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Go behind the blue door for an intimate art talk with Vietnamese contemporary artists Đỗ Duyên and Trương Triều Dương. Discover their studio, process, and quiet defiance against commercial art trends in this rare behind-the-scenes look at authentic artistry.
A Gentle Introduction: The World of Đỗ Duyên and Trương Triều Dương
My acquaintance with them began at their “Dương & Duyên” exhibition, and I was instantly captivated by their artistry. A striking aspect of their work is its unbridled spontaneity. I’ve always admired artists who can create with a childlike wonder, not in terms of literal technique, but in their unfiltered attitude and spirit.
Studio of artist Trương Triều Dương and Đỗ Duyên. Credit: Phan Ling Gallery
An Audacious Entry into the Art World
Both Mr. Dương and Mrs. Duyên’s decision to pursue art as a career path was quite spontaneous. They both decided to apply to art school while still in high school. Unlike other fields, this was a particularly risky choice given the limited access to information, infrastructure, materials, financial resources, and formal public art education of the time. It was common for art students to begin their training quite young, making it a path that typically favored those with parents already established in the industry.
“My school only accepted 75 students per year. It was common for students to fail the entrance exam and have to retake it,” Mr. Dương shared.
“It’s true, I resat it three times to get in. The astounding record belonged to two individuals I knew at school who had to retake the entrance exam thirteen times!” Mrs. Duyên chuckled.
When I inquired what they did upon failing, Mr. Dương replied, “I had to work while preparing for the following year. Most of us were so unburdened by worries then that we gave it little thought. We were audacious, too. If my own children chose such a path now,” he mused, “I would certainly try to talk sense to them.”
“Even in school, we essentially had to teach ourselves everything,” Mrs. Duyên added. “The internet wasn’t available; we were like blank slates. We all learned through trial and error. The senior students often mentored newcomers, fostering a tight-knit community. The school was also more lenient if students faced financial difficulties in paying for models.”
I commented that it seemed a benefit that the environment was less commercialized and industrialized back then.
Artist Trương Triều Dương and Đỗ Duyên’s studio. Credit: Phan Ling Gallery
The Unyielding Pursuit of Integrity: Art’s True Price
Here’s the paragraph with the direct quotes on new lines:
This conversation brought to mind a previous occasion when Mrs. Duyên shared their guiding principle for preserving artistic independence and freedom: never accepting commissions. This might sound unconventional, but I consider it a matter of artistic integrity, which can be perpetually compromised by nearly any human temptation: financial gain, pride, fame, or even the pressures of financial struggle.
“But the whole point of being an artist is to preserve their artistic independence, right?” I pressed.
They both nodded in unison.
Photo of artist Đỗ Duyên. Credit: Phan Ling Gallery
“It is both a gift and a truly arduous, protracted journey for an artist to find their own style, then patiently follow that path until it yields genuine results,” Mrs. Duyên commented. “During that journey, one’s artistic vision can be perpetually compromised.”
She elaborated, “Imagine a scenario where a realtor buys all your art, paying you a substantial sum each month, but in return, you’re bound by deadlines, your creativity is restricted, and you’re compelled to produce only what sells easily.”
“So it’s like slavery?” I asked.
“In a way, yes,” Mr. Dương affirmed. “That is the price for stability.”
Photo of artist Trương Triều Dương. Credit: Phan Ling Gallery
The Arduous Path of Dedication
Here’s the paragraph with the direct quotes on new lines:
“How many people in your class became full-time professional artists?” I inquired.
“Only two or three out of twenty-five,” Mr. Dương stated.
“Less than ten percent?” I was genuinely shocked.
“The majority either abandoned art or shifted professions, with some continuing to paint part-time alongside other work,” Mr. Dương explained.
“How long does it usually take an artist to find his path or style?” I asked.
“At least ten years of unfathomable hard work and dedication,” Mr. Dương replied.
Mrs. Duyên commented, “His schedule changes depending on the academic seasons. Right now, he paints at night from 11 PM to 3 AM, before starting his 9-to-5 job in the morning.”
The unfinished ceramic collection on the table underscored his point. “It took me a full day to paint just one vase,” Mr. Dương detailed, “and even then, the process of painting ceramics involves countless trials and errors. Paints react differently after firing, sizes can alter, and so on. We’re not just creating pretty things; they also have to be practical.”
Mrs. Duyên added, “It is the same for all materials. It takes time to get used to the equipment and the materials. When I resumed painting, my lines were clumsy, colors seemed off, and even holding brushes felt strange. But slowly, it transforms into muscle memory. We must practice daily to keep it sharp.”
Photo of the ceramic series. Credit: Phan Ling Gallery.
As our conversation flowed, I found myself reflecting on our earlier discussions. Behind every brushstroke, every piece, lies the audacious spirit of artists who, against all odds, persistently show up.
It echoed the words of artist Vũ Đình Tuấn:
“To be able to say what you want to say, to express what you want to express by your own artistic language, is success.”
There is nothing dramatic about it—no loud declarations, no spotlight. Just two people choosing, again and again, to live gently but persistently with their art. They work through fatigue, through failure, through the silence of not being seen. And in doing so, they carve a space for something authentic, something lasting. Their studio, nestled quietly behind the blue door, feels less like a workplace and more like a sanctuary—a place where art is made not out of obligation, but from love, discipline, and a quiet defiance. A powerful reminder that real artistry is not a performance for others, but a promise to oneself.
