INTRODUCTION
ba-bau × Exutoire is a temporary collective formed for the duration of a dinner. It is composed of ba-bau—a collective of artists, curators, producers, but also a space for artist residencies, public programs, and gatherings—and Exutoire—a queer critical spatial practice working toward social, spatial, and material justice. This collective was created in response to the age and geographic requirements of Bebe Magazine’s funding sources: to be under 30 years old and based in Europe. This tactic allows us to bring forth a translocal perspective from Vietnam with an anchorage and relevance beyond the historical sites of power of the Global North.
We had met each other more than a year prior to the present collaboration, through our mutual friends and fellow architects Thục Anh and Alfie (from Sum Suê). After attending several screenings, talks, and workshops, organized at the space of ba-bau AIR in Hanoi, we quickly became friends, thanks to our common interests in critical practices, social infrastructure, and space, among other things. Ever since, we’ve been hanging out, discussing big and small things. The idea of working together had been there since day one. We’re happy that it finally happened, and that it for sure won’t be the last time.
CREDITS
CONCEPT AND PERFORMANCE: ba-bau × Exutoire (Kiều-Anh Nguyễn, Đinh Thảo Linh, Bùi Quý Sơn, Paul-Antoine Lucas)
TEXTS: Bùi Quý Sơn and Paul-Antoine Lucas / Đinh Thảo Linh
ILLUSTRATIONS: Kiều-Anh Nguyễn
VIDEO PRODUCTION: Hoa Quỳnh Cinema
DIRECTOR AND EDITORL: Cao Việt Nga
CAMERA: Đặng Quốc Anh, Hồ Hoàng Đạt
PRODUCTION ASSISTANCE AND SUPPORT: Bùi Tôn Hoàng / Cao Tuấn Minh / Nguyễn Long Biên / Nguyễn Lê Đức Duy
The dinner-performance took place on August 29, 2024 in Hanoi, Vietnam.
Thank you to AHA Cafe Hào Nam for kindly letting us use their space as the backstage for the performance and filming.
SPACE, TRANSVERSAL:
DINNER AT THE ROUNDABOUT / CƠM TỐI Ở NGÃ SÁU BY EXUTOIRE
DINNER AT THE ROUNDABOUT / CƠM TỐI Ở NGÃ SÁU BY EXUTOIRE
August weather in Hanoi is extra hot and extra humid. The air is unbearably thick and heavy. We’re going through an intense heat wave—a period of oi weather—with unexpected, powerful torrential rains. After a deluge of changes in time schedules, attempting to avoid that haphazard early evening downpour, we finally decided, at the very last minute, on a date to organize our dinner at/inside a roundabout. This idea came from the discussions around transversality and space that we started just a couple of weeks ago. But why a dinner? Why a roundabout? What’s transversal about it?
To begin with, we understood “transversality” as a deliberately queer point of view, an intersectional method to think beyond systems and norms. This thought originated in the definition of a transversal (noun) as a line that intersects a system of (often straight, parallel) lines, which alludes to an established, normative order. The transversal comes in obliquely, subversively, turbulently, indicating a movement that questions the predefined “forward” direction.
We’ve known ba-bau for more than a year now, and the question of setting up and running a space (for knowledge exchange and community building) has animated many of our conversations. That common interest has led us to investigate what transversality means in spatial terms. In short, we wanted to create a temporary transversal space out of an existing public space in the city, one that shall be constructed through occupation, use, enactment, or performance.
As suggested by ba-bau, we quickly identified the roundabout as a possible site: a physical device with a strong visual presence, yet no spatial character. While site-scouting in Hanoi, the “Hào Nam roundabout” (as we call it) was the first location proposed. It actually doesn’t have a name nor an address, two parameters often deemed necessary to indicate a place. Here, the roundabout becomes a spatial metaphor of transversality: both an intersection between streets, mediating the meeting of the city’s circulation axes, and an elusive site for appropriation, capable of generating new imaginaries about urban space.
The idea of a dinner came about naturally, as eating and drinking are often the pretext of our gatherings. For us, food has a centripetal force, pulling people together; it combines necessity and pleasure, and is a catalyst for intimate interpersonal exchanges. To share a meal with someone means building a sense of safe space, trust, and conviviality. It is also an everyday gesture, something low-threshold, familiar, comforting. This caring act of sharing softens the discomfort and strangeness of the event.
In reality, what we thought would be a casual happening turned into an intricate enterprise. Interestingly, access to the inside of a roundabout is not permitted in Vietnam: it is considered a traffic disruption. Nonetheless, negotiating rules and regulations is commonplace when it comes to utilizing “public space”, a fact that convinced us to go ahead with our plans. Ultimately, the dinner turned out to be a challenge, a transgression, a dissident experiment that taught us how to navigate the effects of spatial norms on our bodies and minds.
To help ourselves find safety in such an exposed, ‘foreign’ place, we designed our own physical-spatial support: a set of lacquered stools and tables, made by artisans from a craft village in the south of Hanoi. As foldable and portable pieces, they brought a flexible dimension to the space, echoing what happens on sidewalks around the city. Despite the attention we attracted from passersby, our shared presence provided each other with a feeling of comfort and reassurance. Next to that, other traces of occupation gradually appeared as the dinner unfolded, proving that we were not the first users of this theoretically unusable space.
Through this collaborative project, we want to bring an explicit story about the possibility and feasibility of a transversal space to the fore—not only as a countercurrent to the norm but, more importantly, a liberatory ideal in its own right. The temporary bodily occupation of the space, the artifacts it involved (furniture, food, lighting, cameras, etc.), and the intentions that shaped the event became instrumental tools for enacting a new socio-spatial scenario for Hào Nam roundabout. Our friendship, our discussion, and the dinner we shared, define a method of queering (public) space: prompting a momentary sense of belonging and co-ownership.
After the meal, we left the space as we found it: empty but full of potential. Around us, a busy six-street intersection with vehicles coming and going from virtually every direction, the glary electric lights from restaurants nearby, the walls of a closed down gas station since a fire that happened four years ago. Resounding in our ears, the noise of Vietnam’s first metro line, gliding upon the unmissable concrete superstructure that defines Hanoi’s new urbanscape, going in and out of Cát Linh station.
A space is not transversal by design. Transversality is the people and conditions that make the space, and the possibilities it offers. Transversality can be felt at ba-bau’s space on Thợ Nhuộm street, in the stewardship of the collective, in the care, maintenance, and programming of the space. Transversality is also visible in Exutoire’s work, in the collaborative approach to creating platforms for discourse and knowledge production. Transversality is a situated, kind, collective, critical, versatile, emancipatory, regenerative practice of space.
ON ELASTICITY OF SPACE
BY ĐINH THẢO LINH (℅ BA-BAU)
BY ĐINH THẢO LINH (℅ BA-BAU)
1. Conversation with Cao Việt Nga (℅ ba-bau)
L: Have you thought about what I mentioned yesterday regarding the elasticity or flexibility of space?
N: Reflecting on the experience there, and revisiting the footage, I perceive the elasticity of space primarily through the presence and absence of people. This temporal dimension—their appearance and disappearance—imbues the space with a kind of elasticity. It exists within a certain timeframe, and then it fades. Secondly, despite being an outdoor setting, the visual composition feels enclosed, structured, almost bordered. It's as though the space is defined by a circle that contains it, rather than being fully exposed to the street. However, while processing the still images—most of which frame elements within this circular boundary—I noticed the only true variable was the light. Light from the outside interacts with the scene. While internal light also shapes it, it's primarily the external light—the rush hour traffic, spectators stopping to observe—that shifts constantly. These two aspects frame how I understand the elasticity of the space.
L: How do you perceive the relationship between the image and the reality observed, both during and after the event? Since viewing through a camera lens or monitor alters perception from direct sight, how do you navigate this dynamic, as the one deciding what to shoot, from which angle, and why? How does this relationship manifest for you?
N: While making the shot list, I focused heavily on centralizing both the imagery and the perspective of the roundabout. Most shots were taken from a high vantage point, looking downward, using lighting and equipment to further concentrate attention on the roundabout— even though it is already a focal point in itself. Comparing moments when I wasn’t filming to when I was, the imagery can be understood as a continuous flow—light streams, with the roundabout not being the sole object, but part of a larger context of surrounding activity. Yet, through the act of filming, the camera's gaze framed the roundabout as a landmark, the center of attention, with everything else around it functioning as supplementary. For instance, the details that persist whether or not they are captured, like the man who continuously circled the area, or the conversations happening nearby—though I didn’t focus on how others were observing the roundabout, its presence always existed on another layer. The MRT, which at times I couldn’t fully capture as it passed, served as a marker of time, a rhythmic element.
There are also humorous juxtapositions that I didn’t notice while filming, but became apparent in the images afterward—such as scenes of people eating, juxtaposed with the garbage truck in the background, or rice drying on the ground in contrast to the trash opposite to it. As an observer, even though we were close, the lens maintained a distance. On a technical note, for example, Đạt’s camera, using a zoom lens, allowed him to get closer, whereas my wide-angle lens, though physically closer, rendered the images more distant. So, while it felt like I was within the space, I couldn't capture its close-up intricacies.
2.
Roving roundabout: a guide
Roving roundabout: a guide
The heart of the whirlwind is said to be the safest place, even if only temporarily—a concept often stated and one I have come to accept as true. Perhaps, the heart of the roundabout—the nexus of urban traffic—is the safest place. Safe from traffic accidents, safe for drying rice, safe for the chess games of local men, safe for us to enjoy a meal (?)
Yet, this safety is precarious, due to the continuous potentialities and ever-changing nature of this "invulnerable" space. Thus, within this central point, we devised the following situation:
- Create an intimate space for a small group (How intimate could it be under the gaze of others?)
- Seating arrangement: The group will be seated, as sitting signifies comfort and openness for exchange. Lying down is too comfortable and private, making collective dialogue difficult. Standing feels provisional, as if ready to move, rather than to engage. (How can we ensure that sitting occurs freely and comfortably?)
- High level of flexibility and guerrilla-like (Are objects easy to move? What objects should we bring into the roundabout, and how many of them?)
- Duration sufficient for meaningful interaction (How long is long enough to be a quality encounter?)
- Generate confusion and curiosity (How can the shipper from Grab Food navigate where we are? What do the local businesses around us think about what’s happening?)
3.
We forgot the sky, didn’t we?
The interplay between ceiling - wall - floor is something I pay close attention to in spatial design, particularly within interiors. Although this space is not an indoor environment per se, I still apply these principles for observation and projection. For me, intimacy arises when the environment is personal, welcoming, and conducive to close connections and communication. Here, the relationship between ceiling - wall - floor is stretched and bent at the joints, creating a reflective space at core, like a lake in the center of a valley. At the moment of the dinner, this reflective space (of togetherness) within the roundabout seemed to open a gateway to each individual's inner space.
Throughout that evening, I never looked up. Neither did the camera lenses. The sky was there. Dark as always, I guess. Polluted as always, I guess. I looked down at the ground while arranging and dismantling the space, I looked sideways while crossing the street to avoid being hit by a vehicle, I looked directly at my dining companions while conversing, and I looked up at the advertising signs and lights of nearby cafés and eateries.
I wonder, what kind of space have we just created? A safe space? A contemplative space? A reflective space? A temporary space? An adventurous space?
And I wonder, what is the frame of reference we can apply in designing these temporary spaces?