decadanse

TARS Unlimited presents decadanse, a solo exhibition by Pokchat Worasub.

I bare(ly) (know) her
By Chomtawan Kleuntanom / 2025

In our nakedness, without the outer shell, without the comfort of clothing, we are at our most revealing. Yet, paradoxically, in that very act of revealing, we become the most mysterious.

The visual of nudity has never been a subject that appeared in either my practice or my studies. I suppose that's because, for the longest time, I never truly understood the act of being naked as an artistic expression. However, the more I work and study, the more I begin to grasp its complexity. Nudity in photography, I've learned, is a whole different beast. It's not just about bare skin; it's about bare honesty. It's one of the hardest conceptual forms out there because it demands trust, the kind that can't be Photoshopped. It's about creating that strange space between professional and personal, where the model reveals and conceals at the same time, and the photographer has to capture both the act of exposure and the lingering mystery behind it.

Clothing builds a persona, the version of ourselves we choose to show the world. But when you're naked, you strip all that away. You're revealing everything, and yet, somehow, people still can't quite tell who you are. It's the ultimate paradox: total exposure with zero clarity. Controversial? Maybe. Purely opinion? Absolutely.

A few years ago, while I was melting my brain with all the philosophy of nudity, I stumbled upon the work of Pokchat Worasub. Call it destiny or maybe just a very lucky algorithm but she was someone I simply couldn't afford to overlook. I remember desperately wanting to see her solo exhibition วัดดูยูฟิ้ง (What Do You Think) in Chiang Mai. Unfortunately, convincing my mom that I should travel there alone to see one exhibition didn't sound like the best plan at the time. So, I stayed home, but I've been following Khun Pok's work ever since.

Over time, Khun Pok became P'Pok, after I finally met her in person last year. And in that moment, I realised how little I actually knew her. I suppose I should stop assuming that we can truly know artists through their work. That's just my inner academic talking, too many theory papers (sorry), not enough real-life encounters. P'Pok turned out to be one of the most genuinely friendly people I've ever met. She seems to have this magical ability to befriend anyone or anything, which I find both impressive and, honestly, a little terrifying for my carefully maintained fake-extrovert persona.

There's always a bit of tension and a flicker of doubt, when I try to write about P'Pok. To say she isn't a serious person would be a lie, even though she constantly reminds me to just sabai sabai (which, honestly, might be the most Thai thing anyone could ever say). I was lucky enough to hear her talk about her artistic journey, from her master's studies to her recent work, a moment I like to think of as a small act of destiny I created for myself.

As she spoke about her practice, one thing kept resurfacing: trust. The trust between photographer and model, especially since P'Pok mostly works with ordinary people rather than professionals. That, I think, proves my earlier point about nudity. For her, it isn't about exposure, it's about sincerity. The kind of quiet, genuine trust that allows her to tell women they are beautiful, and make them believe it. That's P'Pok's real talent.

And this is where her work stands out. With the long history of nudity being filtered through the male gaze (just look at Baroque art, come on!), the subtle rise of the female gaze in art didn't really take off until the 20th century. (Thank you, John Berger, for Ways of Seeing and that delightfully vintage TV energy.) I love how P'Pok stands firmly on this ground: her work embodies the female gaze in both directions, what's behind and in front of the camera. Nudity, in her lens, can be sensual or sexual, but it's never only about that. It's about perception, power, and the act of seeing without possession.

The beauty of women is a mystery, delicate, layered, and never quite the same twice. To capture that kind of beauty requires understanding, empathy, and patience. It's not about how light falls on the skin, but how emotion lingers beneath it. And who understands that better than women themselves? There's something deeply different about how women see other women. It's less about possession and more about recognition, the quiet acknowledgement of strength, vulnerability, humour, and chaos all tangled together. When a woman photographs another woman, it's a conversation, sometimes even a confession. That's what makes the gaze feminine, not just in gender, but in sensitivity.

Sometimes, I think of P'Pok as a photographer who both reveals and conceals secrets at the same time. The way she translates her work is fascinating: she builds personas through partly bare bodies, creating images that feel both intimate and mysterious. Every photograph seems to whisper something, but never quite tells you the whole story. It's like she's saying, "Here's a secret," and then immediately changing the subject.

I've mostly known P'Pok through her work, later, through knowing her in person. And now, through the act of writing this piece, I feel like I bare(ly) (know) her, both literally and metaphorically.