Journeys
JUL/AUG 2006
Features:
A Dream of Africa:
Trekking Up One of
the Tallest Mountains
in the World
The Sights and Sounds
of Southeast Asia's
Best-Kept Secret
Cycling the Coast of
Viet Nam with an
Open Heart
The Mystery
and
Majesty of Angkor
Exploring the Ruins
of an Ancient
Civilization
Departments:
Back Issues
It
has been almost four years since that exhibition. After I suffered
a stroke in 2003, as well as colon cancer and stomach ulcers in 2004,
my body has severely deteriorated. My limbs can only function at
about 30 percent compared to before the stroke. I cannot use my legs.
I have to use a wheelchair. My hands are very clumsy. I cannot write
or even hold objects if I’m not concentrating. My voice cannot be
projected. I can’t articulate nor control sounds. I cannot distinguish
between objects and their backgrounds. I have to use my memory to
help me see. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to tell what is real and
what isn’t. I asked myself how I could write and paint in this condition?
After a year of depression and desperation, I finally found an escape.
If I couldn’t paint in details, I would paint abstracts. Abstracts
do not require a high level of exactness. The concept is what determines
whether the painting succeeds. The concept can be expressed through
colors, angles, contexts, etc.
On the other hand, after being so close to death twice, my views on life changed almost completely. Everything becomes a lot less significant, even painting. I no longer feel so “tortured,” like I had been for the last 40 years. That means that things like genres, attitudes, topics, forms...no longer play a central role in my paintings. Now when I paint, my main goal is to create an atmosphere of optimism and comfort for myself. If I can do that for me, then I believe that the feeling will also be communicated to viewers. That’s the reason why I’ve used mostly light and bright colors. I want the viewers to feel peaceful and light-hearted. We can view these paintings as a beautiful park filled with lush landscapes and emerald shades. They help us rest and relax after a day, a month, a year, even a lifetime of struggling in this world.
NHA: You
didn’t name any of the pieces in this exhibition. They’re called “Resurrection
#1,” “Resurrection #2,” and so on. Do you have a favorite?
KT: Each painting is an extension of my body. So I can’t say that I like this body part better than that body part. Even though in reality, some body parts that may have been useful at times can prove to become such inconveniences. My legs for example: they used to be my wings in youthful times. After my stroke, they became useless. But they’re still part of me. I can’t imagine having them cut off. I would be devastated.
Therefore, to answer your question, and hide from it, I love all of them and hate them all at the same time. But I can’t imagine leaving them. And I can’t imagine not painting.
As I’ve said, art is an endless journey. If someone said that he has reached the end of the journey, then he has committed suicide in a way. I believe that a true artist can never be completely satisfied with his creations. You could also say that my favorite painting will forever be the one I’m planning to paint in the future.
NHA: Now that the “Resurrection” exhibit is finished, will you continue to paint and write? Do you plan to take a break?
KT: I have to continue. Although every time I push my wheelchair in front of the computer or the canvas, I realize that it will be very difficult all over again. But if I don’t paint or write, what will I do with my time? Cancer is a condition that disappears and reappears. I don’t direct my thinking towards specific goals. However, I’m currently starting a new set of paintings. Perhaps they will be exhibited by the end of this year.
As for writing, I’ve just finished the first part of my memoir. But I’m still asking myself whether I should finish it. When I first began, I was incredibly excited. However, as I wrote, I started to remember too many details that didn’t particularly relate to literature. They were about conflicting personalities and characters, the negative aspects of writers and artists. I’m not sure if I should continue. What good will it do for the history of literature? Perhaps I should start over from a different angle.
NHA: What are your thoughts on the literature and art of the Vietnamese Diaspora, specifically the Vietnamese American Diaspora? What do you think are the successes and failures of today’s writers and artists?
KT: With regard to literature, I don’t think we have the groundbreaking works that surfaced in the ‘80s and ‘90s, with Le Thi Hue, Vu Quynh Huong, Phan Thi Trong Tuyen, Nguyen Thi Ngoc Nhung, The Giang, Do Kh., Ngo Nguyen Dung, Ngoc Khoi, Tran Vu, Nguyen Thi Hoang Bac, Nguyen Y Thuan, Cao Xuan Huy, Nguyen Thi Thanh Binh... and then Le Minh Ha, Le Thi Tham Van, Mai Ninh, Mieng, Pham Hai Anh...Thirty years after 1975, the first generation is quietly following each other into silence. Generation 1.5 is not as prolific. The next generation will just be separate, individual efforts. I don’t think there will be a significant movement. It will probably lack a general air of excitement, from author to readers. Excitement and camaraderie are the two necessary ingredients for a world of literature.