Artistic Director of The Outpost Art Organisation, Hanoi
By Duong Manh Hung

This interview began, as with most other interviews, in a coffee lounge, designed to fit the overall aesthetic of a newly-founded contemporary art organisation in Hanoi. Two friends — and colleagues — gathered around hot chocolate to ward off the marrow-chilling winter cold of the capital: one wishing to learn more about the space, the other one built it - conceptually and logistically.

Uyen has worked in a wide range of art spaces, in both the front of house and the back office, wearing different hats, initially as a sitter then a gallery assistant, to art manager and finally curator. Her journey began with the Barbican Art Centre in London, where she was exposed to post-modern and contemporary visual practices that were foreign to her. She was then a Politics student, groomed to become a diplomat one day. Immediately intrigued and inspired, she began her exploration with Western art before finding her community in Vietnam. Uyen moved back to Hanoi from the UK in early 2014 and has since collaborated with a number of artist-run spaces, such as Nhà Sàn Collective, Sàn Art, and privately funded organisations The Factory Centre for Contemporary Art, The Centre for Art Patronage and Development, and The Nguyen Art Foundation. She recently assumed a new position as Artistic Director of The Outpost Art Organisation in Hanoi.

Driven by her former training in political science, Uyen is interested in alternative histories of Vietnam, exploring personal narratives that are rendered absent, side-lined or undesirable by the official record. Her curatorial projects often involve close collaboration with artists, seeking to unpack artistic articulations and stimulate critical, creative enquiries.

Entrance to ‘Fractured Times' at The Outpost. Image courtesy of The Outpost.

How do you think the COVID-19 pandemic has altered the Hanoi art ecology, particularly its art spaces and art workers?

During the pandemic, and even after COVID-19 has somewhat receded, we can observe an inward-folding tendency: as the outside world became dautingly inaccessible, we started finding inspiration and looking for resources within our existing conditions. This micro-level re-evaluation of self-worth has prompted a collective shift in trajectories for art spaces: not only do institutions - or para-institutions -- now have to re-examine their operations in order to better accommodate the needs of their staff. They also have to perform an internal cross-checking to identify existing gaps in the ecology, from which potential positioning for future initiatives might emerge. It prompted the conversation of how to walk together, instead of going solo.

On a more macro level, the economic recession brought on by the pandemic has left many commercial spaces unoccupied. This emergence of newly available sites, coupled with our need for artistic satisfaction that was deprived amidst the pandemic, has triggered a flurry of novel initiatives: more galleries, more exhibitions, more art projects. One can also read this blooming of activities as an increasingly concerted effort to strengthen the sustainability of local art infrastructure, and to not be continuously dependent on foreign funds. This does not mean that we refuse external support, but it suggests a need to tell our own story.

“One can also read this blooming of activities as an increasingly concerted effort to strengthen the sustainability of local art infrastructure, and to not be continuously dependent on foreign funds. This does not mean that we refuse external support, but it suggests a need to tell our own story.”

I agree. In a way, this pandemic, like any other catastrophes, has shaken the roots of our foundation, while also revealing new opportunities that we have not yet seen. Moving forward, we are both aware that Hanoi is known for its underground contemporary art scene; this positioning has been further accentuated by Nha San Collective’s participation in Documenta 15. Within the context of such an experimental-prone art ecology, how would you position The Outpost (TO)? How does TO’s mission and execution enter a dialogue with the contemporary art discourse in the city?

As an institutionally structured space with a mission to create a diversity of entry points for the public to engage with contemporary art, TO must be able to balance between more purely experimental displays and other programmes that seek to introduce contemporary art to a larger array of audiences. Also, Hanoi already has other spaces that are dedicated to artistic experimentation: their ethos is formed based on cultivating emerging artistic talents and/or supporting artists in the production of their new works. Thus, TO ought to identify a different path, should we wish to fill the gaps in the art ecosystem. For instance, we could accommodate larger scale presentations of artworks.

However, this does not mean that there is a lack of experimental “bone” in us - few public-facing institutions have been able to sustain their operations and so our (dare I say) bold experimentation would be to create a more sustainable business model. Also, our exhibition programming will be a balance between housing our collection and presenting curated exhibitions. Creating a dialogue between these two types of exhibitions can also mean that artwork can be reinterpreted, and enter a new life, through different formats of display. This consistent strive for "worlding" within our exhibition spaces will align with our commitment to support artists’ experimentation in conceptual thinking and formal realisation.

‘Fractured Times', exhibition view. Image courtesy of The Outpost.

Your mention of "worlding" leads perfectly into my next question. The architectural infrastructure of TO plays a pivotal role in its positioning. As someone who oversees its physical conception, how do you think the inner ‘bones’ of TO will carry its ‘body’, or the mission and programming here?

As architecture plays a crucial role in informing and to a certain extent shaping our behaviours, the architectural language of TO reflects its programming direction as well as its founder's vision. Imagined as an in-between space, housing artworks negotiating the old and the new, where tangible and intangible memories are preserved, the overall design language is an amalgamation of rough-looking natural materials and manmade industrial features. While the space maintains certain neutral elements of a standard white cube, with white walls and concrete floor, TO’s foreground entrance and its internal metal-clad tunnel that branches into different exhibition corners. This allows the public to temporarily leave the outside world behind and immerse in a complex cartography of entry points, display areas, and other function rooms such as cafe and workshop. Thus, it is of utmost importance that there remains a consistent pathos throughout TO’s labyrinth of spaces. All our function rooms must adhere to, and cannot overwhelm, the aesthetics and ambience of the main exhibition areas. They must have a synergy so that the audiences instinctively understand that all these sub-spaces seamlessly form an overall picture of TO.

On your point of seamlessness, let’s switch to the inaugural exhibition of TO, where you addressed a feeling of fracture and discontinuity. Ironically, this is a time when there is an unspoken global call for unity and solidarity. Could you elaborate on your curatorial thinking behind such concepts embedded in the title of show, ‘Fractured Times'?

While we all have a need for solidarity, it might not reflect our current condition. As I began conceptualising this show, I reflected upon my almost ten-year career in the art scene and questioned my practice and our contemporary situations. The more I looked back, the more I realised that my practice has been formed through a series of encounters with different fragments of the Vietnamese art scene. They are scattered but there is always a hidden link. Some of these fractures might be caused by socio-historical disruptions, but the most important reason is that there has been a concerted effort to identify these fragments and contextualise them. Perhaps it is only in the last five years that I noticed a collective focus on retrospection and archival of art histories in the country. Thus, we continue to bump into names or works that you should have known, but in fact have never heard of, let alone seen, anywhere else. I continue to be surprised by the gaps in my knowledge, and they point me to possible directions for my future curatorial research. There is always a new possibility after a somewhat random encounter. It is more about what you make of it.

Moreover, after the pandemic, I sense that everyone has somewhat experienced anxiety, pain or loss, mentally or physically. What comforted everyone through that time is the understanding that we are all going through the same situation of being confined in our own "rooms". There is a sense of togetherness while being separated that I find quite moving. I want to try to replicate that by inviting works that appear to have no connection to each other and let them facilitate potential narratives on their own.

“There is a sense of togetherness while being separated that I find quite moving. I want to try to replicate that by inviting works that appear to have no connection to each other and let them facilitate potential narratives on their own.”

In what ways have the artists and the works lent visual and aural support to your curatorial concepts? How have they co-shaped the exhibition with you?

‘Fractured Times’ does not suggest a broken world. Rather, I imagine our context as the intersection of different flows of time, a converging point, so to speak. This manifests into a fracturing of the exhibition into separate rooms, where each body of works has its own space. Thus, our artists, who come from different generations and whose practices are diverse, become a reflection of our time, an assemblage of fragments that overlay and nestle together to form a ragged, discontinuous map, where each realm will perform its narrative. That was the idea that I proposed. Fortunately, all the participating artists were supportive of it.

That is not to say that the exhibition design was entirely mine. While I invited most of the artists to show existing work, upon seeing the space, almost all the artists in the show wanted to create new works or to propose a different mode of display in response to it. This excited me. As a curator, I also want to find ways to recontextualise their work within our space, to explore the possibilities for new interpretation that might stem from a different presentation format. While the overall flow of the exhibition is a collaborative effort between the curator and the artists, due to the fractured nature of our exhibition space, I must give thanks to the artists for dedicating their efforts in generating and maintaining a consistent experience within their respective realm.

Ha-Ninh Pham's installation at ‘Fractured Times', exhibition view. Image courtesy of The Outpost.

TO has pledged to support young artists with experimental practices. Can you share your personal experiences working with the two youngest artists in the show, Ha-Ninh Pham and Pham Minh Hieu? What challenges do you think their work will provoke for the audiences?

The works of Ha-Ninh and Hieu challenge the audiences, in the sense that they are not easily experienced. There is a performative nature to both of their installation works, where the audiences themselves become the performers. Ha-Ninh created an elevated podium for the viewers to experience his work only from a bird-eye view with no other perspective allowed. Thus, there is a guided repertoire that dictates the audiences’ experience with Ha-Ninh installation, which involves specific steps and behaviours that constitute the performative aspect of the work.

Technical room of Pham Minh Hieu's soundscape at The Outpost. Image courtesy of The Outpost.

For Hieu’s installation, sounds are meticulously installed throughout the entire space through a computer-coded soundscape system. Thus, the audience is never sure of the presence of these sounds: are they part of the work that they see in each room, or just background noises? Did someone just make that noise, or was it recorded? Only when we arrive at Hieu’s room do we slowly come to understand the performative nature of these sounds, of their proximity or distance to us. These subtle audio signifiers of presence, which the audiences might or might not have paid attention to, now compel us to question our experience through the entire exhibition, as Hieu’s room is the one that supposedly ends the journey of ‘Fractured Times’.

I believe that both two installations will attract and challenge the audiences at the same time. It also gives some insight into the thinking in self-expression as well as the positionality of the younger artists. Both of them pave their own way in artmaking and their understanding of aesthetics incorporating 3D spaces, digital platforms, and videogame-informed universes into existing visual knowledge. Their works lend a voice to the wider understanding of contemporary art in the country, and I look forward to hearing from the audiences about their experiences!

…as we continued our conversation, the night rolled on. Sounds of invisible footsteps reverberated from the silent white walls. Coded messages lay dormant in humanoid forms. Paintings of half-human, half-animal creatures stared wide-eyed into the empty space. A brightly-lit room where metal recoiled toward the ceiling. Brise soleils and stretched out screen-based images murmured into the core of mattresses wriggling all over the room.

The exhibition breathed in, then out, another life.

‘Fractured Times’ is on view at The Outpost from 29 November 2022 to 28 February 2023.

About the Writer

Duong Manh Hung is an independent translator/writer/curator. His practice weaves textual intricacy with visual subtlety to deliver responses and raise questions about the state of the world. Hùng’s interest in the dynamics between visual arts and translation comes from close attention to global and Southeast Asian socio-political histories, particularly through a botanical/ecological lens.