The Beauty of Humanity Movement (65 page)

T
begins to translate. Does the artist mind if they ask some questions?

“Yes! Yes!” the artist says, jumping up to pull a heavy black book down off a shelf. Photos of pieces currently on display in galleries in Hanoi and Saigon, Singapore and Hong Kong. Shipping to the U.S. only $150.

“Please! Please!” he says, flipping through the first few pages for them.

T
translates Miss Maggie’s questions about method and materials and themes he likes to explore and why those themes and who are his influences and why does he think contemporary Vietnamese art is receiving so much attention and what does he consider uniquely Vietnamese and what does he attribute to the French and Chinese and is the evolution in Vietnamese art different from the evolution in Chinese art and does he feel his expression restricted today by Party concerns and what about his own journey to becoming an artist?

“Please! Please!” he says, flipping some more pages of his black book for them. To T
, he says, “Why so many questions? She is exhausting my creative energy. Please, enough.”

“He wonders if you would like to see the pieces he is working on now,” T
says, pointing to the long table at the back of the room.

The artist jumps up with relief and gestures for them to follow.

Miss Maggie looks over the shoulders of the young artists, watching them work. The paintings seem very similar to the ones they saw in the galleries yesterday.

“Excellent!” the artist says, picking up a paintbrush. He adds his initials in black to the corner of a newly completed piece of work.

A young woman with hair cut short like a boy places a tray of coffee on a corner of the long table. T
would like to ask her why she has cut her hair, because she will never get a husband looking like that. He hopes for her sake that she is not married to the artist, who may have insisted she maim her appearance in this way so that no other man
will look at her. Imagine all that flesh hovering above you. T
shudders, repulsing himself with the thought—as oppressive as China pushing its weight down upon Vietnam.

While Miss Maggie waits for the black drip of her coffee to finish, she moves around the room studying the work on the walls.

“Bill Clinton!” says the artist, pointing at a painting at eye level.

“Ah, so this is the one,” says Miss Maggie.

“Bill Clinton bought this painting?” T
asks, very impressed.

“Well, he bought one just like it. They now call it Bill Clinton style. Isn’t that depressing?”

T
isn’t sure how he is supposed to respond. What is depressing about Bill Clinton? He is something of a hero to young people in Vietnam. He threw a giant burning log on the slow fire of Ð
i m
i when he lifted the trade embargo with the U.S., and he was the first U.S. president to visit Vietnam since the war.

Miss Maggie finishes her cup of coffee, stands up and thanks the artist for his time.

“I thought you said she was serious,” the artist reprimands T
while handing Miss Maggie his card. “But she is clearly a philistine.”

T
does not know the meaning of this word, but the artist has said it in a French way, and he thinks it must be some kind of insult because Miss Maggie has raised her eyebrows in a very American expression of doubt.