How Bangkok taught Lounys rhythm and contrast

555. No, not the number – though it might as well be the punchline. It's how we laugh in Thai: ha ha ha. It’s also how Lounys, a French-Algerian artist now living in Bangkok, occasionally sneaks humour into his work – a wink to the absurd, a code-switch between languages, cultures and emotions.

Born in Paris with Algerian and Berber roots, Lounys is what happens when you fold a handful of cities into one mind: New York, Los Angeles, Miami, a few stops across Europe and now Thailand. His art has appeared across Bangkok, cropping up in galleries and pop-up shows like visual outbursts – provocative, dense, unfiltered.

Drawing on satirical cartoons and caricatures, Lounys sketches out modern survival as a warped spectacle. Political figures are stretched, social archetypes distorted, but always with a knowing eye. There’s something dreamlike in his method – automatic, compulsive, channelling the spirit of 1920s surrealism while humming with the colour-fuelled energy of pop art.

We asked him a few questions, naturally – about the move, the city, the sprawl of it all. He tells us he’s adapting to Bangkok, slowly. The food, the pace, the people. Bangkok: too hot to hold, too alive to ignore – just like his work. 

Looking back, how would you describe the different chapters of your artistic journey so far? What felt like turning points along the way?

‘My journey’s been instinctive – no map, no mentor, just motion. One chapter was solitude, another dialogue. The shift came when I stopped chasing the art world and started building my own. That’s when it all began to find me.’

You’ve spent years creating in Bangkok – how has the city shaped the way you think, see and make art?

‘Bangkok taught me rhythm and contrast. It’s chaotic, spiritual, neon and decaying all at once. That tension fed into my work. I learned to follow instinct and embrace imperfection, like the city does.’

“In Bangkok, sacred and pop blend so easily it never feels like a clash.”

Are there moments, corners or textures in Bangkok that you keep returning to in your work?

‘Yes – torn posters, rusted gates, soi dogs asleep in shrines, temples wrapped in scaffolding. I’m drawn to what’s overlooked. It speaks to time, to resilience. I don’t copy it exactly, but the texture, the spirit, slips into my work.’

How has your relationship with the city’s art scene changed since you first started out?

‘When I arrived, I felt outside of everything – an observer. But by constantly creating and showing up, I found my rhythm. Now I feel part of a parallel current – not fully in the ‘mainstream’, but visible and supported by local creatives and international eyes.’

What shifts have you noticed within the local creative community – whether in spirit, structure or support?

‘There’s more boldness now. Young artists aren’t waiting for permission – they’re experimenting, self-organising, making space without asking. Things feel more open, more horizontal. But there’s also a hunger for meaning, not just noise.’

“The future belongs to those who create it themselves, on their own terms, with integrity and courage.”

From my understanding, your work often weaves tradition into the contemporary – how do you navigate that mix in a place like Bangkok, where the past and present constantly collide?

‘Tradition isn’t fixed – it moves. I let that mix happen on its own, sometimes as a gesture, a texture or a symbol that slips in.’

Do you sense a move towards newer, more experimental forms in Bangkok’s art spaces? If so, where do you see your work in that mix?

‘Definitely. There’s a real openness now to cross-genre and multi-sensory, even anti-art gestures. My work isn’t experimental in form but in spirit. It’s grounded in painting yet takes in collage, street energy, memory and sometimes scent or sound. I don’t chase trends, I stay honest.’

Bangkok sits at the edge of so many influences – how do you bring both Thai and global elements into your visual language without losing either?

‘By staying present. I’m a guest here but live deeply in Thailand. My work absorbs everything – streets, galleries, talks, rituals – mixed with my North African roots. The key is letting it flow naturally, not forcing it.’

Is art a space for you to reflect or respond to what’s happening socially or politically in Thailand, or is it something more inward?

‘For me, art is deeply personal but always connected. I don’t illustrate politics, I process feeling. When a moment stirs me – joy or injustice – it finds its way into the work. Art lets me respond poetically, never didactically.’

“I hope the next generation holds on to the freedom and generosity that make the Thai scene so unique – the absence of ego, the spirit of play.”

You can now step inside his world – not just as a spectator, but as a collaborator. In his workshops, held regularly with little fanfare, you’re handed a curious task: paint within the lines he’s taped onto canvas, lines that carry the unmistakable rhythm of his hand. Participants – kids, adults, anyone with a brush and a bit of curiosity – paint within the lines. Once the tape peels away, what’s left is a quiet collision – your colour, his form. An unspoken conversation made visible. It’s an invitation to loosen control and co-create, with no need for prior skill or pretension. For those intrigued, he’s reachable via Line (@lounys) or Instagram DM (@lounys). 

And if you're more voyeur than participant, catch him live-painting at Bardo Social Bistro and Bar on June 28 – a glimpse into the process, raw and unscripted, unfolding in real time.