Bà Nội

The Blind Grandmother

November 11, 2023

I spent a whole day painting a daily scene of Bà Nội  cooking in the kitchen on a 24x30in canvas. I was able to get the first layer completed and capture the image of my blind grandmother and to me, her essence. I was afraid of not being able to do that, but Bà Nội  guided me. I used mostly zinc white, burnt sienna and some raw umber. I wanted an antique black and white feel and knew I would change the shade later.

November 17, 2023

After went out for coffee with Omar in the morning, I spent the rest of day continuing Bà Nội ’s painting until midnight. I worked on the second layer and used much less burnt sienna. I wanted to shift the deep-red brown shade to the grey tone. I began my painting ritual with the woody scent of the palo santos stick, and today, the sound of singing bowl to soften into the conversation with my grandmother again. I want to get to know her. I didn’t know her then. I also didn’t see her. Only now that I started working on her paintings and asking my dad about her, I’m seeing her for the first time.

Art is seeing something for the first time, seeing things you missed the first one hundred times.

Art is seeing things beyond what I saw and remembered.

Art is understanding and figuring things out.

Art is telling a story.

Art is remembering and processing the experiences that shaped me.

Art is doing the work of humanity and learning about my place in it.   

I am doing that homework that I didn’t do for a good part of my life. A few days ago, I called Dad in the evening to ask him about our family setting around the time I was born, and Vietnam War was coming to an end in the early 1975. I learned that we had the opportunity to come to America then, but Bà Nội  was blind and didn’t want to go. In the early 70s, with the help of Bac Dick (uncle Dick), or Richard Hughes whom my dad worked for at the Shoeshine Foundation, a couple American doctors performed surgeries on Bà Nội  at Long Binh Post, a then U.S. Army base. However, the food poison Bà Nội  experienced at a wedding eventually claimed her eyes.

Her painting was based on an old photograph that Dad took in the 80s and brought with him to America. I was wondering if Dad wanted to document Bà Nội ’s daily life, practice his photography skills, or test another function of his camera then. Whatever the reason was, I’m grateful for the image. Bà Nội  was grinding food in a metal bow with a wooden pestle. Her eyes looked elsewhere but no food was on the ground. The top button on her shirt was unbuttoned but she would not know that. I could see the small part and the shadow of the cross and Mary pendants underneath her white shirt. Her clothes were simple. Her face was focused but at peace, marked by war and loss.

I didn’t know her story then. I only knew her as my grandmother and was often curious about her blindness. One time I crawled quietly by her bed to see if she would notice. I held my breadth. I moved each hand and knee very slowly. I kept my eyes on her to see if she could see me. She sensed the movement immediately. Her gaze moved towards the ground in my direction.

Thang Tung ha? – Is that you, Tung? She called out my older brother’s name.

I paused then kept going, slower this time.

“Lam Anh a? What are you doing?” Her gaze followed me.

Da, Bà Nội  – Yes, Grandma. I responded then moved on with my activities, whatever I was doing before the experiment.

I would take turns with my siblings to take Bà Nội  to church almost every afternoon for the 5 o’clock mass at Hoa Hung Catholic church. Coming out of our house, I would pass two houses then make a right to pass another house to get to To Hien Thanh, the main street. I would wait for the street to be almost empty to cross and walk another three blocks to get to the church. If the lady selling rice at the street corner happened to be there when we passed by, she would stop everything to help us cross the street. She was tall and big, and walked with purpose. She usually grabbed my left hand to lead us while Bà Nội ’s right hand was on my right shoulder, and we thanked her each time.

I often wondered what it would be like moving around without eyesight, so I decided to create that experience one day. While strolling along one side of the street waiting for the opportunity to cross, I slowly lower my eyelids. I made sure there were no incoming people or traffic before closing my eyes completely.

“Little girl, what are you doing?” The rice lady caught me in her loud and powerful voice. “How can you guide your grandmother with your eyes closed?

“Oh, hello miss.” Bà Nội  turned to the direction of the rice lady and greeted her.

“This little girl was guiding you with her eyes closed.” She was telling on me. We reached the other side of the street and Grandma thanked the lady again.

I didn’t get to complete my experiment, but I can still feel Bà Nội ’s hand on my shoulder.