Through glowing light, rap, and squatting, Bleu Néon pays tribute to Saigon—real and imagined
In solo at the PuSh Festival, Montreal-based dance artist Châu Kim-Sanh draws from her experiences working with artists in Vietnam
Kim-Sanh Châu in Bleu Néon. Photo by Kinga Michalska
The PuSh International Performing Arts Festival and plastic orchid factory present Bleu Néon at Left of Main of January 28 (sold out) and January 29
SAIGON IS A PLACE that Montreal-based dance artist Châu Kim-Sanh travels to regularly, taking part in residencies and collaborating with Vietnamese artists. But it’s also a place that exists in her imagination, fed by memories of both the Vietnamese community in Canada and the images from overseas that she brings home with her.
The literal and fantasy Saigon come together in her dance work Bleu Néon, a piece bathed in the glow of the titular lights that illuminate the metropolis that’s officially called Ho Chi Minh City.
“Because of my art practice and collaboration, I feel like I have access to daily life there,” the artist begins in a call with Stir. “When I’m there, I actually have a parallel life to what I have here: I go to rehearsals, I work with dancers who are also my friends, I go see shows. It’s really precious, and it brings a lot. It nurtures me as an artist and also as a person.”
Born in France, Châu grew up in a family that wasn’t connected to a Vietnamese immigrant community. Before moving to Canada at 25, she hadn’t talked to her parents much about their heritage and she had no desire to go back to their home country. That all changed when she settled in Montreal, connecting with a Vietnamese diaspora which held onto memories of Saigon from before the 1980s.
“When they talk about Vietnam, it's like history stopped when they moved,” Châu says. “They nurture a lot of nostalgia—because very few can go back because of the distance. So I had this idea of Vietnam that was theirs, a traditional Vietnam. Whereas now that I go back on a regular basis, it’s completely different, because Vietnam—and Southeast Asia in general—is very, very young. It’s very dynamic. And something that is very specific is that they don’t talk about war over there, whereas here, the war is still very present in the conversations.”
Châu started drawing on specific memories, images, and impressions to create her solo, showing at plastic orchid factory’s intimate Left of Main studio during the PuSh International Performing Arts Festival. Let’s start with the squatting that keeps her low to the ground throughout the entire piece—and a position that will trigger, for those that have been there, instant memories of people gathered on the sidewalks of Saigon.
“Asian people are known for squatting very comfortably—and people don’t squat a lot here,” she begins. “There are physiological reasons for it, and I also believe that the more we squat, the more comfortable and the more flexible we are.
“I still squat a lot in my practice, and I think I'm going to keep doing that for a long time, because it does represent the Asian body very well,” she adds. “So it’s a link that is very strong, and it’s very deep in the body. You can do so much. You can do everything squatting. And it’s also a sign of freedom, flexibility, resilience, and strength that I found interesting.”
Over time, Châu has also integrated another element that was completely new to her into the piece: rapping. She found it to be ubiquitous in Saigon’s thriving youth culture and arts scene. Under the mentorship of rappers like Vladimir “7Starr” Laurore, Lil Waterboi, Chuong Trinh, and Nguyễn Kim Phuong, she devised her own style. Pushing her out of her comfort zone, rapping in Vietnamese has captured even more of what she’s witnessed and absorbed in Saigon.
“I saw all the young Vietnamese rappers being very proud of being Vietnamese. And to me, it was amazing, because as someone who is a little older, in my generation, there was no pride in being Asian,” she explains. “I'm in this generation of being very shy, and I remember when I was younger, I tried to hide the Asian-ness in me. So I dyed my hair, I dressed differently. I really just wanted to be white and fit in the European context where I was growing up.”
Throughout the piece, she raps against a soundtrack of Vietnamese pop music reverberating from a cassette tape.
The added benefit? “It’s a way for me to learn Vietnamese, because I can’t speak it,” she says. “So I watch it, and I try to sing and I try to memorize the lyrics. There is also, like, a crossover with karaoke culture. And the practice makes me feel very good and connected to where I come from.”
Châu has a hypnotic, smooth style of rap all its own; she’ll even perform a Vietnamese Rap Concert for Babies with Chittakone Baccam on January 29 at the Roundhouse Community Arts and Recreation Centre as part of PuSh.
The rapping is part of Bleu Néon’s mesmerizing meld of lighting, low-to-the-ground movement, and other music—creating a little tension, a bit of unreality, or the sensation of being caught between worlds.
“I am not fully Western fully, but I'm not fully Asian. I'm in between,” Châu says. “I'm a diasporic person and artist. So to me, that means that I always live between the two worlds. And there is something awkward that will always be there in the way I use references to my home countries. And I accept it. I embrace it.” 
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