Gabriel Camelin - Video and Photography, Homelynestphrae 8/1 ถ.ร่องซ้อ ซ.3 ต.ในเวียง, Phrae (2026)

28/04/2026

Stéphane Peray is practically a neighbour, living one street away. I had been waiting for the moment he would finally let me in with my camera.
I was greeted by Angel, his wife, and by Bastet, one of their two cats, who kept us company while Nougat remained invisible. I sat down, and Stéphane served me a financier, a small French pastry, to go with my coffee. For a moment, I almost felt at home. As he showed me around the apartment, he started telling me his story.
Stéphane arrived in Thailand in 1989, after a short career in the French navy, and began working as a photojournalist. That made him a long-time observer of Thailand, its people, rhythms, contradictions, and curious expat community, a foundation that would later feed directly into his work.
In 1997, he sold his two Nikon cameras, turning the page on photography to dedicate himself to press illustration and cartooning.
In parallel, Stéphane also became a collector of indigenous art, mostly masks and sculptures, which fill his apartment and imagination. While he is mostly known for his press drawings and his satirical book series about farang expats in Thailand, Farang Affairs, his personal work moves towards something more introspective and spiritual, often inspired by animist, shamanic, and Buddhist traditions.
I kept thinking about his last exhibition at BACC, where I had seen him surrounded by paintings and totems with a raw tribal and graffiti touch, gently guiding visitors through the space. Back at the apartment, as I watched him working on a drawing for Farang Affairs, I couldn’t ignore the contrast between his caricatures and his spiritual art.
At first, these two sides seemed almost opposite to me. Stéphane is politically engaged, often intensely so, while his paintings reach towards something more positive and meditative. But for him, they are complementary, even essential to his mental balance. As he explained, political drawing and satire mean engaging with human stupidity; spirituality creates distance from it.
Before I left, he handed me a few photography books, a small reminder of the cameras he had sold almost thirty years ago, and slipped me another financier for the road.

15/04/2026

Last year, I was commissioned by Magazine B to photograph Michael Parker, the CEO and cofounder of Roadbook, at his home. It was my first time meeting Michael, but as a longtime reader of Magazine B, being part of this project was something special. Thank you to for putting us in touch!

Magazine B is a Seoul-based brand documentary magazine that dedicates each ad-free issue to a single iconic brand; published in Korean and English, it has been read in over 35 countries since 2011. Their 100th edition features Roadbook, a London and Bangkok-based digital publication that redefines travel as a form of creative exploration.

.b .b_en

14/03/2026

After work, I tried to figure out the best way to reach Poison Door from Salaya, on the other side of town. It took a while, and I arrived just after dusk, as the doors were opening.
Run by Bamby, one of my former students, and her team, Poison Door is a goth alternative bar named after a famous song by The Sisters of Mercy. Located near Ban Thap Chang, a few kilometres from the airport, the bar was quiet that night, with no events scheduled. But when concerts are organised, the place fills up with young artists, musicians, and students craving goth, post-punk, and darkwave music, despite the distance from downtown.
Bamby’s venue has become a small haven for her community, a place where people who mostly know each other online finally meet in real life, and sometimes even form bands together.
After graduating, Bamby helped her mother run the family restaurant, SRP Garden. One of the buildings already had some gothic elements, and she began imagining how it could become a venue for alternative music. Discovering Bar Dusk near Ari was a turning point. It was her first real encounter with Bangkok’s underground scene and gave her the confidence to propose the idea to her family. Soon after, Poison Door opened a year ago.
I actually discovered the place the same way many others did: through Bamby’s Instagram videos. She quickly understood that reaching her audience meant using social media. Active on TikTok and Instagram, she says many people first hear about the bar online, especially those who already love this music but never realised a space like this existed.
Bamby was quiet during the shoot. Behind her, her friends were headbanging and singing along, as if the two of us had disappeared. The place was theirs that night. Outside, only the swans and I could hear them.

09/03/2026

Two years ago, when the Thattong Sound music video dropped, my students wouldn’t stop talking about it. The video felt like a chaotic love letter to Bangkok youth culture, mixing street style, early-2000s nostalgia, and Thai pop imagery into a loud, colourful hip-hop spectacle. It eventually became the music video of the year. I never imagined that two years later I would be sitting across from Feifei, its director, in her house-office discussing her work.

She just moved in: The townhouse used to be a massage place, and some decorations left behind by the previous owner still feel like something out of Terminal 21. On her desk sat a colourful book documenting her 2016 thesis film "The Sweetest Sin", a surreal short mixing Thai mythology with a playful neo-Thainess aesthetic, an approach that still runs through much of her work today.

Her connection to hip-hop came after graduating, when she applied for an editing job at Rap Is Now, one of Thailand’s most influential hip-hop platforms. There she met YoungOhm, with whom she has now directed many of his music videos. For Feifei, hip-hop may come from the West, but Thai artists reshape it through language and poetic forms like kap and klon. In many ways, she feels her visual work follows the same logic, blending older cultural symbols with new visual languages.

When I asked about her process, she said the hardest part is always the beginning. Once the core idea is clear, the rest unfolds with the team pushing the project further than she might imagine alone. Sometimes everything starts from a concept, sometimes simply from an object.

Upstairs, Feifei has a small Muay Thai gym set up in what used to be a Moroccan-inspired massage room. Nearby sat a peacock-decorated lottery ticket suitcase she once used as a prop. It quickly found its way into our shoot. In the bathroom, a golden rhino stared back at me. “It was already there when I moved in,” she laughed. After a few final shots with her cat Orachun, I packed my gear.

On my way out, I took a final look at her place. Behind her desk hung a Monrak Transistor poster, one of Feifei’s favourite films. A quiet reminder of her next project: her own feature film.

05/03/2026

I was ordering coffee inside Tentacles Art Space, waiting for Wilawan (Waew). I didn’t realise she was already there, quietly seated behind a table, patching together fragments of a 3D-printed spine.
She lives nearby in a house shared with other creatives, and Tentacles, along with N22, a cluster of independent art spaces , feels like an extension of her studio. That’s where we began our conversation.
Wilawan grew up in a small village in Isan. With strong grades, her parents hoped she would become a lawyer or a teacher. Choosing art created tension at home, so she set out to prove herself through national competitions and scholarships, eventually earning a full grant to study at Silpakorn University. That was a turning point.
Yet university also exposed her to rigid hierarchies and hazing culture. She shifted to a Mixed Media major, which allowed her to explore feminist theory and use her own body as material. Through performance, photography, objects, and moving sculptures, she questions how Isan women are portrayed, exploited, and reduced within patriarchal narratives. Her work circles persistently around labor, gender, and power.
Walking through N22, Waew carried a mechanical female pelvis under her arm, part of Won’t Go Home Until I Make It, reflecting on the fragile ambitions of Isan women who migrate to Bangkok. While active in the capital, she remains deeply tied to her roots, working with three Khon Kaen–based collectives, Phifa Collective, Kultx, and Pootorn Connect, advocating for a more decentralised and regionally conscious Thai art landscape.
A few minutes’ walk away, we continued the shoot at the house she shares. On the ground floor, a 3D printer hummed steadily. Upstairs, in her compact bedroom studio, she showed me a comic drawn from her installation at the Thailand Biennale in Phuket, where mythical figures intertwine with the realities of migrant and Isan female labor. I took my final shots in that small room before she waved goodbye.
As I walked home, I wondered whether my next trip should be to Phuket… or to Isan.

24/02/2026

On a sunny Sunday last week, I sat at the back of my grab bike, down busy Rama III before slipping into an abandoned warehouse by the river. At the pier sat Bangkok Island , facing Bang Krachao’s jungle across the water, still green and untamed.
Run by Yuval and his wife Fon, the boat has been around for almost seven years, changing dock three times already. It wasn’t Yuval’s first adventure. In his twenties, he opened The Overstay , one of Bangkok’s most infamous underground venues. Influenced by squat culture and cheap hostels, he created a space where anyone could play music freely and safely, sometimes even sheltering migrants or people who couldn’t afford rent. In my own twenties, I spent nights there, ending up at improvised drum and bass parties or watching friends experiment with visuals and sound.
That was also when Yuval and Fon first crossed paths. Years later, when Yuval faced legal troubles, Fon left everything behind in Khon Kaen to stand by him. That moment solidified their relationship. They eventually married on the boat 5 years ago.
Yuval had long dreamed of a mid-sized venue, something Bangkok lacked. His idea was simple: turn a barge into a floating cultural space. Originally meant to stay docked without engines, Bangkok Island later evolved into a cruise boat. Today it hosts two main stages, indoor and outdoor, and on the pier they recently created a sandy “beach” with a giant screen for film nights.
At the helm, Yuval oversees creative direction and marketing, while Fon manages the team. She also DJs and occasionally performs fire dance. She also runs “Film Talent networking” with her young staff, connecting young filmmakers with industry professionals.
Since relocating to Rama III, they’ve been dreaming of developing the land around the pier, though finding partners hasn’t been easy. In the meantime, they enjoy the unexpected calm of the river. Otters and eagles sometimes pass by.
When I asked what they hoped Bangkok Island would leave behind, Yuval didn’t hesitate: “Good times. That’s all you can do.”

23/02/2026

On the last stop of my trip to Phrae, I was greeted by an army of dogs as I stepped into Godung Yaan 369 Creative Camp Space Run by Ich Khalyar and Porhor, it’s a playground where they manufacture “high energy vibes and beautiful content.”
Both originally from Phrae, Ich returned in 2019 and took over the warehouse once run by her grandfather as a to***co factory. She first transformed it into a Creative Camp Space & Cafe, at some point a surfskate park, and now operates as a creative space warehouse for events, galleries, concerts, studios, and theatre productions.
Ich studied performing arts in Bangkok, joined Academy Fantasia 6 in 2009, later forming the experimental band The Krrrrr with her friends before working in advertising and returning home.

Drawn to nature, space, and extraterrestrial aesthetics, she reshaped her grandfather’s land by building a UFO-shaped studio beside the warehouse. The idea grew so strong that she eventually turned the entire property into her master’s thesis in Entertainment Management and Production. After Covid, she developed a fascination with crystals, discovering they helped her focus and fine-tune her energy. Together with Porhor, she co-founded Cann WarpzZ, designing crystal jewellery and perfume. Porhor leads design and production; Ich handles marketing and sales. They knew each other in high school, but only began dating after she moved back. Their dynamic is complementary and grounded. During the shoot, Porhor quietly kept the chaos in check and made sure Ich looked her best in my photos.

Next door, inside WarpzZ Labs , her music studio, another associate wanders freely: their cat named “noname.” It’s here she records music and streams online, another orbit in her universe.

Beyond the UFO, on the same land, stands a small wooden house where they live, a cabin-like retreat reflecting their love for camping and simple living. Like many creatives I met in Phrae, they seem to have found something here: a slower rhythm and closer connection to nature. Yet slowing down does not mean shrinking. Especially not when your backyard holds a spacecraft.

14/02/2026

On the outskirts of Phrae, I went to meet Tul and Em, the couple behind Kum.tem House. Surrounded by greenery and open space, their home feels as if it stepped out of an interior design magazine. I was welcomed not only by them, but also by Monet and Dali, two of their eight cats, each named after an artist.

Tul and Em have been together for seven years. After studying and living in Bangkok, they moved to Phrae in 2022, exhausted by the city’s pace and wanting to be closer to Tul’s father during his illness. They returned to Tul’s grandfather’s house, built over fifty years ago, and slowly transformed it into a haven of calm and intention. The name Kum.tem carries layered meaning: “Kum” comes from Tul’s grandparents’ surname, Kumnak, while “Tem” echoes เติมเต็ม, to fulfill, and also merges their names, Tul and Em. The name reflects the way they complete each other, in art and in life. Since moving back, life has noticeably slowed. They meet fewer people, but the connections feel deeper and more deliberate.

Back in Bangkok, their relationship grew while exploring restaurants together. In Phrae, that shared curiosity turned into something tangible. Em transformed cooking into a profession, creating intimate, casual dining grounded in care and detail. Tul focuses on service and the guest journey, while tending the garden that supplies edible flowers and herbs for the kitchen. Their intention is simple: guests should feel like they are visiting a friend’s home, where even the cats are part of the experience.

I photographed Em by the dining table, then followed Tul through the garden toward a wooden door built by his grandfather, a craftsman whose presence is felt all around the house. As I took my final image of them sitting quietly on the floor, I wondered if their project felt complete. But in their mind, Kum.tem House continues to evolve, always seeking balance rather than perfection.

11/02/2026

On my last trip to Phrae, I stayed at a homestay run by a warm and curious family. I first photographed Kim, the daughter who generously helped me connect with other creatives in town. Her older sister was in Bangkok at the time, but both of them suggested that I include their mother, Waew, in my project.
On the morning of the shoot, Waew appeared dressed impeccably in a kimono she had made herself, serving me a generous Northern Thai breakfast. Entirely self-taught, she began sewing simply because she wanted to wear clothes that felt right to her. Over the years, that curiosity grew into a practice shaped by textile research, garment construction, and a deep admiration for Japanese pattern-making, which she blended with her own sensibility and traditional fabrics from Phrae.
In 1991, Waew and her husband founded their batik studio under the name Thaitor. Their early designs drew from natural motifs, gradually evolving into more abstract and contemporary patterns. This visual language was later carried forward by her daughter, Kansiri (Kik), who reinterpreted the family’s identity through her own lens. Under the name KANZ by THAITOR, the work became more playful and modern, balancing Western and Eastern influences while remaining firmly rooted in its origins.
After stepping away from her job and the busy life in Bangkok, the family slowly transformed their home into a shared studio, later adding a coffee space for visitors. What began as a house expanded into a café, a shop, and eventually a cosy homestay. Once a year, they open the entire space as a free annual market, offering small creatives and SMEs a place to gather, experiment, and share their work.
For the final portraits, Waew showed me one of Kansiri’s batik pieces, each handmade and entirely unique. I used it as a backdrop to close the shoot. Waew told me that while Phrae’s textile design has become more contemporary, its local wisdom remains very much alive. Behind the lens, in their home, it felt obvious.

09/02/2026

When I arrived in Phrae, I was lucky enough to be introduced to Kim, who generously helped me connect with several artists and creatives I hoped to photograph. We first met after a long bike ride around town. I reached Homelynestphrae, the family-run homestay where I was staying, just as the sun was setting, and took a few portraits of her in and around the house, the light slowly fading with the day.
After the shoot, Kim invited me to dinner with her and her mother. It was there, over shared food, that she began to open up. Raised in a family deeply rooted in crafts and the arts, Kim chose to study Media Arts and Design at Chiang Mai University. There, she developed an interest in mixed media, weaving together the handmade knowledge she grew up with and digital practices. After spending time working in Chiang Mai and Bangkok, she decided to return to Phrae to help her family recover after the floods of 2024.
Today, Kim moves between many roles. She works occasionally as a model and graphic designer, while also helping her family run the homestay, café, clothing brand, markets, and various creative projects. Being back in Phrae has brought her closer to nature, her family, and a “nerb nerb” (slow) rhythm of life. At times, though, it can feel lonely. Few people her age have returned, and even fewer work in creative fields. She misses the diversity and energy of Bangkok and Chiang Mai, yet she believes Phrae has real potential to grow, and hopes her family can be part of that revival.
The next morning, I photographed her mother first, who prepared what might be the best Northern Thai breakfast I’ve ever had. Kim then invited me into her bedroom, tucked inside her grandmother’s house. On the walls hung her designs, Riso prints, and illustrations. She showed me several works, including her thesis installation, that include a video of her grandma playing with objects she designed.
The following day, Kim was organising a photo walk in town with friends. I couldn’t join, but by then she had already done so much for me, by kindly connecting me with others and offering a generous glimpse into her world.

07/02/2026

On my last trip to Phrae, I visited several creatives. Kamon was one of them. After a short bike ride on the outskirts of town, she welcomed me into her beautiful studio, which she also shares with her family. Originally from Phrae, Kamon returned home after her studies to continue her research on Ton Hom, the plant used to make indigo dye. She did not return alone. Her life partner joined her, and together they chose a life closer to nature, embracing a slower pace that gives Kamon the space her practice needs.

The first thing you notice when entering her studio is the omnipresence of insects. Beetles, butterflies, and moths appear everywhere, in her patterns, designs, and objects. Insects are a central source of inspiration for Kamon, so much so that she fulfilled a childhood dream by building her own butterfly house. A few years ago, she started sharing short videos of her lifestyle on Instagram. Simply edited and unpretentious, the channel went viral last year, showing moments of everyday life: playing with her children, practising her craft, raising butterflies. Kamon feels that the connection between her work, made from natural fibres and dyes, and the nature she shares online is what resonates with people.

While we talked, one of her collaborators, Nim, was sewing garments nearby. A tailor by trade, Nim helped expand Kamon’s relationship with clothing, reinforcing the idea that there is no right or wrong way to dress, only what feels true. Kamon then walked me through her process, from Mo Hom, the traditional indigo dyeing technique of Phrae, to creating patterns using beeswax.

After I photographed her in the butterfly house, she showed me remnants left by her moths and one of her designs, a beetle-shaped backpack, which she casually slipped onto her back. Kamon often describes her practice as fragile, like an insect, something that must constantly adapt in order to survive. She is well supported in this process, surrounded by her partner Satang and their two children. As I was about to leave, her daughter shyly offered me a soft “Sawasdee Kha”. Her name was Indigo.

Gabriel Camelin - Video and Photography

28/04/2026

15/04/2026

14/03/2026

09/03/2026

05/03/2026

24/02/2026

23/02/2026

14/02/2026

11/02/2026

09/02/2026

07/02/2026

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