Last Round/Now and Then

"A Monk, a Child, an Art, a Philosopher, a Weevil"

15 th June - 1 st September 2024.

1984+1 Gallery Suphanburi Thailand

"A Monk, a Child, an Art, a Philosopher, a Weevil" – the 1984+1 Gallery at Buranakit Rice Mill in Suphanburi is proud to present an evocative art exhibition that invites you to explore the myriad stories of Suphanburi. This exhibition features narratives interwoven through various dimensions of time and place, subtly embedded within the fabric of culture, community, environment, and human relationships.

Artists

Krittaporn Mahaweerarat

Kwanchai Lichaikul

Chalit Saphaphak

Trinnapat Chaisitthisak

Thanawat Numcharoen

Putsadee Sriamphunpluk

Pachara Piyasongsoot

Suparerk Nammontree

AKKarawin Arunmuang

Angkrit Ajchariyasophon

Last Round/Now and Then

Chalit Saphaphak

2012-2024

Digital Photography, Film Photography

Digital Print on Matte Paper

Dimensional variable

At the end of October 2011, my father had a severe sore throat. I took him to the district hospital and many other clinics. After one month, the condition was still not better. He got weaker day by day. So, I asked for permission to transfer him to the provincial hospital.

At the largest hospital in the city, the number of patients is overwhelming. There were lots of patients’ families standing or even looking for beds to lie down while waiting for the queue. My father waited quietly for hours until it was his time. The doctor examined him quickly and offered him an endoscopy and biopsy.

After one week, “Uncle, you got cancer at the esophagus. I'll make an appointment for the percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy”, the doctor answered after the biopsy.

The weakened body caused by not being able to eat properly could not be treated with surgery, chemotherapy or even radiation. The percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy was the only way to recover his health for the next treatment.

After the percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy, the doctor transferred my father to proceed the treatment at Lopburi Cancer Hospital. We had to travel back and forth between Suphan Buri and Lopburi every week. Here, there was modern medical equipment and a good management system. The cancer patients were from various provinces. Patients with financial problems could also access the effective medical equipment. Many patients whom we met were getting better and some were nearly completely cured.

It has been months since the food didn’t pass through my father’s mouth into his stomach. He was fed through the tube instead of the esophagus that was clogged by the cancer.

“I want to eat Sadao Nampla with hot cooked rice”, my father often said. It was a simple dream of a patient. No matter how luxurious the food was, if it was blended and fed through the esophageal tube, it couldn’t be compared to the real food coming through the mouth like normal people.

After four months, my father’s condition got worse and worsened. Looking into my father’s eyes through the camera lens, I could clearly see my father’s heart. He accepted his fate and had no fear, only his concern for the family.

On February 13, 2012, I was on the bus of Bangkok-Suphan Buri route. It was the longest journey of my life. It was the saddest journey ever. The hundreds of kilometers distance were filled with tears as I knew I had to live in this world without “my father” anymore.

After my father passed away, many things lost their importance. The fields that once thrived under his care now lie fallow, abandoned without his skilled hands and people like him to revive them. It’s like the song “Roi Tai Prae” by Kan Kaewsuphan that my father loved: “This rice field has no meaning.” Indeed, it holds no meaning for us anymore. No one can breathe life back into it.

My life is no longer intertwined with rice fields, golden cobs, straw piles, mud, crabs, and fish as it was in my childhood. I no longer walk along the fields, catching crabs and using them as bait for fishing. His grandchild, born just a few years ago, will be even further removed from these memories. Perhaps this is what my father’s generation wanted—to spare us from the life of farmers.

In this new world without my father, as I watch my son grow, I am learning new lessons. As Arak Aapakasa wrote in his song: “Death who leads to birth,” a simple truth of life we all must face.