Tales-thru-Textiles: Return to Tây Ninh
One year ago, I reflected back on a family trip with my parents towards the Tây Ninh, Vietnam in late 2015 and dug out my tiny, old sketchbook I used for plein-air paintings. As much as I love painting, I don’t do much of it as I probably should. But having this tiny playground dedicated to capturing my travels with simply paint to paper, means the world to me. It’s when time just slows down and enables me to be more present. I was 26 years-old at the time, and I guess one could say that I should have it all figured out. But I didn’t. I graduated a couple years from university and was then working and also studying textile/surface pattern design at the time. As self imposed, I promised myself to document this experience in Vietnam by painting a few small landscapes with gouache in my sketchbook. At the time, any traveling at all was a big deal to me, since those occasions were so rare (and also because of my shy nature). Years go by and after gaining experience and confidence of creating seamless patterns for work, I wanted to translate those very plein-air paintings into a collection of patterns. The thought marinated in my mind for quite some time, after finishing the first pattern.
During the COVID pandemic lockdown and onwards, I’ve had time to really slow things down and reevaluate everything in life. When I started learning about textile and surface pattern design, I originally envisioned being able to work with my hands more. Soon, however, I’ve realized how digitized the workflow really was. Over time, this imbalance of working exclusively digitally really took a toll on me. I’ve learned so much working digitally and manipulating images into patterns, but at some point, not having the tactile feeling of working with my hands is something I’ve had to compromise with. During June of last year, my mom passed away from stomach cancer, and I think that was when it dawned on me to reevaluate everything my own life. And that process is still—well—ongoing.
Last year, it was the first time my parents and I argued over something that was political. To be frank, I had a hard time reconciling with how different where we stood on certain issues. Nowadays, it’s so easy to dismiss people in our lives who don’t have the same affiliation or same way of thinking. But I think one of the most valuable lessons my parents have taught me, unbeknownst to them, was to acknowledge the way in which expressions of love can take many forms. For me, many aspects of emotions today are overly simplified for the sake of convenience. By contrast, emotions aren’t always black and white—not always so confined. At the end of the day, my parents are still my parents. And deep down, I know everything they did was to provide my older brothers and I more opportunities in the States. Hence, I began the slow process of unraveling the history and the trauma that was the Vietnam War—the post sentiments my parents and so many other older Vietnamese Americans shared. It was sort of a moment of sudden realization. Growing up, my grandma and parents would often make phone calls to our distant relatives. And every time they would visit Vietnam, they would bring so much candy and gifts along the way. They still loved their motherland, and that meant being more astute to the foreign policies happening in Vietnam. At times, we would butt heads, but as I’ve learned, its okay if we disagreed. Little did I know, this clash served as a catalyst for me to understand my parents more—and the only way I knew how was to use my art as a bridge to connect with them. Perhaps it was a way to simply show them how I haven’t forgotten where I come from.
Whilst working in textile design and illustration, I realize it’s not just about image making anymore. I sometimes ask myself how is this image is being used and how is the supply chain like. What materials are being used to manufacture this? Are these sustainable materials? Chemical dyes or natural dyes? At times it feels like I’m running in circles trying to learn about all these things. And as someone who isn’t exactly business-minded, it’s hard to translate and communicate that in a pragmatic way. But as someone once told me, I don’t always have to explain—and the process of sharing one’s vision is like a gift, done in a selected and intentional way. In the end, I know that I only have this one life to live, and I want to let go of expectations of what others have of me. And I’m looking forward to discovering that process along this journey.
With the Tales-thru-Textiles series, these projects aim to highlight stories of places traveled, lived experiences, the serendipity, through the eyes of the artist. Inspiration can come from anywhere, even in the most unexpected of places—a walk around the city, conversations with friends and strangers, moments of respite, and everything in between. Translating these abstract ideas onto patterns and to be applied on various surfaces would hopefully instill a sense of curiosity to learn more about where these designs came from. The first series, “Return to Tây Ninh,” explores the lush landscapes of countryside of Vietnam and the changing colors as the day wore on. It’s a place I’ve had vague memories of and through reconnecting with its beauty, although initially physical, is a step closer to also understanding my own parents—despite our generational differences.
“Return to Tây Ninh” is dedicated to my parents: Mom (Thanh Thi Ho) and Dad (Dau Ngoc Nguyen)
