In this issue of The Monochrome Chronicles I turn my focus to hilltribes in Chiang Mai Province in northern Thailand, which in a way was the predecessor of my series about hilltribes in the Nam Ou Valley of Laos (see episode #12) and later on those in Nepal (see episode #15). My introduction to Thai hilltribes in 2005 was unplanned. On a tour of the countryside surrounding Chiang Mai, one of the destinations was a Hmong village in the mountains. For me, it was a bit of an Alice-through-the-Looking-Glass experience. I had not imagined that such cultures still existed in the 21st century but my photographer’s imagination was kindled.
I returned to Chiang Mai several times over the years and the results were exceptionally rewarding, though I still feel that I’ve only scratched the surface. In my more recent visits to the hilltribes, I focused more on portraiture and the villagers. I’m not sure that this was a conscious decision. And, as usual, I don’t want to analyze this. It just happened.
For those who are accustomed to urban life, this image may seem unusual. For hilltribe members it would be an altogether common sight. And that is the point of the photograph. We see what we want to see. As a photographer, I see things differently. The trees become symbols of life in a village. The trees are not stationary but rather they seem to be waiting. The heat of the afternoon sun is almost palpable. The scene is kinetic.
Near the village, this woman was tending her cow which was tethered to a stake outside her house. She posed for me while sitting in the shade of a lean-to attached to the house. Only much later did I begin to wonder why she would have been wearing so much jewelry while she was attending to her cow and chickens in the front yard. She seemed to enjoy posing for me and laughed a lot during the while.
The heavy reliance on the middle gray scale makes this portrait stand out. The oval framing device from her headscarf and the strings of white beads focuses attention on her entire face. Superficially her face may seem passive but actually she shows a sense of deep emotion. Her eyes betray a sadness but at the same time her mouth gives the hint of a suppressed smile. This is an understated portrait and that is the strength of the photograph.
For the hilltribes in Chiang Mai, like those in the Nam Ou valley, farming is a major industry – mostly done by hand. This man was a corn broker. He would buy corn from the farmers and then sell it to factories for processing. He and his two co-workers were loading bags of corn onto his truck, talking jovially and laughing, and occasionally breaking out in song. May I take your photograph? “Sure, sure, why not?” he replied and laughed some more. This man’s cheerful outlook infuses this image.
Some of the villages consist of only a few families, maybe six or eight in all, with their homes clustered close together, usually near a river or stream. In other villages such as this one, the houses are spread out along the road. This village was a bit more prosperous than others I’ve visited. The mood in this image is rather static but still appropriate. The afternoon heat was stifling – discouraging outdoor activity. The composition of the image is conventional except maybe for the dirt road curving into the midground.
The village is quite isolated from any other villages in the area, and indeed from mainstream Thailand, and somehow this isolation is reflected in this image. The woman’s demeanor is stern and the look in her eyes betrays a wariness. She hardly took any notice of me or my camera. I wonder what thoughts lay hidden behind her mask-like face.
A roadside stand selling fruits, vegetables, and local crafts. Where is the road? This is the view from the back of the stand. Under the thatched roofs, goods were displayed on simple wood tables, and there seemed to be more vendors behind the tables than customers, at least on this occasion. The venders sat quietly, socializing. For me, an unusual item on sale was banana flowers, actually more fruit than flower. Curiously, the focal point of the image – those thatched-roof pole buildings – are in the background. They seem to float over the field of grass. This unusual composition leaves the viewer seemingly at a distance from the roadside stand. Which also was my point of view as the photographer…an outsider.
Ban Mae Lan Kham is a village that stands at the end of a rough, narrow one-lane dirt road. It is the home of 19 families who are from the Karin ethnic group. I had lunch of fresh avocado, steamed pumpkin with sesame sauce and sticky rice in a two-room bamboo hut built on stilts. Visitors from the outside world are, I believe, rare in this village. In an ironic reversal of roles, my visit that day raised the curiosity of several residents of the village. This man’s open face reflects his curiosity, I think.
Generally, all the people in each village are from the same ethnic group. The people living in the village of Baan Pang are ethnically Balong, who had moved to Chiang Mai from Myanmar. I found this woman sitting on her front porch on a lazy sunny afternoon. Her teeth and lips black were blackened from chewing betel nut, a habit common among some of the hilltribe members. The distinctive feature of this image is the openness that enlivens the look on this woman’s face. At the same time an enigma hides behind her eyes.
In another village, this 78-year old man and his wife were weaving baskets on their front porch. The man was cutting bamboo into fine strips and smoothing them with the edge of his knife. His wife was weaving the baskets by hand from these thin bamboo strips. In this portrait of the husband, his sense of contentment shows in his face, I think. In this case, I spent quite some time photographing this man – the situation, the man’s face and the early-evening light seemed just right – and throughout the man ignored me and my camera. My patience was rewarded by this low-key but intimate portrait.
Their neighbor had stopped by to chat. The neighbor, in contrast was a lively and expressive talker who engaged the basket weaver in a mostly one-sided conversation. He had an especially expressive face. Like his friend, he largely ignored me and my camera, thereby allowing a more casual portrait.
The way of life in these villages has hardly changed from generation to generation, or so it seems. Sitting by a roadside stand in a Lizu village were this 83-year-old man and two women who were selling vegetables. He volunteered to show me around the area where they lived. “…[He] showed me the kitchen house, a single-room hut, rather spacious, with slatted bamboo walls. Some cupboards, tables and a gas ring stove made up the furnishings. The old man explained that originally they lived in this house but now it was [used] only as a kitchen.” (My travel log for 2016) The features of this man’s face are distinctive: wide-set sunken eyes, prominent cheeks and a long flat nose. His affect was rather flat. In sum, the result is a haunting portrait.
This 80+ year old man lived alone in a large two-room house. He was a little reluctant to come outside but, once there, he became very loquacious. “[He] talked incessantly, offering a Buddhist good-luck chant to the guide, thanking him for bringing a new friend to the village – me. He introduced me to his several dogs and his pet pig. Then [he] showed me how he smoked his over-sized pipe. I assumed he was smoking…tobacco.” (My travel log for 2018) Many elements of the composition in this image draw the viewer’s attention to this man’s eyes, the most expressive feature of his face. Partly this is due to the unconventional angle of view – from slightly below. His hand gesture, too, contributes to the mood. Overall, this is a sympathetic portrait of the man.
Another still life image. By the way, this is how I found the scene, I didn’t arrange it. As in the Nam Ou valley of Laos, weaving is a major industry for the hilltribes in Thailand. In this instance, weaving was a group activity. About six or eight looms occupied a weaving pavilion, with a thatched roof and open sides. The simplicity of the weaver’s work life is evident in this image, I think. The long steady hours of sitting at the loom, using both hands and both bare feet, is not evident. On the surface, this would be a pleasing still life image. The context of the setting produces a deeper impression.
Portrait of a Hmong woman from Doi Pui Meo village in Chiang Mai province. This woman was wearing traditional costume and carrying goods in a basket on her back in the traditional style. Was this her daily life, I wonder? The village was a joint project between the Hmong community and the Thai government to preserve and promote hilltribe culture. So yes, in part this was her daily life and in part this was a living museum – a museum where hilltribe people actually live and work. The unseen presence is Thailand’s Queen Mother whose life-long goal was to improve the quality of life for hilltribe people, teaching them the value of abandoning their illegal and destructive reliance on growing opium and turning instead to more productive and self-sustaining ways of life.
So, my impressions (mostly via portraits) of hilltribes in Thailand. Although my introduction to them was nearly 20 years ago, most of my encounters with them have been more recent. I wrote in my travel log at the end of my trip to Chiang Mai in 2016: “Last night I wondered, have I found a new theme for photography: village people. Certainly something started in Kathmandu [Valley]. Last night I felt about the hilltribe villages the same as I felt about the villages in Kathmandu. I was there but I was not there. I was an outsider but the villagers accepted me as a visitor. As a photographer I am usually an outsider. I have to listen to my own voice.”
Sometimes I wonder what has drawn me back again and again to Chiang Mai and the hilltribes? I am trying to get farther off the beaten track, but it is more than that. With the hilltribes I could witness a way of life that is radically different from mine. The pace is slower and the environment is quieter. Then, too, the hilltribes of Chiang Mai are part of a larger arc that I am pursuing – from the Nam Ou Valley in Laos, to Chiang Mai in Thailand, and then to the mountain villages of Nepal.
On one level, my motivation for pursuit of these cultures stems from my little inner voice and my camera. I derive a great deal of satisfaction from taking photographs but my motivation goes deeper than that, I believe. I am on a personal journey of discovery, of exploration. I sense that, though I enjoy the benefits of modern urban life, still something is missing – just what is missing is uncertain. The hilltribes in Thailand, in Laos and in Nepal hold the key. They have retained something that we as so-called modern technological urbanites have lost. That is what I’m searching for in these photographic ventures.
