Trâm Anh Nguyễn & The Softened Gaze.

Multi-hyphenated artist talks honouring familial roots, transness and intersectionality in his work. And of course, on staying hopeful in the hopelessness.

In this article, I’m sitting down with Trâm Anh Nguyễn, a Vietnamese and queer-trans artist I deeply admire. His work beautifully blends poetry, photography, and filmmaking into one seamless craft, breaking through the pervasive nature of retelling narratives. Or, as he puts it, unraveling heavy stories and topics through a softened gaze. His works, including Hoa, Đai Đen trên Núi Bạch Mã, Thân Thể Rừng Thiêng, and to boyhood, i never knew him, have been featured at festivals like TIFF Next Wave, InsideOut Festival, Toronto Queer Film Festival, and in solo and group exhibitions across various spaces.

In this conversation, we talk about two of the most important women in Trâm Anh’s life—his mom and grandmother—and how art has become an indispensable vessel for him to unearth buried conversations and histories. Art, initially a selfish form of expression, turns selfless as it reaches more souls, becoming perhaps the most accurate indicator of one’s transformation: the dreams abandoned and the hopes yet to be fulfilled. This is how Trâm Anh sees his past work as a testament to his growth, both as an artist and as a human being. Lastly, we circled back to the groundedness that film, poetry, and art provide us: a call to respond to one of the most pressing issues in the world—the attacks on trans rights, affecting Trâm Anh’s trans siblings and so many others across America.

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Your upcoming film, Mùa Xuân Của Mẹ (Mother’s Spring), follows a Vietnamese teenager assigned female at birth, offering a glimpse into their interior life as they navigate gendered expression, their relationship with their mother, and their heritage.

But as you’ve shared, it’s also an attempt to reconcile with your own personal experiences. What internal process have you gone through to reach this point in making the film? Is it still an internal work in progress?

As a teenager, I held onto a lot of resentment toward my parents. At the time, they weren’t accepting of me, and how I see and define myself. But throughout the years, I’ve seen my mom change in ways I didn’t expect. She makes an effort to understand me and becomes more and more accepting.

Why do you think that is?

Part of it is the distance. Growing up, I was always closer to her despite the tensions in our relationship. But when I moved to Canada at 16, the physical separation shifted our dynamics in some ways. Last year, I returned to Vietnam and lived with her for a year—my first time living with her as an adult. Of course, it’s far from perfect; we still bicker, fight, and get mad at each other. But at the core of it, she has become more open-minded, and I’ve come to see that, above all, my mom just wants me to be happy and safe.

The internal work, for me, has been a lot of reflection. Living with her and seeing her not just as my mom, but as a woman and a fellow adult, has given me a sense of relief and allowed me to see her in a different light.

BTS set of Mother’s Spring. Image courtesy of Emily Chae.

Has she read the script for the film?

Yes! I actually made the mom character our protagonist, which was an interesting shift. When I read her the script, she laughed and said, “Oh my god, this is exactly what I used to say.”