City of Angels, beautiful as a flower, slippery as a fish, the faceless speaker, I, gasping for air, all empty chairs and killer looks, speaking the tongues of five continents, already on ice. The hanging man does his job, asks no questions.
Pop, pop, pop goes America, Shangrila, mispronounced. As in the cloudy skies, so in the vast subsystems, chasing beauty in the mundane, brown water in the canals, corrugated tin, orgiastic orchids, anime effigies, wrecked mecha. Offerings of seed, fruit and flowers on the liquid road of slow procession…
So close the man, yet a God, nobility and simplicity, Buddha of the streets, Buddha of the shrines, Buddha of the taxi drivers under the monsoons. Red yellow, the enduring opposition, red and blue come to balance. Wood, tin and concrete and the Animism in their soul, deer man so confident, man woman scrapes by. Compulsive cultural behaviour, even on the way to the hospital - centipede boy ready to heal. Laksha there is best in town and, royal or street, always delicious. A sly game of hide and seek, three years and counting.
Pericles Boutos
A selection of these images, together with the Official Function Instagrams were exhibited at the House of Lucie, Athens in March - April 2025 under the title INSTABANGKOK
