“If people exercise or write in their diaries to process loss, then I paint.”

- Mai Ta

Mai Ta, taken by Nu. Photo courtesy of the Artist.

I first encountered Mai Ta's work long before her residency at Vietnam Art Collection (VAC) began. Her paintings, often in subdued tones, left an indelible impression on me – like a haunting rhythm. Both real and surreal, they were supercharged with emotions that felt familiar yet unknown, exhibiting a wide range of interior feelings. When I learned she was joining VAC's second residency term, I seized the opportunity to meet the artist on her very first day.

the horses (2023)

When I saw Mai Ta (b.1997), I felt compelled to unlearn what I thought I knew about her from the ethereal pieces I’d seen online. Each conversation with her, followed by a revisit to her paintings, revealed the many layers of her inner world. This young person is fascinating in many ways, and her work lends itself to numerous interpretations and approaches to understanding.

After delving deeper into Mai’s oeuvre, I noticed that her paintings had a potent storytelling style that connects to larger cultural histories. They appear to encapsulate what one of her favorite authors, Viet Thanh Nguyen, refers to as “narrative plenitude.”([1]) Nguyen coined this term to describe the antidote to the ‘narrative scarcity’ that Asian Americans and other minorities sometimes face in mainstream media. According to Nguyen’s analysis, minorities commonly struggle to express their own stories in a heritage milieu that distorts or erases their experiences. Mai’s body of work, in its intricacy and depth, exemplifies essential advances in storytelling by portraying a nuanced depiction of her experiences as a rising Vietnamese artist within a plethora of cross-cultural situations.

on the clipped wings of hope, i said a prayer (2024)

While Mai Ta’s art resonates with themes of multicultural identity, it also charts her personal evolution, particularly in her portrayal of the female form and how she perceives body image. "When I was younger, my body was my enemy," she shares. Now, her viewpoint has shifted: “I just exist. I am my body, my mind, my heart. I am my past, my present, and my future.” This evolution in her work adds to Nguyen’s advocacy for narrative plenitude by providing an honest representation of someone who experiences living as a woman and her bond with her body and identity.

the fates (2022)

Despite the depth of emotion in her work, Mai approaches her art and life with a striking sense of equanimity, reminiscent of the abstract expressionists she admires. This early Gen-Z artist seems quite grounded. She doesn't create drama for the sake of emotion; rather, she is aware that life itself contains enough sorrow. She retains a free spirit of acceptance, reminiscent of the American painter Mark Rothko, who believed in being your own mythmaker and draws inspiration from life's worst moments. “Life, for me, will always contain tragedy,” she asserts, taking a “come what may” mentality.

Mai’s acceptance of life’s inherent tragedy doesn’t lead to despair, but rather fuels a deeply personal and therapeutic process: “If people exercise or write in their diaries to process loss, then I paint,” she observes. Just as some people might journal or hit the gym to process their emotions, Mai's coping mechanism is painting. It's as if she's squeezing away grudges till there is no more anguish in her own self. Perhaps, her painting process investigates her open wounds and then heals them in some manner.

omens of a bad faith (2023)

Mai deconstructs the ‘tortured artist’ cliché in an exhilarating way. She does not appear to be a member of Taylor Swift's “Tortured Poets Department” club. She is quintessentially herself – unafraid and ready to take on anything. Although she has made strides in her career, Mai is genuine about the pressures of the creative field. “It's so easy to see what everyone is doing and inevitably compare myself to them,” she admits regretfully, “but I've realized that it's all just noise. I've given up on the pursuit of being remembered. I found more freedom there.” Eliminating external soundscapes enables her to focus on her creation while also supporting her mental and emotional well-being.

Mai’s quest for self via painting goes above personal boundaries, diving into the spiritual dimensions that have long fascinated painters such as Mark Rothko. Using Rothko's work as a focal point, Mai Ta dug into the junction of spirituality and modern art in her exploration of faith, as demonstrated by her recent presentation titled God and Rothko at 3Năm Studio, a collective space described playfully by themselves as “a temporary house for plants, animals, humans, and art.” Mai underlined the linkage between Abstract Expressionism and Pre-modern religious art, examining how both may help to foster spiritual experiences. She expresses a profound affinity for artists who believe deeply in love, language, and soul. She believes that “good art” cannot rely solely on aesthetics: “I need something else behind it—an intensity conjured by the desire to be seen and understood.”

cracked (2023)

Mai’s artistic journey began in childhood, nurtured not by a traditionally artistic household but through the quiet influence of her grandmother, a literature teacher who encouraged her creative inclinations. Though her family did not have a background in the arts, their support was instrumental when Mai made the decision to pursue further training in New York at the School of Visual Arts (SVA). Choosing Illustration as her major, the artist sees it as “a career path that felt more grounded than simply being an artist.” Mai’s time at SVA proved foundational, offering not only technical training but also a space to encounter different artistic languages and form meaningful relationships within the broader art world.

Through this period of study and self-reflection, Mai gradually came to define her own practice—not solely responding to external demands, but as an introspective, non-linear process rooted in emotional honesty. Mai describes her images as originating from within—forms that insist on their own unfolding rather than being projected outward. Painting, for her, is not a task but a necessity: a language of unspoken depth through which she articulates personal vulnerability, emotional ambiguity, and psychic complexity. Her canvases do not aim to explain; rather, they ask to be felt. She likens the creative process to the structure of non-rhyming poetry—unpredictable, irregular, and authentic in its refusal of resolution.

music for forgetting (2023)

Working at the intersection of figuration and surrealism, Mai constructs visual narratives that blur the boundaries between interior and exterior, memory and dream, the real and the imagined. Her compositions often center solitary figures or ambiguous scenes, inviting viewers into a psychological space where form becomes a vessel for emotion. These forms emerge slowly and intuitively, revealing images that feel simultaneously intimate and otherworldly. 

For Mai, the studio becomes a sanctuary for slow attention and unspectacular truth-telling. Art is not only a mode of self-expression but also a mechanism for self-discovery—a process of constructing meaning without guilt, performance, or linearity. In this sense, her work does not offer closure but instead opens space: for recognition, for disorientation, for pause. Her trajectory speaks to the ways art can function as a quiet act of liberation, particularly for those whose inner worlds resist simplification. Through this insistently personal yet formally rigorous practice, Mai Ta reminds us that painting remains a vital site for emotional inquiry, where intuition, memory, and subjectivity converge to generate forms of knowing that evade language.

An Open Door (2021)

And for current emerging and aspiring artists, Mai offers this poignant advice:

 “Don't let the fear of failure hold you back from trying. Failure is inevitable, and there's no wrong way to try. Be curious about the world, your people, your environment. And most importantly, be honest—both with others and with yourself.”

All things considered, Mai Ta’s work represents a step towards narrative plurality in the arts. By sharing her-story alongside traditional history, authentically through her creations, she advocates for diversifying the cultural environment. Her works of art invite viewers to look beyond the surface and interact with the subtleties of identity, emotion, and experience. As we continue to follow Mai’s progress in VAC residency, we're not just witnessing the evolution of an individual artist, but participating in a larger movement toward a more inclusive global art scene.

([1]) Viet Thanh Nguyen (2018),"Viet Thanh Nguyen and Vu Tran: "Narrative Plenitude" | Talks at Google", https://vietnguyen.info/2018/viet-thanh-nguyen-and-vu-tran-narrative-plentitude-talks-at-google

All images courtesy of the artist.

Based on the original drafts by Bui Vi and Thuy Anh, edited by Frida Chen in July 2025.