IT IS A COMMON assumption that there were few local art photographers in Southeast Asia during the post-WWII era. If we take the notion of ‘art’ to be what we understand today as ‘contemporary art’’, then the idea is not inaccurate, even though the concept of contemporary art (especially with reference to the medium of photography), has just begun to be discussed within certain countries in Southeast Asia. The Loke Legacy: The Photography Collection of Dato Loke Wan Tho, the keynote exhibition during the short-lived KL International Photography Biennale in 2005, provides an unexpected starting point for a regional perspective. It is ‘unexpected’ because this was not the aim of the retrospective. Indeed, when Loke Wan Tho amassed in the 1950s a collection of 539 photos by 173 photographers from 25 countries, possibly the largest collection of Pictorial photography in the world, he was not trying to stake a case for the vibrancy of art photography in Southeast Asia. He was trying to collect what he liked, which was Pictorialism, the style of his era. In the process, Loke bought and received – through donations by photographers – works by artists in China and Southeast Asia. As a result, observations can then be made from the collection. With regards to Southeast Asia, it is a pity that co-curators Alex Moh and Li-En Chong only provided brief biographical notes of a handful of photographers from Malaysia and HK featured in the retrospective.
On the other hand, the work of Singaporean curator Bridget Tracy Tan on local photographer Yip Cheong Fun provides a valuable addition to our understanding of post-WWII photography on the island-state. In the curator’s account, Hong Kong-born Yip embraced and took ownership of his adopted homeland of Singapore through photography, documenting the state’s metamorphosis in the 20th century. Compared to Tan’s work, this article is much less ambitious. In the process of researching contemporary Southeast Asian photography, I chanced upon the works of the late Chitt Chongmankhong in Thailand and Nguyen Van Thong in Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC), Vietnam. The aim of the essay is to provide biographical notes on these two photographers and to make a few general comments about their artistic careers. My source of information is based on the interviews that I have done with both of them. In a way, I am more fascinated about the socio-political and cultural conditions that had shaped their photographic practices in the post-war era. Hopefully, future researchers can build on this tentative attempt.
In Thailand, the royal family has always been a patron of photography. Not surprisingly, over a period of 37 years, Chitt Chongmankhong (b. Bangkok; 1922-2009) had developed negatives and printed photographs for King Bhumibol Adulyadej, or Rama IX. It is a well-known fact that Rama IX is an avid photographer. In his early years, he must have taken many photos for his development projects, says Ark Fongsmut, curator of the Bangkok University Gallery. However, even when the king is old and no longer as active as before, he is still seen with his camera on many occasions. It was while working at the Osathakarn Store along Charoen Krung Road after the end of WWII when Chongmankhong first developed the negatives of Adulyadej, who was then the crown prince. He continued to do so until he was 60 before he resigned from ill health.
‘The King seems to know everything from music to photography,’ recalls the photographer. ‘I was once invited into the palace alongside a few other photographers for a four-hour discussion with the King about everything from image composition to camera equipment! He treated me equally, even though I am Thai Chinese. If you stay in Thailand for four or five years, you will become Thai. I love Thailand in the same way that I love my parents.’
Chongmankhong’s parents Wai and Hiang were Cantonese migrants from Zhongshan, China. Growing up in Siphraya, his family made a living selling food and coffee. His father Wai passed away when he was around five years old. By 16, he was forced to stop school because his eldest brother who had supported his education at the Assumption College at Bangrak had also passed away. That was when he started working as a radio repairman in a Siphraya shop that doubled as a photo lab, earning about 12 to 20 baht a month. Not surprisingly, Chongmankhong quickly gravitated towards darkroom work. His mother did not object to his choice because the family was poor and she was glad that he could find work. Although Chitt Chongmankhong picked up tips during his work at these studios, his knowledge of photography was by and large self-taught: ‘On Sundays, we didn’t have to work. I would spend the entire day at the theatres around Yaowarat in Chinatown watching movies and learning about composition. Sometimes I would watch five movies at one go. Most of the movies then were from the US, with very few from Europe. If I was not at the movies, I would be out shooting. I also read some photo books from America.’
After leaving the Osathakarn Store, Chongmankhong and his brother set up a photographic shop in Siphraya before he established his own business – Chitt’s Studio – in the same area. Initially, his core business was in processing negatives and enlarging photographs. Because he had very little capital, his wife Maetini Chongmankhong, a Thailand-born Cantonese, helped him out at the studio and acquired over the years a useful knowledge of darkroom work. At one point, Rama IX tried to employ him as a photographer in the palace but Chitt Chongmankhong declined, saying that he would prefer to serve the royal family at his studio. Over the years, he also received advertising commissions and would eventually add studio work to his business portfolio. He retired some 20 years back.
‘Studio photography was not good business,’ says Maetini Chongmankhong. ‘Even though she might be 60, a Thai client would expect her studio portrait to look as though she was 30. Usually, we had to do a lot of retouching work. On the other hand, foreigners preferred a more natural look. It was easier in that sense.’Despite his hectic schedule, Chitt Chongmankhong continued to take pictures on the streets of Bangkok and Thailand. He did not drink, smoke or visit the nightclubs in his free time, says his wife. Photography was his only passion. It was not even a conscious attempt to keep a documentation of Thailand. He took pictures as a hobby, focusing on the scenery and daily life of his beloved country. And this is what makes his work remarkable.
‘Until the 1970s, photography was in the hands of the aristocracy, which made many family portraits. It is not easy to find images of the “native” Thai people, except in the work of Chitt, who was quite poor then,’ explains Fongsmut. Fongsmut’s observation seems to find justification in a short essay that Chongmankhong had written about Pictorial Photography: A photograph of artistic value is a picture that when viewed can induce explicit emotional feelings like sorrow or gladness. All in this world is in parity, for example, there is the sky and the earth, man and woman, good and bad, heaven and hell, hero and heroine. It is the same in a photograph, which has its salient and minor facets. If a photograph is able to pinpoint the salient feature and what is of subordinate importance, it could be said that the photographer has succeeded halfway.
Not surprisingly, the visual language of Pictorialism had influenced many of his pictures, although he had not had much luck over the years in photo contests, something of an obsession for salon photographers in the region up till today. While some of his images are overtly romantic, others do give parity to the commoners, like Kite Strings Maker (1961) and Siphraya Road (1955). In the latter picture, a lone cyclist struggles against the pouring rain. Why does the man not take shelter? What is the reason for his apparent haste? Furthermore, why did Chongmankhong bother to take this image, as the rain must have brought relief from the humidity of Bangkok and provided an excuse to be lazy? The motivation must have been internal because taking these pictures did not bring him fame and fortune.
‘Before Manit Sriwanichpoom did This Bloodless War in 1997, Chitt Chongmankhong was the first Thai artist to do photography – playing with camera techniques and cutting up his negatives,’ reiterates Fongsmut. His most famous image, When the Storm Comes (1960), features an image of muscular boatmen working at the Bangkhae Canal, superimposed onto another picture of raging storm clouds, thereby accentuating the drama of the final composition.
In 1995, he was conferred Thailand’s National Artist in Visual Arts (Photographic Art) by the Office of the National Culture Commission. Till today, he is one of four photographers to have received the honour.
Not unlike Chongmankhong, Nguyen Van Thong (b. 1925; Hanoi, Vietnam) continued to take pictures outside of his routine as a photojournalist from 1955 to 1975 for the South Vietnamese government. Growing up in Hanoi before WWII, there were already several Vietnamese photo studios, including Huong Ky. Like most Vietnamese photographers of his era, Nguyen learnt photography by reading French books. After working as a dentist in Hanoi for several years, Nguyen bought his first camera – a 6x6 Rolleiflex – in 1950. Naturally, most of the people who owned cameras at that time were fairly well off. As an amateur photographer from 1950 to 1955, Nguyen won several international awards. During the Viet Minh takeover in North Vietnam, many photographers moved to Saigon, including Nguyen, where he ended up working for the government because of the salon awards that he had received. At that time, there were around five photojournalists working for the South Vietnamese government and all of them were also salon photographers.
In the south, Nguyen worked in relative freedom: I was never sent to the frontline. My job was to document the political events in Saigon according to the demands of Prime Minister Tran Thien Khiem. The photographs and negatives were then sent to the PM. I didn’t think I was keeping a photographic record of Vietnam. It was also quite easy to work for the government because they had no idea of propaganda. They did not tell me what to shoot or what not to shoot. I was even sent to photograph the immolation of the Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc on 11 June 1963.
Apparently, the government knew in advance of the immolation and sent Nguyen to take the pictures, fully aware that the protest would discredit President Ngo Dinh Diem’s administration. Thankfully, Nguyen brought two cameras, which is why he still has a record of the tragic event. The photograph that the rest of the world saw was actually taken by AP journalist Malcolm Browne.
While working for the government, some of Nguyen’s images were also released and used by publications in South Vietnam. Before the reunification in 1975, there were some 10 newspapers in Saigon, recalls Nguyen Van Thong. Nevertheless, he found photojournalism rather boring, which was why, away from government assignments and during his 15-days of leave, Nguyen continued to take photos of scenery and portraits. His personal work does present a romantic vision of Vietnam, a sharp contrast to his professional practice. It is also possible that our sense of nostalgia is simply a by-product of the passing of an era, accentuated by our knowledge of the rapid changes that have engulfed Vietnam in the last 20 years. In his time, Nguyen merely selected and photographed what was significant in front of him. Voi Phuc Temple (1952), one of Nguyen’s first images shot in Hanoi, is particularly illustrative of this point.
Furthermore, the fact that Nguyen and his government colleagues moved effortlessly between salon photography and photojournalism suggests that these categories are, more often than not, labels. In fact, many of the ‘contemporary’ photographers today continue to adopt – perhaps even unconsciously – the visual rules of salon photography. The criteria for a good composition are pretty universal.
In 1975, the Viet Minh took over the south and reunification was completed. As an employee of the government, Nguyen was sent to re-education camp, where he declared all his past activities as a photographer. In 1983, after spending eight years in the camp, Nguyen regained freedom. Unlike many of the photographers in the south, Nguyen didn’t leave for the US. With the help of his old friends within the photographic circle, Nguyen Van Thong started teaching photography at the government-controlled Ho Chi Minh City Photography Association (HOPA) – something which he still does today. The bicycle in front of his house is what he uses to cycle to HOPA. The legacy of Vietnam’s pioneer photojournalist remains uncertain. Thankfully, in the case of Chitt Chongmankhong, his children have the economic means, commitment and freedom to ensure that his work is not forgotten.
ZHUANG WUBIN
NOTES
See: Li-En Chong and Alex Moh, The Loke Legacy: The Photography Collection of Dato’ Loke Wan Tho, exhibition catalogue, Kuala Lumpur: National Art Gallery Malaysia, 2005, pages 85-86, that touch briefly, for instance, on the career of photographer K. F. Wong from Sarawak, East Malaysia.Bridget Tracy Tan, An Ingenious Reveries: The Photography of Yip Cheong Fun, exhibition catalogue, Singapore: National Library Board, 2006, pages 10-14, Ark Fongsmut, interview by author, Bangkok, Thailand, December, 2007.
Chitt and Maetini Chongmankhong, interview by author, Bangkok, Thailand, March 17, 2009
Santisuk Chongmankhong, ed., A Compendium of Five Decades of Monochrome Photography Seen Through the Camera Lens and in a Darkroom, Bangkok, Image Publishing, 1998, page 272
Nguyen Van Thong, interview by author, HCMC, Vietnam, April 3, 2009.Nguyen Van Thong, interview by author, HCMC, Vietnam, October, 2007.
