The most unexpected thing I learned in Thailand was something I already knew, but had forgotten. I noticed it wherever I went, whether it was a modern factory covering multiple city blocks, or a simple workshop in the forest.
I had forgotten that human beings make the things I love most.
In one place I saw dozens of women and men wearing identical blue shirts, heads down, face masks on, sanding, cutting, sawing, smoothing, packing the things we covet into boxes with big retail names stamped on them.
The working conditions there are different from ours – these people were surrounded by the breeze from fans, their work lit by sunlight streaming in from the outside in airy, clean surroundings.
It moved me. I had never associated the stacks of suar wood salad bowls, coffee tables and headboards that I drool over with the people who make them.
In my world, my role is to consume – I’ve too often gone into that glazed-eye semi-stupor when offered a good deal. My brain stops thinking- it just wants to have, whether I need the thing or not. In Thailand I was confronted by my consumer conscience, the part of me that actually thinks about the things we surround ourselves with, and where they come from.
The things I love most in my home are beloved not just because they are beautiful, but also because they required a human being to make.
The imperfections, and the fact that each one is slightly different makes them more interesting, just as it does in us, the human beings who use them.
Thank you Thailand, for reminding me that we are not just a world feeding off the mass production of machines, the efficiency of algorithms, and the guiding hand of technology. Like Artemano, we can choose to care where things come from, and to respect the hands that made them - and maybe even pay a little more for that. I’ll try to remember that the next time I’m faced with a good deal on something I don’t really need.
All photos copyright Conteska Photography