Portrait of a Thai Woman

Stefano Romano. “Portrait of a Thai woman”. Rome, February 2023

Photography in Thailand has always been linked to Power, since its appearance in the mid-1800s. The first image of King Rama III was made by the French priest Father Laurnadie at the end of his reign in 1851, breaking down the taboo of the prohibition to represent the “divine body” of the King, also due to the atavistic conviction – common to all of South-East Asia and Asia – that photography could suck the soul out of his portrayed subjects.

King Mongkut, Rama IV, was the first king to pose in a classical style, indeed he understood the power that photography had in building the dignified image of the Kingdom of Siam, especially aimed at the other European sovereigns to whom he then sent his portraits. Those photographs were starting to be used for public relations between royals.

It was then that the first Thai photographers appeared who worked at the court in the service of the public image of the King: Luang Wisut Yothamat and Chit Chitrakani in 1860.

As is well told by Zhuang Wubin in his splendid book: “Photography in Southeast Asia: A Survey”.

During the reign of Rama V and King Vajiravudh (Rama VI), in the first decades of the twentieth century, photography became the privileged means to amplify and strengthen the power of the King, almost becoming a social law, for which every office or shop had to have a photo of the King reigning at that time. The formula for this was and is: “To revere the King is to revere him through the adoration of his image.”

Up to the apex of this very strong bond that was had with the previous, and much loved, King Rama IX, passionate about photography and often represented with his camera in his hands.

 

This is why the Thai people, like other neighboring Asian cultures that I have already written about previously, have always had an almost magical relationship with photographic semiotics, and their symbolic value.

The spirit that cloaks photography has similarities and differences with that which accompanied the birth of photography in Europe, if only for the fact that it was a Western invention exported in a colonialist way to those distant lands.

Obviously, nowadays, cultures, feelings, and traditions are slowly – and sadly – homogenizing.

Social media brings a housewife from Milan closer to a mango picker on a plantation in any Indonesian village in the blink of an eye.

But certain convictions remain under the skin, they are difficult to disappear completely. Perhaps those who grew up listening to the superstitions or fears of their parents or grandparents find it difficult to put them aside altogether.

And these subconscious beliefs are very difficult to understand or predict.

King Rama IX in a classic image

I experienced it on my skin recently.

Given that, as many of you know, I always try to study and learn as much as possible about the cultures that I love and that I represent with my photographs, the harsh truth is that, however, it is not easy to be aware of everything – it would even be boring life if it were that easy to exhaust complete knowledge of something.

Learning new information is always good, of course, the way in which it is learned also counts.

Following an event at the Thai Embassy a couple of weeks ago, I posted some portraits I had taken of a woman in a wonderful traditional dress in which she also danced.

She liked her first photos very much; we became friends on Facebook and she thanked me.

Since it was the third photo that I posted of her, I decided on one last portrait, but in a different style. Inspired by the beauty of her very refined face and the wonder of her dress I posted a portrait in black and white, slightly sepia, recalling the charm of the ancient Siam postcards that I love to collect.

To my enormous surprise I noticed the next day that the woman had unfriended me and, in the messages, I found two lines with a crying emoticon in which she explained to me that in Thailand black and white photos are used for deceased people.

…!?

 

I was speechless: I immediately removed the photograph because I always respect the feelings of those portrayed in it, then I apologized, trying to make her understand that it was certainly not my intention and that it was something I was completely unaware of. I know well that in Thailand each day of the week has a specific color and that Monday has yellow, the color that represents the monarchy as it was the birthday of the beloved King.

But I didn't know that black and white is the color of the dead even if it's not so absurd to imagine it.

After all, white, unlike our culture, in Asia is the color of funerals and mourning, but so is black. Put together I think they are a direct reference to disappearance and death.

I asked other Thai friends to confirm this but they answered that it depends on the mentality, unlike the yellow color which is a fact for every Thai, the one on black and white photos is not a common belief.

I also searched on the internet but no one talks about it.

What is certain is that, to those who have read it, Scianna's writings immediately come to mind, the memories of his childhood with his father who made portraits of deceased people for the photo on the tombstones. And how photography was seen, in the Sicilian village at that time, as a way “to kill the living and resurrect the dead”.

Deep down, I understand that woman, which is why I removed the portrait even though I liked it very much and also the others. Photographs, especially portraits, have magical power and may be able to magnetically attract our fears and joys.

And I won't deny that even my boundless love for colors can hide a distant melancholy that black and white arouses in me as if it were actually a fragment taken from life that is a live flow of color.

 

I finally learned a new thing and shared it with my photographer friends. Then obviously everyone thinks with their own head, in the future I will be able to meet dozens of Thai women who will love my black and white portraits, for sure – from now on – I will always ask first.

The magical power that photographs exert on our psychologies imbued with beliefs and suggestions remains confirmed.

 

For those wishing to delve into the history of photography in Asia, I once again recall the fundamental book by Zhuang Wubin: “Photography in Southeast Asia: A Survey” (NUS Press - National University of Singapore, 2016)

Italian version