Until Next Time

Until Next Time is Lê Xuân Phong's first solo exhibition and an attempt to come to terms with his fear of death and losing his loved ones. Containing images of his family during numerous periods of mo

We all knew what was coming. Every sign was pointing in the same direction - the fortune-telling from a monk, medical diagnoses, little omens in the forms of burnt pots and broken glasses. All the preparations for one’s passing, both logistic and mental, rendered my family and me numb to life around us. Yet it kept happening, again and again.

Every funeral was the same - there would be loads of paperwork to process on top of the grand decision of when and where the ceremony would take place. Not knowing what to do, I just waited on standby to run trivial errands while the adults scrambled to prepare for one’s transition to the afterlife. What I felt then, more prevalent than grief, was a sense of boredom. I just wanted time to pass by faster, so we were done with it and I could go home.

With the clarity of hindsight, I realize I was using the camera as a shield all along. Looking through a fogged viewfinder and constantly pressing the shutter distracted me from whatever was taking place. For a while, these photographs of my family in mourning were stacked away in a box. Together with domestic details, they are reminders of uncertainty and impending loss as we return to everyday life. Home offers comfort, but nothing stays the same.

By displaying the entirety of these images in chronological order, I’m no longer judging them by aesthetic or content, but as equal physical reproductions of memories. The memories live on as we process grief - each in our own ways, making amends with our broken promises and words left unsaid.