Artist Pham Minh Hieu: Thinking alone, freedom to feel alone

Art and science are often seen as distinct disciplines. How did the idea of incorporating science—particularly physics—into your art emerge?

From my early studies in the natural sciences to my later artistic practice, I have undergone multiple transformations. After high school, before entering university, I took time to explore different fields in search of my true direction. I was fortunate to have mentors who encouraged me to consider the intersections of physics, science, and art, though I frequently questioned my path.

Stanford University, where I studied, played a pivotal role in shaping my approach. Its motto, “The wind of freedom blows”, resonated deeply with me. It signifies an intellectual and personal freedom: the liberty to think, to exist authentically. At Stanford, students are urged to carve out their own trajectories. Professors frequently posed the question, “What is true for you?”, prompting students to define their own values and perspectives.

I pursued courses across disciplines—Computer Science, Engineering, Art History, Philosophy, Anthropology—each subject a distinct experience, yet together, they formed the foundation of my own creative path.

As an artist, I seek freedom. My practice is an ongoing exploration, interwoven across multiple disciplines and genres. It does not belong to a pre-existing category of art or science but instead requires daily commitment and persistence. Through this journey, I find my own sense of self.

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What boundary between the worlds of physics and art are you trying to cross?

For a long time, I did not actively think about physics in the conventional sense—the natural sciences. It was only in recent years, when exploring ontology, that I returned to the question: “What is physics?” Physics should be understood as the study of matter’s principles, an expansive field encompassing thing theory or object ontology—the very essence of matter, not merely its physical interactions (from the Greek physis, meaning “appearance”).

Perhaps the boundary of physics I seek to transcend lies in reimagining it beyond the mechanics of objects acting upon other objects. My physics is an inquiry into the origins of things. I often describe myself with the statement: “Pham Minh Hieu is a contemporary artist contemplating reality by creating absolute arrangements of art”. I strive to uncover the essence of objects, even those existing in dimensions beyond direct perception. Through engagement and interaction with the fundamental nature of things, I aim to grasp reality—a pursuit I term “realistic thinking”. I believe the purpose of an artist is to chase the truth of existence, to unravel questions of origin and identity. My intention is to reveal what ordinary experiences may overlook or fail to perceive.

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Another preoccupation in my practice is the notion of contemporaneity. I do not imagine myself as an ancient sage, withdrawing into isolation in the mountains, disconnected from human society. I exist within a dynamic, ever-changing world, and I think in relation to that network. What does it mean to be a contemporary Vietnamese individual? In an increasingly globalised world, we are inundated with narratives, cultures, ideologies, and technological advancements that could fundamentally reshape us. What, then, propels us forward? What will contemporary Vietnamese society become? Absolute installation is my method, and to understand it fully, I invite you to experience my work.

Your installation Private Room, In Here features an object, “Where is Hieu?”—a plaster cast of your arm resting on a mechatronic structure. The piece tracks your movements in real time, translating your GPS location into a rotational movement of the arm. Interestingly, the closer you are to the object, the less precise the arm’s movement becomes. Can you expand on your notion of “far” and “near” within this work? Is it a mental or physical concept—or both?

I have always sought to understand who I am. In 2017, as a second-year Computer Science student, I found myself at a crossroads, facing the decision of what path to follow. I could not see myself in the future of my current studies. I was drawn to art, believing it would grant me the freedom to understand both myself and the world. Yet I was unsure if I had the courage to pursue it.

Not only in Vietnam, but almost everywhere, choosing to be an artist is fraught with uncertainty and challenges. If I continued with my degree, graduating from Stanford with a qualification in Computer Science, my trajectory would likely be clear. I could secure a job in Silicon Valley, earn a comfortable salary, and sustain a stable life. But would I be fulfilled? Would I truly understand myself and the impact of my work?

There has always been something that drives and guides me, though I struggle to name it. The more I attempt to define or approach it, the more elusive it becomes. Yet, when I relinquish control and move boldly in another direction, I feel aligned with my path. “Where is Hieu?” encapsulates my state of mind at that time.

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Ultimately, I chose art, and I have never regretted this decision. When I re-exhibited this piece at Galerie Quynh earlier this year, I collaborated with a research group from Hanoi University of Science and Technology to enhance the technology I had originally used.

This work relies on GPS technology—an algorithm employing satellite data—wherein greater distance results in more accurate positioning. For me, this reflects the message of the piece while also highlighting the strengths of art and the limitations of science. Art, with its romance and contemplation, allows us to attain something beyond the precision of mechanical calculations. Interestingly, following this project, a young researcher from the group decided to join my studio.

Vietnamese lifestyle and culture also imprint upon your art, such as the screen in your collection at the Gwangju Biennale Pavilion 2024 and the handmade mosaics from Bat Trang pottery village in the Untitled (7 Situations) exhibition. How did this influence begin? And do you intend to strengthen it in future projects?

For me, tradition is a current that flows through me, and as I engage with the world in multiple ways, that current also becomes the path I take. As I mentioned earlier, I am deeply invested in exploring the identity of the contemporary Vietnamese individual and the evolution of Vietnamese society. When I create, I want each work to embody both my personal experience and the collective reality I contribute to shaping.

Each of my works undergoes multiple transformations, and with every iteration, it connects and builds relationships, weaving a network of contemporaneity. My collaborators and partners are often pioneers and creative organisations that share the same aspirations.

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Take Somewhere, for instance. The process began with me picking up a grain of sand in the United States, using nanotechnology to etch my footprint onto it with ion beams—marking my existence on something microscopic in a laboratory half a world away from Vietnam. I photographed this unseen world, and last year, I handed these images to the artisans of Bat Trang pottery village. They used traditional techniques to enlarge the microscopic engravings into a ceramic mosaic. At first glance, the piece appears to be an ordinary mosaic, yet in a broader context, it converges West and East, past and present, science and history.

Most of my works materialise through such processes, sometimes taking years to develop, before integrating a range of techniques and methodologies.

At the Gwangju Biennale, Binh Phong serves as a reference frame for the audience—a way for them to situate themselves in a particular world. The front of the screen displays a panoramic image of Hanoi, taken from a drone flown along the Red River, while the back reveals the river’s water surface, brought to life through lenticular printing. As viewers move along the screen, the shifting image creates the sensation of flowing water. Meanwhile, the panoramic cityscape evokes a sense of depth, as though the screen is a window looking out onto Hanoi. When the screen is closed, the river envelops the city—true to the essence of Hanoi, a city built within the embrace of the river.

Your work is deeply introspective, reflecting on Vietnam through the lens of a young Vietnamese educated in the West—a synthesis of Western philosophy and Eastern culture; Western science and Eastern spirituality; Western individuality and Eastern collectivism. How do you bridge these ideas with the public?

For me, to pursue art is to dedicate a lifetime—a lifetime of contemplation, solitude, and freedom. However, being an artist is also a profession. And as a profession, it necessitates engagement with society, professionalism, and clear direction.

To achieve this, I foster dialogues with the public through exhibitions, seminars, lectures, media interactions, and various platforms that allow audiences to understand my practice. My work is not solely about creating art; it also involves shaping a cultural discourse, contributing to society, and illuminating the role of a contemporary artist.

Through different approaches and at varying depths, I seek to provide audiences with opportunities to connect with art. And perhaps, through art, they may come to better understand themselves and the world they inhabit—so that together, we can live with greater awareness and create a more meaningful existence.

Article published from the original print edition of Tatler Vietnam, October 2024 – Family & Legacy

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