Trinh Mai

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Projects Projects Overview Biển, Biến, Biên (The Ocean, to Vanish, to Note) Begins With Tea We Are Here Family Tree Environmental Renderings Bone of My Bone Depth of Fields Made of Clay Commissions Community VIETNAMESE FOCUS: Generations of Stories Heninger Village War Wounds A Time to Heal That We Should Be Heirs Fear Not. Together.
Exhibitions 2019 2017 - 2018 2015 - 2016 2013 - 2014 2011 - 2012
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Trinh Mai

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Trinh Mai

Paintings

Paintings by Trinh Mai

Trinh Mai

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Paintings

Reaching for Things Unseen , 2016, Oil and hand embroidery on canvas, thread, and stone When we think about the things that are the most invaluable to the human spirit, we might find that the things we seek are often those things unseen—the boundless strength which awakens when we recognize that it resides within, the uplifting comfort that we find in a hope for something that is yet to come, or the faith that lifts us when we feel like we have nothing left to stand on, as the rubble trembles below our feet. Here, a woman reaches for these virtues which fortify her, helping to loosen the burden that strives to dishearten her by its mighty weight. Although Love can ease our own burdens, it is also the same matter that makes us willing to help carry the burden of others.

Reaching for Things Unseen - detail

Let Us Run with Patience the Race That is Set Before Us, 2019, oil on canvas, 60 x 72” I began this painting shortly after my sister, Kelly, passed in July 2017 after seven long years of battling cancer. She was thirty-seven. Throughout it all, she lived her life with a vigorous passion that continues to inspire many. I cradle in my palms a lifeless bird that has finally been released from the great adversity that she endured, as represented by the mighty water buffalo. The rest of us are left here to toil the earth still. Though this may mean facing further adversity, we have been given more time to unearth the connections that make for a life fulfilled, like cultivating the relationships with our fellow survivors and discovering our place in world. As life continued and the painting developed over time, it still upheld the narrative of freedom, but collected more layers of meaning. As we’ve sat with refugee community members and their sons and their daughters to somehow help bring comfort to the families in this plight, these gatherings have incited an unceasing prayer for deliverance: Let our people go. Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight…and let us run with patience the race that is set before us … —Hebrew 12:1

Let Us Run with Patience the Race That is Set Before Us - detail

Gathering Light, 2019, oil on canvas, 47 x 72” It may be that one of the most extraordinary opportunities in life is also one of the most difficult—to arrive in a place of darkness, and somehow be able to hold the confidence that light dwells somewhere therein. Adding to this challenging task is the obstacle of collecting the light wherever we may find it, claiming it as our own, and sometimes even passing it onto those around us. As we find ourselves in darkness, our need for light has a way of expanding our periphery. The light that once may have been positioned out of sight begins passing through the fringes of our broadened vision, and we find ourselves equipped with the ability to see it.

Gathering Light - detail

Bà Ngoại   (Grandmother) , 2011, oil and acrylic on canvas, 48 x 48”, Collection of Dr. Tin Do, San Francisco, CA Often emphasizing the importance of compassion, forgiveness and empathy, my grandmother is one of the loveliest individuals I have ever known. Her unwavering faith in people, her dedication to spiritual prosperity and her love for life has encouraged me to love more deeply and to more openly pursue Truth.

Mất Nước, Nước Mắt (Loss of Country, Tears) , 2011, mixed media and hand stitching on cardboard, 45 x 32” This portrait of my great-great-grandmother reflects the agony shared by those who have experienced the loss of their country or the oppression of their people. To further examine the connections between elements of language, such as the relationship between letter to letter and word to word, I have hand-stitched the following Vietnamese phrases: Mất Nước translates to “loss of country”. Nước Mắt translates to “tears”. Mất Mát translates to “loss of everything”. They serve as a shroud to comfort and empathize with those who have experienced similar situations to that of my family, who fled Saigon as boat people in 1975.

Mất Nước, Nước Mắt (Loss of Country, Tears)  -  detail

Má Cured in Vietnam , 2010, mixed media on cardboard, 20 x 28" This portrait of my mother at age seventeen honors her various personalities – the nurturer, the friend, the provider, the free Spirit and the survivor.

For All the Blessings , 2003, oil on canvas, 48 x 48”, Collection of Mrs. Huy Mai, San Jose, CA My family fled Vietnam during the fall of Saigon in 1975. In faith, they left their homeland in order to begin a new life in America, with the desire to give their future generations an opportunity to advance. Their sacrifice became our gain. This painting is an expression of my gratitude for the creative, intellectual, and physical freedom I have experienced, and for the people and the country who allowed me this opportunity.

Bà Nội Của Mẹ (Mother’s Paternal Grandmother) , 2011, mixed media on canvas, 12 x 10”

Bà Cố Ngoại (Mother’s Maternal Grandmother) , 2011, mixed media on canvas, 12 x 12”

A Prayer for Anh Đức , 2010, Oil, acrylic and hand embroidery on canvas, 48 x 48”   I recognize the gallant soldiers of past and present who have sacrificed their lives in battles for Freedom. From the South Vietnamese soldiers who stood their ground in honor of their people to those who have fought to defended their families, their beliefs and their nations. I honor the ones who have triumphed in their own personal wars. This portrait is an homage to my brother-in-law, Anh Đức, who following in the footsteps of his father, a general in the South Vietnamese army, spent a great deal of his life as a soldier at war. His latest tour in Afghanistan held our family in a lasting plea for his return home. Serving as a meditation, the words For Life are stitched repetitively as a shroud for him in this visual prayer. Rhythmically breathing in as I puncture the canvas and breathing out as I pull the thread, I ask for Duc’s protection and commit to full faith that God heeds the cry of the children.

A Prayer for Anh Đức - detail

Hồn Mình Hơn Mình,  2012, Oil and hand embroidery on canvas, 48 x 48” Since antiquity, the laurel wreath has been a powerful symbol of victory. Here, a man, exhausted from all that he has had to endure, wears the laurel wreath which he has earned through his unyielding Faith and perseverance. The hand stitching reads, “Hồn mình hơn mình” (pronounced “Hone ming hun ming”), a Vietnamese phrase that translates to “Our Spirit is greater than us.” Breathing in while puncturing the canvas and breathing out while pulling the thread, the physical rhythm created during the process of hand stitching assists me in mediating upon the subject at hand. This painting intends to be a reminder to all who have fallen short of breath during the battles which are essential to the life experience. A reminder to all that we shall triumph as we cultivate our inherent Will to overcome.

Study of a Young Girl , 2010, mixed media on canvas, 24 x 24”, Collection of Dr. Tin Do, San Francisco, CA

Study of a Young Girl - detail

What Is To Come , 2006, oil on canvas, 48 x 36" After my husband and I made the rightful decision to move to Florida, there were many forces attempting to keep us in California. This image derives from a time I observed him sitting in this position for a long moment in contemplation and, specifically, worry. With much persistence, we materialized our vision of living in Naples. Originally, this painting captured what had been a pessimistic moment. Since we have begun our new lives here, and have experienced new growth and boundless opportunity, our perception of the painting has become one of hope and gratitude. Once a depiction of a doubtful man, head hung in despair, fear, and worry, now has become an image of a man filled with hope, head bowed in a prayer of thanks. This piece holds a universal message: This, too, shall pass.

Sữa Xưa ( Milk of Old ), 2012, Oil, acrylic, joss paper and hand stitching on canvas, 48 x 36”. Collection of P.Q. Phan and Anvi Hoang, Bloomington, IN. Proceeding Bà Cố Phủ (Mẹ Của Mẹ Của Mẹ Của Mẹ Của Me, 2012), in both a genealogic and pictorial sense, this painting is drawn from photos of my mother and great-grandmother. Continuing to explore the idea of abundance, I considered milk and its symbolism. Milk is the first form of nourishment that is offered to a newborn child, and represents fertility and God’s blessings. My great-grandmother, stoic and strong, prepares for the migration to the “land of milk and honey”. She holds my dear mother whose eyes fill with wonder and whose face beams toward a bright future. My mother willingly reaches out to catch her blessings.

Mẹ Của Mẹ Của Mẹ Của Mẹ Của Me ( My Mother's Mother's Mother's Mother ), 2012, Oil, acrylic, joss paper, ink and hand embroidery on canvas, 48 x 36" Inspired by a photo of my great-great-grandmother that I found impeccably preserved in my grandmother's photo album. While leafing through the pages of invaluable photos, I thought about how undocumented history risks being forgotten. As stories of old are passed down to the next generation, as photographs capture time and culture and space, as recipes are shared, as the youth learn to ask the important questions while the elders are still here to answer (and, I have learned, they can answer willingly and extensively), we can help perpetuate these very important details which effect the character than continues pacing through our veins from generations past. Bà Cố Phủ sits in her chair to rest her weary feet. As she considers her life experiences, her countless accomplishments, and the memories of raising three children and twenty-three grandchildren, the details of her fruitful life trickle down and gather abundantly at her feet. Traditionally, joss paper is burned in prayer for the ancestors, but here, I intend to preserve.

Let Us Be Vessels , 2009, Oil, latex, and joss paper on canvas, 48 x 72" (diptych) Honorable Mention, Lauritzen-Rush Gallery, Marco Island, FL As I reflect upon my substance, I find that the answers most often come when I am willing to ask questions. Am I filling my self with constructive and harmonious intentions? And if so, how am I acting upon those intentions? An assembly of bottles congregate personifying humanity. The vessels stand tall and still, ready to be at service. Should they accept and assume responsibility, they become offerings to those in need. Amidst the vessels is a young boy, alone and destitute. He hides in his corner pulling wearily at his ragged garment. Although both panels can visually and conceptually stand as individual statements, they collaborate to compose the idea of responsibility, compassion, and the strongest form of faith - Love. “Let us not love in the word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth.” - I John 3:18

Vượt Qua Rào Cẩn ( Beyond These Walls ), 2008 Oil, latex, and joss paper on canvas, 48 x 60", Collection of Mrs. Claire Keery, Marco Island, FL A young girl peers out from behind the wall. She knows there is much awaiting her. This painting is about creating our own traditions, but at the same time, remembering our history and those places from where we have come. The red symbols abstractly spell out Vượt Qua Rào Cẩn in a traditional Chinese stamp motif. These stamps represent the transition from one place to the next- as would stamps on postcards, letters, or passports. They say, “I am here”.

Even In Darkness , 2008, Oil, latex, and joss paper on canvas, 60 x 72" During the winter of 2006, my godmother sat at the dining table, practicing her Vietnamese calligraphy. With rice paper amassing upon the table, she patiently dipped her bamboo brush, one breath at a time, into the tray of rich black ink. Buông Xả Đi. Buông Xả Đi. Buông Xả Đi. This phrase, written repeatedly, blanketed the lace of Grandmother's table cloth as I watched quietly. Buông Xả Đi is a poetic Vietnamese phrase describing an exhalation of all negative emotion or thought which hinders the Spirit from growth. Each release provides Faith with a more fertile environment to mature into its natural Abundance. As man plays his melody, each inhale absorbs the Truth and Light, while each exhale releases every thought of dissolution, allowing every note to collaborate in a song of praise. The rhythm in which he breathes becomes the meter to which he plays his song. Even in the darkness he connects with light.

Thirty Days , 2006, oil on Canvas, 48 x 48”, diptych   In 1975, my family found refuge on a Vietnamese naval ship while the Viet Cong invaded South Vietnam. After weeks at sea, the engine of the ship broke down. My grandparents and their children found themselves among hundreds of their fellow Vietnamese floating aimlessly at sea for about a month before an American naval ship rescued them. To board the ship, one by one, they crawled across a ten-foot rope ladder on their hands and knees, suspending above the surface of the ocean. As my mother recalls this life-altering event, she shares that although hundreds of people were in a potentially fatal situation, lacking food and water for an indefinite amount of time, the ambience on the ship was celebratory and hopeful. Everyone was thankful to have had escaped from the turmoil in the beginning stages of the fall of Saigon. This painting serves as an ode to my family, and those families who sought freedom, and acquired it through faith, hope, and their vision of a life of promise. The two panels represent their voyage from the East to the West, as the neutral green illustrates both land and water. The ten faces are those of my mother, my four aunts, and my five uncles, one of whom died before being introduced to the new land.

During the Silence .jpg

For All The Women , 2007, mixed media on canvas, 60 x 48” Human beings are the most adaptable, resilient, and powerful creatures.  Among them are the Women – the nurturers. This painting was inspired by a survivor of domestic violence. For years having been bound by the aggression of her abusive husband, a behavior which was accepted in her culture and religion, she made the rightful decision to leave and seek refuge in a local shelter. A prayer to the women who have made a choice to better their lives, to the women who have yet to make that choice, and to the women who assist their fellow women in making that choice.

On Our Way , 2007, mixed on canvas, 48 x 60” Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Christopher and Susan Ausschnitt, Naples, FL This image, painted on a collage of joss paper (handmade paper traditionally burned in prayer in Vietnamese and Chinese cultures), was inspired by the immigrant story. On their journey to America, my husband and his family traveled through the jungles of Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand. During their escape from the Viet Cong, they encountered pirates and thieves, fought for their lives, and most were blessed to have survived. I created this piece while deeply considering our profound resistance as people. Two brothers, one carrying the other. They have experienced the wages of war. They have survived. And so they move forward. We all have triumphed over past afflictions, and with each trial, we recognize our resilience and our strength to move on.

Feeding Her Joy.jpg

Remember , 2003, Oil on canvas, 48 x 30” Collection of Mr. Paul Nakada and Mrs. Christine Hoang, San Francisco, CA With a bag in hand, a mother holds her son before sending him off to the new land. My grandparents were wealthy people, property owners in North Vietnam. When the Viet Cong invaded, my grandparents migrated south to Saigon with their family, where they and their children would be apart from communist rule. Here they found their salvation for a time, until the the Viet Cong moved further south, resulting to their escape. They left behind all material possession, their homeland, and the life they once knew, in order to seek freedom elsewhere, anywhere but here. This painting is dedicated to those who have sacrificed much in order to allow their loved ones a greater opportunity.

Together , 2011, mixed media on canvas, 24 x 12”  Collection of Mrs. Deanna Reposa Newport Beach, CA Three children hike through the jungle, searching for their way. Although their destination is undetermined, they continue on their path patiently and confidently. This painting is a reminder that although Life will lead us through unknown territory, the journey is far more edifying when we seek understanding together.

Down the Current of Tradition , 2011, Oil, acrylic and thread on canvas, 40 x 30", Collection of Jorge Camunas, New York, NY. By examining my lineage, I find that I can more thoroughly investigate my life and better understand how it as been propagated by my ancestors. In the 1930’s, Ba Co, my great-grandmother, lived with her husband and their twelve children in the small town of Kien An, Vietnam, and would often find abandoned babies on their doorstep. This was such a common occurrence that they built a small children's shelter in their back yard. They named the shelter “Nha Thien Than”, which translates to “House of Angels.” Here, my grandmother would help prepare milk and feed the children before delivering them to the Nam Phat orphanage. A young girl kneels down, sending her paper boats down the stream. She gently grips the thread that ties together the generations, guiding them down the current of history and tradition. The paper boats continue their journey, like folded historical documents to be received, opened, read and absorbed. Like stories of old, passed down to preserve history, their hope is to incite the desire to alleviate the suffering of others.

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With Childlike Faith, 2011, mixed Media, 60 x 48”

Every autumn I glorify the ginko
leaves whose brilliant golden puddles spill upon our street - a seasonal
reminder for us to shed our withering leaves in order to make room for new
growth.

A child finds shelter under the
barren branches, confident that what may seem to be a time of desolation is in
fact a period of necessary repose for the forthcoming verdant season.

One Stone at a Time , 2011, mixed on canvas, 72 x 49”. Collection of P.Q. Phan and Anvi Hoang, Bloomington, IN. I marvel at the wisdom of the birds. My lessons in persistence I learn from the swallows. Male and female swallows make over 1000 trips gathering mud and detritus to build their nests. They remind me that the mire of life plays a vital role in the construction of all things significant. In building her foundation, a girl collects her next stone. What she once considered as stumbling blocks, she now accepts as stepping stones.

We Find Strength , 2008, mixed media on canvas, 60 x 48” Because koi fish swim against the stream, they symbolize strength in times of adversity. In times of struggle, I learn to trust my faith, and realize the Infinite resources that I have available to me - these resources that are ever ready to lend themselves to a purposeful will, and help me materialize my thoughts and desires into action, events and conditions which propel the resolve. Through the process, I develop the Faith that is the “Substance of all things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen”, providing me with the strength to overcome all obstacles that may appear in my path.

They Come For Me , 2009, Joss paper and oil on canvas, 40 x 90”, Collection of Mr. Patrick Probst and Mrs. Jocelyn Wong, Charlotte, NC Dream documentation on November 20, 2007: With treetops sheltering me, I wander through the grove in search of a site to create an environmental installation. I try peeling off a palm frond and weaving it into the tree trunk. I am unsuccessful. Perhaps I can dangle the vines from the thick branches above. I jump upon the ten-foot wall and make my way to the end of the brick ledge. Yes! A little niche presents itself – three perpendicular walls amidst the trees. I rejoice in discovering this perfect space in which to materialize my vision. Oh! I discover that I have already created an installation there… Streaming from one wall onto the next is an unblemished line of yellow leaves, standing side by side like soldiers prepared for whatever may come. The surrounding leaves are translucent – the majority of them white leaves, a few sporadic salmon leaves, all in communion to guard this sacred space. It is beautiful. It is my creation. And I am thankful. My moment is interrupted when a girl from below calls to me. She has something to show me. I jump off the wall, feet landing softly upon the ground. We hurry to the grove’s end. A broad beam of brilliant light shines through an aperture above, from which leaves fall generously. A young girl stands within the center of the light, waving her arms gracefully, summoning the leaves, and welcoming her blessings. Her bright eyes smile as her face bathes in the light of her Source. She gestures, “Yes. Come into this place.” The three walls of the niche are translated onto three canvases and also representing the sequence of the experience. On the first panel, the leaves (blessings) come. On the second, the hand reaches out, ready to receive. On the third, the elation upon acceptance of these gifts.

Above All Things , 2003, oil on canvas, 54 x 54”, Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Ben and Ella Stewart, Venice, CA In painting this piece, I considered the most valuable things to me in life, none of which are tangible- my love for God and people, my understanding with the Universe, and my recognition of the Omniscient Energy among all things living. Under the blue skies lay large boulders, representing the physical and visible elements of the world. Above these boulders floats a glowing warmth, a warmth compelled by all good things internalized.

Abundance , 2004, oil on canvas,30 x 48”, Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Christine Hoang, San Francisco, CA I find comfort in considering the abundance of this universe. As we sew a seed, we promote life. And as we nurture that seed, we assist this life in its development and growth. We, in turn, reap the seeds this life produces. “A seed, dropped into the ground, springs into activity, and in the act of living produces a hundred more seeds, life, by living, multiplies itself. It is forever becoming more, it must do so, if it continues to be at all.”    -Wallace D. Wattles

And There Is Light , 2003, oil on canvas, 54 x 54" At times, it is easy for us to succumb to the negativity that the world may suggest, whether it be through circumstance, through the action of others, or through our own insecurities. This painting is an illustration of the two worlds in which we may choose to live. Two houses stand side by side in the glowing light of dusk. One house is dark, rooted in fear, doubt, and complacency. The other is built on the foundation of hope, illuminated by knowledge, faith, and confidence. A reminder that Light can penetrate even the darkest places.

Among Us , 2003, oil on canvas, 54 x 54”, Collection of Mrs. Jamie Ross, Naples, FL Beginning as an abstract representation of an interior (a painting studio in which I spent countless hours), this painting evolved into a window into the spiritual and subconscious world that influences my every vision. What begun as large windows evolved into angelic figures, surrounding a central figure. This painting serves as a reminder that throughout the times we feel that we no longer have the strength to keep our light illuminated, there are forces both visible and invisible that will protect, guide, and strengthen us.

I Am , 2004, oil on canvas, 60 x 72”. Collection of Mr. Tin Do, San Francisco, CA I am.  A confirmation of all that I am, all that I will become, and all that I have the potential to be. As I am made in the image of my Creator, in the same in kind, quality, and likeness, the only difference being one of degree, I recognize within me the Omniscient, the Omnipresent, and the Omnipotent. Through this knowledge I am empowered. I Am.

Ha Long Bay , 2004, oil on canvas, 72 x 60” Red sails guide a ship from east to west in Ha Long Bay, located in the northern region of Vietnam. The reflection in the water is clearly defined, as is the dream of opportunity in the new land.

The Courage Within , 2006, Oil on canvas, 60 x 48 One of the most fascinating elements about abstract art is that who we are, being composed of all our experiences, will influence what we perceive. To my dear cousin, the red marks in my paintings are always interpreted as violence. I wonder if being a daughter of the war influences this perception. This painting was an attempt to create a painting in which the red would obviously convey positive emotion, as red for me, has always represent power. The painting began as a still life of vibrant flowers. As it evolved, a feline portrait appeared, strong and brave, and confirmed once again, that what became of the painting is what I had always felt about red being a courageous, powerful, and assertive color. Like those who have survived the war; like her.

So We Meet Again , 2011, Oil on canvas, 30 x 24" Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Paul Nakada and Christine Hoang , Healdsburg, CA It continually amazes me when Life brings me full circle. I find that every revisitation of an idea promotes greater maturity, allowing me to absorb the experience more thoroughly, perhaps filling in the details that I may have missed in times before. Two crimson shapes meet again, glowing in a new sense of Self, this time with greater insight.

Someone Else's House , 2003, oil on canvas, 24 x 24", Collection of John Waggoner Gallery, Naples, FL

Someone Else's Sin , 2003, oil on canvas, 24 x 24", Collection of John Waggoner Gallery, Naples, FL

Someone Else's Boat , 2003, oil on canvas, 24 x 24", Collection of John Waggoner Gallery, Naples, FL

Someone Else's Tomb , 2003, oil on canvas, 24 x 24", Collection of John Waggoner Gallery, Naples, FL

All images and content copyright © Trinh Mai