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Somrak
Maneemai is a good
example of living life
as an independent
artist and choosing
Phuket, Thailand, as
his place of residence
and work. He told me,
“Nowadays, I just
live with my art and
work. I don’t
focus on
recognition.” His
perspective and his
artistic creations
still carry the dreams
of his youth. Each day,
he continues to create
art, feeling encouraged
that people still
collect and follow his
progress—even
though he does not
expect much from life.
“We may just be
one of many pictures,
not overly grand, but
conveying goodness and
sincerity to
others.”
I interviewed Somrak
Maneemai during a time
when Thailand’s
border conflicts with
Cambodia were flaring
up, and southern
insurgents were waging
war for territorial
separation. Our view of
the world at that
moment was simply a
desire for peace, yet
everything seemed to
move on without answers.
Let’s take a break and get to know this artist.
Somrak Maneemai has a
home and gallery right
in front of Rawai Beach
in Phuket, the
southernmost beach of
the province.
Development has reached
his doorstep, but he
has lived there for
over 20 years with his
family and children. He
has also worked on
projects that transform
marine waste into art
and has continuously
worked hard.
JY.
Please tell us briefly about your background—your birthplace
,education, childhood, journey to study at Silpakorn University,
your inspirations in art, and your family.
SM.
I was born in 1974 (B.E. 2517) in Khao Phanom District,
Krabi Province. My father was the village headman. He first
worked in rice farming, later switching to rubber plantations. I
am one of six siblings. At that time, our village had no electricity,
and the roads were still undeveloped. I studied at the local temple
school and then continued to Phanom Benja Secondary School.
After completing lower secondary, I traveled to take the entrance
exam for the Nakhon Si Thammarat Arts & Crafts College, about
200 kilometers away from Krabi. As a child, I often daydreamed,
lying down to watch the sky from a shop near my house when its
shutters were closed. My father used to carve shadow puppets
and also performed in traditional likay pa folk plays.
When I followed friends to sit for the art exam, I was fortunate
enough to be accepted. However, I did poorly in general subjects
and eventually dropped out, distracted by music groups. Later, I
was inspired when I saw an exhibition by the Faculty of Painting
from Silpakorn University. That motivated me to work at an art
shop in Hat Yai, Songkhla, and then live with friends in
Phatthalung. I returned, retook the exam, and eventually
graduated.
I aimed to enter Silpakorn University’s Faculty of Painting, which
required five years of study. I admired artists like Joan Miró
(1893–1983), the Catalan modernist painter, as well as Marc
Chagall, the Belarusian-French painter of the 20th century. I also
admired Pablo Picasso for his Cubist techniques and explorations
of geometric forms.
I was accepted into Poh-Chang Academy of Arts and Silpakorn
University’s Faculty of Painting and Sculpture, eventually
choosing Silpakorn. There, I was influenced by installation works
of Montien Boonma, who had transferred from Chiang Mai
University. He was my teacher and inspired me to experiment
with materials. I graduated with second-class honors, then taught
at Thai Wijit Silpa School for a year before pursuing a Master’s
degree at Silpakorn.
Later, I met my Australian wife, who came to Thailand on
holiday. She studied printmaking. In 2004, we moved to Krabi,
but she preferred Phuket for better opportunities in art and
marketing. We opened Red Gallery at Rawai Beach, naming it
after my mother, who had worked tirelessly for her children.
JY.
In your creative process, you often work without prior
sketches. How does improvisation—the act of composing without
a plan—give you emotional or artistic freedom?
SM.
During my studies, I often had to prepare presentations for
professors. After finishing my Master’s, my mother passed away,
which inspired me to use her pha thung (sarong cloth) in a
collage artwork. That piece, with flowers and children, won an
award.
After the first tsunami in Thailand, I continued working and
submitted pieces to UOB Painting of the Year, one of Asia’s most
prestigious art competitions. I once spilled turpentine on a canvas
of a cat, which led me to paint its eyes and experiment with
pouring colors and creating animals from imagination. That
reminded me of childhood—lying outside, watching clouds turn
into shapes.
My 2006 cloud series became very popular with tourists. All of
those works were improvisations—combining all possible
concepts without pre-planning. Later, I began using marine
debris as materials.
I might have this spontaneity because I’m also a musician. I play
folk guitar, write songs, and even performed with Pai from the
band Maleehuana during my Master’s. This ability to quickly
capture feelings became part of my art, and collectors appreciated
it.
For me, feelings cannot be replicated. My art avoids sketches or
fixed plans—focusing instead on improvisation, chance, and
freshness of the moment. My work combines abstract art with
childlike imagination, evolving into forms of Naïve Art and
Abstract Expressionism.
JY.
Your works seem fluid and dynamic. What techniques and
materials do you use to achieve that, and do you experiment with
new ones?
SM.
It began accidentally, when turpentine spilled on my canvas.
Early works used strong-smelling solvents, but later I mixed
acrylic with water, then combined it with oil paints. I revisited
material experimentation, entering competitions again.
In 2022, I won 2nd place at UOB with a piece made from tent
fabric. I also submitted fiberglass works to the White Elephant Art
Award.
Using marine debris became my focus. I wanted to create
something AI could never do. Some works used interlocking
forms inspired by exhibitions in Tasmania, where my wife took
me to her hometown.
I stayed there for five years, facing stress, loneliness, and lack of
work. Eventually, I returned to Phuket, more determined.
Art, for me, is about truthfully expressing identity through
painting, while listening and collaborating with others. Before, I
co-founded Phuket Art Village, a community of artists who
showcased and marketed works together.
After COVID-19, despite challenges, tourists began moving to
Rawai Beach, which helped income flow again. I used social
media to connect with collectors and was finally able to repair my
house and build a home studio.
JY.
Many of your works are inspired by childhood memories and
nature. How do you define their role in your art?
SM.
I was born under sunlight and lantern light—we had no
electricity until I reached secondary school. That gave me time to
think deeply about life and my surroundings. I often lay outside,
watching clouds transform, the wind move, and sunlight scatter.
Nature was vast and limitless, shaping my imagination.
The shop near my house often had movie posters pasted on its
shutters. I carefully studied their beauty. I also remember my
mother waking early every day to cook for us, while my elder
siblings worked in rubber plantations to support the family.
That sacrifice, along with my father’s puppet carving and
performances, became the foundation of my inspiration.
JY.
In the context of contemporary art in Phuket and
internationally, do you think local identity still matters?
SM.
Personally, I don’t analyze others much—I focus on my own
work. I live and create without seeking recognition. My years in
Australia were lonely, and I reflected deeply, turning to Buddhist
teachings, especially Ajahn Buddhadasa and Ajahn Kukrit
Sotthiphalo, to understand purpose and reduce ego.
Experimenting with new things doesn’t mean expecting fame. A
simple life, family harmony, and truth in art may be the real
answers.
Art, for me, is a message through images and colors—not
grandeur, but sincerity. Phuket is fortunate in being open,
supportive, and allowing artists to live and work freely.
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