Pho is an amalgamation of different ingredients, influenced by factors beyond the control of the Vietnamese people. As such, this traditional Vietnamese soup mirrors my own origin story of adoption and identity. My exploration of Pho soup allows me to share the story of Pho and my own story by recontextualizing Pho’s identity and history. I examine Pho as a vessel of authenticity, drawing parallels with how I view myself as an Asian American and my unknown, unexplored “fake” Vietnamese side. I refer to my “fake” side in relation to how I look Vietnamese but do not feel Vietnamese due to being raised in white culture by white parents. Yet, I am constantly aware of it when I look in the mirror. In a way, this exploration is about delving into my own unknown and unresearched diaspora using Pho’s own diasporic context as I research my background.
Pho, now known as the national dish of Vietnam, was not widely recognized until the early 20th century. The increased demand for beef from the French resulted in a surplus of beef in Vietnam as the Vietnamese began catering to the French diet. Originally, the Vietnamese did not slaughter cows for food but used them to till their lands for farming. The French diet led to an abundance of cows being used for food, with the scraps, bones, and less desired parts of the cow being discarded. Vietnamese and Chinese vendors capitalized on this surplus by using beef bones to enrich the flavor of the Nam Dinh broth.
The evolution of Pho took root in Hanoi. Originating from a humble noodle soup known as xáo trâu, which consisted of water buffalo meat and rice vermicelli in broth, Pho gradually transformed into a sophisticated culinary delight. The substitution of buffalo meat with beef, the introduction of round rice noodles, and the refinement of the broth elevated the dish to its iconic status among the street vendors and restaurants of Hanoi. The origin of the word Pho is unclear, but many believe it comes from the French word “pot au feu,” meaning “Pot of fire,” and the Vietnamese adapted “feu” into "Pho."
The underpinnings of Pho can be traced to colonialism, imperialism, and racism. Today, however, Pho has been elevated to a food icon around the world, particularly in America where many Vietnamese settled and brought their Pho. What makes this interesting to me, being an adopted Vietnamese person, is my own relationship—or lack thereof—with Vietnam. I do not speak Vietnamese, nor have I had any real relationship with Vietnamese culture. I am culturally white but ethnically Vietnamese.
I have always had a love for Vietnamese food despite trying to avoid my “Asian-ness,” and surprisingly, more recently, Pho, which I only tried in Vietnam back in 2017. At that time, I discovered how truly delicious it was while also feeling very uncomfortable being in Vietnam. There, I was back in my birth country, eating the food of my people, yet I felt out of place and “fake.” The local populace tried to speak Vietnamese to me but quickly laughed when they realized I couldn’t speak Vietnamese. I learned there is a term used for Vietnamese people not living in Vietnam called “Viet Kieu,” which essentially means “person not from Vietnam.” While not necessarily a derogatory statement, the meaning is clear: “You’re not really a true Vietnamese, even though you’re from here.” Another play on words is using the French word ‘Faux,’ meaning fake, which also correlates with the French colonialism of Pho and can be used to describe how I feel about myself by also creating a fake restaurant for my exhibition.
By creating a “Phoesque” installation for the viewer, I can incorporate design elements that allow for visual communication through a very complex and personal topic, which hopefully enables a witty but serious dialogue between food and the ability it has to explain something very complex in the human identity. While the surface designs are visually appealing, the undertones tell a different story, my story. My own exhibition restaurant is fake. It's not a true restaurant in the sense that I am presenting “authentic Pho” but rather expressing my parallels with my own fakeness or “Faux” from being Vietnamese, which is the crux of the idea of me feeling authentic and what is considered authentic Pho.
Through recent inspiration, I began watching David Chang’s Netflix documentary, Ugly Delicious. He does a very good job at sharing serious topics like appropriation, commodification, and food identity in a tongue-and-cheek way by using fun design elements throughout his scenes, including right colors and animations, with a little feel of dadaism. I found this to be a perfect way to communicate hard topics by using food, and what better way to tell a story than through food—which everyone can relate to in some way. Food is always about the story it tells, whether you can taste it or not, and is deeply human. Pho is known as a noodle soup and whether someone has tried it or not is besides the point if they know what it is. What I find tobe exciting is how people come to understand food through a dish’s origins, history, and contemporary iterations.
I find this process to be similar to the process of getting to know me: someone doesn’t have to understand or know me personally but through the narrative I will present about this specific dish, one can understand the complexities of human dynamics like colonialism and diaspora. I feel this lens creates a digestible way to understand these topics. It becomes a relatable entry point into the broader narrative of my personal story making it easier to connect with myself. The term “tell me what you eat, and I'll tell you what you are” by French Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin is a more simplistic way of saying, what you consume can tell about who you are on a more social level.
As Pho transitioned from obscurity to mainstream recognition, this beloved Vietnamese dish has transcended mere culinary delight to become a cultural phenomenon, inspiring novels, art exhibitions, rap anthems, and even crowdfunding campaigns. People are captivated by Pho for numerous reasons: it's comforting nature (noodles swimming in clear, flavorful broth provide solace), its health benefits (low in fat and gluten), its rejuvenating properties (often touted as a remedy for colds and hangovers), and its customizable nature (you can tailor it to your preferences). And it's delicious. Andrea Nguyen, a Vietnamese author, and cooking teacher, sums up Pho by saying, “No one may claim Pho but the Vietnamese because it happened on Vietnamese soil under a unique set of circumstances (see fig 1).
It was genius make-do cooking. While original Pho was a simple bowl of broth, noodles, and boiled beef, as time went on, cooks began experimenting with different techniques and ingredients, some of which were influenced by other cultures and others that were spurred on by necessity”. It is also interesting that there is not one Pho recipe that is standard, every Pho is different and made differently. I find this to be like my own experience of dual identity, where the story is constantly changing, like Pho. My own story is like ingredients being sprinkled like toppings on Pho.
I wouldn't be here in America without colonialism, and Pho probably wouldn't be here either. If France had not invaded Vietnam, there might not have been a Vietnam War, and my parents may not have adopted me. Pho may not have gotten popular to what it is today without the French influence on Vietnamese food, since the French desire for beef prompted the Vietnamese to start using the beef scraps out of resourcefulness. Like Pho, the murkiness of my beginnings and unknown origins is left open for debate. Pho in many ways has become commodified and appropriated for a western audience, and so have I through my adoption. And in some ways, Pho is a critique on what Americanization is, since it prompts the question: what happens when different cultures and people mix within the culture of America?
I found myself drawn to the power of visual storytelling. Whether it was the vibrant illustrations in children’s books, the compelling advertisements in magazines, or the intuitive interfaces of my favorite apps, I recognized early on how design influences perception and communication. My decision to pursue graphic design was driven by a fascination with this blend of art and technology, and a desire to master the language of visual communication. This helped me form my BFA thesis project. Within the mediums of print, physical objects, videography, and projection mapping, and data visualizations I can present a breadth of work in design while also utilizing different visual communication techniques to enhance what I am trying to communicate.
My first idea was to create a recipe book. This recipe 8x8 book is a way to create a book about my recipe for Pho, but it also has dual meaning. Recipe books often serve as vessels for preserving cultural heritage and passing down culinary traditions that define a community or possibly a nation's identity. For me, it was a book that also told my origin stories of being Vietnamese within the book. While there is a recipe on Pho, there is also a book within the book that tells a very different story, where the viewer can read a recipe but also learn about my own dualities as a Vietnamese American. This duality is the basis of my thesis, where I work to show that there are two stories and experiences within a Pho.
For this book, I took my own pictures of Pho ingredients. I rigged up an overhead tripod and shot many different food shots of which only a handful made it into the recipe book. I quickly learned that food Photography is a complex skill set within itself. But I know I wanted to take my own photos and utilized my light and composition knowledge in design to create effective food shots for my recipe My First Bowl of Pho.
This small recipe follows a very simple but crafted recipe that I have used for making my own Pho. Like almost all Pho, I learned from various recipe blogs and tried various methods, and have combined bits and from many other recipes and have created one that I like. Which speaks to what Pho is; there is no “correct” Pho, there are loose recipes that people follow. Recipe books can be like a written history book, especially for Pho—of the culture and story of Vietnamese people who see their identity within food as a complicated narrative of Vietnam. And within that, I can take my own complex identity and history and have ownership over my recipe and contextualize my life story through making my own recipe and sharing my origins.
My interests in data visualization were also a way to help present the story of Vietnamese people and the story of the popularity of Phoby addressing the overall arching question of, “How did Pho become so popular in America?” While many of the questions can be related to Pho being a tasty soup, or that it is nutritious, the bigger topic I wanted to try and address through data visualization was the story of the Vietnamese people coming to America. America has the second-largest number of Vietnamese immigrants. I found data on the highest influx of Vietnamese people from Vietnam to the United States during a set period of time and presented the number of immigrants as small bowls, each representing 500 people. This was printed on a vertical 24x50 inch wall poster. Representing the people as bowls reinforced the idea that there is no correct way to make Pho, that Pho is a community dish. That there are a lot of Vietnamese people with their own diasporic stories—including me. Millions of Vietnamese people fled Vietnam bringing their stories and love of Pho to the United States.
I wanted to show where those Vietnamese people coming to the United States went, so I made another 24x50 inch wall poster. For this, I scraped data from Google showing the locations of the 7,000 or so Vietnamese restaurants in the U.S that served Pho. The important part of the data here was the longitude and latitude coordinates, which allowed me to plot these restaurants on a map. The second part of this process was to find the American towns and cities with the highest Vietnamese population densities. The highest density populations were on the coast, near water that could afford the Vietnamese to continue shrimping and fishing, as was customary in Vietnam as a way of life. The takeaway here was to present the data of the spread of Vietnamese throughout the U.S, while looking at the map, dots can be seen all throughout the U.S., meaning the Vietnamese brought Pho all over the U.S., including to Maine. While there are only a handful of Vietnamese restaurants in the state, each has a story or relation to the Vietnam diaspora.
On the lower half of the 24x50 spread, I visualized Vietnamese people across the world as well, by showing the major countries that the Vietnamese fled to. The Vietnam diaspora was worldwide, and was one of the largest. This data I found on the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees website, which tracked and provided immigration data for all immigrants, which was helpful in collecting data for all kinds of Vietnamese movements. Including the worldwide spread of the Vietnamese people, I also showed the popularity of Pho worldwide over a 20-year period, compared to other soups. Using Google trends I was able to search for keywords relating to Pho and the top other soups based on interest. Google trends presents this data as plots on a line chart, which I find rather boring. So I took these points into a 2d program and displayed them in a circular bar chart stylized them through design. Pho’s interest outpaced all the other soups over a 20-year period and Pho has continued to grow in interest. I wanted to capture a viewer’s attention more effectively than text alone and so I created a striking visual that could convey the essence of a story quickly. Through design with color and typography, I could quickly turn numbers and graphs onto a page into a beautiful story that related to my thesis.
My videography piece was chosen to aid in a medium that allowed me to utilize my interest in documentary work. As the overall piece was designed to tell a story, I wanted to video myself making the Pho recipe with a voice over of myself speaking the words from the origin story in the recipe book. I wanted to engage the viewer in an audio of my voice, allowing them to use multiple senses, so I combined visual elements with sound to create a more immersive experience. Making Pho was also not just about the making of it but it was a way to show that “I am Pho” and I am telling a very uncomfortable part of my story but also sharing it with the viewer through my actions of making that this is how I feel the most comfortable sharing my story. This piece was intended to be more of a background element in which the viewer listens while they look at my thesis, but it kind of changed to be more of a centerpiece, as it captures the whole story of my thesis and visually and audibly explains my identity and connection with Pho. It was yet another design project capable of conveying complex information and evoking strong emotional responses.
At MECA&D, I was exposed to projection mapping, where one takes digital visual elements and then can “map” them onto real world surfaces, as a way to create a visual where 2D and 3D space can be mixed together. Utilizing the 3D form of a bowl, I projected 2D elements onto the bowl and table that allowed for dancing colors, shapes, and typography which told another story of my connection with Pho and the identity through food. What made this unique was being able to use light from a 2D form created in Illustrator, or After Effects and that would be projected from a projector onto the surface. This can create a distortion effect which can be visually appealing when the viewer is situated around the object. The effect is enhanced when using dark and light forms to move the viewer's eye around and light certain parts of the surface. Within this medium, by projecting imagery onto varied surfaces, designers can create illusions that alter the perception of depth, texture, and form, effectively transforming the mundane into the spectacular without any physical modifications.
From a storytelling perspective, I find that projection mapping excels in turning any surface into a narrative canvas. I use this medium to weave complex stories and convey messages, adding a rich narrative depth that traditional media cannot match. The vivid visuals not only draw attention but also boost visibility, making projection mapping an excellent tool for advertising and branding, especially in busy urban environments or small spaces like my thesis exhibit. It also pushes the boundaries of traditional design and allows me to explore modern ways of blending art and technology in a harmonious and impactful manner.
My other work included 24x34 posters that speaks to Pho as being an “American Phonemomen”. I took inspiration from Andy Warhol’s Campbell soup cans. Warhol's reproduction of a mundane, mass-produced consumer good like a soup can serve as a critique of the burgeoning consumer culture in post-war America. By elevating the ordinary to the status of art, Warhol questioned the role of consumer goods in American society and the nature of art itself. His work reflects on the ways that consumer items are produced in vast quantities and their ubiquity shapes our daily lives and choices, much like art. I depicted Pho soup in a can, in jest to the idea that Pho really can’t be canned and has never been canned because it needs to have fresh herbs, cooked noodles, and raw beef and in doing so would destroy the taste (see fig 2).
The Vietnamese government wanted to begin to commodify Pho, as it was cheaper and faster to produce. But the idea of canned Pho is critiquing the consumption of Pho and American society in general. Pho is pretty ubiquitous—in terms of going to a Vietnamese restaurant where you can order Pho, there are now many more options sinceVietnamese restaurants are also food franchises widespread in America . Getting Pho is not much of a problem anymore nor is it considered an “exotic” food item. This project also considers the role of Pho in pop culture now, asking questions like: has it simply become just a delicious noodle soup? Is the history and the Vietnamese identity lost in the ever-consuming Americanization of products, i.e canned goods?
With the pieces in my show, I almost wanted everything to sort of be disparate but connected through the story and also visually connected through conforming type and color in smaller details. In many ways, I wanted the viewer to be overwhelmed with what they saw. For the viewer to essentially think “What the fuck am I looking at” and to slowly be able to listen, read, and ingest my connection with Pho, and the connection Pho has with the Vietnamese people and my own identity. In many ways, my work has morphed from the beginning stage of the thesis project, when I wanted to create and brand a restaurant centered around Pho to taking a leap in the concept and creating a project where I could talk about myself in a more personal manner. What I wanted to share through my work was something very personal and also relatable—the relatable part came through the food.
I struggled with the idea of myself as a designer and with the perceived need to create work that reflected Vietnamese or “Asian” design. I felt that I was somehow falling short of designing something that related to being Vietnamese. My pieces did not resemble any Asian aesthetics and I struggled with the concept of authenticity within my design work. What I have come away with through my thesis process is that to acknowledge the part of my complex identity where I feel “fake” and my shunned Vietnamese side was the ultimate struggle. Designing in a Vietnamese-esque or Asian style way is not authentic to me. Nor did I want to try and emulate that style as it wasn’t me and felt foreign. In reality, my thesis work reflected what I have learned, researched and felt authentic to me. The whole idea of designing for my thesis was in itself another way to reflect upon and design for something that felt ultimately inauthentic by being Vietnamese while also struggling to design authentically in my more western-centered self.
Ultimately, my thesis project turned out to be visually overwhelming pieces of information that are part of my own complex and overwhelming idea of how I view myself as a person and a designer too. Struggling with the idea of authenticity in everyday life and what design means to me is a never ending push-pull, with my own identity of feeling culturally white but being ethnically Vietnamese. When the very stereotypes of race can also be stereotyped for designers, it creates yet another layer of complexity within my own understanding of my identity. I still have thoughts of feeling like my design did not accomplish or do justice to what I was trying to say. Some of the biggest questions I asked myself through this thesis project were: “How do I design for a topic that is for others but also is also about me?” “How do I design for myself while presenting this extremely complex idea?”
I found my thesis work was difficult to design for, since throughout school there was always a prompt that wasn't about “me.” I was responding to design problems that could be solved in a “safe” way. I didn’t bring my own Vietnamese identity into the projects and strayed away from leaning toward designing for my “Asian-ness.” The way I ended up solving this was approaching it like a prompt. Taking a difficult topic and turning it into a prompt was the ultimate design challenge for me.
What I have learned in this process, is that I am still not sure where I stand with my identity. And that's ok. My thesis became an amalgamation of different things that are somewhat independent from each other. Each piece tells a little bit of a different story about myself and about Pho, and also about the Vietnamese people.. It reflects my own confusing relationship with myself, identity, and design. All these spaces are continually intersecting and changing and trying to figure those spaces out is neverending.
To create a cohesive and understandable design that narrates the history of Pho and especially Vietnam as a country, is a challenging task.. This complex topic had to be synthesized in a way that the average viewer may understand the threads of the story of identity, appropriation, and colonization, under one umbrella of food as a way to tell my own history and story through Pho.
Historically, there are many different ideas about the beginnings of Pho, the rich broth filled with beef, herbs, spices, and rice noodles. Some of these narratives focus on the reception among French diners, others look at its development into a Vietnamese icon of post colonialism after 1975 when the Vietnam war finally ended with America. Examining America's role in the Vietnam war plays a role in understanding why byproducts of colonialism can produce unexpected cultural shifts. Pho wouldn’t exist without the influence of French and American culture.
America's relationship with Vietnam leading up to the Vietnam War evolved significantly over the decades, initially influenced by World War II dynamics. During the war, the United States supported Ho Chi Minh and his Viet Minh forces in their fight against Japanese occupation, facilitated through the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). This support was rooted in the wartime strategy rather than a commitment to Vietnamese independence. After the war, as the Cold War tensions escalated, the U.S. shifted its focus towards containing communism, marking a significant transformation in its approach towards Vietnam.
The shift in alliances became apparent in the late 1940s and early 1950s when America began supporting France's efforts to regain control over Vietnam, despite the latter's declaration of independence in 1945. Following the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu in 1954 and the subsequent Geneva Accords—which temporarily divided Vietnam into North and South—the U.S. intensified its involvement. This period saw the U.S. bolstering the anti-communist South Vietnamese government with military advisors and significant financial aid. By the mid-1960s, this involvement escalated into full military engagement, driven by the domino theory which said that the fall of Vietnam to communism would lead to the spread of communism throughout Asia. This fear of a communist domino effect was a pivotal factor that led to America's deep military and political involvement in Vietnam, setting the stage for the Vietnam War.
As Pho gained international acclaim, French interpretations often skimmed over its authentic history, attributing a sort of finesse to the dish as a result of French influence on Vietnam's traditional ways. This angle overlooks the creativity and resilience of those Vietnamese people who first concocted Pho, amid the hardships of colonial domination and social turmoil. The fondness for Pho in France today overshadows a deeper issue: the selective adoption of immigrant foods by French who were in power, frequently ignoring the resourcefulness and perseverance of the inventors of these culinary delights. This selective fondness reflects a larger pattern in which the inclusion of immigrant culture is based on the preferences of the dominant society, showing a lack of respect and appreciation for the original culinary artists.
In his influential book Orientalism, Edward Said critiques how the West constructs and understands the East through a lens of superiority and domination. He argues that the Western portrayal of Eastern cultures as exotic, backward, and dangerous serves to reinforce Western identity and justify control over Eastern territories. This framework, termed Orientalism, is not just an academic issue but permeates literature, art, and societal attitudes, perpetuating a power dynamic where the West assumes a normative role over the East. Said's work has significantly impacted the study of intercultural relations, urging a reconsideration of the underlying biases in Western representations of Eastern societies.
This in turn addresses the problem of what is considered food appropriation and the idea of “authenticity” within that. The NPR article, “When Chefs Become Famous Cooking For Cooking Other Cultures Food” notes how Rick Bayless became quite known in the food world by cooking Mexican food, although he is a white guy from Oklahoma. Bayless even wins the Order of Aztec Eagle, which is the highest civilian award in Mexico for sharing Mexican cuisine. His idea was to bring fine dining to authentic Mexican cuisine in the Los Angeles and Chicago areas, and he ran several successful restaurants. In doing so, he received criticism from the local Mexican communities for misappropriation in their eyes. The problem or concern here is not that he has expertise in Mexican cuisine but within a bigger social and cultural content and the historical importance of Mexico and Bayless within that archetype. Latinos and minorities in general face more challenges and barriers entering the complexities of the business world then those that Bayless faced. Who benefited from his ability to explore, travel and gain the expertise and knowledge of Mexican cuisine?
My point here is not to take away from exploring other food cultures and cuisines, but to underscore the importance of understand the history and context, and to ask questions that relate to the position of privilege and power that can create relationships of being culturally “immersed” in terms of what that means through misappropriation. This is an area that is less discussed, but is becoming more known as people immigrate places. This type of appropriation often gets overlooked in food cultures, but is more noticeable in fashion or music. The journey of the diasporic cuisine umbrella is more than just consumption, it includes everything from the production and presentation of the dish to the historical trauma and oppression that is the legacy of colonization which migrant communities throughout the world experience.
I tend to agree loosely with the idea that food appropriation exists when a culture is seen as “authentic” by white western people while that sense of “authenticity” is used for monetary gain. One cannot be authentic and claim authenticity or ownership of Vietnamese food if they are coming from a place of white western power as that very dynamic was created by colonialism. This is a fine line to follow, as I believe that sharing food and culture is a positive thing which should be celebrated. The problem becomes more apparent when there is an exploitation of culture and food from someone in a position of power who does not give the least attention to the history or tradition of the food.
Pho, turned into a complex symbol for Vietnam, which was politically divided in the 1950s. In 1957, a well-known writer from the north, Nguyễn Tuân, wrote an essay that questioned the government. At a time when the communist party was facing criticism for errors in their land reform efforts, showing signs of weakness. Nguyễn Tuân's essay, which appeared in the very first edition of a northern literary magazine called Văn, challenged the Communist Party, using the topic of Pho as a metaphor.
Nguyễn Tuân celebrated the variety of Pho but directly commented on how some people couldn't afford meat for their soup, criticizing the North Vietnamese government's neglect. He provocatively questioned how Pho would taste if made with rat meat broth due to poverty and highlighted how the wealthy, even in a communist society, enjoyed luxurious versions of Pho with duck, pork, and various seasonings. The essay was also expressing concern about the country's dependency on imported industrial food products from the Soviet Union under a more communist shift, like potato and wheat flour, which were used to create bland, affordable meals for the hungry citizens. He speculated about whether Vietnam's shift toward a fully socialist economy might result in Pho being sold in cans too. Despite this, he strongly believed that Vietnamese people would never resort to eating canned Pho "like Americans."
Through his narrative, Tuân was using Pho as a metaphor for Vietnam itself: acknowledging its diversity without insisting on a single, unchanging version of the dish. He discusses various preparations of Pho, noting its ongoing evolution, especially in Saigon's streets, and shares his personal preference for the soup. In doing so, he underscores that debates over the superior version of Pho are intrinsic to its identity and, by extension, to being Vietnamese.
Contemporary photographer An-My Lê, explores her own diaspora through photographs about the U.S. war in Vietnam and though works that grapple with understanding the complex identity of being neither fully accepted as Vietnamese in Vietnam nor as American in America, including how feelings of uncertainty, anger, guilt, and abandonment are deeply intertwined. As a person who was shaped by the shadows of war, she explores her memories not primarily as a form of political protest but as a way to emotionally delve into the generational traumas that have haunted Vietnamese families since their departure. Understanding how a culture uprooted by displacement survives in America is an intricate issue. The Vietnamese diaspora represents a generation forced to leave their homeland and assimilate into the society of what was once considered the adversary.
Her installation Fourteen Views draws inspiration from the nineteenth-century European tradition of painted cycloramas. These circular panoramas once captivated audiences with their idealized landscapes, often masking the military and colonial efforts behind them. In deconstructing the landscape genre's imperialist roots of the 19th century, where land became synonymous with colonial possession, the artwork sheds light on the profound impacts of colonization and war on individuals, communities, and landscapes (see fig 3).
Rejecting the confines of linear time and space, Lê portrays the river as both a symbolic concept and a tangible reality. Continuously flowing yet interconnected, it symbolizes a dynamic, diasporic journey that traverses diverse geographies, histories, and narrative. In her way, she uses landscape to tell diaspora experiences. That parallels me using Pho as a way to tell almost the same story of French colonialism in a different medium but with similar undercurrents of the French impacting Vietnam and its people through war and changing its culture forever. Pho is a byproduct of French colonialism and so am I.
Another contemporary artist, Tuan Andrew Nguyen, renowned for his contemporary art, delves into identity, displacement, and memory, with a focus on the Vietnamese diaspora's intricacies and the scars left by colonialism and conflict. He uses various mediums—film, sculpture, installations—to explore and question the narratives and emotions of those caught between cultures. Nguyen's pieces commentate on cultural identity and history, encouraging a reevaluation of established perceptions. By intertwining personal and societal narratives, his work enriches discussions on migration, cultural persistence, and the role of memory in defining our identity and societal position.
“Letters from Saigon” Nguyen speaks about sending letters from Ho Chi Minh City (formerly known as Saigon) in Vietnam to Saigon, Michigan, in the United States. The piece examines the concept of place and displacement and the interconnectedness of global identities. By engaging with the idea of two distant places sharing the same name, Nguyen highlights themes of migration, memory, and cultural identity. This work is a thoughtful reflection on the ways places shape our sense of self and the multiple layers of meaning that can be found in the simple name of a place (see figure 4).
Both artists, while not graphic designers, inspired the idea of using installations and metaphors to convey my own diasporic identity. While Tuan and An-My Lê use an exhibition approach, my practice through graphic design allows an approach through a visual identity with colors, text, and visuals generated with software, which are pulled together in exhibition style. Using design through the visual communication of Pho to tell my story is inspired by Tuan and An-My Lê using photographs and sculpture as their vessels to capture the impacts of the war in Vietnam and to explain the hardships and identities of their own stories.
In this thesis, the journey through the multifaceted world of Pho parallels my own exploration of identity and adoption. Pho, much like my own story, is a rich tapestry woven from diverse influences and ingredients, symbolizing the complexity of identity in a globalized world. It transcends its culinary roots to act as a metaphor for my personal search for authenticity amidst the cultural dichotomies of being Vietnamese by birth and culturally American by upbringing.
In conclusion, Pho serves not only as a culinary delight but as a vessel for deeper understanding of identity, migration, and cultural adaptation. As I deconstructed the elements that make up Pho, I have engaged in a similar process with my own identity, peeling back layers to understand the core of my being in a society that often sees me through a simplistic lens of ethnicity and race.
The recontextualization of Pho’s identity and its history mirrors my own quest to define what it means to be authentically myself. This thesis is not just about a dish, but about the narratives we hold onto and the ones we let shape us. It has been a journey of uncovering uncomfortable truths, embracing the fluidity of identity, and acknowledging how external forces like colonialism and migration have shaped both Pho and also my own identity..
The visual elements of my thesis, ranging from data visualizations to projection mapping, serve as tools to articulate these complex narratives, offering viewers a multi-sensory experience of my dual narrative. By presenting Pho not only as a dish but as a symbol of cultural persistence and transformation, I invite viewers to reflect on their own perceptions of identity and authenticity. I also see this project as a critique of what it means to be “Americanized” in identity.
This project was a personal and profound inquiry into the ways I can explore myself in a way that's comfortable within my design practice. It challenged me to consider how something as universal as food can be deeply intimate and can still tell one’s personal story as it intersects with the story of their country. As Pho has adapted and evolved, so have I, and through this project, I have come to a deeper understanding of both the dish and myself, by recognizing that authenticity is not about purity but about the richness of one's journey and the multitude of influences that shape us on a deeply human and personal level.