Joan Miró Prize 2023 and ‘Radiant Remembrance’ at New Museum
By Ian Tee

Midpoint is a monthly series that invites established Southeast Asian contemporary artists to take stock of their career thus far, reflect upon generational shifts and consider the advantages and challenges of working in the present day. It is part of A&M Dialogues and builds upon the popular Fresh Faces series.

Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn is an artist and film-maker who explores memory as a form of resistance and empowerment. His practice is fuelled by research and a commitment to communities that have faced traumas caused by colonialism, war, and displacement. In 2023, he received the prestigious Joan Miró Prize and had his first museum survey exhibition in the United States, ‘Radiant Remembrance’ at the New Museum. Beyond his independent artistic practice, Tuấn also co-founded the collective The Propeller Group in 2006, and the artist-run space Sàn Art in Ho Chi Minh City in 2007.

The Propeller Group with a prop from their ‘History of the Future’ project (2012), from left: Matt Lucero, Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn and Phunam Thuc Ha. Photo by The Propeller Group.

Could you share a decision and/or event (could be happenstance) that marked a significant turn/moment in your path as a member of The Propeller Group?

It might be interesting to expand on the idea of The Propeller Group (TPG). TPG was formed from a project that explored the first generation of graffiti artists in Vietnam and the socio-political contradictions of the landscape of Vietnam at that time, namely looking at the overlaps and contradictions of communism and capitalism in the late 1990s to mid-2000s.

TPG was a response to the context and the control of both the media landscape and the public landscape. We registered as an advertising company after discovering that ad companies were given much more leniency and greater leverage with regard to access to public space and media. The idea of a brand was interesting to us, and we tried to set up the agency and collective in a way that the “brand” would continue regardless of membership.

That said, the art world latched on to the three main members of the collective: Phunam Thuc Ha, Matt Lucero and myself. We were extremely busy between 2012 and 2017 with client work as well as our own ambitious projects. Our schedule was overwhelming, and members started having children and needing time to tend to family. The demanding schedule of exhibition making and art production was too much for young families, and members made the wise choice of taking time off to focus on their young ones.

‘Tuan Andrew Nguyen: Radiant Remembrance’, 2023, exhibition view in the New Museum, New York. Image courtesy of New Museum. Photo by Dario Lasagni.

Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn receiving the eighth Joan Miró Prize, 2023. Photo by Fundació Joan Miró/Pep Herrero.

When have been milestone achievements for you, and why have they been particularly memorable?

On an emotional level, every project that finds the finish line feels like a milestone. So much time, thought and logistics as well as emotional investment goes into each of the projects, that they each feel like lifetimes lived. But if I had to locate one specific moment recently, it would have to be a moment that encompassed two moments, each occurring within weeks of each other in 2023. One would be receiving the Joan Miró Prize and the other would be the opening of my first museum solo exhibition in the United States at the New Museum.

A look behind the scenes with The Propeller Group. Photo by The Propeller Group.

Could you walk us through a typical work day, or a typical week? What routine do you follow to nourish yourself/your artistic practice?

I spend three days of the week in my studio working with my fabricator, Xuan Phuong to make objects and sometimes paintings, sometimes to just think about structures that hold up the work, other times just looking at materials. We have just recently added another person to the studio team. I do a lot of cleaning up of the studio space. I spend two or three days working with my researcher, editing video, doing research for film projects, reading, talking about film, or planning upcoming films.

When I am not travelling for exhibitions, lectures, or film productions, I make it a point to get myself into jiu-jitsu training at least two or three days out of the week. Martial arts help train my focus and connect me to my body in a way where my body is strengthened and simultaneously reminded of its fragility, which is ultimately a reminder of humility and impermanence. This is a beneficial space to be in.

Could you describe your studio/ working space and how it has evolved over the years to become what it is today? What do you enjoy about it, and what do you wish to improve?

For many years TPG only had an office space, with a very small area to make and fabricate. The practice was very much like an advertising agency or think-tank. I then started a small studio on the bottom floor of my house, probably about the size of a one-car garage. I worked in a studio of this size for quite a long time and have just recently moved to a larger space. Looking back now, I am astonished to think how I was able to make entire shows in such a small space.

What do you think are the unique considerations you have working as a member of The Propeller Group as compared to independently?

Working in a collective is a process of ideation and then negotiation. These negotiations happen at the ideation level and work into every step afterwards until the project is realised or until the negotiations get stuck and the project is suspended. TPG had a very specific role socially as well, as we were taking client work in the day time. Many of the negotiations with clients were quite tricky and at some level, there was more of an urgency to move past disagreements within the group and with clients. This forced us to move from “negotiation” to “compromise". This was not necessarily a bad thing, because learning which compromises can and cannot be made is important to the longevity of a practice.

As an independent artist, I do not take on client work, so the negotiations I make are mostly with myself, internally. My film projects are often with collaborators from different communities, and those negotiations are always welcomed as they are almost built into the project themselves. That is, my collaborators' suggestions are an integral element in the projects.

What has become easier or more difficult to do as time has gone by?

Having time to think has become more difficult over time, but thinking on my toes and being able to quickly draw from a multitude of experiences has become easier as time has gone by.

Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, ‘The Specter of Ancestors Becoming’ (still), 2019, 4-channel video, 28 minutes. Image courtesy the artist and James Cohan, New York. — Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, ‘The Specter of Ancestors Becoming’ (still), 2019, 4-channel video, 28 minutes. Image courtesy of the artist and James Cohan, New York.

A look behind the scenes in the making of ‘The Specter of Ancestors Becoming’. Image courtesy of the artist.

Your film ‘The Specter of Ancestors Becoming’ (2019) explores the interconnected histories of Vietnam and Senegal. Could you talk about the approach taken with your Vietnamese-Senegalese collaborators in crafting the narratives?

The project explores the history of French colonial soldiers in Indochina and the subsequent migration of Vietnamese women and children to West Africa after the French withdrew from Vietnam in 1954. I began travelling to Dakar in 2018 and meeting families from this migration. All but a few of the Vietnamese mothers had passed away. I met three people, namely Anne-Marie Niane, Macodou Ndiaye and Merry Beye Diouf, who were writers, each in their own way. I was very drawn to their stories and their passion for storytelling.

We began to talk about colonialism, colonial soldiers in Vietnam, and the silences that they experienced in their own personal lives. We began writing scenes together. These scenes were based on their own lives, but were imagined alternative or speculative conversations. They were scenes that filled in the gaps of their experiences. I co-wrote them with my collaborators, mostly contributing my knowledge of screenwriting to structure the scenes. This project became the way we addressed memory, historical and personal erasures.

“This project became the way we addressed memory, historical and personal erasures.”

As a follow up to the previous question, in your opinion, what does decolonising entail?

Decolonising begins with understanding the breadth and depth of colonisation and the effects of colonisation on the colonised subject. This is the crucial step to attuning oneself to the residues and traumas of colonialism, to building an awareness of how colonialism is still in effect today. Then it is a matter of putting this awareness into action, slowly and gradually peeling the grips of the colonial mindset and dismantling the structures that uphold these forces in place.

Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, ‘Descendant’, 2022, 57mm brass shell tuned to F5 at 685.5Hz, steel, silver, enamel paint, 78 3/4 x 43 1/4 in, 200 x 110cm. Image courtesy the artist and James Cohan, New York. Photo by Izzy Leung. — Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, ‘Descendant’, 2022, 57mm brass shell tuned to F5 at 685.5Hz, steel, silver, enamel paint, 78 3/4 x 43 1/4 in, 200 x 110cm. Image courtesy of the artist and James Cohan, New York. Photo by Izzy Leung.

Most recently, you had your first major museum exhibition in the United States ‘Radiant Remembrance’ (2023) at the New Museum. As part of the exhibition programme, there was a blessing ritual by Buddhist monks from Sera Monastery, as well as an activation by musician An Binh Tat. Could you talk about the impetus behind this programme and how it resonates with larger themes in the show?

The activation event and blessing ritual were designed to create a space in which many people could share a moment of mindfulness and healing. Binh An played a monochord intermixed with the bells that were in the exhibition. The bells were actual plate bells that were hung on a large mobile that resembled the one made by the protagonist in the film, ‘The Unburied Sounds of a Troubled Horizon’, which was also in the exhibition.

Essentially, the protagonist, Nguyệt, takes care of her mother on a scrapyard she inherited from her father. She gathers unexploded ordnances (UXO) and sells them as scrap metal. All the while, she takes the material from these unexploded bombs to make hanging kinetic sculpture, to which her mother believes she is possessed. Nguyệt goes on a journey through conversations with different people, including a spiritual medium as well as a monk, which leads her to finally understand that she is the reincarnation of Alexander Calder The American sculptor who is well-known for his mobiles, lesser known for being very vocal against the war in Vietnam. From the monk, she learns about healing vibrations and frequencies. She then uses this to help her mother with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

The bells played in the activation are tuned to a frequency known as 432Hz, researched by scientists as frequency to heal various conditions including PTSD. The chanting of the monks is understood as a practice of mindfulness, invoking deities of peace and compassion, but could also be seen as a kind of vibrational healing as well. Ancient chanting attempts to align to the vibrations of the earth. There was a moment where Binh An started playing the plate bells on the mobile while the monks were chanting. It was magical.

Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, ‘The Unburied Sounds of a Troubled Horizon’ (still), 2022, single-channel video, 4k anamorphic, 60 minutes. Image courtesy the artist and James Cohan, New York. — Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, ‘The Unburied Sounds of a Troubled Horizon’ (still), 2022, single-channel video, 4k anamorphic, 60 minutes. Image courtesy of the artist and James Cohan, New York.

What do you think has been/is your purpose? And how has it kept you going?

I am fortunate and grateful to the people who have come into my life, who have shown me what it means to be resilient and hopeful in the face of extreme hardship. There is still so much to learn. I have come to understand that my practice is committed to uncovering strategies of survival and finding ways of healing. I did not know how to articulate this, even just a few years ago, but it has become clear over the last few years and projects.

“I have come to understand that my practice is committed to uncovering strategies of survival and finding ways of healing.”

Are there upcoming/ current projects you wish to share?

I am working on a feature film about a special and complicated person that I had the chance of meeting on one of my research excursions in Dakar. It promises to be a special project, and is possibly my most ambitious one to date.

What would be a key piece of advice to young art practitioners (artist, curator, manager etc.)?

Live in a different place than where you went to school or grew up. Be patient. Try not to get eaten up by the art world.

Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn’s ‘Because No One Living Will Listen / Người Sống Chẳng Ai Nghe’ (2023) is a part of ‘Translations: Afro-Asia Poetics’, a group exhibition curated by Dr Zoé Whitley and assistant curator Clara Che Wei Peh, and organised by The Institutum. The show will run from 18 to 30 January 2024 across five venues at Gillman Barracks and at the restaurant Nouri, in Singapore.

Access the full Midpoint series here.