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One of the first words I learned was “củ cải” (radish), but back then, because I mispronounced things, I said “tục tặc” instead. Even after I grew up, my mom would still playfully call it by that name, saying with a fond smile: “Let’s make some tục tặc for little Tồ today.”
Chubby white tục tặc is a childhood wrapped in Mom’s love.
This past spring, Mom grew a lot of tục tặc — fat, sweet, and all twisted into funny shapes. To me, those tục tặc were beautiful and full of imagination. More evocative than even a nude model.
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The Red River has been a familiar presence to me since childhood.
From the moment I first began to form memories, I was already living near the river.
One of the very first sorrows I ever felt was when I accompanied my mother to the riverbank to see my father off — he was leaving for Laos for work.
We only saw him off at the ferry dock. After crossing to the other side, he would catch a long-distance coach over the Trường Sơn Mountains into Laos.
To my three-year-old mind, the Red River felt like a river of parting — and the far shore, a strange foreign land that had taken my father away for months.
One of my greatest childhood joys, too, was waiting at that ferry dock to welcome him home.
He would bring back all sorts of delicious treats — once even a child-sized bicycle with bright pink plastic spokes, bold and striking.
No one else in the village had a bike like that. It was my pride and joy throughout my early years.That’s why, when I try to paint imagined landscapes — places I’ve seen many times in dreams, like some sacred temple in my mind — I often paint the river, or a ferry landing.
There’s something hopeful in those images, but also something tinged with longing.
When I received the prompt for the Fairy–Dragon exhibition, I immediately thought of recreating the Red River’s landscape in the form of a votive painting.My two most recent oil paintings also depict a ferry landing — or the Red River shimmering faintly in the background.
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Draw a younger sister with a solemn appearance, yet a rich and poetic inner world.
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Đã bán
When elephants sense that their death is near, they make their way to the Elephant Graveyard — a secret place no outsider has ever trespassed. To humans, it is a mythical treasure trove, known only by name, its true form forever hidden from sight.
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Đã bán
Hương Tích Cave was one of the first majestic landscapes etched into my childhood mind — vivid enough to return, again and again, in my dreams.
It was also the first time I experienced a recurring dream. I must have been only three or four years old then, dreaming of a vast cavern. The cave walls weren’t made of stone, but of skinned human bodies.
There was no gore, no blood — the flesh glowed like pink tourmaline, and the bodies were still breathing, rising and falling gently.In any case, it was a kind of nightmare, and after reliving it many times, I became truly afraid.
The cave even had a name. I went around asking everyone:
“Dad, Mom, big brother — where is Đống Xương Động?”Of course, they brushed it off as nonsense.
The funny thing is, I had already figured out how to reverse words in the Sino-Vietnamese way — probably from watching Journey to the West a bit too much. That kind of naming went hand in hand with dreamy, faraway places like Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, Water Curtain Cave, or Flowing Sands River, and so on.
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"Thầy tớ thong dong dạo cảnh chùa,Cầm thi lưng túi rượu lưng hồ.Cá khe lắng kệ đầu ngơ ngác,Chim núi nghe kinh cổ gật gù.Then cửa từ bi nêm chật cánh,Nén hương tế độ cắm đầy lô.Nhà sư ướm hỏi nhà sư tử,Phúc đức nhà đây được mấy bồ."- thơ Hồ Xuân HươngVẽ cảnh nam nữ đi lễ chùa cầu tiền cầu duyên 😌
Họa sĩ Huệ Phương
SỐ ĐIỆN THOẠI
037 312 1019
huephuong.hng@gmail.com
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