Friday, January 22, 2010

Sompong 2009 : Daddy's Home by Sompong Sarasap

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Daddy's Home by Sompong Sarasap
on January 20 - February 10, 2010
at 9 Art Gallery / Architect Studio, Chiangrai

SOMPONG 2009

Daddy's Home

    In 1977, I moved from Chiangrai to Bangkok in order to Complete my secondary education and to, hopefully gain an academic degree.... The change in my environment was extreme for a carefree country boy who enjoyed village life. The city people were always
in a hurry and nobody cared to know each other. There seemed to be just, task, duty and going forward. When alone at the end of each busy day I wished that I could be home with my parents , my family , my friends and to be among nature ,trees ,leaves ,river , wind ,dogs ,chickens, etc, Bangkok is a 12 hour bus ride but was like going to another planet or a new dimension .During my 7 years in Bangkok I endured many days full of contrast and confusion. To survive, I would bury myself in my books ,write essays and paint with no end in view.
    I would often question myself about the upset to my social life and think of my past.
In 1984 I returned to Chiangrai , and hoped for a life of ,painting and writing every day and to follow my past, visiting friends.
    Many married and had children but still like to travel to the mountains. The life of the mountain people does impress me very much
and makes me think of my ego. I think also of the life of those minority Thais that is being invaded by civilization which causes so
much frustration.
    Ideally, I want my work to tell of the beautifulness of the life. It is 25 years since I returned to Chiangrai. I am now a family man with children of my own.The past seems like only yesterday. Planet earth is now a small world, where all are bound together. My birth place, Chiangrai, is not far from Bangkok, New York, Tokyo, Paris, or any other city. The windows of the country cottage have now opened to contemporary fashion. The dwellers in the condos and apartments are reluctant to reveal their nostalgia for the old ways, the
memory of the rice silo.

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