Tia Thuy Nguyen: The art of reviving Hanoi’s lost memories

For many years, Vietnamese cities have seemed to lack sculptural installations in public spaces. What are your thoughts?

There are some public sculptures and installations here, but they remain relatively few and often don’t leave a lasting impression. To enrich the urban landscape and deepen the public’s relationship with contemporary art, there’s a need for greater investment—not only in quantity but in intention. The collaboration between artists, local authorities, communities and the distinctive character of each place is vital. Art should live at the heart of a city, not just adorn it. Only then can public art find its true meaning and resonance.

As an artist working in many countries around the world, how do you think cities in Vietnam could see more public art installations like the Revival tree?

In my view, creating more public artworks in Vietnam requires close collaboration between three key forces: the government, private investors and the artists themselves. This is a reciprocal relationship, where each plays an essential and irreplaceable part. When those elements are aligned and in conversation, I truly believe Vietnam can cultivate public spaces that are artful, inclusive and filled with meaning. Investing in public art is not only about enhancing the visual landscape—it elevates daily life, offering communities richer narratives and moments of connection. Art becomes a conduit—awakening feeling, sparking dialogue and shaping shared cultural experience.

Tia Thuy Nguyen has taken her installations and art projects to many corners of the world: from “Silver Room” (2018) and “Hoa doi” (2023) at Chateau La Coste in France, to “Drops of the Sun” (2024) in Monaco and “Sparkle in the Vastness” (2024) in Paris. In 2025, she returns home to Hanoi with “Hoi sinh”. Why such a long wait to come back to Vietnam? Could you share how these ideas began, and any memorable stories behind the works?

The international art scene—especially in Europe—has long embraced contemporary expression. There, both creation and exhibition are not only encouraged but genuinely celebrated, by experts and audiences alike. In Vietnam, contemporary art is still finding its rhythm, slowly earning a deeper place in the public imagination. For that reason, I knew that returning had to happen at the right moment.

When I saw the aftermath of the storm—thousands of trees uprooted along streets I had walked all my life—my friends and I came together instinctively. We reached out to city officials, driven by the quiet hope that some fragment of what had been lost could live on through art. To our gratitude, we received strong support from both the authorities and key investors. That collaboration led to the creation of Resurrection—not just a sculpture, but a gesture of remembrance and a link to the collective feeling held by the people of Hanoi. Every piece of work carries its own pulse, its own origin. My hope is that Resurrection now breathes among the living memories of this city—reminding us of nature’s force and life’s persistence.

As a Vietnamese artist who debuted in France, Monaco and the US before returning to Hanoi, what does your journey say about a generation of artists now moving beyond traditional boundaries?

I see my journey as a thread within a larger movement—one where Vietnamese artists are taking initiative, stepping beyond national limits to engage with global narratives, while still holding their cultural identity close. My early debuts in France, Monaco and the US offered me invaluable insight into the standards and operations of international art. Those experiences gave me the confidence to come home—aware of the hurdles, but also aware of the rich creative material that surrounds us here.

With Revival, I hoped to awaken something in our generation: a sense of purpose, the value of connection, and the courage to push past old constraints—not only in how we think, but in how we make and share our work.

What have you learned from your artistic projects in France, the US and Monaco? Has working in an international environment shaped your style, perspective or approach to developing artistic projects?

Creating art in France, the US and Monaco has offered a wealth of invaluable lessons. In addition to being an independent artist, I’m also the founder of the Factory Contemporary Arts Centre. Working alongside international organisations has deepened my understanding of their goals and expectations. From these projects, I’ve come to see that an artwork is more than just a visual expression—it’s a complete undertaking, where art must align with technology, safety, sustainability and long-term viability.

International clients and collaborators are uncompromising in their standards, particularly in terms of timelines and quality. That rigour has shaped my approach, instilling a disciplined, methodical work ethic. Each piece becomes a collaborative effort—an intricate dance between artist, architect, engineer and construction team.

I’ve also learned how deeply different cultures value local traditions. That awareness has prompted me to consider how a work lives within the community and the cultural setting it inhabits. These experiences continue to influence how I shape my projects. I now ask myself: “Is this piece not only visually engaging, but does it forge a meaningful connection with the place and its people?” and “Can it endure—physically and emotionally—across time and change?” Such questions guide me as I bring what I’ve learnt abroad into my practice here at home, crafting works that resonate with both artistic integrity and communal relevance.

How does artist Tia Thuy Nguyen differ from fashion designer Thuy Nguyen? Could you describe each in a few compelling words?

Both versions of myself—artist Tia Thuy Nguyen and designer Thuy Nguyen—share a desire to tell stories drawn from my life, the places I’ve been and the cultures I carry with me. Yet they diverge in how those stories take form, and in how directly they reach people.

As a fashion designer, I step into the public sphere—bridging art and everyday life. Designer Thuy Nguyen listens to the pulse of the moment, weaving in music, cinema, theatre and other creative forms to breathe contemporary energy into Vietnamese cultural traditions. The connection with the audience is immediate and alive.

Artist Tia Thuy Nguyen, on the other hand, journeys inward. In painting and installation, the creative ego leads; the work isn’t required to serve or explain—it simply exists, self-contained and emotionally honest. If the designer speaks to the Vietnamese people, the artist carries Vietnamese craft and memory beyond borders.

From the ao dai in Thuy Nguyen’s fashion collection “Mong Binh Thuong” to the stylised image of the Central Highlands communal house in “Silver Room” at Chateau La Coste, it’s clear that childhood memories, folk culture and Vietnamese traditions are central to your work. How are these unique cultural elements received by international audiences?

I don’t tend to measure the level of global interest in Vietnamese culture. To constantly analyse or anticipate audience reaction risks shifting the creative process toward pleasing rather than creating—and that would dilute its truth. For me, the symbols of folk life, the echoes of childhood, the textures of tradition—these aren’t embellishments. They are part of who I am.

When I introduced the ao dai in Mong Binh Thuong, or reimagined the communal house in Silver Room, I wasn’t sending a message. I was simply expressing something personal—translating identity into form. And I’ve found that when we approach our culture with sincerity, it transcends language or familiarity. Even when they don’t understand every detail, people still feel the essence. That’s the quiet power of honest art.

Read more: Translator Tran Tien Cao Dang: “Literature is a measure to help us resist illusions”

Tia Thuy Nguyen works with a wide range of materials—from oil painting and stone techniques to sequins, metal embroidery, handwoven fibre carpets, quartz sculpture, lacquer and metal installations. What are the interesting—and challenging—aspects of pushing artistic boundaries through such varied mediums?

First and foremost, it gave me permission to play. I was free to be mischievous, to experiment, to indulge curiosity without being confined to a single medium. The challenge of combining contrasting materials became not only more engaging, but also unexpectedly joyful.

Yet, this freedom came with a price. I had to learn continuously, push through limitations, embrace trial and error, and accept that some things would have to be left behind. Along the way, I encountered specialists, craftspeople and technicians who helped me understand each material’s personality—their histories, textures, and temperaments. Gradually, I learned to approach them with care, turning technique into something deeply felt.

Each material I worked with—stone, lacquer, rhinestones, embroidered metal, carpet fibres—has its own rhythm. Bringing them together is like solving a delicate puzzle, or composing a conversation among individuals with very different voices. Though demanding, this process nurtures an emotional intimacy between artist and material. And it’s these quiet, evolving relationships that ultimately enrich the soul of the work.

You’re often described as a pioneer, with a strong influence on the rising Gen.T generation of Vietnamese artists thanks to your creativity, your willingness to experiment, and your role as a mentor. How do you see the future of Vietnamese art evolving with this younger generation, alongside the contributions of senior artists such as yourself?

We are, I believe, stepping into a new chapter—one where Vietnamese art is poised to thrive. The old boundaries in thought, practice and access are beginning to soften. Doors are opening: from institutions, from the public, and within the ecosystem of professionals and policymakers.

The Gen.T generation is growing up in an age of technological fluency, with greater connectivity and a wide open landscape of knowledge. They have tools we didn’t, and more favourable conditions in which to create. As for my generation—we helped build the foundations: places to study, platforms for exhibition, networks of investors, and audiences with a growing curiosity. I hope the next generation will hold onto their daring, embrace vulnerability, and never hesitate to tell their own stories.

Gen.T often speaks of “creating the future.” In your view, what can art contribute to the community in today’s world?

I believe that art—especially in the public realm—has the power to forge connection. And connection, more than ever, is what society needs to grow.

Art becomes a point of convergence. For a single work to come into being, it demands collaboration: artists, engineers, material specialists, lighting designers, administrators, sponsors… Each brings their own strengths, perspectives and questions. When they come together, something more than a visual piece emerges—it becomes a meeting point for different disciplines, and that can open unexpected paths forward.

Art also connects generations. It can summon memory, stir emotion, and bridge the past with the present. It invites conversation between the young and those who came before them. Above all, it connects through feeling. Regardless of background or circumstance, when a piece of art truly moves someone, it dissolves distance. It brings us closer.

Do you plan to collaborate with, or initiate projects for, the Gen.T generation of artists in the future?

As the founder of The Factory Contemporary Arts Centre, I’ve always kept the door open—for collaboration, for mentorship, and for creating meaningful space for the next generation of artists. And not just in Hanoi, but across provinces nationwide. If Vietnamese art is to enter a new era, we must build more than exhibitions—we need a vibrant ecosystem. A space where artists, curators, investors and the public can meet, exchange and grow together. That’s the mission The Factory has held close from the very beginning.

If you could send a message to Gen.T, what would it be?

This is your moment. My peers and I have helped clear a path—now it’s your turn to step into the light, to explore boldly and express your voice with conviction. Be fearless in your creativity, trust in your values, and don’t be afraid to reach out to those who’ve walked before you. We’re here, and we’re listening. And if you need a place to begin, The Factory will always welcome you—with open arms and open minds.

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