Curated by Phụ Lục (Vũ Đức Toàn, Nguyễn Huy An, Ngô Thành Bắc)
Coordination support: Châu Hoàng
Participating artists:
Nguyễn Kim Tố Lan, Như Văn, Nguyễn Thị Thanh Mai, Nguyễn Phương Linh, Ngô Thành Bắc, Trịnh Minh Tiến, Ngọc Nâu, Nguyễn Văn Thuỷ, Trương Quế Chi, Nguyễn Mỹ Anh, La Mai, Phan Thảo Nguyên, Nguyễn Hữu Hải Duy, Nguyễn Văn Song, Nguyễn Thế Sơn, Nguyễn Quốc Thành, Nguyễn Hoàng Giang, Lê Thuận Uyên, Nguyễn Trần Nam, Nguyễn Văn Phúc, Lê Đình Chung, Nguyễn Đức Đạt, Trần Lương, Trần Đức Quỷ, Nguyễn Trinh Thi cùng với Jamie Maxtone-Graham, Kiểu Mai Ly và Kiều Anh (Phước Nhơn village, Ninh Thuận), Tuấn Mami, Phùng Tiến Sơn
2020-2021
Mini KingKho, Hanoi, Vietnam
“The skyline has died, long live the flying people!
Having crossed skylines several times, it is now the fourth season, and inevitably, more skylines await. Through a mixture of experience, the skyline seems like something nearly touched, again and again, in the mind’s eye. Our finitude and mortality allow us to perceive the horizon only at the farthest edge of sight. The notion of Flying People gradually takes shape. Yet, at this interface, we will meet them, we will meet one another, buzzing within the conventions of cubic meters as units of volume or linear meters as units of length, then pausing in orderly breaks under the discipline of squared discipline. Passing through such convenience to step immediately into a so-called safe zone (ATK), we are faced with countless inconveniences, inadequacies, and uncertainties... This landscape of the flight path, of this horizon—does it feel strange? Yes. But does the feeling it brings seem familiar? Very much so. These are some of our thoughts and sensations as we attempt to sketch this flight path once more.
For the flying people, first of all, this is a problem of decoding physical space: the space in which the work is placed, coupled with the scarcity of conditions for installation and presentation. Confronting innumerable prohibitions might yield certain advantages; yet the skills and strengths once innate to the flyers now lose their validity, demanding instead the revelation of new tools for survival.
At the same time, they must temporarily accept that the artwork on display has likewise lost its validity—that within this landscape, the very notion of it becomes a luxury. These works resemble—or may be understood as—objects, artifacts provisionally stored away. This prompts us to think of the chance for them to shine again in the outside world, though who can know when? Disturbance also arises for the viewers, who must endure the same fate of spatial constraint.
“A landscape of art appreciation” becomes, in this context, a luxury. Do they feel they have been granted more authority to evaluate than usual? Do they feel unsettled, deprived of the ease and comfort of casual looking, when forced to move in small guided groups, their moods interwoven with the uncertainty of something unfolding, inexplicably, in broad daylight?
We have taken the first steps of this project with an abundance of inspirational images, inspirational words, and inspiring people. Surely, we hold deep admiration for Trần Dần, and permit ourselves to echo one of his lines:
The blind zone... the nesting ground of the skyline.”
EXHIBITION SPACE (360-degree virtual tour here)
OFFICE
Opening the storage, we see a page inscribed in purple ink: “Burn the book, keep only this page.”
Opening the storage, we see a mobile water-puppet chest with a set of six puppets.
Opening the storage, we see a 40-inch television made of handmade cardboard.
Opening the storage, we see the hollow shell of a mandarin servant statue.
Opening the storage, we see protective armor for a fall.
Opening the storage, we see a warehouse full of sandals salvaged after the floods.
Opening the storage, we see a portrait statue of Emperor Minh Mạng carved from coal.
Opening the storage, a heavy smell of rubber spreads over layers of dense black curtains.
Opening the storage, we see: remove the two characters Liền and what remains is Núi Núi, Sông Sông (the artwork belongs to the Duân Museum collection).
Opening the storage, we see a torch glowing with LED light.
Opening the storage, we see the image of a church reflected on a car hood.
Opening the storage, we see glowing the words: “See You in the Next Life.”
Opening the storage, we see a notebook of reflections from the Văn Cao Museum.
Opening the storage, we see a suitcase containing seed bombs of medicinal plants of the Cham people.
Opening the storage, we see artist Lê Vũ in a groom’s photograph.
Opening the storage, we see oil paintings of deserted seascapes and a hand cast in plaster.
Opening the door, we see a concrete block almost filling the entire storage.
Opening the storage, we see a jumble of black effigies with indistinct forms.
Opening the storage, we see a container holding 42.35 liters of Red River water.
Opening the storage, we see a layer of bamboo leaves slowly decaying inside a glass box.
Opening the storage, we see a blinding flash of light.
Opening the storage, we see a transparent plastic bag fluttering before our eyes, revealing the emptiness inside.
PHÙNG TIẾN SƠN
Opening the storage, we see a pomelo dog “entombed in ice.”
Opening the storage, we see slogans on face masks assembled into the form of a costume.
Opening the storage, we see a miniature rock garden drifting aimlessly.
Opening the storage, we see empty beer bottles beside an unfinished chessboard, accompanied by a voice commenting on Chinese chess coming from a radio.
Opening the storage, we see the zinc printing plate of a comic book titled “Visiting the Mausoleum (Đi Lăng).”
Opening the storage, we see a pilgrim’s robe.
Last updated: 06/09/2025 — subject to continuous revision