Vietnamese art is fast moving from fakes and reproductions to gritty social commentaries and political statements.

Inside a small, dusty shop along Hang Trong Street in the old quarter of Hanoi, two young Vietnamese painters are hard at work. Crouching on small stools in front of their easels, they have turned their attention from the forged Van Gogh and Dali paintings crammed along the walls, to expertly reproduce works by established Vietnamese painters such as Nguyen Thanh Binh, who is known for his depictions of ao dai - clad women.

One forger is faithfully reproducing a rural scene in the Chinese realism style, constantly checking the book that is open on his lap. The other painter is staring at a photograph of a painting by female artist Phan Thu Trang, whose instantly recognisable colourful lollipop-shaped trees are loved by collectors.

The forgers’ switch from classic European paintings to local artists is a testament to the newfound appeal of the contemporary Vietnamese artists.

Just around the corner, in the decidedly less shabby art galleries along trendy Hang Bong Street, authentic paintings of pretty girls in traditional ao dai and of water buffalo in rice paddies are loved by tourists making their obligatory stops to take home a souvenir. Executed by highly skilled painters schooled at fine art institutions that stress technique as well as tradition, the paintings are without doubt beautiful, but lack any experimentation or attempt at a newconcept.

The gentle Hanoi street scenes of bicycle riders in conical hats, resting in the shade of large fig trees, bear no resemblance to today’s Hanoi where bicycles have long been replaced by motorcycles and cars. These paintings not only give a distorted view of life in Vietnam but also fail to represent the country’s contemporary art scene. Luckily, a new crop of artists has sprung up to challenge the status quo.

“Many people think nothing has changed in the last ten years because looking at the galleries it’s still the same, but that’s because many good, contemporary artists are selling directly to collectors,” says influential collector Adrian Jones, whose Witness Collection has amassed more than 1000 Vietnamese art works. These original artists are hard to find in the trendy shops and galleries because they don’t want to be pressed to do pretty paintings that sell easily, but Jones says if you know where to look it’s easy to find an alternative current of talented artists working more edgy themes.

A TWENTY-MINUTE CAR RIDE from the galleries in the Old Quarter, the tiny studio of Le Quang Ha caters to a regular flow of visitors – including collectors and museum curators – who are looking for art that reflects the reality of modern Vietnam. Ha’s works are a far cry from the gentle, atmospheric scenes displayed in the Old Quarter galleries. His world is populated with police and military officers brandishing their oversized fists and shouting out orders, robotlike men better fed than they could afford on a civil servant salary. Each painting is an oblique commentary on the rampant corruption that bedevils the developing country. “I want my paintings to make people think. I want to give them a jolt, to wake them up,” says the 45-year-old artist. “Paintings shouldn’t always be for relaxation.”

Ha’s non-conformist approach might partly reflect the fact that he did not follow the usual path of becoming a painter in Vietnam. He didn’t study at the Hanoi University of Fine Arts, which still emphasises aesthetics over concept, and students are taught more to reproduce what they see rather than to think creatively.

But exploding clichés and exposing the system comes at a price.

Somewhere between political commentary of Chinese Pop Art and the everyday concerns of the Filipino Social Realism, Ha’s engaged art is not a lone artistic voice in Vietnam, but it is one that is rarely seen in public because the heavy hand of the Cultural Police still casts a shadow over Hanoi's artistic scene.

The Vietnamese may have more freedom of expression since their Communist government launched the Doi Moi period of economic openness in 1986, but Ha’s attempts to jolt his countrymen are not always welcomed by officials. His last exhibition inVietnam, “Faces of devils!”, was in May 2004 and should have run for a month but was halted after only five days following pressure from the Cultural Police.

“Nowadays, nothing is clear. The government says we have freedom, everything is open, but it’s not the reality. We don’t really know where the boundaries are,” he says.

According to Ha, even his paintings of flowers have attracted the ire of the local authorities because he chose to portray them as wilted instead of beautiful blooms. “The government wants artists to only portray beauty; they want everybody to be sleeping.”

Nothing has changed much over the last 15 years, says Tran Luong, one of the celebrated “Gang of Five” artists, a group of painters from the Ecole des Beaux-Art who rose to international acclaim after Doi Moi painting works influenced by modernism and that eschewed social commentary. “Even in a time of knowledge information, the atmosphere is still tightly controlled by the Cultural Police. They don’t take the time to understand the work, they just ban it.”

Tran had helped open Hanoi’s first Center for Contemporary Art in March 2001. It was very active for a while with video and improvisation workshops, and a residency programme for local and international artists. “The first year was quite good,” says Tran. “A lot of new things were happening and people were surprised we could do what we were doing, but then they started interfering with the budget and then with the programming.”

Unhappy, Tran quit in March 2003 and he says the centre has been “sleepy” ever since.

The doyen of performing artists in Hanoi, Dao Anh Khanh, who ironically once worked for the Cultural Police, has stopped counting the number of times he’s had a brush with the police. Over the years, he has been arrested, some of his shows have been cancelled and some of his works destroyed.

“Whenever I put on a performance I have to put 50 per cent of my energy into talking to and answering questions from officials about the shows and 50 per cent in the work itself,” he says.

The days when outspoken criticism would lead to the artist spending time in jail are now long gone. However, as art exhibitions still require a permit to go ahead, artists are never sure whether their work will actually be hung on the walls for the public to see or be left in their studio.

Suzanne Lecht, director of Art Vietnam, one of the few galleries in Hanoi selling contemporary art, believes that a few artists are now testing the boundaries, but in doing so they face great difficulties.

“No man is an island, and in Asia, your actions will have repercussions on your family,” she says. “That makes it a very difficult obstacle to taking a chance.”

Despite the problems, Ha’s work continues to reflect Vietnam’s ongoing problems with corruption in away that is both poignant and clever – and popular. In fact, not long ago, an American fund manager came by and tried to buy everything in the studio.

Source: READER’S DIGEST (ASIA), May 2008, p.44 - 49