for the past (to continue)

Artist: thou
Technologist: Nhân Phan, Khôi Nguyễn
Research advisor: Yui Nguyễn

để quá khứ sẽ (tiếp diễn) (loosely translated: for the past will (continue)) delves into the layered intersections of memory, language, and urban landscapes. Through an autogenerated poetry mechanism, shadows of trees cast on walls by sunlight serve as a metaphor for the way the past unfolds and lingers in the present. This work is a manifestation of tree’s “freedom of speech’; it allows the trees to

utter the things they cannot talk, about the tree lines that had fallen, for

the bridges and pillars to come, about

the scorching misery that bestowed, upon

the denuded solitude that casted its shadow, over

the trees enlisted to be chopped, off

the promises to re-plant, at

the promises that decaying on paper, about

the continuation of the past continuous.

Drawing from over 50 news articles about Metro Line No. 2, the artist selects 49 key words and phrases, constructing a lexicon of the trees. These words are inserted into a repetitive syntax— "để...sẽ...để...sẽ..." (to…[we] will…to…will) —that loops endlessly, pushing language to its breaking point, where meaning dissolves into oblivion and promises become empty shells. The work is a poetic confrontation between technology and nature, randomness and structure, where sunlit shadows evoke the violent history of urban deforestation. It highlights the tension between the natural world and the relentless forward march of urbanization, exposing the fragility of both memory and language in the process.

Article headlines about the project of Metro 2.

Keywords are randomized into a grid.

Generated poems in the syntax "để...sẽ...để...sẽ..."

thou explained the project to the audiences at 3nam Studio.

Marks of sun spot for performance at 3nam Studio (09/2024).

Audiences observed the poems at 3nam Studio (09/2024).

Nhân Phan ␥

Hi, this is Nhan.
I work accross media art, programming, and teaching.

PRACTICE

I was born into the Internet era and raised in transition across multiple homes. My life is a scatter of places, faces, and moments - lived physically, digitally, and in between. Dwelling in this hybridity, my work forms a manual for being human under digital conditions. Here, algorithms and devices become agents of emotion and desire, interfering with familiarity and reciprocity, producing both friction and pleasure. I use love, affection, and even cheesiness as critical gestures against the current overly design-driven technological landscape, which increasingly diminishes human touch and moral complexity in pursuit of profit and surface appeal.

My works are developed and presented through a collaborative and performative process. I have created zines in which contributors must reply to one another only through the pages, relinquishing all other forms of daily contact. I have built a keyboard that forms and vocalizes non-existent Vietnamese syllables, urging participants to make noise and make sense together. I have produced video installations that provoke perversity and discomfort, at times prompting audiences to leave the screening altogether. Collaboration, in my practice, is not only a theme but a condition carefully embedded throughout the making.

TEACHING

My teaching is primarily in p5.js and creative coding. I am the founder and teacher at CodeSurfing, the first art-tech collective in Vietnam, advocating for accessibility in technology for local artists. In 2023, I was a Teaching Fellow of the Processing Foundation Fellowship, and in 2024, I continued as a mentor. Prior to this, from 2020 to 2023, I worked as a teaching assistant and later as an instructor at CoderSchool, where I led classes and workshops covering data analysis with Python, computer vision, and generative networks.

CONTACT

You can reach me via my email. My teaching and programs are public via CodeSurfing (IG and Web).

sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ... sẽ ... để ...

<>

for the past (to continue)

Nhân Phan ␥