n a beach of the South China Sea, the hull of a wrecked ship stands dark against the sunset while another boat, still small in the distance, approaches the shore. BY SHARON LYNN PUGH PHOTOS BY LAURA DI TRAPANI the Yen Ha resident and This paintin chara y an unknown artist in a Southeast Asian refugee camp now hangs i tauranton N.E. Sandy Boulevard in Portland, operated by another for at camp. The starkness of the style and the anonymity of the e the experience the painting depicts—the dispossession, loss o nerability of the Vietnamese boat people in flight. entity Not far from Yen Hain N.E. Portland, another Vietnamese artist is^refiling a memorial to the whole 2,000 year culture of his people. Le Quang Vinh has been working on a series of oil paintings for over a decade. The collection combines myth, history and symbolism in compositions that reflect both Vietnamese aesthetic traditions and Le Vinh’s present isolation, culturally as an artist in exile and personally as a matter of choice. Working in solitude, virtually unknown, Le Vinh is influenced by neither American nor Vietnamese contemporary artists. His only student is his seven-year-old daughter, who sits drawing beside him as he works. As a group, the paintings represent a development from an early, documentary style focusing on scenes such as the deck of a refugee boat or a burning village, to a more sweeping conception of time and events. In these larger canvases, figures from Vietnamese history and folklore emerge from continuously transforming abstractions of color and line. Le Vinh’s designs have become richer and his colors brighter, more intense. What has remained constant is the artist’s narrative Item. All of the pictures tell stories, reflecting a kind of elevated pathos rescued from sentimentality by an exquisiteness of style characteristic of traditional Vietnamese art. Le Vihn’s interpreter, Than Hai Vominh, Business Consultant for the International Refugee Center of Oregon (IRCO), describes this style as an affectionate care for detail and delicately wrought surfaces drawn over deeply emotional themes. In one painting, two sisters celebrate the return of spring, the colors of their dresses muted by the knowledge that this is the last season before the war. In another, a young woman merges into a hag, the self she has become waiting in vain for her soldier husband to return. One of the most recent canvases, a wall-size mural, depicts a scene from a folktale in which a musician plays for a lone flower-seller because his gift has been rejected by the king. The exuberant colors balance the tragedy of the theme, a personal comment on the artist’s state of exile. Le Vinh shows his work to few people and has consented to sell a painting only once, to pay for his wedding. He envisions the unveiling of the entire collection at a grand premiere as a gift to the American people, “ so they will know who we are.” He paints in his spare time and supports the entire project from his work in an electronics laboratory. He intends to make no money from his art. When his mission is completed, he hopes to return to Vietnam, a dream he shares with those of his generation who do not admit the finality of their exile. 12 Clinton St. Quarterly—Summer, 1987 All of the pictures tell stories, reflecting a kind of elevated pathos rescued from sentimentality by an exquisiteness of style characteristic of traditional Vietnamese art.
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