During a two-month stay in Bangkok, I was intrigued by the shop-houses (Tuek Thaew) in the Chinatown area. The shop-house is a curious combination of a workshop, kitchen and shower room at the back and a dormitory upstairs. I saw them as microcosms of humanity. I began to imagine these narrow buildings, all so similar with their metal curtains, as small theatres in which the same scenes are repeated every day by the same protagonists, many of whom are from the same family, who work in front of this open public space, and eat together at the back, near the kitchen, next to an altar with its red lights in memory of those who have gone, every day and every night. These photographs, taken side by side and sometimes even on top of each other, reflect the way I saw them during my daily walks. The border around these panoramas is composed of three bands with different patterns. They are created from details photographed in the studio or on the pavement, then isolated, enlarged and repeated. Inspired by traditional Chinese tapestries, this decorative element is often used in Asia to enhance the surrounding artwork. The result is a window through which visitors can experience the "old-fashioned" way of life of the artisans. I have noticed that tourists, after exploring the nearby temples, come back and walk around the area for its authentic beauty. As the days went by, I noticed that this certain "authenticity" they were looking for was more or less artificial because the business is driven by folklore. There is a recurring problem after each monsoon that the locals blame for the appalling conditions in which they are forced to live. They suffer from fetid mould, suffocating air, lack of insulation and inadequate ventilation. Despite this, the community has preserved a way of life that has not changed for centuries. I began to wonder if the younger generations had chosen to stay there and live like this on their own.