“Imago” by Perth Harit Srikhao: Rewriting the Blurred Memories
“Can a moth remember its caterpillar days?”
How stable are memories? Are they sturdy snapshots of our past, or simply scattered clouds drifting away, eventually destined to fade from our body? And if we don't choose to cleanse our minds of them, how do these remnants impact the soul and flesh we carry in the here and now?
This question looped in my mind as I sat on the floor, immersed in Imago, the exhibition by photographer Perth Harit Srikhao. Known for works that explore everything from self to politics, society, and surroundings, Perth’s latest work fuses personal memory with his reclaimed right over his own photographs, interwoven with art therapy as a means to release unresolved fragments and reclaim ownership of images that were once taken.
“In the end, those paper butterflies, cut from the documents of unkind memories, will simply become specks of light reflecting on the floor,” Perth says. “I think healing works like that.”
Projected onto a large screen, the shadowed wings of a butterfly drift and flicker, encapsulating his journey through memory, healing, and transformation in a delicate interplay of mediums.
“It’s like a sentence that serves as the starting point for a conversation about trauma, memories, and healing,” Perth said as we sat down, pressed record, and let the conversation flow with the moving images before us.
Why does your work focus on memory?
“Honestly, I’ve had memory issues for a long time. Most of my work stems from fragmented childhood memories that have disappeared. I’ve come to accept this, but there was a time when I felt really unsafe, like missing memories meant something terrible happened, or that memories should be flawless mirrors of the past. But that’s just not how it works. It’s more like light that refracts and bends—it fades and changes over time.
“Our bodies hold these experiences, and the way these memories influence us is probably more important than their actual content because they’re always changing. Memory is fluid, like light.”
How do you process those missing memories?
“It’s like the body has its own way of drawing you back to memories it wants to revisit. That’s why I turned to art therapy. It’s interesting how our bodies won’t let us just skip over certain things. There’s a pull, this sense of ‘You can’t just look away.’ I think modern society is more open to this kind of conversation now. It’s a lot easier to bring up difficult memories compared to ten years ago.”
What was your experience with art therapy?
“At first, I wasn’t sure it would work. I’d tried talking to therapists before and had so many questions. The person who guided me through art therapy wasn’t a psychiatrist but a senior I knew, so it felt like an informal relationship, a bit more like a senior tutoring me for university. She introduced me to using art tools to access old wounds. It felt so simple I doubted it, but then I tried listening to my body, seeing where discomfort lived, and tracing it back to the source.
“I learned this idea from soma, observing your inner self. It’s about asking where tension lies and noticing the anatomy of pain.”
How did therapy influence this project?
“The project started from a collection of documents I had accumulated as evidence. I tried taking legal action twice and failed both times, so I was left with a mountain of material.
“I was angry about my images being posted online without my consent, and frustrated that no one was there to help. I brought the stack to my art therapy sessions, unsure what to do with it. We started by tearing the documents into smaller pieces and burying them in clay. That’s how I ended up with the first character in the film—a small, many-eyed creature which symbolized the people watching me. I was terrified of it at first, but through the process of art therapy, I developed a gentler approach to that material and could start reshaping it. Eventually, I transformed it into something new.”
What message do you hope people take from this exhibit?
“This exhibition is about power dynamics, especially between children and adults. I wanted to create a space where people can reflect on their own experiences, whatever those might be. It’s about collective hope for healing, rather than reliving trauma.
“I’m proud of this piece because the butterflies are made from over 300 sheets of paper, all cut from those documents. In the end, they become light. I think healing works like that, transforming the darkness into light, like these shadows cast onto the floor.”
“It works with dark, ugly materials, and then we let light in, which reflects those dark elements into something bright. It’s a transformation from a lonesome experience into light and shadow that creates a conversation.
“Every piece here is part of the process of trying to change what’s scary into something we’re no longer afraid of—turning terrible messages into paper butterflies, transforming frightening footage into a film, and making stiff photographs flow in water.”
Do you have a favorite medium to work with?
“Probably powdered pigments on paper. The negative prints in this animation are special to me. They don’t need to be printed, but I’ve been doing this since I was a child. It’s a way of seeing an image opposite to how others see it—a private view, in a way.
“In therapy, we’re often encouraged to use our non-dominant hand because we can’t control it as easily. With powdered pigments, the colors often surprise me. It’s like repeatedly going over something, transforming it. And when it becomes an animation, time flows from A to B. Moving forward is powerful because it lets us assign time to our own process, marking the past as something we’re moving through.”
Do you feel more connected to your past self?
“Yes, actually. The footage in the video is explicit, and my first encounter with it was in Germany—it was footage taken and shown without my consent. At that time, I was shocked and couldn’t process what I saw. It felt like someone else.
“That encounter left me confused, unsure of what was happening right in front of me. The child I saw didn’t seem like me at all. I couldn't comprehend why I was acting that way; it felt as though I abandoned this child completely because I didn’t want to engage—I wanted to erase it from my memory.
“During my art therapy sessions, I heard the voice of my past self. It was a gentle and polite voice, asking me, ‘Where have you been?’ It was as if I was reconnecting with that part of myself.”
“I used to refer to myself in the video as ‘that kid’ to keep my distance, but recently, I’ve started calling him ‘me.’ There’s this sense of reconnecting. From ages 18 to 28, I lived in constant fear. Even while creating this, I was still afraid, but then, out of nowhere, the fear disappeared."
In the end, those paper butterflies, reborn from traumatic memories, turn into shimmering light on the floor. Revisiting one’s past, rewriting memories with new perspectives, frees us from what once held us back, empowering us to reclaim our own narratives.
Imago is open until November 30, 2024 (Wed–Sat, 13:00–18:00) at Bangkok CityCity Gallery
Follow Perth’s work on IG: @haritsrikhao
