After the studio visit (zoom call) with Tammy Nguyen
Object as Subject, or Subject as Object
This is probably not the best thing to write about a studio visit, but one thing that doesn’t leave my mind since our zoom call is something Alexandria said to Tammy. When Tammy was telling us how she gave birth to her child a few months ago while preparing for her upcoming show, Alexandria responded (jokingly but respectfully) that Tammy has been giving birth to a lot of things, as she has made a bunch of paintings and had a child.
I was stuck to this comment for a while, because I realized that recently, while painting, I’ve never felt like I was giving birth to anything. Of course, this is primarily because I’m a dude who never had to worry about giving birth, but even as a painter, my recent works did not feel like something that came out of my body. Perhaps I am not viewing them as a creation of mine.
This thought starts from a realization I had this summer. To understand this realization, I first have to talk about self-talk. Since I have started painting, I always tried to explore how my interest in translation, language, and talk are mirrored in my painting practice. The farthest I have come in this endeavor (until this summer) was establishing a painting procedure called self-talk, where I alternate between the roles of the speaker and listener. As a speaker (or writer), I make marks on the canvas, and as a listener (or reader), I distance myself from the painting and try to comprehend the actions I just made. For the past year, I had a timer for these sessions, forcing myself to write for one hour and then read for another hour. As I repeated these sessions over and over on a painting, the layers developed and the contexts (in which I’m placed in as either a writer or reader) shifted. Since the writer and reader are located in a new context as the painting changes, they are forced to perform a translation from one context to another. Essentially, I was translating myself over and over by saying something, listening to what I said, saying another thing based on what I heard, and so on.
When I performed self-talk, I believed I was talking to myself (different versions of myself in a different context), and the painting was organically produced from this process as a byproduct. However, I started to see things differently in the past summer. I noticed that I was maybe having a conversation with, as opposed to myself, the painting itself. During my reading sessions I was carefully trying to understand how the painting (or even the paint itself) wanted to be directed. This was similar to me trying to have a conversation with our cat, struggling to figure out why he was rubbing his back on me. I was given a reaction, and I had to make sense of it. Then, based on my interpretation, I reacted back to it. I realized that what I considered self-talk was more so a chain of reactions I exchanged back and forth with my paintings. Of course, we do not speak the same language. Yet, I recognize the drive of the painting, and I recognize that it reacts to my drive as well. This acknowledgement led me to perceive the painting as a subject rather than an object. I now see the painting as a performer that takes part of the conversation with the artist rather than something merely produced from the artist’s actions.
Coming back to Alexandria’s comment on Tammy giving birth to her paintings, considering the new way I perceive painting, it is quite odd to imagine giving birth to an existing subject. Imagine giving birth to a cat when the cat is already there. The aluminum sheets that I paint on have been existent before any paint was applied on the surface. They aren’t created by the omnipotent artist. They are, at least for me, existing subjects that exchange a bunch of reactions with the artist, and their characteristics form and change in that process. I think of it, again, similar to a relationship with a cat. With a different language, we react to each other, and these actions can transform the other subject. In this sense, we are both subjects (the performer) and objects (the performed on) at the same time.
One might say I created the aluminum sheets because I bought them, cut them, attached frames to them, and prepared them for painting. I agree that this process can be seen as creation, or at least part of the creating. Yet, this process was done by me as a craftsman and not a painter. The craftsman can give birth to objects, and a painter interacts with a subject. I do not want to kindle a debate about what is craft and what is fine art in this paper, and I am not trying to say that one is better than the other. I’m simply suggesting a way I understand painting in contrast to a process that has a planned end result in mind. In craft, the artist focuses on reaching that end goal. In painting, the artist should not assume the painting process as a means to realize a certain visual image on the canvas. The fluctuations suggested (by both the artist and the painting) during the process should be the main force that directs a painting.
Then what does it mean for a painting to be a subject? Throughout the long history of painting, many viewers have tried to find and read the subject matter of a painting, as if trying to decode a message sent by the artist. On the other hand, many abstract painters have opposed to having any subject matter in the paintings. Famously, Ad Reinhardt’s Twelve rules for a New Academy argues that a “pure” painting must have no object, no subject, and no matter. I have also tried to exclude a subject matter from my work. As a result, I ended up treating the painting itself as a simple object which doesn’t need a specific message to be communicated. Now, I have come to understand it as a subject—one that can have its own say. Treating a painting as a subject means to view it as an equal to the artist. Two stools are placed facing each other, the artist sitting on one and the painting sitting on the other. The artist tries to listen as much as talk. It is most important to understand painting as a process. In this process, the artist examines how the reactions coming from both sides are shaping a change to each other and how that leads to a new reaction.
After the studio visit (zoom call) with Tammy Nguyen
Object as Subject, or Subject as Object
This is probably not the best thing to write about a studio visit, but one thing that doesn’t leave my mind since our zoom call is something Alexandria said to Tammy. When Tammy was telling us how she gave birth to her child a few months ago while preparing for her upcoming show, Alexandria responded (jokingly but respectfully) that Tammy has been giving birth to a lot of things, as she has made a bunch of paintings and had a child.
I was stuck to this comment for a while, because I realized that recently, while painting, I’ve never felt like I was giving birth to anything. Of course, this is primarily because I’m a dude who never had to worry about giving birth, but even as a painter, my recent works did not feel like something that came out of my body. Perhaps I am not viewing them as a creation of mine.
This thought starts from a realization I had this summer. To understand this realization, I first have to talk about self-talk. Since I have started painting, I always tried to explore how my interest in translation, language, and talk are mirrored in my painting practice. The farthest I have come in this endeavor (until this summer) was establishing a painting procedure called self-talk, where I alternate between the roles of the speaker and listener. As a speaker (or writer), I make marks on the canvas, and as a listener (or reader), I distance myself from the painting and try to comprehend the actions I just made. For the past year, I had a timer for these sessions, forcing myself to write for one hour and then read for another hour. As I repeated these sessions over and over on a painting, the layers developed and the contexts (in which I’m placed in as either a writer or reader) shifted. Since the writer and reader are located in a new context as the painting changes, they are forced to perform a translation from one context to another. Essentially, I was translating myself over and over by saying something, listening to what I said, saying another thing based on what I heard, and so on.
When I performed self-talk, I believed I was talking to myself (different versions of myself in a different context), and the painting was organically produced from this process as a byproduct. However, I started to see things differently in the past summer. I noticed that I was maybe having a conversation with, as opposed to myself, the painting itself. During my reading sessions I was carefully trying to understand how the painting (or even the paint itself) wanted to be directed. This was similar to me trying to have a conversation with our cat, struggling to figure out why he was rubbing his back on me. I was given a reaction, and I had to make sense of it. Then, based on my interpretation, I reacted back to it. I realized that what I considered self-talk was more so a chain of reactions I exchanged back and forth with my paintings. Of course, we do not speak the same language. Yet, I recognize the drive of the painting, and I recognize that it reacts to my drive as well. This acknowledgement led me to perceive the painting as a subject rather than an object. I now see the painting as a performer that takes part of the conversation with the artist rather than something merely produced from the artist’s actions.
Coming back to Alexandria’s comment on Tammy giving birth to her paintings, considering the new way I perceive painting, it is quite odd to imagine giving birth to an existing subject. Imagine giving birth to a cat when the cat is already there. The aluminum sheets that I paint on have been existent before any paint was applied on the surface. They aren’t created by the omnipotent artist. They are, at least for me, existing subjects that exchange a bunch of reactions with the artist, and their characteristics form and change in that process. I think of it, again, similar to a relationship with a cat. With a different language, we react to each other, and these actions can transform the other subject. In this sense, we are both subjects (the performer) and objects (the performed on) at the same time.
One might say I created the aluminum sheets because I bought them, cut them, attached frames to them, and prepared them for painting. I agree that this process can be seen as creation, or at least part of the creating. Yet, this process was done by me as a craftsman and not a painter. The craftsman can give birth to objects, and a painter interacts with a subject. I do not want to kindle a debate about what is craft and what is fine art in this paper, and I am not trying to say that one is better than the other. I’m simply suggesting a way I understand painting in contrast to a process that has a planned end result in mind. In craft, the artist focuses on reaching that end goal. In painting, the artist should not assume the painting process as a means to realize a certain visual image on the canvas. The fluctuations suggested (by both the artist and the painting) during the process should be the main force that directs a painting.
Then what does it mean for a painting to be a subject? Throughout the long history of painting, many viewers have tried to find and read the subject matter of a painting, as if trying to decode a message sent by the artist. On the other hand, many abstract painters have opposed to having any subject matter in the paintings. Famously, Ad Reinhardt’s Twelve rules for a New Academy argues that a “pure” painting must have no object, no subject, and no matter. I have also tried to exclude a subject matter from my work. As a result, I ended up treating the painting itself as a simple object which doesn’t need a specific message to be communicated. Now, I have come to understand it as a subject—one that can have its own say. Treating a painting as a subject means to view it as an equal to the artist. Two stools are placed facing each other, the artist sitting on one and the painting sitting on the other. The artist tries to listen as much as talk. It is most important to understand painting as a process. In this process, the artist examines how the reactions coming from both sides are shaping a change to each other and how that leads to a new reaction.
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2025
After the studio visit (zoom call) with Tammy Nguyen
Object as Subject, or Subject as Object
This is probably not the best thing to write about a studio visit, but one thing that doesn’t leave my mind since our zoom call is something Alexandria said to Tammy. When Tammy was telling us how she gave birth to her child a few months ago while preparing for her upcoming show, Alexandria responded (jokingly but respectfully) that Tammy has been giving birth to a lot of things, as she has made a bunch of paintings and had a child.
I was stuck to this comment for a while, because I realized that recently, while painting, I’ve never felt like I was giving birth to anything. Of course, this is primarily because I’m a dude who never had to worry about giving birth, but even as a painter, my recent works did not feel like something that came out of my body. Perhaps I am not viewing them as a creation of mine.
This thought starts from a realization I had this summer. To understand this realization, I first have to talk about self-talk. Since I have started painting, I always tried to explore how my interest in translation, language, and talk are mirrored in my painting practice. The farthest I have come in this endeavor (until this summer) was establishing a painting procedure called self-talk, where I alternate between the roles of the speaker and listener. As a speaker (or writer), I make marks on the canvas, and as a listener (or reader), I distance myself from the painting and try to comprehend the actions I just made. For the past year, I had a timer for these sessions, forcing myself to write for one hour and then read for another hour. As I repeated these sessions over and over on a painting, the layers developed and the contexts (in which I’m placed in as either a writer or reader) shifted. Since the writer and reader are located in a new context as the painting changes, they are forced to perform a translation from one context to another. Essentially, I was translating myself over and over by saying something, listening to what I said, saying another thing based on what I heard, and so on.
When I performed self-talk, I believed I was talking to myself (different versions of myself in a different context), and the painting was organically produced from this process as a byproduct. However, I started to see things differently in the past summer. I noticed that I was maybe having a conversation with, as opposed to myself, the painting itself. During my reading sessions I was carefully trying to understand how the painting (or even the paint itself) wanted to be directed. This was similar to me trying to have a conversation with our cat, struggling to figure out why he was rubbing his back on me. I was given a reaction, and I had to make sense of it. Then, based on my interpretation, I reacted back to it. I realized that what I considered self-talk was more so a chain of reactions I exchanged back and forth with my paintings. Of course, we do not speak the same language. Yet, I recognize the drive of the painting, and I recognize that it reacts to my drive as well. This acknowledgement led me to perceive the painting as a subject rather than an object. I now see the painting as a performer that takes part of the conversation with the artist rather than something merely produced from the artist’s actions.
Coming back to Alexandria’s comment on Tammy giving birth to her paintings, considering the new way I perceive painting, it is quite odd to imagine giving birth to an existing subject. Imagine giving birth to a cat when the cat is already there. The aluminum sheets that I paint on have been existent before any paint was applied on the surface. They aren’t created by the omnipotent artist. They are, at least for me, existing subjects that exchange a bunch of reactions with the artist, and their characteristics form and change in that process. I think of it, again, similar to a relationship with a cat. With a different language, we react to each other, and these actions can transform the other subject. In this sense, we are both subjects (the performer) and objects (the performed on) at the same time.
One might say I created the aluminum sheets because I bought them, cut them, attached frames to them, and prepared them for painting. I agree that this process can be seen as creation, or at least part of the creating. Yet, this process was done by me as a craftsman and not a painter. The craftsman can give birth to objects, and a painter interacts with a subject. I do not want to kindle a debate about what is craft and what is fine art in this paper, and I am not trying to say that one is better than the other. I’m simply suggesting a way I understand painting in contrast to a process that has a planned end result in mind. In craft, the artist focuses on reaching that end goal. In painting, the artist should not assume the painting process as a means to realize a certain visual image on the canvas. The fluctuations suggested (by both the artist and the painting) during the process should be the main force that directs a painting.
Then what does it mean for a painting to be a subject? Throughout the long history of painting, many viewers have tried to find and read the subject matter of a painting, as if trying to decode a message sent by the artist. On the other hand, many abstract painters have opposed to having any subject matter in the paintings. Famously, Ad Reinhardt’s Twelve rules for a New Academy argues that a “pure” painting must have no object, no subject, and no matter. I have also tried to exclude a subject matter from my work. As a result, I ended up treating the painting itself as a simple object which doesn’t need a specific message to be communicated. Now, I have come to understand it as a subject—one that can have its own say. Treating a painting as a subject means to view it as an equal to the artist. Two stools are placed facing each other, the artist sitting on one and the painting sitting on the other. The artist tries to listen as much as talk. It is most important to understand painting as a process. In this process, the artist examines how the reactions coming from both sides are shaping a change to each other and how that leads to a new reaction.