Sutiphong Sudsang or Khet (1999, Thailand) is a contemporary artist who grew up in a Khmer ethnic family in Sisaket Province, Thailand. He currently lives and works in Bangkok. His practice is interdisciplinary, with a strong interest in experimenting with diverse artistic techniques and media, including sound, image, installation, and interactive media. Through these forms, he engages with historical, political, and structural power dynamics in society by exploring collective memory, belief systems, and the lived experiences of people in marginal spaces—particularly within the context of Thailand’s Northeastern region (Isan). 

Sutiphong’s approach focuses on examining the relationship between individuals and historical traces that have been omitted from dominant historical narratives. He documents these traces through documentary photography and field recordings, which later inform the interpretation and production of his artistic works. 

Selected works include Ties (2022), which received the Outstanding Award in Photography at the Young Thai Artist Award 2022, and Phi boon (2025), presented in the exhibition Merely Encountering the Evident at HOP – Hub of Photography, Bangkok. In addition, Sutiphong collaborates as part of an artist duo under the name “PLERN VERN,” focusing on sound-based and musical practices. Their works include Kwan Oei Kwan Maa (2025), presented at the 2nd Phimailongweek Art Festival, as well as ongoing live electronic music performances alongside their artistic practice.

Can you tell us about your background and how you started your artistic journey?

I was born into an ethnic Khmer family living near the lower northeastern border of Thailand, in Sisaket Province, which is often said to be one of the poorest provinces in the country. When I was young, I was raised by my grandparents because my parents had to leave home and work labor jobs in the capital city. By the time they came back to live in our hometown, I was already a teenager.

As far as I can remember, I’ve loved art since I was a kid. Back then, my friends would always ask me to draw Japanese cartoon characters for them. Later, when I was in high school, I started playing music. I was really into the band Malihuana, and they became my biggest musical inspiration. Then I found out that Khai Malihuana, the singer of the band, had studied art at Silpakorn University. A lot of Thailand’s pioneering artists also graduated from there, since it was the first university in the country to offer art education. The moment I learned that, I didn’t hesitate at all—I knew I wanted to study there too.

Later, I got into the Faculty of Painting, Sculpture and Graphic Arts at Silpakorn University for my bachelor’s degree. That was where I learned not only about making art, but also about life. At that time, I still didn’t really know what kind of art suited me best. I was in the middle of figuring myself out. I basically said yes to everything—any project, any opportunity, I would take it.

Eventually, I realized that the things people asked me to do were often the things my classmates weren’t really doing, like lighting design, experimental music, photography, and so on. Most of the people around me were more focused on academic art practices. After doing those kinds of projects for a while, I started to feel pressure from my family, especially because graduation was getting close. The kind of art I was making wasn’t bringing in any income at all.

With one year left before graduating, I decided to start submitting my work to competitions. That year, I entered two competitions—and I won awards from both of them. I was so happy. From that moment on, I never doubted my decision to study art. My path as an artist became clearer and clearer, and so many opportunities came from choosing this life in art.

Many of your works explore historical traces and collective memory. How do you navigate the balance between documentation, interpretation, and artistic expression?

That’s a really good question. For me, it’s about how you manage your artistic practice. I think that’s where the charm of art really lies—there’s no fixed formula. Every artist has their own way of doing things. It sounds like a simple answer, but it’s actually not easy.

That’s why we often need a curator, or at least friends who truly understand us. I have one close friend that I hang out with all the time. We talk about both life and art. Sometimes I’ll ask him things like, “If I make work like this, how does it make you feel?” And sometimes friends can offer perspectives or ideas you’d never expect.

For me, researching history, going into the field, and seeing things firsthand are all really important. But then you have to transform all of that into something new—an artwork. My process is to first let all the information out. And honestly, you don’t need to study everything, just enough to truly understand it. Then I take it back in, process it again, and finally release it as a work that presents only an emotional experience.

When it comes to making art, you have to believe in what you’re doing and present it sincerely. To put it simply: you have to like your own work. That’s really it.

Can you describe how you approach experimentation in your work—how do new techniques or media emerge in your process?

I usually start with a technical area that I’m interested in or something I feel like exploring at that time. For me, the techniques I’m into can shift depending on the period. For example, I used to be really into graffiti, so I looked for ideas or issues to express through that form. One of my works from that time is called SA BAI DEE BOR. I painted that phrase on the street—it’s in the Lao-Isan language and means “How are you?” I hoped that people who are familiar with the language, especially those who have moved away from home, might come across it and be reminded of their hometown, their language, and the place they left behind.

When it comes to my process, I usually begin with a technique I want to try or learn first. Then, I experiment as much as I can whenever opportunities come up—whether it’s being invited to join an exhibition or applying for grants. Most of the time, there’s already a theme or a curatorial statement provided, so I start by interpreting that and gradually studying the context more deeply. From there, I gather ideas and material for the work, and then I combine them with the techniques I’m interested in.

Actually, I was first drawn to photography. I used to take photos of my friends and the landscapes around my village near the border. But over time, I became more interested in exploring different techniques and new forms of expression. Because of that, I moved beyond just traditional painting or sculpture and started experimenting more with materials and processes.

The stories from my hometown are very important in my work. In that area, there are traces of history and memories tied to the nation-state. So even though a landscape might look ordinary to others, for me it often brings up thoughts about past events that I’ve read about in history books. That curiosity eventually led me to develop my series Phi Boon (2025), which explores faith in religious figures known in Thai as Phu Mee Boon—people who claimed to be reincarnations of the Buddha.

The project actually started from a landscape image of a small mountain in the middle of a community called Phu Fai. At first, I was simply impressed by the image itself. There’s a temple on top, but at the base there’s a stone quarry and an open space used for drying cassava, which smells quite strong.

Then, that contrast made me start questioning things. It felt a bit contradictory. On one hand, the mountain plays an important role in the area’s development, but on the other hand, it creates dust and unpleasant smells. At the same time, there’s a temple sitting on top of it. So in a way, it becomes a place where faith and development coexist in the same space—which I found both curious and a bit ironic.

Because of that, I started looking more seriously into the history of the temple. That’s when I found out that the area used to be connected to a rebel movement during the period when Siam was undergoing political reform. On top of the mountain, there’s also an old stupa that has partly deteriorated, but even now, people still place stones on its base to make wishes.

This became the starting point for Phi Boon. Historically, these figures—Phu Mee Boon—gathered followers through religious teachings, telling people to worship stones and promising that one day those stones would turn into gold and silver. They also claimed that farmers wouldn’t need to work anymore, which eventually led to people abandoning their fields. As a result, they didn’t have enough rice or money to pay taxes, and this contributed to the formation of a rebellion.

So this body of work explores traces of history and belief systems that still exist today. Even now, people continue to use stones to make wishes, hoping for a better life in some way. The works include Bondage (2025), made from ceramic glazed in silver and installed with steel, and Forming Creating Dissolving (2025), a ceramic piece made from laterite clay—the same material found in the stupa—stacked in layers to reflect the act of making wishes.

At its core, my work is really about the border region where I come from. It contains fragments of history, and the way I present the work allows those fragments to connect with the present.

In general, my practice keeps changing depending on what I’m interested in at the time. Sometimes it’s very simple—I just like trying new things. It’s not really about being trendy or futuristic, but more about exploring something I’ve never done before, like ceramics, painting on different materials, experimenting with film photography, or screen printing. I think I enjoy this process because making something by hand and seeing it come to life reflects effort and intention. In a way, it feels like constantly challenging myself.

More recently, I’ve also become interested in new media, partly because I started making electronic music with a friend. That collaboration eventually developed into PLERN VERN, our artist duo focusing on sound art. My friend has a background in traditional Thai music, so he brings a strong understanding of cultural knowledge, while I’m more into new media and working with electronic devices. In a way, our practices naturally complement each other.

Also, on a personal level, I feel connected to this direction. When I was a kid, I liked taking toys apart and modifying them. At the same time, my father is an electronics technician—he runs a small mobile phone repair shop—so I grew up around that kind of environment. Because of that, working with new media feels quite natural to me. Another thing is that this field keeps evolving, and it opens up endless possibilities for further development—although, if you really try to keep up with technology, it can get exhausting.

Working as PLERN VERN has also given me more opportunities to experiment. For example, last year we were invited to present our work at the Phimai Long Week festival. Our piece, Kwan Oei Kwan Maa, came directly from this collaboration. We combined my friend’s musical knowledge with my background in visual art, blending the two equally.

The result was a sound-based interactive installation in the National Museum. The work responds to the audience—when people walk through the space, sensors trigger sounds recorded from traditional Khmer wind instruments. Because of that, it connects really well with the ancient Khmer artifacts displayed in the museum.

So in the end, the work talks about labor—both in the present and in the past—as well as movement and migration. It also reflects the journey of these artifacts, which have been brought from different places and are now preserved within the museum.

What role do you believe art plays in social and cultural change? 

I believe that when art is used in a creative way and when we truly recognize its value, it has the power to change society and culture for the better. As someone who works in art, I can clearly see that art can be a source of emotional support for people.

Some artists might say, “Sure, that’s true for the audience or the viewer—but artists are the ones who have to carry all the exhaustion.” But I see it differently. For me, art is a craft. It takes time to grow, and one day it blooms and bears fruit.

Even if you use AI, if you have the heart of a creator and you’re willing to spend time with it—if you find joy in the process each day—then art can still be a good companion. It helps build focus and wisdom. And for those who are truly passionate about it, art can offer hope.

What challenges have you faced as an artist, and how have you overcome them?

As an artist who grew up in Thailand and working in contemporary art or new media technique comes with its own challenges. In Thailand, this kind of work is not really part of the mainstream art market, and there are only a small number of collectors interested in it. Sometimes that can feel discouraging.

But making art never disappeared from my life. I’ve continued applying for grants and funding opportunities to support my projects, which means I don’t always have to rely on my own money to keep creating.

Another thing that has been incredibly important for me is community and networks. Having a network matters a lot when it comes to growing as an artist. Through that, I can also use my artistic skills to work on commissioned projects for others—most of the time with fellow artists in the same circle. That can mean helping with production for artist friends, DJing at social events, or being involved in other art and music-related work.

How do you manage feedback or criticism, especially in the context of public exhibitions?

For me, it’s a chance to reflect on myself. In one sense, I see having a public exhibition as another important step forward. The direction of the exhibition, the feedback, the suggestions, and the criticism all matter a lot to me. Some advice has even changed my life—not in a bad way, but in a way that pushed me to stay committed to making art.

Once the work is out in public, I think it’s up to the audience to interpret and judge it. As an artist, I’m open to listening to every opinion and criticism. But up to now, I’ve never regretted making the kind of art that comes from my own thoughts and intentions. To be honest, maybe I’m still a young artist too. I probably haven’t exhibited enough yet to face the really harsh criticism.

Text and photo courtesy of Sutiphong Sudsang

Website: https://sutiphongsuds.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sutiphong_ss/