Theatre Journal

Roughly two decades ago, Grant Kester proposed the term “conversation pieces” to describe a type of ephemeral performance event centered around conversations between the artist and audience-participants. Kester’s term identifies the substance of this para-theatrical genre as “dialogues.” Similar performative phenomena, subsumed under other names, had been presented all over the world since the 1970s. Kester recognized a number of these names, including “new genre public art,” “littoral art,” “engaged art,” “community-based art,” and “dialogical art.” We may add “relational art,” “social practice art,” “street theatre,” and “artivism” to this mélange. Differing in their conceptual emphases, these labels point to the same urgency in expanding theatrical events from their original time-based, stage-constructed, and live audience-witnessing quality to other “real-life” public spheres—an urgency we theatre professionals were especially challenged to meet during our months of pandemic-induced isolation. Hobollywood, enacted by the queer-identified, trans-gender Vietnamese American artist Thinh Nguyen, belonged to this expanded field of para/theatrical, interactive performance artworks.

Hobollywood, Nguyen’s provocative title, highlights the piece’s two compositional elements: a hobo drifting in Hollywood. The artist openly revealed their houseless status, which began in 2020 and coincided with the most severe phase of the pandemic; they also chose as their performance site tourist-saturated Hollywood Boulevard, on the sidewalk in front of LACE’s temporarily closed storefront gallery. Because its exhibition space was closed for renovations, LACE offered Nguyen a six-month artistic “un-residency,” culminating in a weekend program of Nguyen’s installation performance, in which they would interact with audience members—and curious passersby—through what LACE’s press release described as “a tea ceremony where visitors can join the artist for a conversation about the objects in the installation and their experience as an unhoused artist.”

I found the artist sitting on a stool facing a similarly seated conversation partner, inches from the busy and noisy Hollywood Boulevard traffic. A table, neatly stacked with a hot water container, plates of cookies, tea bags, and paper cups, stood on one side; the other side was a blue tent, with its flaps open [End Page 373] to reveal a clean and largely empty interior. I came with many questions, somewhat self-complacently knowing that my queries would constitute part of Nguyen’s performance. Most intrigued by the innovative concept of “un-residency,” I asked the artist whether it was a curatorial intervention, an artist-generated concept, or a merging of the two. Nguyen felt it was a merging of the two circumstances, as LACE could not accommodate an artistic residency, and as they had been living inside their car. “Did you know about a one-year performance by Teh-Ching Hsieh in which the artist lived outdoors? Hsieh was distressed when he was once compelled indoors by the police,” I asked. “Yes, I do know about Hsieh’s piece,” said Nguyen, “but I was interested in exploring the indignity of someone who is housing-insecure.” Raising their voice in an impassioned repartee, Nguyen asked, “Can an unhoused person also be an artist? Can an unhoused person have a career? Can an unhoused person make art? Can an unhoused person deserve others’ respect?” I wondered if they might specify what “indignity” they meant, and Nguyen responded with a litany of complaints, including “the intellectual exploitation from the artistic community; the rudeness and entitlement of the homeowners’ community; the violence and sexual exploitations of a non-binary individual by the houseless communities.” Being a queer Asian, Nguyen added, made them a ready target for abuse by other houseless people. Nguyen was not able to bring their truck, for instance, to be part of the installation, because someone had slashed all four tires, leaving them no choice but to leave the vehicle in the parking lot where they stayed overnight. Before my conversation...