Those drawings took up a lot of emotional labour and intellectual investment. As a consequence, I could only make five or six drawings per year. Most importantly, even though I liked the final products, I did not enjoy the process. I felt constantly exhausted dealing with this process.

Then the pandemic hit Vietnam. After the first month of the lockdown, I quickly returned to a depressive state I experienced in the US a year earlier. I could no longer handle strict rules and intellectual stuff. They were too much for my depressed body and brain. I started to think about this very relationship between mental and material processes and turned to a more organic approach in my practice. My work last year and this year has been more and more about a world built up of matters rather than ideas. This is also my new attitude in life. I care more about my well-being than anything else.

Hà Ninh Phạm, ‘Institute of Distance’, 2020, videogame, duration variable, edition of 20 + 2 AP. Image courtesy of the artist.

Who has been a mentor or an important artistic influence? And why?
I have a lot of creative heroes. I included them in my table of The Advisory Board on my website. I feel close to their practice, although I have never met any of them in person. However, creative heroes are not necessarily my artistic influences. In order for someone to be my influence, I have to know him or her personally. I think their character matters as much as the art when it comes to artistic influences.

Didier William has been my most important influence. Didier, if you are reading this, I would like to say that I was fortunate to work with you during my two-year graduate programme. There was little chance that we could cross paths in the US, but we did, and it was amazing. We started our time at PAFA together. I did not talk much with you, but I have given you a special place in my mind. I remember every single thing you said to me, though I disagree with most. Your presence helped me to form my vision and mission in life. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Hà Ninh Phạm’s studio. Images courtesy of the artist.

What was one important piece of advice you were given?
“Your studio is your mind”, Josephine Halvorson said this to me when she visited my studio at PAFA.

Could you share your favourite art space or gallery in your country? Why are you drawn to that space and what does it offer to you/ your practice?
This is hard to answer! We don’t have a lot here in Vietnam, so every space is already very precious. Also, I like different art spaces and galleries for different reasons. For example, the Factory Contemporary Arts Centre in Hồ Chí Minh City has great shows. It is very well invested intellectually, and has a great audience. In Hanoi, I also like the Vincom Center for Contemporary Art (VCCA) because it is so huge and suitable for ambitious installations. Mo Art Space is new but very professional and visionary.

However, if I have to pick only one favorite art space, it will be Manzi in Hanoi. There is something very special about this place. It is located in the old district Ba Đình, pretty near to the Trúc Bạch lake. Manzi is a combo of coffee shop, art shop and art space. It has the air of art salons dated back in the colonial era. It mostly shows local artists, but it's residency programme is starting to host artists from across the region.

Manzi looks chill on the outside, but it has a very strong and professional network supported by local artists and institutions. Its events can easily reach thousands of visitors. I curated a show there and the support was amazing.

What are your hopes for your own local art scene, and regionally as well?
I hope that we will become more autonomous. I grew up with an impression that contemporary art had to relate to some discourses that are popular in the West: democracy, postmodernism, equality, history, or tradition. I mean, the topics themselves are not bad at all, but these narratives have been reiterated many times that its conclusions become expected. If we allow these narratives to anchor our practice unconditionally, then perhaps what we make is not art. It might just be propaganda.

We are no longer artists in the 90s. If we want to be with the world, we have to be strong. Now the opportunities are open and diverse. What we need is to deeply understand who we are, to stay true to ourselves and make the art that we truly want to make. There are a lot of things that we don’t know yet, but we will discover them along the way. We need to distrust to be stronger.

Are there any upcoming exhibitions/projects that you would like to share more information on?
I will have a group show titled ‘A Life Beyond Boundaries’ at JWD in Bangkok, curated by Loredana Paracciani. The opening has been scheduled in mid-May, however due to the current situation in Thailand, it might be postponed.