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A Touch from the Abyss

“To forget would not only be dangerous but offensive; to forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.”— Elie Wiesel, preface to ‘Night’ (2006)

As if free-falling, the body plunged into darkness. Humid air dampened the skin, cooled the ground, and diffused an earthy scent. The wind’s symphonies sounded celestial from a distance, enchanting the listener into nocturnal woods. This ambience was characterised by “âm”, the form and expression of ‘And They Die a Natural Death’ (2022) by artist and filmmaker Nguyễn Trinh Thi. A homophone in the Vietnamese language, âm has different usages, some of which provide clues to understanding humanist concerns in this work.

In the Vietnamese language, the syllable âm denotes distinct meanings. As a Vietnamese observer, I realised an existing language barrier—artistically and linguistically—that poses a challenge in contextualising ‘And They Die a Natural Death’. By introducing the word âm, I attempt to illuminate foundational layers of Nguyễn Trinh Thi’s presence at documenta fifteen, which is arguably one of the most prominent global exhibitions.

Nguyễn Trinh Thi, ‘And They Die a Natural Death’, 2022, chilli pepper plants, wind, bamboo flutes, projection, monitor. Installation view, Rondell, Kassel. Image courtesy of the artist.

Rondell (circular building on the left), exterior view, Kassel, 2006. Photo by Eva Kröcher. Wikimedia Commons.��

Âm 音: sonic, sound

A site-specific art installation, ‘And They Die a Natural Death’ was a public intervention reviving Rondell—Kassel’s long-standing defensive tower built in 1523 and was said to later house torture facilities in its underground vaults. As part of the installation, a high-tech system recreated and implanted the natural environment of Tam Đảo forest in Vietnam. Via this hidden automated design, the Tam Đảo wind was generated in Rondell’s interior, and composed rhythms with the bamboo flutes in the dome. In this absolutely dark cinematic space, sound became the main device to storytelling.

Recently, Nguyễn Trinh Thi began to incorporate new media in her work, including organic materials and natural forces, prioritising the art of listening over mere representation. She experimented with sound as the primary technical apparatus. An ethnographic research trip to the Central Highlands of Vietnam in 2021 touched the artist so significantly that she dedicated her film to the J’rai culture of listening.2 ‘How to Improve the World’ (2021) is the documentary film that acts as a prelude to ‘And They Die a Natural Death’. By appropriating musician John Cage’s diary titled ‘How to Improve the World: You Will Only Make Matters Worse’ (1992), the filmmaker suggests that we should listen to the world around us to survive ecological crises together.3

Âm 荫: tree shade

The Tam Đảo wind not only created sounds inside Rondell, but also activated a lighting system to blow up silhouettes of bird’s eye chilli plants hidden underneath the platform. Enlarged shadows reached the highest parts of the dome, casting a luxuriant forest onto Rondell’s circular wall. Using small plants as main actors, the artist built an eco-theater in which non-human agency played a crucial role in the retelling of death. Chilli pepper shadows inside Rondell formed a panoramic ink painting, and this visual quality could be said to reference East Asian traditional art. In feudal China, the landscape genre seeks to express harmony between Heaven and Earth and cosmic wholeness between humans and nature, and this is observed with the installation.

Nguyễn Trinh Thi’s use of shadow as a visual signifier is not unlike American American artist Kara Walker’s signature strategy, which elicits the legacy of slavery through stereotypical--often grotesque--cut-paper silhouettes. Such technique aids the artists to walk the lines between pleasure and pain, visibility and invisibility, power and oppression. 

Preparation of chilli pepper plants before being installed underneath the viewer's platform in the Rondell. Original caption: “She took care of everything - production, plants, people, and text. I’m deeply grateful.” Image courtesy of the artist.

The electrical system which measured the wind’s intensity was being set up in Tam Đảo, Vietnam. Originally captioned “Thank you so much Đức for sending us your wind!!!” Image courtesy of the artist.

Âm 喑: muteness

Like the other projects at documenta fifteen, Nguyễn Trinh Thi’s installation recalled a testimony denied by grand history. ‘And They Die a Natural Death’ was a mute cry for loss and brutality. The artist referenced a chapter in Bùi Ngọc Tấn’s memoir in prison, A Tale For 2000.4 In the labour camp, male prisoners longed for the spicy heat of chilli pepper. One day, the discovery of a vast pepper tree forest caused an uprising in the camp. Unable to control the mob, furious guards fired in the air and ended up shooting a prisoner. The mob went silent and returned to the camp; their hands still held on to the chilli peppers as if it represented fleeting freedom.

As a site-specific project, ‘And They Die a Natural Death’ connected to local history in Kassel. In the Nazi era, the city witnessed book burning, destruction of Jewish synagogue, concentration camps, and Adolf Hitler’s speech in the first Reich Warriors’ Convention. Within this context, the installation can be interpreted as a passive mourning. Its dim lights and eerie sounds gestured towards, in the words of philosopher Jacques Ranciere, “the representation of the inhuman.”5 This rhetorical device employs micro-description of actions, which highlights the absence of humanity experienced in prisoner camps from Bùi Ngọc Tấn’s memoir and Kassel’s Nazi past.

Âm 陰: the underworld

Nguyễn Trinh Thi is neither the first nor the only artist to adapt a ruin’s history in a retelling of memory. However, her philosophy, deeply rooted in Taoism, fostered aesthetic qualities that were peculiar to East Asian and Vietnamese worldviews. In 1987, German artist Rebecca Horn also addressed history by staging a site-specific installation ‘Concert in Reverse’ in a Munster fortification, which was built around the same time as Rondell. While both artists intrigued their audiences with cinematic experiences and sounds from ordinary tools, for Nguyễn Trinh Thi, darkness was crucial to the mise-en-scène of death. Such an artistic strategy inserted the Vietnamese spiritual belief that the dead are not far gone, and that their souls stay in the underworld. With its 10-metre-thick wall, humid air, and absolute absence of light, Rondell became a vessel, displacing viewers to enter a space outside of time. The haunting yet meditative ambience enchanted listeners to feel a tender touch from the abyss.

A story about death is a reminder that nature’s flow waits for no one. However, by narrating death, both storyteller and listener resist this flow and encounter the deceased in a parallel reality. This temporal convergence offers a space for grief, and in some cases, the telling of death helps to make sense of loss.

At documenta fifteen, Nguyễn Trinh Thi presented her ongoing investigation of anti-representation, nonhuman agency, and power. She conceived of  “landscapes as quiet witnesses to history.”7 ‘And They Die a Natural Death’ was a live theatre in which nonhuman actors--wind and chilli pepper plants--took centre stage. In this nonverbal retelling of death, artistic strategies were utilised to engage the viewer’s multiple senses. By imagining a gate to the underworld, the artist staged a landscape that connected Kassel and the Tam Đảo forest where the prisoner died a natural death.

[zehrcoolpotato]

rice

A meal offers intimacy, serving as a conduit for understanding – a fire flickering with the morning dew, a fire warmed with love. Through meals, love is shared with parents, grandparents, and children. The experience of meals brings forth shared sentiments – when the fire dims, lights are extinguished – and gratitude to the village. Thus, the journey of Vietnamese rice, from North to South, unfolds as a captivating voyage, revealing the customs and habits of each locality.

For example, in the Northwest and Central Highlands, the lam rice stands as a regional emblem. The process of treating and soaking rice carries a unique ritual. Bamboo, rice, and fire converge to craft the distinct dish of the lam rice [cơm lam]. Ginger, an essential element, is ground and mixed with soaked rice. Bamboo tubes, cut into pieces, serve as vessels for cooking bamboo tube rice. 

Bamboo rice is an ethereal experience. Rice and coconut water are poured into bamboo tubes, covered with banana leaves, and grilled over charcoal until the fragrant aroma signals its readiness. Lam rice, now a town specialty, exudes an unparalleled charm, yet the experience of relishing it amidst the coolness of the hills at sunset is unparalleled.

The lam rice has a very unique flavor. The smell of sticky rice, coconut water and bamboo sticks lingers in each fragrant grain. Now lam rice has become a specialty and is well-known to urban people. Everyone seems to appreciate the feeling of eating rice from bamboo-tube rice in the coldness of the hills at sunset.

In the ancient capital of Huế, where history whispers through its streets, two rice dishes emerge, each with its unique flair – mussel rice and underworld rice. Locals share a captivating tale: mussel rice, it’s said, reaches the zenith of its delight when savored on Hen Islet. What's the secret? Legend has it that mussel rice dates back to the 19th century. On a day when the Huynh family on Hen Islet could not haul in shrimp or fish, they turned to cold rice paired with mussels. It was not born out of hunger, but rather the symphony of cold rice and mussels creating a distinct harmony. And so, mussel rice found its place in the hearts of locals. King Thành Thái himself, during his reign, relished mussel rice on mussel hill, bestowing his praise. From that moment, mussel rice’s fame burgeoned in Huế and beyond, a cherished melody sung far and wide.

With its rustic charm, mussel rice [cơm hến] marries cold rice with mussels, stir-fried in a symphony of oil and spices. The medley includes mussel juice, shrimp paste, banana peel, pennywort, herbs, bean sprouts, and pork rinds. On the other side, underworld rice, a harmonious blend of Huế's culinary treasures – ram meat, pork sausage, spring rolls, shrimp, omelet, herbs, pickles – all dancing together with white rice, and a side of spicy, sour chili garlic fish sauce. Huế's underworld rice, a melodic medley, demands a perfect balance of white rice and verdant vegetables.

Not far from Huế lies the ancient town of Hội An, renowned for its delectable chicken rice. This dish, however, does not owe its excellence solely to chicken. Hội An chicken rice is the result of rice cooked with boiled chicken, but what makes it unique is the culinary artistry infused into every element – the rice, chicken, dipping sauce, and accompanying pickles, all bearing the distinct flavors of the Central region. The rice, cooked in chicken broth, takes on a light yellow hue with a subtle, sweet chicken essence. Mint leaves, laksa leaves, onions, salt, and pepper further adorn the dish, served with the fiery chili sauce of the region.

In Southern Vietnam, a dish known as broken rice [cơm tấm] emerges. Initially, ‘broken’ referred to incomplete rice grains, those deemed unsuitable for the market. Originally intended as chicken feed, broken rice found a new purpose when transformed into a dish. Born out of necessity in lean years, broken rice turned out to be heartier and more unique than expected. 

Word of its appeal spread, and in the first half of the 20th century, broken rice gained culinary prominence in the Southern provinces. Saigon chefs soon took notice, and today, broken rice stands proudly among Vietnam’s culinary delights, captivating the taste buds of international tourists.

In the alchemy of Vietnamese kitchens, rice transforms – ordinary grains, broken or burnt, all metamorphosed into a culinary symphony. Yet, the pinnacle of this artistry lies in the creation of scorched rice. Deceptively simple, the process is an intricate dance. Fragrant sticky rice, selected for its round clarity, meets charcoal and a cast iron pot, crafting a golden-brown masterpiece – both chewy and crisp.

In our era of ubiquitous rice cookers, the clay pot reigns supreme. Whether perched in the highlands or nestled in the lowlands, it serves not just as a vessel but as an enhancer of rice’s inherent flavors. A culinary spectacle unfolds when pot-cooked rice is served, ceremoniously shattered before the diners. The pot’s fragments yield a charred outer layer, revealing tender grains within.

Pair this clay pot rice with traditional accompaniments – braised fish, eggplant bathed in shrimp paste, or a lively spinach crab soup – and the result is nothing short of a gastronomic sonnet.

In Bến Tre, where coconut trees paint the landscape, the abundant resource is harnessed to craft enticing coconut-infused rice dishes. The method is simple: rice nestled in a coconut, bathed in coconut water and sealed in secrecy. Steamed to perfection, the grains absorb the essence of coconut – each one a tiny vessel of aromatic sweetness. As the rice turns a gentle yellow, kissed by the coconut’s oil, it acquires a luscious richness, best-savored piping hot.

To partake in coconut rice is to embrace simplicity. Many prefer to indulge directly in the coconut itself, eschewing the conventional bowl. Beneath the ivory-white exterior, the aroma mingles with rising smoke, creating a sensory symphony that stirs the soul.