" Bloom with the Wind Blows (2024) builds upon my previous work, T36017 (2023), to explore the individual impact of war through the search for a specific type of grass used in the Sandon Ta ritual, a Cambodian tradition common in the border areas of Surin province. This ritual honors the spirits of ancestors by offering items such as food, clothing, sarongs, and photographs, along with daily objects like bowls, plates, and garments, to ensure their comfort in the afterlife. The ritual reconnects descendants with their ancestors, seeking blessings for protection. At the ceremony’s conclusion, 43 rice balls are scattered across fields and plants to promote agricultural fertility and good fortune.

          The flower central to the Sandon Ta ritual is referred to as ‘Phka Bayben.’ Despite the research, 

I discovered that while a specific flower is traditionally used, records of it are scarce and vague. It has no formal identification but is described as a fragrant, white, grass-like flower, somewhat resembling jasmine, that blooms only in the tenth month and withers soon after the ceremony (Atsadang Chomdee, 2010). This ambiguity sparked my journey to find the flower, which serves as the foundation of this project.

           Paka de Plaw focuses on those who have passed away, particularly my grandfather, whom I know only through a single photograph on the wall of my childhood home, together with the relatives and people who passed away affected by the war, either in the refugee camps or in the nearby forests. Through this work, I seek to reconnect with his presence and reflect on the war’s legacy by tracing the grasses along the Thai-Cambodian border and retracing the refugee paths my family followed. This journey begins in my hometown of Surin and extends to Cambodia, as I search for the site of my grandparents’ former home. Along the way, I encountered grasses that stirred a connection to the one used in the ritual, while also uncovering stories of the deceased, told by the survivors. These narratives merged with personal history, depicting the lives of borderland people and the memories of those who return to former refugee camps—places marked by both birth and loss. The act of searching for, photographing, and gathering these grasses to create sculptures based on the Sandon Ta ritual became a way for me to piece together my family’s fragmented memories.

            Among the overgrown fields and forests, I focused on clusters of white grass, photographing them at the moment they were about to scatter their seeds, carried by the wind. Species such as Little Ironweed (Vernonia cinerea), Coat Buttons (Tridax procumbens), and other grasses are highlighted in the series. Though these plants are common and often seen as weeds, they spread by drifting with the wind, mirroring the passage of memory through generations. These grasses led me to reflect on the metaphorical significance they carry, While I don’t know the exact species used in the ritual, I became fascinated by the image of white grass growing in clusters, ready to disperse and take root elsewhere, like an apt metaphor for the liminal, transient spaces of the border.

           Documenting these white grasses feels like preserving the lost essence of my family, fragmented by war. The immense weight of memory bears down on me, bringing unanswerable questions about my grandfather’s life—who he was, what he loved, and how he moved through the world. Despite hearing family stories, these details remain beyond reach. The loss of loved ones to war feels deeply unjust, and as a descendant, I grieve for lives cut short too soon. This feeling 

          I encountered is one among the shared experiences of all those individuals affected by the aftermath of wars. This search for the flower used to honor our ancestors is the foundation of this exhibition, which expresses the unresolved grief and reflection on a life I can only piece together through fragments of memory. "