Trouble October 2017

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ROMANCING THE SKULL Art Gallery of Ballarat (VIC) 14 October 2017 – 28 January 2018 IMAGES IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE: Paul Sloan, Still life #5 2014, pigment print on hahnemuhle photo rag © The artist, image courtesy of Hugo Michell Gallery. eX de Medici, Skinny day ambush 2007, watercolour on paper.

Collection Museum of Old and New Art (Mona), Hobart. copyright Ex de Medici, represented by Sullivan + Strumph.

Jose Guadalupe Posada, Calavera del Cine, print on woven paper. Private collection. Tramond & Co, Exploded skull model with glass dome, nineteenth century. Harry Brookes Allen Museum of Anatomy & Pathology, The University of Melbourne. Sam Jinks, Divide (Self portrait) 2011, mixed media. National Portrait Gallery © Sam Jinks. Daniel Boyd, Jolly Jack 2005, oil on canvas. Collection National Gallery of Australia, Canberra. Purchased 2006 © The artist. Ben Quilty, Alchemy 2005, oil on canvas. Sargon & Molloy collection. artgalleryofballarat.com.au

CONTENTS ROMANCING THE SKULL

Art Gallery of Ballarat ...............................................................................

COMICS FACE

Ive Sorocuk ..............................................................................................

THE MADNESS OF ART: THE TASMANIAN MUSEUM OF ANTIQUITIES (AND MINIMAL ART)

Jim Kempner ...........................................................................................

CONVERSING IN TONGUES: POWER BALLAD & AMKA

Robert Ruckus .........................................................................................

WHIMSICAL MAYHEM & CONCEPTUAL METAMORPHOSES: PERSONAL STRUCTURES - OPEN BORDERS

Tiziana Borghese ....................................................................................

OCTOBER SALON

Ocular .......................................................................................................

FINDING THE ART IN PHUKET – THE ART OF EATING

Anthony S. Cameron ...............................................................................

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COVER: Belinda Wiltshire, The Huxleys in Red (Portrait of Garrett and Will Huxley) (detail) 2017, oil on board. Black Swan Prize for Portraiture, presented by ARTrinsic Inc, Art Gallery of Western Australia, Perth Cultural Centre, Perth (WA), 1 – 27 November 2017 - www.artgallery.wa.gov.au Artist site - belindawiltshire.com Issue 150 OCTOBER 2017 trouble is an independent monthly mag for promotion of arts and culture Published by Trouble Magazine Pty Ltd. ISSN 1449-3926 EDITOR Steve Proposch CONTRIBUTORS Ive Sorocuk, Jim Kempner, Robert Ruckus, Tiziana Borghese, Anthony S. Cameron, love.

GET from AppStore FOLLOW on issuu, facebook & twitter SUBSCRIBE at troublemag.com READER ADVICE: Trouble magazine contains artistic content that may include nudity, adult concepts, coarse language, and the names, images or artworks of deceased Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people. Treat Trouble intelligently, as you expect to be treated by others. Collect or dispose of thoughtfully.

DIS IS DE DISCLAIMER! The views and opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of the publisher. To the best of our knowledge all details in this magazine were correct at the time of publication. The publisher does not accept responsibility for errors or omissions. All content in this publication is copyright and may not be reproduced in whole or in part in any form without prior permission of the publisher. Trouble is distributed online from the first of every month of publication but accepts no responsibility for any inconvenience or financial loss in the event of delays. Phew!

This comic first appeared in Trouble December 2014

art comedy series

The Tasmanian Museum of Antiquities (And Minimal Art) Jim falls for an early minimalist art masterpiece – literally. visit: themadnessofart.com

Conversing in Tongues Robert Ruckus

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I hate silence. Or maybe it’s just that I am afraid of it …

There is much to be said about language; at times reflecting passion or grief with precision, and at others a spasmodic sprawl of nonsensical madness, merely scratching the surface of a feeling’s true intent. While society has been well versed, bred and developed by utilising language as a precursor to existence, placing your gender, race, and status into the hands of predetermined structures, what if your internal language does not reflect the external options for conversation? You craft a new language.

That concept – a new language – is almost pornographic. Overcoming the habit of using words to converse about thoughts, feelings, impressions, facts, fears and desires is an obscenely monumental task. Faced with such a prospect we have to ask, what the fuck is acceptable? Who am I? What am I, truly, beyond my skin?

Can you hear me?

We live in an age of constant communication, where – though you are encouraged to use your voice (unless it fails to align to what society determines to be appropriate or acceptable) – an abundance of noise drowns you out. Yet being challenged with conversation is always exciting, sinking like teeth beneath the flesh, taking hold over you possessively and urging you to reply in kind. Such is the motivation of a performer in placing themselves front and centre in an attempt to communicate, hoping it penetrates through flesh, bone and blood cells, for which time is the most crucial exchange.

It was with all of this in mind that I recently embraced two separate shows, both urging a modern conversation and discussing topics long gestating yet rarely given a true platform for discussion. AMKA: Narratives from the African Diaspora (Arts Centre, Melbourne, 22-23 September 2017) is the voice of African-Australians, and Power Ballad (part of the Melbourne Fringe Festival, Arts House, North Melbourne, 23 September 2017) is the voice of feminism. Both performances discuss language that enforces a societal view upon the protagonists. Both attempt to twist, dissect and deconstruct those very narratives, which are consistently used against them.

It is fascinating that, beneath the surface, both of these shows urge you, the audience, to: ‘talk to me on my own terms’. Choked, strangled, suffocated and surrounded by noise, these voices by necessity cut language into something unique. We are, after all, told to be unique, to be ourselves, to be true to our existence.

PREVIOUS SPREAD: Power Ballad photo by Peter Jennings RIGHT: Power Ballad photo by Andi Crown

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As generic white guy A it’s almost disheartening for me to attempt writing content for shows which I feel I may never completely understand, and how could I? I am not of colour. I am not a woman. I am straight. How could I even begin to comprehend the daily struggles within these people’s lives? I am a guest in their homes. I am listening to them speak, and listening is surely the least I could offer in return.

When a woman stands there crying out beyond the stage that she has been ‘patient’, that she has been ‘waiting’ long enough, and for how much longer? (AMKA) Or when she paints her face in silver tears, screaming truths, howling feelings, ensnaring both tragedy and comedy in an expression that asks you to recognise the absurdity of a society that forces her to define herself in words as simple as ‘feminist theatre’. (Power Ballad) Is she a creature meant to strike fear into us, or merely a soul deconstructing how language exists, controls and dictates a society’s views, shouting into its absurd raw face? The conversation extends beyond these moments in time to the truth behind these personally crucial outcries, between tongues, between fingertips as if you can almost hold it. These are conversations that stretch their hands out to you, demanding to be felt. So when I ask myself, who am I to truly comprehend your suffering? Who am I to raise my voice when I am being asked to listen? I already have my answer. It is felt.

Language is equal parts beautiful and absurd. You sit on a train. Traffic passes by, with passengers all the same but different, all trying to converse and find similarities while maintaining they are ultimately unique. What is shared in suffering is language, or “just words” as Julia Croft (Power Ballad) amusingly attempts to show us. Just words, how they pierce your existence, you cunt, slut, faggot. These are all just words, right?

The cast of AMKA reflect on how a word as simple as ‘black’ does not truly define them or their colour, let alone the concept of colour offering strange and unique discussions. To relate your identity to a colour doesn’t seem to work, and nor should it, for how does a tone or pigment define your entire personality? The same intention applies to Power Ballad’s argument that individual words carry a slew of language attached as connotations to its true definition. This argument is brilliantly conveyed with the birth of sex, then the sound of birth itself, creation, and rock and roll, sculpting your subconscious to recognise, discard, and repurpose those definitions, reclaiming femininity beyond ‘power’, beyond ‘words’.

The absurd is a slip of the tongue, so to speak, at least when discussing reality. Croft moulds absurdist rhetoric to her will as she penetrates the audience with sight and sound beyond language, adding a little extra sprinkled on top to prove her point.

A master of their forms, Croft (on stage) and Madhan (off stage) have weaved a hauntingly sonic piece that pulsates punk attitude deep into life, death, sex, birth, the primordial self, society, gender, bias, and ultimately language. Nothing is as poignant as giving you a chance to speak, yet nobody walks up to take the microphone, even when the karaoke box is playing. “I am alone.” The words beckon to the audience, urging them to sing along. Croft is both fact and feeling, fetishised, totemised, a vessel for communication, wearing her voice as a weapon. She is a catalyst.

Conversing in Tongues / Robert Ruckus

PREVIOUS SPREAD & ABOVE: AMKA video stills

In AMKA, a golden muzzle calls your attention to the voices beneath, yet each moment is ushered in by the reinforcement of the muzzle. Fetishised control, a sexy reminder that your voice – as unique as it may be – is only heard when its language is kept in line with what society deems appropriate. Sound familiar? Or perhaps you can’t hear me. Who do we speak for? As each muzzle is lifted we are reminded that it is silence we fear the most. Fear is a powerful weapon, to be used and to be overcome, regardless of how sexy the muzzle it asks us to wear is.

Power Ballad and AMKA: Narratives from the African Diaspora are two completely different conversations, but between their differences are similarities. They are threads that can be woven to understand our humanity, but they are also scissors ready to cut cloth into their own unique voices. I urge you to engage in these discussions, instantly more demanding, urgent, pivotal, and motivational than anything I could write on these topics. I am bound by words that cannot begin to command your attention in such a powerful way. Perhaps if I could touch you through these pages, then you may feel something more. The stage offers the audience more than an opportunity to connect and feel with these performers, it offers the opportunity to communicate directly, to take the time and listen to what are incredibly important yet entertaining performances, capturing the absurdity behind society now, offering a new dialogue, a new language.

I have heard you speak in tongues, but did I truly listen? While that question remains I ask you not to be convinced by my words, but rather to go and visit theirs.

Artist sites - juliacroft.com/ - artscentremelbourne.com.au/amka

Whimsical Mayhem & Conceptual Metamorphoses Personal Structures – Open Borders 57th Biennale di Venezia 2017 Tiziana Borghese

One of the many collateral exhibitions running in parallel to the 57th Venice Biennale is Personal Structures – Open Borders, curated by Rene Rietmeyer, exhibiting in a number of venues throughout Venice under the auspices of the Global Art Affairs Foundation, a not for profit organisation founded in 2009 and exhibiting at the Venice Biennale since 2011.

In 2013 I interviewed Mr Rietmeyer about the Foundation’s aims. At that time they were exhibiting only at the Palazzo Bembo. This year they have expanded their exhibition to include works at the Palazzo Mora, the Palazzo Rossini, the Palazzo Michiel and the Giardini della Marinaressa. The Foundation’s main focus is to organize exhibitions, symposia, publish texts on art and facilitate art projects.

Mr Rietmeyer travels the world to find artists who fit his curatorial vision. This year’s theme is Personal Structures – Open Borders. This expansion of gallery spaces has brought together over 250 artists from all over the world, including some well known figures like Joseph Kosuth, whose blue neon light installation against black walls, The walls in my room should be painted this colour, is a fun filled notable contribution. Also of note is the Chinese artist, Li-Jen Shih, whose bronze large and small rhino statues, videos and installations link the potential extinction of the rhino to humanity’s own vulnerabilities. He stresses the importance of learning to coexist in harmony with the animal world. His belief that the rhino is a mystic creature, a symbol of fortune and kindness, and that its extinction will somehow affect humanity’s future stems from a sense that the “circle of life” connects us all. His giant King Kong Rhino has a nobility, which displays the spirit of his Eastern philosophy.

At the Palazzo Bembo, Australia is well represented by five artists: Juan Ford, Chris Bond, Graham Hay, Peter Rosman, and George Tzikas.

Juan Ford never disappoints. His technical mastery and layered conceptual subject matter create intriguing and at the same time aesthetically beautiful works. Here his two diptychs are no exception. As you walk into the Ford/Bond room you are greeted by the first Ford diptych, which at first looks like a snake caught up in gum leaves.

On further inspection, Ford’s unique signature detail of intertwining his images with hyperrealist pieces of painted coloured masking tape draws the viewer in to conduct a closer inspection and analysis. Here the white tape seems to suggest nature being interfered with by human activity … or perhaps it’s the other way round – humanity being interfered with by nature.

The shape of the branch on the left suggests a serpentine composition, which leads the eye to the canvas on the right, a painted x-ray of a snake, which has swallowed a light bulb meticulously painted in white/gray against a black background. This, without doubt, is nature being interfered with by humanity’s thoughtless disposal PREVIOUS SPREAD: Juan Ford, A View With Duplicity (detail) 2016-2017, oil on linen, 122 x 107cm.

Courtesy of the artist and THIS IS NO FANTASY + Dianne Tanzer gallery. RIGHT TOP: Joseph Kosuth, The walls in my room should be painted this colour (detail). Installation image by Tiziana Borghese. BOTTOM: Li-Jen Shih, King Kong Rhino 2011. Photo: Li-Jen Shih.

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of rubbish. Life and death are intrinsically connected, light and dark contrasted from one canvas to the other. The first canvas is imbued with an intense white light, contrasted with the black background of the second canvas depicting the snake.

Ford’s intelligent yet playful dealing of deep philosophical issues in a unique voice unmistakably his own. His visual ambiguities create an intriguing metamorphosis between reality and fiction.

The hyperrealist diptych on the adjacent wall is of a man dressed up in a skeleton outfit, his head covered by gum leaves. The only revealing factor is a pair of sunglasses, perhaps betraying the identity of the subject as a self-portrait. This painting also uses the intense white light and photographic painting style of the first set, contrasted by a darker treatment of a still life, reminiscent of Flemish masters (dark brown tones, strong chiaroscuro, and momento mori subjects).

The first canvas has the Ford sense of humour and fun. The skeletal subject is holding a branch of blooming cherry blossoms upon which a little bird is resting. The second canvas of banksias and Australian flowers has an eerie quality, which contrasts with the whimsicality of its partner. Together, they emanate a surreal coded message. Like the first set these too suggest the inextricable linking of light and dark, life and death.

A faceless man is being devoured by Australia flora, suggesting subconscious pairings and associations with Greek mythology, where maidens are turned into trees to escape “evil” alternate outcomes – Laurels and Daphnes – and now in Venice Ford transitions from human to plant, or maybe it is the other way round. In any case the two works create a curiosity and aesthetic lushness, which cannot fail to impress.

Similarly, Chris Bond’s work is conceptually rich and full of philosophical layers, which entice the viewer to engage in an aesthetic and cerebral questioning of the binaries between perceived reality and subjective understanding. On one wall are two books, black and gray, in white frames. There is no writing on either and visually they appear identical. Is one a found object and the other a copy? Or are they both fakes/originals. The line between empirical reality and subjective interpretation is very thin. The original could still be in Bond’s studio, or they could be both fictitious constructs. Perhaps the fundamental question is not to hazard a guess one way or the other, but to embrace Bond’s established practice of balancing between the original and the meticulously detailed reproduction. Truth and fiction collide in a visual and conceptual intertwining as the material world fuses and plays games with our idea of art and reality. It is a kind of metamorphosis of materiality.

On an adjacent wall Bond has installed two library books at a near 45-degree angles, reminiscent of hunting trophies of deer, or the horse installations of Maurizio Cattelan. Some part of the book is chopped off as it appears to enter the wall. Bond’s technical mastery is evident in his treatment of detail. The library code … the library stamps … the crinkling of the cover through overuse … the strategic fading. The spectator is left to wonder about the degree of authenticity of each item. Again, truth versus fiction.

LEFT: Juan Ford, Devil Never Even Lived (detail), 2016-2017. oil on linen, 120 x 300 cm. Courtesy of the artist and THIS IS NO FANTASY + Dianne Tanzer gallery. NEXT SPREAD RIGHT: Peter J. Rosman, ATM installation (detail) 2017. 3D image: Filipe Barreira.

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Graham Hay, also displays a sense of fun and ambiguity. His installation of ceramic cones in an arch-like totem arrangement intentionally looks like the entrance to a secret tribal sacrificial site, like Hollywood imagined entrances in Indiana Jones or Tarzan movies. His video of the opening night adds to the whimsicality of the work as we see invited guests being given opening night drinks in individual cones taken from the installation, which they could then take away with them.

The idea of Hay’s interactive installation works on two levels. The cones were produced by his students, who shaped each one by hand, giving them their uniqueness. The students were then asked to sign each piece, giving them an individual authorship. Once installed, each viewer visiting the installation at the Palazzo Bembo could then reshape the grouping and take a cone away, until their supply of cones became too reduced and more had to be produced.

Conceptually, the piece could be linked to the works of Felix Gonzales-Torre, whose liquorice bullets could be taken away and rearranged by viewers. It is a rethinking of the idea that art should not be touched, only seen. In both pieces the look of the work relies primarily on those who choose to physically engage with it, so Hay’s everchanging arrangement physically and aesthetically is dependent on the collaborative creators and individual aesthetics of the viewers who feel the need to change the arrangement to suit their own artistic sensitivities. It is a type of relational aesthetics dependent on those who choose to collaborate (or not) in its organic reimagining.

Peter Rosman’s Tatlin inspired sculptures are a tribute to the working man and woman. Found objects as diverse as irons and trolleys are combined to bring together a movable work, which can be folded away and opened up, as in street art for the masses in Constructivist Russia. Visually stunning, they are reminiscent of children’s mobiles or miniature tin movable toys that were so appealing in the 50s and 60s.

On one wall there is a line of simulated ATM machines in various colours. Their contents are iron sketchbooks, rulers and drawing instruments, a segmented camera and various tool-like objects, which have a sculptural quality, but are also a reminder that art is commercial as well as aesthetic.

Finally, George Tzikas’ two oil paintings are rich abstracts with strong contrasting colours. His sole contribution to an artist statement is a poem describing the absence of light equating to suffering … this is a mental metamorphosis of colour and light, a mischievous play on subject matter which can only be resolved by each individual viewer. Like Dante’s Inferno they propel the spectator into associations with religion and the idea of being in a burning hell. Smoke, or mystic clouds, are illuminated with splashes of white paint … or they could just be representations of glorious sunsets. The artist does not explain, and that is its appeal. The exhibition closes in November 2017.

For more information on Personal Structures - Open Borders see the European Cultural Centre website - europeanculturalcentre.eu

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1. Damien Wright, Black Light House (detail) 2017, ancient red gum, copper wire, found glass, 1800 x 380 x 380mm.

Photographer Fred Kroh. Red Gum, Wangaratta Art Gallery, 56 Ovens Street, Wangaratta (VIC), until 19 November 2017 wangarattaartgallery.com.au 2. Anthony Lister, Beauty Spelt Wrong 2017, charcoal, spray paint, acrylic and oil stick on canvas, 113x269cm. Homeless Among the Gum Trees, Nanda\Hobbs Contemporary, Level 1, 66 King Street, Sydney (NSW), until 6 October 2017 - nandahobbs.com 3. Kawayan De Guia, Bomba (detail), 2011, installation comprising of eighteen mirror bombs, ‘Sputnik’ sound sculpture, dimensions variable. Singapore Art Museum collection. After Utopia: Revisiting the Ideal in Asian Contemporary Art, curated

by Tan Siuli, Curatorial Co-Head, Singapore Art Museum, Anne & Gordon Samstag Museum of Art, 55 North Terrace Adelaide (SA), until 1 December 2017 - unisa.edu.au/samstagmuseum 4. Geoff Cobham, Already Elsewhere (lighting test image), audience-activated model train light bulbs and dmx-controlled motors, dimensions variable. Geoff Cobham: Already Elsewhere, a Samstag Museum of Art and 2017 Adelaide Film Festival exhibition, Anne & Gordon Samstag Museum of Art, 55 North Terrace Adelaide (SA), until 1 December 2017 - unisa.edu.au/ samstagmuseum 5. Andrew Sullivan, Brown Goshawk 2016, oil on linen, 82 x 71 cm. Andrew Sullivan: The Birds of Earlwood, Galerie Pompom, 2/27-39 Abercrombie Street, Chippendale (NSW), 25 October – 19 November 2017 - galeriepompom.com 6. Greg Johns, The Observers 2017, solid mild steel, two pieces, 210 x 20 x 4 cm, edition 3. Greg Johns - Land Lines: End of the Line, Australian Galleries, Melbourne, 28 Derby Street Collingwood (VIC), 3 – 22 October 2017 - australiangalleries.com.au 7. Biscuits (inspired by Henna designs) | detail from “THE SITTING ROOM | Tea & Travels” by members of The Embroiderers Guild, Victoria (Mornington Peninsula Branch) originally exhibited in TALES OF CHRISTMAS TREASURES | Christmas at The Johnston Collection 2013, 2 October 2017 – 31 January 2018 johnstoncollection.org

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photo by Garth Hitchens

FINDING THE ART IN

Phuket The Art of Eating

by Anthony S. Cameron

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I wish I could wax lyrical about the great restaurants that pervade this strange little island. I wish it hadn’t been done a thousand times already, in a thousand different ways for a thousand different blogs and online magazines. Imagine how many free meals I would’ve gorged myself on whilst overlooking the dazzling Andaman Sea? Imagine the seafood banquets I would’ve been forced to endure in the search for the perfect lobster dish? Imagine the wagyu steaks I would’ve feasted on whilst dripping juices over my notebook. Imagine the tapas treats I would’ve inhaled on my way to the bar to order another signature cocktail as the house band banged out their worn-out melodies, which make me miss even more the vibrant music scene that is Melbourne, my home town. Imagine all those interviews with chefs I would’ve done after they’d finished their shifts, and the whisky shots had started talking for them, and the really good food came out. Imagine all those invites to openings of new restaurants I would’ve been compelled to attend, all those photos of me and famous people eating food that cost more than a house payment here.

All I can do is imagine, and it’s lucky I have talent in that area, and it’s also quite fortuitous that some of the best food here isn’t in those kind of places. It is in the streets, in the markets, and it is dangling off the side of a motorbike’s sidecar as you ride past. Often they will still have their BBQs burning as they ride, the flying embers spraying those in their wake, the ridiculously overloaded motorbikes straining under the weight of what is essentially a fully functioning portable kitchen. Thankfully, there are no health and safety bylaws in existence here to crush their entrepreneurial spirit.

For this is the food of the people, the ordinary folk. You know, the ones that build the ex-pat’s villa, do their gardening, clean their house, drive their taxis, make their expensive cocktails and brush the sand off their beach chairs before their well-fed, entitled arses spread themselves over it like a big, ominous storm cloud, blocking out all available light.

It would be a massive understatement to say that food is central to Thai culture.

It is no accident that people don’t ask how you are here, or not often anyway.

Rather they want to know whether you have eaten recently, for that is a better gauge of your state of mind and general happiness. Eating here sometimes leaves little room for anything else to occur. Sitting down to eat five times a day isn’t uncommon here, nor is the search for more food in between meals an Finding the Art in Phuket / Tony Cameron

uncommon activity. That is why the da laats (local markets) are at the centre of all that matters here. You don’t simply go shopping: it is here that you present yourself to the wider community. Most will at least shower beforehand, others will don the make-up, brush that long black hair and fling it around as they peruse what fresh treats await their insatiable appetites.

The local markets are where the theatre of the everyday takes place, where the face gets thrown out and the relaxed stroll, often with one hand behind the back, becomes the dance that mesmerises long after it has gone. The lighting couldn’t be more theatrical, with its tropical sunset hues pierced by the smoke of the BBQs busily cooking fish, pork, chicken and shellfish to perfection as a hundred fluorescent tubes hang above it all, waiting for the sun to slink behind the distant mountains so they can add their eerie illumination to proceedings. More importantly, the fading sun signals the beginning of the evening and another chance to eat. The soundtrack is Thailand in a nutshell, lots of musical raised voices full of mirth and lightness coupled with the barking of the stall holders alerting passersby to the amazing bargain in their path. In the background you will hear the ubiquitous thai bass line that seems to be applied to every song written here, coming out of a speaker system that could be yours for less than a thousand thai baht. Add to that the distant roar of that frenzied early evening traffic the same the world over, and you’re nearly there. It is the daily symphony composed by the spirit of the people and conducted by tantalising wafts of the various food that got everyone up on this stage in the first place.

And what a stage it is. Liberal use of food colouring renders the markets a visual spectacle, the haphazard, chaotic layout is like some kind of organic set design made up on the spot, a cultural soup full of colour and flavour, with an arresting aroma that dulls all your other senses, the ingredients of which you probably don’t want to know. The da laats are not for the faint-hearted or the queasy. Every single part of every single animal grown here is used in some way, and on full display. I still don’t know what most of those cuts are, and I get the feeling that I probably don’t want to.

So, if you want to feel the pulse of this place, if you want to see some of the most beautiful culinary art works this place has to offer, leave the hotel restaurant, forgo the beachside bar with its 99 baht cocktails and follow your nose, listen with your heart and you might just find the wild, beating centre of one of the most fascinating food cultures on earth.

ANTHONY S. CAMERON is an Australian ex-pat living in Phuket, Thailand, and the author of two novels, Driftwood (2014) and Butterfly on Bangla (2015).

His books are available on Amazon here. You can find his sculptural furniture on Facebook here.

PREVIOUS SPREAD photo by Tony Cameron. RIGHT photo by Roxy Cameron.