The US’s bombing of Vietnam in the course of the twenty years of the Vietnam Struggle (referred to as the “American War” there, for apparent causes) constitutes the most important aerial bombardment in historical past. Tons — actually — of unexploded ordnance (UXO) nonetheless stud the panorama. In a lot of his movies, Nguyen interviews Vietnamese battle survivors, constructing a scaffold of human reminiscence. However when persons are dehumanized — a necessary first entrance of battle, fought proper at house, within the theater of the psyche — humanizing an object would possibly, paradoxically, kindle empathy. Accordingly, the “protagonist” of this movie is that very unexploded bomb in the precise channel, musing in a booming, bass voice.
Movie nonetheless of Tuan Andrew Nguyen, “The Sounds of Cannons, Familiar Like Sad Refrains / Đại Bác Nghe Quen Như Câu Dạo Buồn” (2021), two-channel video, coloration, sound, 9 min 41 sec (© Tuan Andrew Nguyen 2025; picture courtesy the artist and James Cohan, New York)
With this UXO’s unburial comes, for lack of a greater time period, a trauma dump. He’s a shadow of himself, he complains, after having been deserted right here for many years. His indoctrinated hatred towards the Vietnamese is bitter however obscure, and falls aside with any prodding. “They’ve dug me a grave,” he says at some stage in the bomb squad, with one thing like gratitude. “Gave me a proper burial.” His existence will doubtless stoke a deep sense of pathos within the viewer: Absurdly, and poignantly, right here is a missile experiencing imposter syndrome. He tells us that 10% of these bombs dropped didn’t explode. Was this on objective, the silent protest of American troopers against the battle, “Or am I just a failure?” If you concentrate on it, he was drafted into the battle like so many — even worse, he was created for it.
Within the two rooms bookending the video set up are two Calder-esque sculptures wrought from metallic bomb casings and artillery shells, one hanging from the ceiling and the opposite rooted to the ground. If they may communicate, I’m wondering how they might really feel about transitioning from an unwilling mercenary of battle to a glossy object of latest artwork, tinkling gently with the opening and shutting of gallery doorways. I’m wondering if they might giggle on the sheer ridiculousness of being returned to their homeland for this new objective. I’m wondering what they might consider their youthful “brothers and sisters,” because the UXO within the movie put it, wielded in limitless wars all world wide, to which they’re in mute, inert kinship.
Tuan Andrew Nguyen, “Circle Burst” (2024), 155mm artillery shells, brass from artillery shell, brass from pounded artillery shells, powder coat, concrete, bell tuned to G3, 192.43 Hz (© Tuan Andrew Nguyen 2025; picture by Dan Bradica, picture courtesy the artist and James Cohan, New York)
Tuan Andrew Nguyen, “The Sounds of Cannons, Familiar Like Sad Refrains / Đại Bác Nghe Quen Như Câu Dạo Buồn” (2021), two-channel video, coloration, sound, 9 min 41 sec (© Tuan Andrew Nguyen 2025; picture courtesy the artist and James Cohan, NewYork)
Tuan Andrew Nguyen, “Dragon Tail” (2025), chrome steel with bomb metallic, brass from pounded artillery shell, paracord, bell tuned to A3,432 Hz (© Tuan Andrew Nguyen 2025; picture by Dan Bradica, picture courtesy the artist and James Cohan, New York)
Tuan Andrew Nguyen: Lullaby of Cannons for the Night time continues at James Cohan gallery (291 Grand Avenue, Decrease East Aspect, Manhattan) by way of March 22. The exhibition was organized by the gallery.
