MT :

I felt a shift around 10 years ago. I was a sad child in high school, and it was heightened when I had to leave my hometown of Phan Rang, and go to Ho Chi Minh City to pursue studying in a university. I tried to express my unhappiness through writing, but even then I continued to feel overwhelmed. I came across photography completely accidentally, when I held a friend’s camera. It suddenly made me feel like if I needed to express myself, I didn’t have to stick to words. I saved money and bought a really old camera that I ended up using for four years. But after a while, I felt like my own practice wasn’t doing enough for me, and that’s when I found the Angkor Photo Festival & Workshops, and it changed a lot within me. Regarding the grant, at that point, I hadn’t picked up my camera for more than a year, but it was a good opportunity to restart my engagement with photography. I was alone in the Highlands where I have now settled down to live and work, and where I don’t know anybody. I felt the urge to listen to the people on the street…see them…smell them. And so I stepped out into the streets at night and shot without a single thing in my mind. When I got home and went through my images, I was left with a strange feeling. The photographs represented a memory that I was seeing, but I’m not even sure it was my own. I found myself chasing after a moment that I thought was about to disappear.

Your photographs seem to have various elements of water within them. Would you say that this is a correct observation, and would you be able to elaborate on why you have an affinity towards this element?

I didn’t actually realise that until you asked me this question. But now that I think about it, about 2-3 years ago, a lot of my photographs contained fire. It’s probably because of my state of mind at that time, I wanted to destroy everything. Now, I find that water is present in a large part of my subconscious as a softness, since I've been reconciling with myself and with the world. I have grown up near a beach which is wild, and unfamiliar to tourists. And so, everytime I stand in front of the ocean, I feel like it's calling me to return. My home feels like it’s somewhere beneath the water. Now, in the Highlands, there is no river or natural water body. And still, the ocean keeps coming with me. I can hear the waves.

MT :

The name came to me rather naturally after I was done editing my body of work. In the past 2 years, there has been a huge shift in my mindset about art and making photographs. I began to feel like photography is not my tool, but I am the tool of photography. I am a mere channel, and the same goes for memory. The memory is its own organism that finds shelter within me. I say this because I have memories that are both, unknown and vivid but I'm not always sure where they are coming from. I feel like I am a vessel for their existence, which is beyond my control. And hence the name Memory Container.

MT :

Earlier, my process was extremely planned, in a way where I would make storyboards and draw out each scene in an attempt to be in control of everything. But I realised I was never happy, even if I stepped out and captured a frame to match my sketches. It was because I wasn’t experiencing the uncertainty of a moment. But now, I don’t plan anything, and even my project for Arttaca was done by listening to the calling from within. The only thing that was planned was when I thought that there was a missing link in my work, and I needed to fill it in. Since I photographed this project between my hometown and the Highlands, I find that it’s a mixture of creating new memories and transitioning from the old ones. Since the two locations aren’t too far away from one another, and I navigate them on my bike, and honestly, I can feel the transition even while riding.