Hanoi

“In my opinion, Hanoi is far more a city of artists than a city of art,” Nora Taylor, Professor of South and Southeast Asian Art at the School of the Art Institute Chicago, told the Goethe-Institut.

To give these artists a sort of home, a place where they can show the works they wish to create – decades ago two very different women contributed to this and both are pioneers in their own ways: the Russian art expert Natasha Kraevskaia, who is part of the art scene herself with Salon Natasha, and the American Suzanne Lecht, who created an internationally renowned space for contemporary Vietnamese art with the Art Vietnam Gallery. Their two lives are two exciting stories.

Suzanne Lecht comes from a very different world than the honking and whizzing, humming and soughing of the capital city Hanoi, which is still heard in the little side street of Nguyen Khac Nhu. Suzanne grew up “in the middle of nowhere” of America, first in Montana, then in Kansas, on a farm. But, perhaps even then the big city called to her with the bustling people and the scent of life’s fullness. She went to New York, studied interior design, travelled about – and met Mr Right, who in her case was named Mr Lecht.

He opened the doors to Asia for her. The couple moved to Japan where they experienced a golden, progressive age. But, then Mr Lecht died. Suzanne Lecht was left with nothing; everything around her seemed to fall apart. Work and residency permits, their home – everything her life in Japan was based upon slid through her fingers. “Everyone thought I’d return to America,” Suzanne remembers. Then, she found Hanoi – and Hanoi found her. An article about the famous Gang of Five caught Suzanne Lecht's attention. She liked the way that they reflected on their feelings; she felt the spirituality of their images. “My husband and I always loved art. We had promised one another that we would live in an art colony when we grew old.” It was a dream that could perhaps live on – in her. “We had such an exciting, wonderful life together, but now I had to go on living it alone. I wanted to try to establish a small artists’ colony and be a bridge between the cultures.”

Suzanne Lecht broke away and began again. She shipped her belongings to America and went to Vietnam. On 8 January 1994 it was dark, foggy and so quiet and peaceful. “The place unconsciously drew me to it: I was a widow, full of grief – but the melancholy of this place was even greater.” As she observed two old men with long beards drinking tea, the simultaneous beauty and sadness touched her heart deeply. A coincidental encounter at the art museum smoothed her path: she met Pham Quang Vinh, a Vietnamese living in New Zealand who invited her for dinner and introduced her to Ha Tri Hieu and the other members of the Gang of Five. Suzanne Lecht took photos of their art overseas, presented them to friends and art connoisseurs and, in 1997, organized an exhibition of art from Hanoi in Hong Kong. “At that time there was not yet any gallery scene in Hanoi.” In 1993, the renowned Mai Gallery had opened, but the first person to create a private space for art was Natasha Kraevskaia.

“It was a culture shock,” Kraevskaia says of her impressions on arriving in Vietnam in 1983. “The people were very poor; there were hardly any shops, no transport system. But, I was young and very curious.” Natasha Kraevskaia, with a Ph.D. in philology, was not able to work directly with the students, but only with the professors. Yet she felt their enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge. A colleague at the Pushkin Institute, where Natasha worked, finally told her about a great artist and sent her, loaded down with souvenirs, to his studio. “Bang,” Natasha claps her hands, “love story.” She and Vu Dan Tan became a couple – both in love and in art. This was in the days when contact with foreigners was strictly regulated. “It was very exciting. I broke all the rules,” says Natasha Kraevskaia and her eyes sparkle mischievously.

The two decided to break down the boundaries between art and everyday life and opened Salon Natasha in 1990. The time of doi moi had long begun, but change came very slowly to the art world and there had never been a place like this. “We wanted to create a space in which people could experiment, artists could meet, perform and hold informal happenings, where they could communicate and discuss without any controls.” It was modern salon culture. Quickly she transformed Vu Dan Tan’s studio into an exhibition space; a meeting place for intellectuals and art lovers, where they could experience first hand the changes and innovations of the art scene that accompanied economic transformation. “The mid-1990s were a time of discoveries,” Natasha recalls. “The artists were able to travel and see the trends in the west.” Salon Natasha became a culmination point for other, unusual and also young and unknown art away from the mainstream and commercial exploitation. “This place is my subconsciousness – it brings my dreams and visions to life,” Vu Dan Tan said in an interview during a stay in California. Nora Taylor also attaches great significance to the Salon Natasha in the Vietnamese art scene. “The place is situated on what is probably Hanoi’s most popular street and nonetheless, when you enter it, the doors wide open, the city disappears. It is both a very intimate as well as public space,” explained Taylor at the Goethe-Institut’s exhibition series Hanoi: A City in Art curated by Natasha Kraevskaia.

Suzanne Lecht, too, has done pioneering work, albeit of another kind. When exhibitions were announced in the mid-1990s, she started off at 11 o’clock in the morning, during work hours and with strong rice wine. When the American opened her Art Vietnam Gallery in a traditional “tube house” in the old town in 2002, she first had to learn that something like exclusive representation of an artist was impossible. “No one here had ever heard of such a thing. In this respect the mentality was provincial. Almost every artist also tried to sell their works privately.” It was a problem for which there is still no clear solution today. “But, it’s part of the Asian mentality. I had to learn that and both adjust to it and satisfy my professional demands. It’s a balancing act.”

Suzanne Lecht masters this balancing act very well. In 2007 she moved into a new, generous space at 7 Nguyen Khac Nhu, which she spent eight months renovating and which attracts foreign customers in particular. At the moment, she is showing an exhibition by Nguyen Quang Huy: portraits of Hmong that radiate pride and innocence. “Just ten years ago this would not have been possible. Art has developed tremendously,” says the impressed visitor Hans Georg Knopp, Secretary-General of the Goethe-Institut.

Nonetheless, both Suzanne Lecht and Natasha Kraevskaia presently see great challenges for the art scene in Hanoi. The internet is gaining influence. “So far, Vietnamese artists have retained their uniqueness and I hope it stays that way,” says Suzanne Lecht. Natasha Kraevskaia also notices “how the artists increasingly attempt to serve the demands of the international market. They do marketing; adjust themselves to what buyers want and no longer as much to what comes from their hearts.” Imitation and commerce rather than personal creativity; some artists have lost their innocence. At the same time, globalization has its advantages, according to Natasha Kraevskaia. The artists can afford equipment such as video cameras and experiment with them and they are becoming “members of the worldwide art community.” The Russian art expert has reduced her salon operations to a maximum of two exhibitions per year; after the death of her husband she is focusing on what she enjoys most: curating around the world, lecturing and writing essays. Still, though, anyone seeking art will find what they are looking for at Hang Bong 30.