Every person carries
a story worth seeing.

My father used to take me everywhere.

Australia. New Zealand. Vietnam. India.

I didn't always appreciate where we were. I didn't know, then, that some trips are a kind of goodbye.

The last one was Darjeeling — a place that feels like the edge of the world. The air was thin. The hills disappeared into cloud. And at night, the stars were so many, and so close, they did not feel like sky. They felt like something you could almost touch.

I did not know it was the last time.

What I have left are not souvenirs or memories I can recall on demand. What I have are the ones that live behind my eyes whenever I close them — still there, unchanged, asking nothing.

I began photographing because I understood, too late, that moments do not wait. That the people in a frame stay exactly as they were — laughing, present, alive — long after you or they have moved on.

Tears still weigh the same.
Loneliness still asks the same questions.
Joy, preserved in a photograph, remains as large as the day it happened.

That is why I do not arrange. I wait. I watch. I stay close enough to see — and far enough to let things be.

A photographer who learned
to disappear.

VERGUE began not as a brand, but as a way of paying attention. Over eight years of photographing across Japan, Korea, China, England, Scotland, and Thailand, the work has remained rooted in the same instinct: to slow down, to observe, and to notice what others pass by. Sometimes guided, often discovered — always searching for presence.

The name VERGUE — a yardarm, the outermost point of a ship's rigging — was chosen deliberately. It is a place of distance and exposure: where one can see farthest, while standing most in the open. That tension lives in every photograph.

Based in Bangkok. Working quietly, one frame at a time.