Dinh Q. Lê and His Tapestry of Vietnam Memories

During a visit to Vietnam nearly six years ago (in March 2000), I had the opportunity to see a great deal of contemporary art, and speak with many artists. People welcomed us warmly, and we made a number of friends. The countryside was exquisite, the villages colorful and fascinating, and I can still taste the complex and nuanced flavors of one of the world's finest cuisines. But I was puzzled and even troubled by the apparent lack of hostility we encountered as Americans. Considering how recent the war between our two countries and the outrages Vietnam suffered, something seemed wrong. Even when attempting to engage people in conversation about the war, mostly I heard, "Let's look forward, rather than backward."

Dinh Q. Lê, Damaged Gene, 1998; mixed media—clothing, T-shirts, figurines, plastic toys, pacifiers, video; courtesy of artist, Shoshana Wayne Gallery, PPOW Gallery, and Elizabeth Leach Gallery.

As a visitor (and an American who opposed the war), I certainly appreciated this generosity of spirit. But, at the same time, I applaud the work of the internationally known contemporary Vietnamese artist, Dinh Q. Lê. He offers a necessary corrective, expressing quite a different point of view in his current show at the Asia Society, titled "Vietnam: Destination for the New Millennium." In updating Vietnamese history, he reminds his audience of the words of George Santayana: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

Lê, who was born in Vietnam in 1968, migrated with his family to the U.S. at the age of 11. After receiving his B.A. from the University of California at Santa Barbara in 1989, and his M.F.A. from the School of Visual Arts in N.Y.C. in 1992, he returned to Vietnam in the 1990s and has been residing there, in Ho Chi Minh City, for nearly 10 years.

Unlike most Vietnamese artists I have previously encountered, Lê chooses to attack problems head-on. Rather than depict serene landscapes in the traditional style, his subjects include hypocrisy, genetic damage, and cultural displacement. Ironically, this artist, too young to remember the war firsthand, became aware that his own knowledge of it stemmed primarily from Hollywood. Lê is quoted as saying, "My memory of the American-Vietnam War is quite questionable. It merges fact, fiction, and personal recollections to create a tapestry of memories that is relatively unstable."

The exhibition begins with a large, mixed-media installation titled Lotus Land (2000), and culminates in another, From Doi Moi to the Sky (2005). Lotus Land looks whimsical at first; it features childish and colorful, doll-like creatures sitting on lotus pads. But upon further scrutiny, you realize with a jolt that the artist's subject is the genetic damage the U.S. Army inflicted on babies during the war, through the use of the chemical Agent Orange. No ordinary dolls, these are mutants, often conjoined, and possessing multiple heads and limbs. This piece also simultaneously references Buddhist and Hindu traditional iconography.

Dinh Q. Lê, Lotus Land, 2000; polymer, fiberglass, and paint; courtesy of the artist and Shoshana Wayne Gallery.

The final installation is quite different. With an optimistic tone, the artist looks ahead to the country's plan to launch a satellite into space. Lê places this work—consisting of stainless steel, mirrors, and motors—at eye-level, thus encouraging viewers to look at themselves (and perhaps, their dreams). In this way, he hopes to make people think differently about Vietnam—not just as victim, but as a country joining the technological world, and moving from survival to better communication.

Another work, a large "story quilt," ties the past together with the future. Titled Spending One's Life Trying to Find One's Way Home (2000), this huge curtain of photographs, measuring 10 by 20 feet, comprises about 1,500 family snapshots with handwritten comments on the backs. Held together by linen tape and thread, most of the photos show ordinary Vietnamese. The artist explains that, during the war, the press exclusively showed war images; everyday people and their memories never appeared in the news. To counter this, he now includes wedding portraits, family pictures, and other precious memories. He wants us to be engulfed by them and wonder "Where are these people now?" as we look at their pictures and read inscriptions.

Lê collected these while scouring secondhand stores in Vietnam for his own family photos, lost when his family moved to the U.S. He has inscribed onto the beautiful, haunting artwork selections from a classic epic poem from the 1800s, The Tale of Kiêu, by Nguyen Du, about a girl's longing for her homeland.

Just past this "curtain," there is a group of woven photographs from the series From Vietnam to Hollywood. (2000). Here Lê employs a grass-weaving technique he learned from his grandmother to splice together cut-up fragments of photojournalistic images of the war with scenes from Apocalypse Now, and other digitally enhanced stills from films. The artist's use of this technique creates a mosaic effect, underlining the multiple ways of perceiving the war (which the Americans call the Vietnam War, and the Vietnamese, the American War).

Dinh Q. Lê, Untitled from the series “From Vietnam to Hollywood” (cowgirl), 2004; color photographic print, linen tape; courtesy of the artist and 10 Chancery Lane, Hong Kong.

Also included in the show are selected objects from the 1998 "Damaged Gene" project, for which he rented a kiosk in Ho Chi Minh City. There he sold conjoined twin dolls, along with clothing for them, and baby bottles and pacifiers with multiple nipples.

Lê's often deceptive and ironic work can, at first glance, appear playful and beautiful. But then, with a double take, you realize that its subject matter is actually war, destruction, sadness, and irreparable harm. His references to the infantilization of Asian peoples can be compared to the ones shown at the explosive exhibition at the Japan Society from last April through July, called "Little Boy." "Little Boy" was the code name given to the atom bomb dropped over Hiroshima. But it also refers to the "otaku" subcultures (roughly translated as "pop cult fanaticism") which have given rise to Japanese film and video animation, as well as fashion, which are now so popular in the U.S. Like Lê's subject matter, these invariably cute and childish images often carry a hidden, darker significance.

The title of the current exhibition, "Vietnam: Destination for the New Millennium," is taken from Lê's parodies of superficially pretty travel posters, with titles such as Come Back to My Lai for Its Beaches. (My Lai, of course, was the site of some of the most infamous atrocities of the war). There is also one poster on which is written, "So sorry to hear that you are still not over us. Come back to Vietnam for closure."

The significance of Dinh Q. Lê's art lies in its transcendence of personal anecdote. By analyzing his own culture and his journey, he explores the immigrant experience in general. Through his search for roots, integrating positive as well as negative reactions over time, he reveals a point of view largely lacking in the Western press. And in this way, he provokes us to examine our own attitudes.

The exhibition continues through January 15, 2006, at the Asia Society, located at 725 Park Avenue (at 70th Street). Hours are Tuesday-Sunday, 11 a.m.-6 p.m., and Friday, 11 a.m.-9 p.m. (It is closed Monday.) Admission is free on Friday evenings from 6-9 p.m.

Art historian Greta Berman has been on the liberal arts faculty since 1979.