Last autumn, after the Bangkok Art Book Fair had ended, I didn't leave immediately. Instead, I wandered aimlessly through Thailand for more than twenty days, staying until the very last day before reluctantly departing.
Although it was often unbearably hot, I loved everything I saw—the richness, the sense of ease, and the rawness of it all.
So, after the Lunar New Year this spring, I boarded a flight to Bangkok once again, this time with my mother.
Looking back at the photographs I took during that period, I gradually realized that a hidden path had begun to reveal itself.
The insects on the ground. The webs stretched between the trees in the valleys. The weathered temple walls with their half-erased inscriptions. The scattered ruins...
They all seemed like scenes drifting beyond the boundaries of time—fleeting, elusive, impossible to define, yet somehow real enough to quietly draw me in.