Nhà Sàn Collective: A Nomadic Structure

“I cry for horizons without people flying,
Then I cry for those who fly without horizons”
—Trần Dần, Những Chân Trời Có Người Bay [Skylines with Flying People]

Nhà Sàn Collective (NSC) began operating as an independent artist collective in Hanoi in 2013, when a group of friends set up an abandoned medicine factory, called Zone 9, as a base for numerous exhibitions, open studios, and two festivals over several months. NSC was forced to relocate at various points to Lý Quốc Sư and Hanoi Creative City, becoming a kind of nomadic structure. The collective is comprised of Nguyễn Quốc Thành, Tuan Mami, Vu Duc Toan, Truong Que Chi, and Nguyen Phuong Linh, all of whom curate projects under the framework of NSC. Nhà Sàn Collective has collaborated with companions and collaborators to organize exhibitions, workshops, film screenings, talks, and other activities, serving as a supportive platform for artists in the community. An initiative for exchanges, expansions, and connections, Nhà Sàn Collective has been a place—at times without a space—that has enabled works-in-progress and nurtured the unexpected. With or without a physical base, NSC approaches artmaking with a just-do-it attitude that doesn't always yield answers and remains unconcerned with simple outcomes. 

The name Nhà Sàn signifies the collective's foundation, which is rooted in the spirit of Nhà Sàn Studio, an artist-run space co-founded in 1998 in Hanoi by my father, Nguyễn Mạnh Đức, and the artist Trần Lương. Their space was based in my father’s home. Nhà sàn refers to a traditional stilt house of the Muong ethnic minority. My father transported a nhà sàn back to outer Hanoi from a family in the highland province of Hòa Bình in 1990. Nhà Sàn Studio was a vital incubator for an entire generation of experimental and performance artists. It was the first and the longest-running non-profit experimental art space in Vietnam. The studio nurtured several generations of the most imaginative and daring contemporary artists in the country. In a New York Times article in 2007, Jennifer Conlin noted that many have reverently called Mr. Nguyễn Mạnh Đức the “father of experimental art” in Vietnam for all the artists he supported.

The house had thatched walls and a palm leaf roof. The living room door opened in two directions and was never closed. In the center, there was a tea table for welcoming guests. The space was filled with Buddhist antiques, Catholic symbols, mother goddess features, and other traditional goods. Occasionally, there were traditional stage performances like Ca Trù or Hát Chèo. Here, everyone was welcome, whether they were a Japanese princess, a famous Hollywood actor, an old writer, a carpenter, a percussionist for traditional stage performances, a Catholic church caretaker, an ambitious curator, an established artist, or an art student. Regardless of status or reputation, my parents sat together around the tea table with any visitor in the same manner. 

Below the stilt house, there was a space for experimental art—video, installations, sound, performance, etc. At the time, this could be considered strange or alienating in a country that was only familiar with academic painting or sculpture forged in the aesthetics of Social Realism. There, under the house, our ideas were wild; we could imagine tearing down the roof, punching holes in the floor, or even opening up the entire upper floor—fire and water, anything you wanted. At the studio, there would always be food to feed the hungry. It was a unique house that nurtured me into who I am today. It was there that I was introduced to and influenced by the first generation of contemporary artists in Vietnam like Trương Tân, Minh Thành, Nguyễn Mạnh Hùng, as well as artists from outside the country like Danh Võ, Simon Starling, etc. They gave me inspiration in creativity and the spirit of freedom. I also met my peers who later became part of the Nhà Sàn Collective.

In 2010, Nhà Sàn Studio was closed by the authorities for organizing IN:ACT International Performance Art Festival. It was one of the first gatherings of its kind with international artists from Japan, Malaysia, Myanmar, Thailand, the Netherlands, the United States, and Vietnam. The now notorious piece, Flying Up, by Vietnamese female artist Lại Diệu Hà, led to major controversy over nudity and social norms as well as to the unofficial closure of Nhà Sàn Studio. In Vietnamese art history, this performance in 2010 marked the first time a female artist showed her naked body in public. 

Despite state censorship, my friends and I, all young artists from Nhà Sàn, wanted to preserve the spirit of friendship and creative freedom of this local artist-run space. We kept organizing, putting together many guerrilla mobile programs in different venues, from a tea stall in a skate park to performances on a mountain. We also collaborated with other international institutions in Hanoi, like the Goethe Institute. In 2012, I curated the program Những Chân Trời Có Người Bay [Skylines with Flying People] at the Japan Foundation. inspired by the poem by the innovative poet Trần Dần, one of the important figures of the Nhân Văn Giai Phẩm movement in Vietnam, 1988, right after the Đổi Mới (Renovation), a time when even horizons offered no space for soaring or freedom.

“I cry for horizons without people flying,
Then I cry for those who fly without horizons”

We occupied the Japan Foundation for almost three months. We collaborated with a Japanese architect, Tsuneo Noda, who often renovates abandoned houses into community spaces for exhibitions and events. After researching the architectural design, materials, and history of Nhà Sàn Studio, Tsuneo transformed the Japan Foundation by covering its offices with wooden pallets. The wood reminded us of how warm and comfortable the floor was beneath our feet in our former studio, and of the kitchen that was always bustling with activity.

Tsuneo also designed five studios in collaboration with artists:

• A media lab for Nguyễn Trinh Thi and Jamie Maxtone Graham
• MAC (Mami Art Center), which hosted talks by guest artists and curators, and showcased sketches censored by the censorship department
• A family kitchen by Ngọc Nâu where the artist cooked and hosted intimate conversations between the creators
• A mini theater by Appendix Collective
• A mobile gallery on a veteran three-wheeled car that traveled through the city carrying videos, performances, posters, flyers
• A gymnastics field by Kumpei Miyata where everyone could practice jumping high

In addition, there were two exhibition spaces, a library, and an outdoor screening space. 

After Skylines With Flying People, we decided to form ourselves as the Nhà Sàn Collective. Since then, we have been together through many journeys, occupying and changing spaces, and constantly creating programs to address the shifting discourse and to meet the needs of our artistic communities. Skylines with Flying People has become one of our priority projects, running every four to six years with a new director and directions that reflect the local context. We also run the annual Queer Forever! festival, the Emerging Artist Program, and the IN:AcCT performance art event, as well as host exhibitions for guest artists. 

In 2020, my father removed the stilt house. He built a modern house along the Red River. A part of the frame of Nhà Sàn was constructed as an altar house on the terrace. Since then, Nhà Sàn Collective has been less active in hosting exhibitions and workshops, as there are new art spaces and galleries that provide better conditions for the artists in Vietnam. Most of the members of the collective have families and children. We focus more on our own practices rather than curating. The new home of Nhà Sàn has become a playground for children and adults. It still remains a meeting place where friendship is nurtured and ideas are exchanged. My father still supports the artists by all means, especially in the traditional fields. And food is still always available for the hungry.