(Abstract) 

Editor: We're looking at an untitled abstract piece by Bui Xuan Phai. It seems to be built with thick layers of oil paint and perhaps ink. The textures give it a sort of crumbling, dreamy quality. What do you see in this piece? Curator: Ah, yes, the textures! They remind me of weathered walls in an old city. There’s something comforting and a little melancholic about that impasto. See how the rigid lines struggle to contain those softer color fields, how the orange scrapes over gentle hues... Almost a whispered argument, wouldn’t you say? Are they winning or losing? Editor: That's interesting. I hadn't considered the lines as being in tension with the background colors. They seem kind of haphazard, actually – almost like afterthoughts. Is there any historical context that would shed light on this tug-of-war? Curator: Xuan Phai was working in post-colonial Vietnam. He painted Hanoi a lot, often with a real sense of constraint and nostalgia, in a city battling the weight of progress and politics. Maybe he isn't after thoughts. What if that rigidity isn’t haphazard but reflective? The color and texture tell one story, the ink lines impose a different truth, yet somehow coexist on the same plane. I'm not sure *he* knew what to decide. It reminds me of deciding what I miss most about certain people in my past; I wonder if Xuan Phai painted like that, as well. Editor: So the piece might reflect internal conflicts as much as external ones. That's food for thought! Thanks for your insights. Curator: And thank *you* for the fresh perspective! Art should be like that old city, alive and always asking questions.