SAVE THE DATE 
If you will be in New York on October 10, please save the date for me. I will be doing a durational performance that day and would love for you to be there. 
More information will follow soon! I hope to see you there. 

SAVE THE DATE 

If you will be in New York on October 10, please save the date for me. I will be doing a durational performance that day and would love for you to be there. 

More information will follow soon! I hope to see you there. 


WHY WE WOULD NEVER WORK  A series of bad poetry on fictitious heartbreaks with real people. If any of these poems sounds like you, it is probably you. But don’t freak out! We would never work anyway.
To guy from america  (who knows a lot about asian girls) 
Your first soliloquy of the night: Chi—like the Xi Dynasty from China? No?Southeast Asian? Must be.   Laotian? Vietnamese? I dated Vietnamese girls before.   My first internal monologue of the night: Oh, how quickly he knew of my heritage! Did my almond eyes, long black hair, Asian accent long silk dress, rice paddy hat give it away? A strong American man he is How lucky for a simple girl like me to find him in a loveless world like this?   Your second soliloquy of the night: You made warm-and-fuzzy blanket statements on Asian women at large To your tremendous surprise, I lay outside of the classic all Asian girls have lived in San Francisco blanket You whispered loudly, That’s not very FOB of you.
My second internal monologue of the night: Oh, how wonderful the way he categorized me! I would dive deep into his Atlantic Ocean of love I could die happy to hear him call me again his commie.   As we say our goodbyes,  Your lips stray to lay heavy burden upon my oriental cheek How silly of me to move away You got my left temple instead.
Same same but different, am I right? 

WHY WE WOULD NEVER WORK  
A series of bad poetry on fictitious heartbreaks with real people. If any of these poems sounds like you, it is probably you. But don’t freak out! We would never work anyway.

To guy from america 
(who knows a lot about asian girls) 

Your first soliloquy of the night:
Chi—like the Xi Dynasty from China? No?
Southeast Asian? Must be. 
Laotian? Vietnamese?
I dated Vietnamese girls before.
 
My first internal monologue of the night:
Oh, how quickly he knew of my heritage!
Did my almond eyes, long black hair, Asian accent
long silk dress, rice paddy hat give it away?
A strong American man he is
How lucky for a simple girl like me
to find him in a loveless world like this?
 
Your second soliloquy of the night:
You made warm-and-fuzzy blanket statements
on Asian women at large
To your tremendous surprise,
I lay outside of the classic all Asian girls have lived in San Francisco blanket
You whispered loudly,
That’s not very FOB of you.

My second internal monologue of the night:
Oh, how wonderful the way he categorized me!
I would dive deep into his Atlantic Ocean of love
I could die happy to hear him call me again his commie.
 
As we say our goodbyes,  
Your lips stray to lay heavy burden upon my oriental cheek
How silly of me to move away
You got my left temple instead.

Same same but different, am I right? 


9/12/2014 - 9/13/2014

Steel Wool Spinning 
Duration: 7 hours and 25 minutes 


WHY WE WOULD NEVER WORK  A series of bad poetry on fictitious heartbreaks with real people. If any of these poems sounds like you, it is probably you. But don’t freak out! We would never work anyway.
To guy at rustic coffee shoppe  
I sat next to you as you:Code a minimalist website on Squarespace™ for your photographyFlip your hair back and forth, left to right; or at times, front and back, right to leftListen to a funny podcast on the art of maintaining fixed-gear bikes Check your social media presence on your iphone 6 Instagram your croissant next to your coffee next to an Alan Watt’s book Stroke your beard with your well-groomed finger tips 
My loins, my groins, my joints quiver as yourChest hair softly grazes your major pectoralis
My girl friends became jealous of our Pinterest relationship  Here we are on the Amalfi Coast kissing at sunset while letting go of pastel-colored balloons  There we are whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears while cliff-hanging under the Aurora Borealis 
The New York Times ran an article of us being goofily in love Our stream of photos were favorited thousands of times before we became the talking heads for millennial relationish
You and your beard got Facebook famous, Twitter famous, Instagram famous, Tumblr famous 
#3DaysLaterIn 140 characters, you told me why I no longer fit into your square-framed lifestyle 
I cried against your firm, manly chestYour last words to me, “You know this is cashmere, right?” 

WHY WE WOULD NEVER WORK  
A series of bad poetry on fictitious heartbreaks with real people. If any of these poems sounds like you, it is probably you. But don’t freak out! We would never work anyway.

To guy at rustic coffee shoppe 

I sat next to you as you:
Code a minimalist website on Squarespace™ for your photography
Flip your hair back and forth, left to right; or at times, front and back, right to left
Listen to a funny podcast on the art of maintaining fixed-gear bikes
Check your social media presence on your iphone 6
Instagram your croissant next to your coffee next to an Alan Watt’s book
Stroke your beard with your well-groomed finger tips 

My loins, my groins, my joints quiver as your
Chest hair softly grazes your major pectoralis

My girl friends became jealous of our Pinterest relationship 
Here we are on the Amalfi Coast kissing at sunset while letting go of pastel-colored balloons 
There we are whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears while cliff-hanging under the Aurora Borealis 

The New York Times ran an article of us being goofily in love
Our stream of photos were favorited thousands of times before we became the talking heads for millennial relationish

You and your beard got Facebook famous, Twitter famous, Instagram famous, Tumblr famous 

#3DaysLater
In 140 characters, you told me why I no longer fit into your square-framed lifestyle 

I cried against your firm, manly chest
Your last words to me, “You know this is cashmere, right?” 


Báo Dân Trí
Con cảm thấy rất hạnh phúc và cảm động khi biết là báo Dân Trí đã đăng lại bài viết về con sáng nay. Con phải cảm ơn tác giả của bài dịch này vì họ đã cho gia đình mình và bạn bè ở Việt Nam cơ hội để hiểu con hơn. Con cảm ơn mọi người đã hỗ chợ con rất nhiều. 
—-
This morning I woke up to find an article about me on a Vietnamese magazine that made me feel both shocked and honored. I have to give tremendous thanks to the writer who explained my work and my journey in Vietnamese more eloquently than I ever could. She opened a window for me to see my family and for them to see me from across the globe. 
It feels incredible to have my family understand what I do in my native language. This allows me to connect them back to the reasons why I started creating in the first place. 
Thank you. 

Báo Dân Trí

Con cảm thấy rất hạnh phúc và cảm động khi biết là báo Dân Trí đã đăng lại bài viết về con sáng nay. Con phải cảm ơn tác giả của bài dịch này vì họ đã cho gia đình mình và bạn bè ở Việt Nam cơ hội để hiểu con hơn. Con cảm ơn mọi người đã hỗ chợ con rất nhiều. 

—-

This morning I woke up to find an article about me on a Vietnamese magazine that made me feel both shocked and honored. I have to give tremendous thanks to the writer who explained my work and my journey in Vietnamese more eloquently than I ever could. She opened a window for me to see my family and for them to see me from across the globe. 

It feels incredible to have my family understand what I do in my native language. This allows me to connect them back to the reasons why I started creating in the first place. 

Thank you. 


Embroidered Painting

An embroidered painting for a commissioned piece on Game of Thrones’ the Bridge of Dream / the River of Sorrow. 


WHY WE WOULD NEVER WORK A series of bad poetry
People who are close to me can affirm the following statements: I write bad poetry after every breakup / I romanticize breakups because they help me write bad poetry. This is very similar to the chicken-egg paradox; what comes first—the bad poem or the bad me?
Seeing my affinity for this kind of literature (read as red flag #7), my friend Tamara and her boyfriend, Andrew, suggested that I skip the whole dating thing and go straight into writing about fictitious heartbreaks with real people. This tactic will save me time and money, because dating is time and time is money. 
We collectively wrote our first breakup poem and will be bringing you one a week under the banner of “Why We Would Never Work.” Below is the first installment of what will hopefully turn into a children’s book. Our wish is to teach the next generation about relationships in general and why-not relationships in particular. Without further ado, 
To Guy at Bodega  I walked into the bodega  You handed me a cup of coffee My heart melted with the caffein and sugar in your styrofoam chalice (Health violation alert!)You knew I wanted Bustello before it came out of my mouth  I knew it was true love  I was so overwhelmed with emotions that I had to walk out the door.
You yelled, “250!” 250 what?! Days, hours, seconds?You meant forever? You wanted me to stay.  I was not ready for too much, too soon You chased after me and screamed, “You have to pay!” But I’m already paying for all the heartbreaks that we will go through. 
Guy at bodega, adieu. 
*Note on the photo: this photo is representational. I would not show you my bodega guy as you might fall in love with him. 

WHY WE WOULD NEVER WORK 
A series of bad poetry

People who are close to me can affirm the following statements: I write bad poetry after every breakup / I romanticize breakups because they help me write bad poetry. This is very similar to the chicken-egg paradox; what comes first—the bad poem or the bad me?

Seeing my affinity for this kind of literature (read as red flag #7), my friend Tamara and her boyfriend, Andrew, suggested that I skip the whole dating thing and go straight into writing about fictitious heartbreaks with real people. This tactic will save me time and money, because dating is time and time is money. 

We collectively wrote our first breakup poem and will be bringing you one a week under the banner of “Why We Would Never Work.” Below is the first installment of what will hopefully turn into a children’s book. Our wish is to teach the next generation about relationships in general and why-not relationships in particular. Without further ado, 

To Guy at Bodega 
I walked into the bodega 
You handed me a cup of coffee
My heart melted with the caffein and sugar in your styrofoam chalice
(Health violation alert!)
You knew I wanted Bustello before it came out of my mouth 
I knew it was true love 
I was so overwhelmed with emotions that I had to walk out the door.

You yelled, “250!”
250 what?! Days, hours, seconds?
You meant forever? You wanted me to stay. 
I was not ready for too much, too soon
You chased after me and screamed, “You have to pay!”
But I’m already paying for all the heartbreaks
that we will go through. 

Guy at bodega, adieu. 

*Note on the photo: this photo is representational. I would not show you my bodega guy as you might fall in love with him. 


HUFFPOST Arts & Culture
Today feels surreal as I am featured on the Huffington Post’s Arts and Culture section. As an artist seeking relevance, somehow, somewhere, I think I’m getting closer. 
Please click this link to read the entire article: Project 24: A Portrait Of Millennial Artist Nguyễn Chi.

HUFFPOST Arts & Culture

Today feels surreal as I am featured on the Huffington Post’s Arts and Culture section. As an artist seeking relevance, somehow, somewhere, I think I’m getting closer. 

Please click this link to read the entire article: Project 24: A Portrait Of Millennial Artist Nguyễn Chi.


Studio Updates 

On what I have been doing in the studio lately. 


In the Mountains of Vietnam 

Film photographs from my trip to the mountainous area of Vietnam with my mother and her nonprofit organization to distribute blankets and jackets for children in high-need boarding schools. 


New Studio Announcement 

I am so excited to share with you that my new studio is up and running — this time with copious amount of succulents, eucalyptus, and nature-inspired textiles! Though not captured in these photos, a roll of steel wool is currently dangling from my ceiling ready to be spun.

If you would like to schedule a studio visit, talk fiber, or just drop a line, please contact me at artistseeking@gmail.com. The rest of the summer is looking very green and resilient from my corner of the studio, and I wish the same for yours. 


Art May Seem to Involve 
57 days after the end of my residency, I finally moved into a new studio space that contains no trace of what I had experienced in the past nine months at the Textile Arts Center. Cones of weaving yarns are still lining my shelves; the roll of steel wool is still suspended from my ceiling but its microscopic cuts are now detached from my finger tips. I neither wanted to spin the steel wool nor walked away from it. My decision vacillated between diving back into a space of lost and mourning, and transforming - growing - merging - morphing (what is the right word for this action?) steel wool into a material of post-grief. 
I’m a big believer in you will know what to do when you know what to do. At 11:57PM last night, a dear friend sent me an email, in which she wrote: 
Hey Babe,So I started reading that book I gave you The Artist’s Way and read something that made me think of you:“Art is born in attention. Its midwife is detail. Art may seem to spring from pain, but perhaps that is because pain serves to focus our attention to details (for instance, the excruciatingly beautiful curve of a lost lover’s neck). Art may seem to involve broad strokes, grand schemes, great plans. But it is the attention to detail that stays with us; the singular image is what haunts us and becomes art. Even in the midst of pain, this singular image brings delight. The artist who tells you different is lying.”xoxo
—
I think it is now time to focus on the lost lover’s neck. 

Art May Seem to Involve 

57 days after the end of my residency, I finally moved into a new studio space that contains no trace of what I had experienced in the past nine months at the Textile Arts Center. Cones of weaving yarns are still lining my shelves; the roll of steel wool is still suspended from my ceiling but its microscopic cuts are now detached from my finger tips. I neither wanted to spin the steel wool nor walked away from it. My decision vacillated between diving back into a space of lost and mourning, and transforming - growing - merging - morphing (what is the right word for this action?) steel wool into a material of post-grief. 

I’m a big believer in you will know what to do when you know what to do. At 11:57PM last night, a dear friend sent me an email, in which she wrote: 

Hey Babe,

So I started reading that book I gave you The Artist’s Way and read something that made me think of you:

“Art is born in attention. Its midwife is detail. Art may seem to spring from pain, but perhaps that is because pain serves to focus our attention to details (for instance, the excruciatingly beautiful curve of a lost lover’s neck). Art may seem to involve broad strokes, grand schemes, great plans. But it is the attention to detail that stays with us; the singular image is what haunts us and becomes art. Even in the midst of pain, this singular image brings delight. The artist who tells you different is lying.”

xoxo

I think it is now time to focus on the lost lover’s neck. 


Jackie O. on Love 
"I’ve always thought of being in love as being willing to do anything for the other person—starve to buy them bread and not mind living in Siberia with them—and I’ve always thought that every minute away from them would be hell—so looking at it that [way] I guess I’m not in love with you."
(in a letter to her high school boyfriend in 1947) 

Jackie O. on Love 

"I’ve always thought of being in love as being willing to do anything for the other person—starve to buy them bread and not mind living in Siberia with them—and I’ve always thought that every minute away from them would be hell—so looking at it that [way] I guess I’m not in love with you."

(in a letter to her high school boyfriend in 1947) 


SUNDAY SPINNING 
When I spun steel wool in my favorite dress by Lucia Cuba at the Textile Arts Center’s 5th birthday celebration in Brooklyn. 

SUNDAY SPINNING 

When I spun steel wool in my favorite dress by Lucia Cuba at the Textile Arts Center’s 5th birthday celebration in Brooklyn. 


dear you, 
i’m not sure how often you read what i write but i wanted you to know i am going on a small break / vacation / staycation / internet rehabuntil august 1stwherein i hope to do much, think much, experience much yet not updating much
may your july have both sunny days and rainy moments while sitting indoors 
love, 

dear you, 

i’m not sure how often you read what i write but i wanted you to know 
i am going on a small break / vacation / staycation / internet rehab
until august 1st
wherein i hope to do much, think much, experience much 
yet not updating much

may your july have both sunny days and rainy moments while sitting indoors 

love,