In 2012, having just left the North to settle in Saigon,

I embarked on my very first journey to the Mekong Delta. The Cái Bè riverside in Tiền Giang—

where the river branches spread out endlessly, waves lapping as if they would never cease—

became the starting point of a creative journey that has lasted for many years since.

At that very first moment by the water’s edge, I was overwhelmed by the vibrancy, warmth,

and vitality of the riverine life. It was not just a landscape before my eyes, but a symphony of sound, light, scents, and rhythm.

The roar of the corle engines echoed with raw intensity, spreading across the waves like a primordial sound.

On the river, boats and sampans pressed against one another,

swaying and heavy with produce—fruits, vegetables, and the humble harvests of the fields.

Along the banks, houses perched on wooden stilts stretched out over the water,

their tin roofs weathered with time, living both by and against the current.

That image engraved itself deeply in my memory: rows of analog antennas stabbing upward,

tilting in the wind, catching the sunlight, like an infinite forest of bamboo shoots. It was at once accidental and musical, a metaphor for resilience and the will to survive of the people of the waterways.

It was here that I understood: life in the Mekong Delta is not only on land but primarily on the river.

The water is not merely a means of transport; it is a civilization in itself.

And I knew then that I had discovered a new source of emotion—a theme that my art was destined to give voice to.

Transforming Emotion into Painting

As an artist deeply rooted in the tradition of lacquer painting,

I was accustomed to stillness: the lotus, the women of the Northern countryside, the quiet memories of the village.

But when the Mekong entered my imagination, I faced a new challenge:

how to capture a life in perpetual motion, a vibrant rhythm, an unceasing current of river and people?

That was when I began to experiment. With oil painting, I found freedom and spontaneity in handling color and texture.

The thickness and fluidity of the paint allowed me to grasp the bustle and liveliness of floating markets,

of boats crowding together. Bold strokes, contrasting tones of warmth and coolness like waves colliding,

helped me portray the dynamic vitality of the Delta.

With lacquer, I approached it differently. Here, I did not depict energy through speed, but through depth.

Layer upon layer of lacquer, vermilion, gold, silver, and eggshell enabled me to distill the Mekong into memory,

into time itself. As I polished through each layer, revealing hidden veins of gold and silver, it felt as though

I were unearthing memory itself—rekindling the latent light of this land.

If oil gave me the immediacy of “living in the moment,” lacquer offered me contemplation and meditation.

Through this duality of materials, my series on the Mekong is not merely descriptive but becomes a search for language—

a way of translating life itself into art.

Rhythm of Life – Rhythm of Painting

I often think: the people of the Mekong carry a rhythm uniquely their own.

It is not only the rhythm of oars striking the water, the rumble of the corle engines, or the waves beating against boats, but also the rhythm of human connection: generous, genuine, hospitable, always full of laughter.

On canvas, I seek to capture that rhythm. A boat braving the waves, a woman in a conical hat selling fruit,

a child standing at the prow gazing into the distance—all placed within compositions rich with musicality,

where color fields, lines, and forms create their own tempo.

Sometimes I let red, yellow, and black collide in dissonance, like the coarse yet vital roar of engines.

Other times, I let green and brown flow calmly across the canvas, like the river’s endless current.

Each painting is a piece of music, and the entire series on the Mekong becomes a symphony.

The Mekong – Memory and Present

It has been more than a decade since I first set foot in Cái Bè. Today, the Mekong has changed:

new bridges link the riverbanks, concrete houses replace wooden stilt dwellings,

and analog antennas give way to digital signals. Yet within me, the memory of the Delta remains intact,

like a current that has never ceased to flow.

Every time I return, I still catch glimpses of that earlier vision: a boat full of fruit pulling into the dock,

a thatched-roof house by a small creek, a child laughing as they plunge into the river.

These images urge me to keep painting, to keep delving deeper,

as if to preserve the soul of this land.

From River to Canvas

To me, art is not only an act of personal creation but also a journey of collective remembrance.

My series on the Mekong Delta is a way of giving voice to a riverine civilization—

where humans and nature intertwine in vibrant rhythm.

If the lotus and the women of the North in my lacquer paintings evoke stillness and purity,

then the Mekong Delta brings exuberance, freshness, and vitality.

These two artistic streams, though different, share a single aim:

to honor the beauty of Vietnamese people and culture through the lens of painting.

On that day at Cái Bè, I first heard the river’s rhythm.

And to this day, it still resounds in my paintings—like a song that never fades.