April 17, 2026 |
At Autograph in Shoreditch, something feels slightly off. Not in an obvious way – the space is as calm and considered as ever – but the images don’t quite behave as you expect. Faces blur at the edges, bodies merge, and familiar domestic scenes seem to shift the longer you look. In Of Walking on Fire, Nhu Xuan Hua takes the idea of the family archive and gently pulls it apart.
This is the artist’s first UK solo exhibition, curated by Bindi Vora, and it lands with a precise kind of unease, open from now until September 19. Hua, born in Paris in 1989 to Vietnamese parents who fled post-war Vietnam, has long worked in the space between fashion image-making and something more psychologically loaded. Her commissions – spanning houses like Dior and Maison Margiela, and editorials for titles including Vogue and Dazed Beauty – carry a recognisable sheen. But here, that visual language is stripped back and redirected inward.
from left: Nhu Xuan Hua, The Dancers – Archive from the year ’85, 2017-2022. Courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard, France and Nhu Xuan Hua, Untitled – Archive from the year ’71, 2017-2022. Courtesy of the artist and Anne- Laure Buffard, France
The starting point is language, or the lack of it. Hua grew up feeling distant from her Vietnamese heritage, often unable to get clear answers about her family’s past. At home, communication was already complex: her father, who is oral-deaf, speaks Vietnamese and uses a self-taught version of French Sign Language. Conversations didn’t always land, and over time that created gaps – not just in what was known, but in how things could be expressed.
In Gallery 1, that absence takes form. Tropism: Consequences of a Displaced Memory, drawn from Hua’s own family photographs, resists the documentary pull of the archive. Instead of presenting them as they were, she alters them digitally – softening outlines, blending figures together, sometimes letting people fade almost completely. A group photo becomes harder to read; a face feels just out of focus. The effect is subtle but constant: these are images you recognise as family pictures, but they don’t fully give themselves up.
Nhu Xuan Hua, Singer “How much love can be repeated?”, Honey baby, 2020. Courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard, France
Nhu Xuan Hua, We spend days inside tiny apartments and we enjoy a fake concrete canal, 2020. Courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard, France
The way the work is displayed adds to that feeling. Photographs sit alongside small objects – vases, ornaments – arranged on shelves that nod to Vietnamese temple interiors. Painted shadows stretch across the walls, suggesting a home setting without fully recreating one. It feels personal without being overly literal, like stepping into a space built from fragments rather than a complete picture.
That sense of uncertainty continues in Let the Horses Ride. Here, Hua flips her images so they resemble photographic negatives. It’s a simple shift, but it changes the mood. Moments that should feel warm or close instead carry a slight tension. People sit together, but the connection feels harder to read. You find yourself looking twice, trying to piece it together.
Hua has spoken about recreating small, everyday scenes from memory – a mother eating bread while watching her children, quietly wondering how to do better. These are not dramatic moments, but that’s the point. The focus stays on the ordinary, where meaning builds slowly and often goes unspoken.
Nhu Xuan Hua, Promise of Spring, 2026. Courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard, France. Commissioned by Autograph, London
In Gallery 2, the tone shifts. The work opens up slightly, introducing a new series commissioned for the exhibition that draws on Đạo Mẫu, the Vietnamese tradition of Mother Goddess worship. Female figures come to the fore – not as straightforward portraits, but as links between generations.
At the centre is Little Super in Versailles – Archive from the year ’88. A young girl stands as the focal point, carrying a sense of responsibility that feels both personal and inherited. Around her, ideas of mother, grandmother and daughter begin to overlap. It’s less about resolving the past than finding ways to carry it forward.
What makes Of Walking on Fire work is its restraint. Hua doesn’t over-explain or try to force a clear narrative. Instead, she stays close to the details – images that blur, gestures that feel slightly out of sync, objects that hint at something larger. The result is grounded but still open-ended.
Nhu Xuan Hua, I won’t change because you asked, 2019. Courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard, France
Nhu Xuan Hua, Swan – Archive from the year 2000, 2017-2022. Courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard, France
There’s a strong visual control throughout, shaped by her background in fashion, but it never tips into gloss for its own sake. Each image feels considered, but also slightly unsettled, as if it might shift again after you’ve walked away.
Rather than presenting a fixed story, Hua builds something more fluid – a series of images that reflect how memory actually works: partial, sometimes unclear, but still carrying weight.
Photography by Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard. Discover the exhibition here.
Nhu Xuan Hua, Braindead, one pill makes you bigger, 2016. Courtesy of the artist and Anne-Laure Buffard, France
