In this issue of the Monochrome Chronicles I will show you a unique corner of the world, one that maybe once was more commonplace but that, I fear, may be disappearing: local markets in Southeast Asia. They are a throw-back to the pre-digital era. Though this episode will cover a single topic, it spans a long period of time (11 years) and a wide geographic territory (9 countries).
These are neighborhood markets (talad in Thai language or ichiba in Japanese). Imagine if you will a world where goods are sold directly from vendor to customer. Everything is done by hand – no PCs or other digital gimmicks here. Sometimes the cash register is a basket suspended on a spring rope. The buyers and sellers negotiate the prices. Produce is weighed by hand on a double-arm balance.
Goods are exchanged between vendor and customer face-to-face, and hand-to-hand. Not only are the exchanges directly between vendor and customer, but often they are between neighbors. The markets form a social community as well as a commercial enterprise. I have come to realize that such markets retain an intangible element of social community that, unfortunately, too often has been lost in our so-called developed world.
Though the whole series covers many markets in many countries, for this episode I’ll focus on a few of them.
100 Years Market in Thailand. Talad Klong Suan, or the 100 Years Market, about an hour’s drive by car from Bangkok is a relic, like a living museum. Its history goes back more than 100 years as the name of the market implies. Presumably the market was a bustling place at one time, but now it has been neglected and is largely a local market. The market is housed in three old wooden buildings that have spaces for shops on the main floor and living spaces behind and above for the shop owners. The exterior walls are well weather-beaten and the interiors are dim and musky with age.
Talad Klong Suan was like stepping back in time about 40 or 50 years. This old man ran a sausage shop where he made the sausages by hand. I presume the young boy was his grandson. I wonder where the boy is now?
Other shops sold traditional hand-made goods like cookies and other Thai sweets, dried fish, pickled vegetables and so on. Green grocers offered fresh vegetables and fruit. In addition, some shops offered services such as a barber shop, a beauty parlor, even a television- and radio-repair shop.
The light in the market was a challenge for photography. The interior of most shops was dim with only a single incandescent lamp or two suspended from the ceiling. In contrast, the front of each shop opened directly onto the common area, which was flooded with light since the far wall was wide open to the canal and sunlight. While this lighting was a challenge, occasionally it yielded some dramatic images such as this one of the chemist in his shop.
The 100 Years Market, while hardly typical of markets in Southeast Asia, occupies a sentimental place in my photography. I can only imagine what it was like “way back then” but enough of the original market remains that it is easy to imagine. This was the first such local market that my camera and I visited, but the experience stoked my imagination and started me on an exploration that would continue for some 11 years.
I set out to find other markets – other locations and other types of market. This pursuit eventually took me quite far afield. On the way I discovered open-air morning markets and night markets, specialty markets such flower markets, local markets that serve the needs of a neighborhood, and even black markets. Despite their obvious differences, two features characterize these markets. One is the practice of face-to-face commerce between vendors and customers. The other is that the work is carried out basically by hand.
Morning markets. In the open-air markets, the early morning sunlight infuses the area, making ideal conditions for black-and-white photography. Ironically, I frequently shoot in the morning markets. Why is this ironic? I am not a morning person, never have been. Nonetheless, I have to get up especially early when I go to these markets. Often the markets open as early as 5:00 or 6:00 AM, and the vendors begin their preparations a couple of hours earlier than that. For this, I eagerly become an early morning person, knowing that the quality of the light will yield striking images.
At first my goal was to seek out morning markets in all the countries of the Southeast Asian peninsula. Then in 2016, I began to widen my area of interest, first to Indonesia on the east and then to Bhutan and Nepal on the west.
The morning market in Hanoi was rather small, only a couple blocks long in each direction on two intersecting side streets. The streets were narrow, and the vendors had set up shop on the sidewalks as well as in the streets. Awnings of plastic tarp hung overhead to protect the market from rain. As elsewhere in Southeast Asian morning markets, everything was done by hand.
Strong side-lighting created this dramatic image. The market was on a narrow street with 3- or 4-story buildings on each side so the background was in shadow. When the sun aligned directly with the street it provided strong illumination as in this image. The man was moving swiftly on his motorbike but my camera managed to catch him just at the right moment. This is the result of being at the right place at the right time, recognizing the possibilities, waiting for the right moment… and having a big dose of luck.
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Manual labor is the standard in these markets. Also, ice is in big demand, especially among fish vendors, since the stalls have no refrigeration to keep the goods fresh. Ice vendors start with huge chunks of ice and then cut them into ever-smaller chunks before delivering it to the vendors. Photographing in the markets requires a variety of techniques. Sometimes I stand in one place, watching and waiting, as I did for this shot. Other times, quick reaction to events as they occur is necessary. I don’t have a fixed agenda or viewpoint. I follow my camera.
This man was concentrating intently on his work and thus he ignored my camera. In this case, the exposure was just right to capture the lighting on the block of ice. It is the dynamic focus in an otherwise static image.
Usually, my photography in the markets focuses on people. On the other hand, sometimes the goods are laid out as if to create a still life scene. In these images from the District 4 market in Saigon, that special early morning light suffuses the scene.
The composition of this photograph is, perhaps, a bit unusual with a large empty space on the left side. It works, though, because the horizontal line leads the eye to the woman’s face and the basket on the right creates a circular whirling motion, bringing the eye back to the broad smile on the woman’s face. Taken all together, it is a quite dynamic image.
Night markets. The flip side of morning markets would be, of course, night markets. The difference, though, is not so simple. The people are different – both vendors and customers. I’m tempted to say that morning markets are the purview of women whereas men participate more in the night markets, especially as vendors. The mood, the atmosphere is different, too. Morning markets tend to be quieter and the shoppers seem to be more intent on their shopping. At night, the mood is more boisterous with more banter and laughter.
For photography, the most immediate difference is the light. Natural light predominates in the morning markets, and especially the open-air markets. In contrast, artificial light is the sole source of illumination in the night markets – which goes without saying. This difference in the light contributes largely to the difference in the atmosphere. Photographs from the night markets are much more dramatic, stark and high contrast.
The final difference, for me anyway, is in my technique. For shooting in the night markets, I use more of a street-photography type technique – shooting quickly and focusing on the subjects, with less attention to composition and other elements of style. For the morning markets, I can take more time and shoot more deliberately, in a more documentary style.
I guess I also have to acknowledge that I am basically a night person, and definitely not an early morning person. This is just my biology, my innate circadian rhythm. I am more alert and more free at night. Does this show in the photographs?
Of the markets I visited, the one that was the farthest off the beaten path was the night market in Yangon. The taxi ride from my hotel took about 20-30 minutes and the only clue to the location was a hand-drawn “X” on the map written by my guide who nonetheless left me to travel alone that evening.
I do believe I was the only foreigner there and no one else spoke English, but that was not a problem. We could communicate even without spoken language. I was enthralled and spent a couple of hours walking, looking, taking photographs. The market spilled out into the surrounding sidewalks, where I found small diners and even a barber shop.
I went back to Yangon the following year, specifically because I wanted to photograph the night market. The mood was different. The vendors basically ignored me. I spent quite a bit of time, and shot several rolls of film, but somehow the results were rather mundane. Either the situation is right, or it isn’t, and cannot be forced.
Another night market in Myanmar was the so-called Chinese market in Mandalay. This market was especially quiet, being held on a side street with few, if any, streetlights. Lights from the vendors’ stalls provided most of the illumination.
Local markets. I have found other kinds of markets, which I term “local markets.” Possibly the distinction is arbitrary but I find it useful. Morning markets close down by noon and by afternoon the streets and sidewalks have been cleared and cleaned as if the market didn’t exist. Night markets don’t begin until after dark and continue late into the night. In one sense, the local markets fill in the gap in between but the difference goes beyond that. Sometimes they provide goods that the morning markets do not, such as clothes and housewares. Sometimes they are specialty markets, such as flower markets and textile markets.
Probably just a moment of rest in a busy morning for him, but every time I see this image I’m reminded of the lyrics of a song by Jacques Brel that go something like, “In the port of Amsterdam, there’s a sailor who eats only fish heads and tails…”
This issue of the Monochrome Chronicles has presented a small selection of my series of photographs in the markets of Southeast and East Asia. The full series appears in the gallery “Ichiba” and in my photography book, “Talad in Southeast Asia ICHIBA アジア市場を探歩する” (Tosei-sha Publishing Co., Tokyo, 2021).
The markets all across Southeast and East Asia have proven to be rich fodder for my camera. This work is not strictly “street photography” but I have relied on the techniques I learned for that genre. Also, it has been a venue for exploration. While shooting in the markets, my camera and I developed a sort of rhythm. At first I would be overwhelmed. Then I would be drawn in. Sometimes I stopped to rest. Then at some point the experience would end. I would be surprised at the passage of time, usually 1-2 hours or more.
This series of photographs about the morning markets spans a period of nearly 11 years. Little did I know at the beginning how long the series would last or how far it would take me. I’m tempted to say that the series has a life of its own, that it just carries me along, I don’t know how. Without doubt, one of the motivating factors is the many people I’ve met and photographed along the way. Sometimes these are once-only chance meetings. Other times I go back to the same market and maybe meet the same people again.
My goal for this series is to create a window into the life of these talad, focusing on the people there as well as the social communities. During the series, I experienced an unaccustomed sense about the markets and their people, almost a sort of nostalgia. Perhaps this series of photographs will portray the spirit of the talad while they still exist.