In one week I’ll be putting on my first photo exhibition in more than 7 years. The venue is an old shophouse in the heart of Bangkok called Kathmandu, owned by one of the legends of Thai photography Manit Sriwanichpoom. A quiet man, directing his energy (and resources) to aid a new generation of photographers. The show is being curated and organized by another staple of the Thai photographic community, Akkara Naktamna, whose efforts lately have been focused on curating and community growth, as well as his own artistic endeavors.
The photos on show are from my first photo book, “Sukhumvit: The Third Road” A meandering journey along one of Thailands most famous and essential thoroughfares. The section of the road explored in the book is the roughly 17km stretch within the boundaries of Bangkok (although Sukhumvit road becomes Highway 3 as it leaves Bangkok to the south before reaching Cambodia hundreds of km later.) Within it we find a breadth of life that can only be described as a microcosm of Thai society, and even more broadly, society as a whole. Along the sidewalks and alleys new generations clash with old. The haves and the have nots jostle for space. All the life that can be found, is found. Industry and consumerism spring from the ashes of the discarded past. Yet the past remains rooted, in some places physically, and in other places spiritually. All this to say, Sukhumvit is a road, and what I found on it is reality, and what the viewer sees, or doesn’t, is their own reality. But both are equal, both real.
Exhibitions offer a unique challenge, different from books, social media, and other mediums. The chosen photos must be able to stand both alone, and together. Every photo receives more scrutiny than they would on a page or a phone screen. The photos must distill the entire project down to it’s essence. Or as I like to think of it, the tl:dr of the project, or portfolio. Everything informs the viewers response. The size of the print, the paper, the frame, the lighting, even the music. The sequencing must also play with the space it’s confined too and the nature of human attention spans.
Then there is the anxiety of placing my work in front of real people, while I am present. It will never diminish, no matter how many times I do it. The room full of faces, looking at my work, at me, back at my work, it’s a dance I don’t know by heart, but I’ll get swept up in it regardless. So lets dance.
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