Sculpture as Good as Old

A young Thai is a modern master of fake antiquities

Three Cambodian heads gazed nobly at the reader from the glossy cover of Arts of Asia, an elegant and respected bi-monthly published in Hong Kong. The sandstone faces, 900-year-old survivors of the fabled Khmer kingdom of Angkor, had been chosen to set the theme of a recent issue devoted to antique Cambodian art, a high-priced passion among collectors around the world. Few readers knew that the images on the cover had been given new noses and restorative face-lifts by a young Thai artist known simply as Yas. Or that Yas, in his busy, unnamed shop on a small side street in Bangkok, does much more than restore antiquities. With astonishing ease and almost frightening frequency, Yas can sculpt his own "ancient" Khmer art, so convincing in style and apparent age that his works have passed expert scrutiny as genuine treasures of Angkor's golden epoch.

Even Thailand's foremost art historian, Piriya Krairiksh, admits that he has trouble distinguishing Yas' reproductions from the 11th century originals. "It's awfully difficult because of his technical excellence, "Piriya explains. "Yas is not a slavish copier. He makes creative copies."

So creative, indeed, that at least one of Yas' reproductions now resides in a European museum. No one will identify the institution. "It would be very embarrassing to many people," says Yas.

The artist's expertise does not embarrass Thai antique dealers, who often pass off Yas' reproductions as originals. While the sculptor's work is so highly regarded that he charges between $1,000 and $2,000 for his best stone figures, the dealers who peddle them as antiques can ask--and get--up to ten times as much.

Yas, 32, came to his profession without formal training. The son of Chinese immigrants, he grew up in Bangkok, dropped out of high school after the tenth grade and joined a rock band as a bass guitarist. At 23 he left rock for stone, becoming an apprentice at an antique store.

There he began by fashioning bases and frames for all kinds of artifacts, some honestly old, others imitations. "Dealers used to bring in all these fakes to be mounted," Yas recalls. "I thought I could make better ones." He was soon experimenting with stone and chisel, and just four years ago he sold his first reproduction, a small torso carved in the style of 11th century Angkor.

Yas usually works with sandstone blocks from the northeast of Thailand, an area once ruled by the Angkor kings, which provide him with the same kind of stone used for the Angkor temples. He carefully gives each sculpture its own personality. After giving life to the figure, he gives it years as well, usually breaking the head from the body just as the centuries have done to the originals. "When you break the neck off," he explains with professional pride, "it must look natural." He heats the sculpture with a hair dryer, paints it with a secret chemical solution, and buries it for two weeks in his backyard, often in Cambodian soil that he has imported through refugees at the Thai-Cambodian border.

Yas has no qualms about his restoration work on Khmer originals--about half of his studio's output--but he has mixed feelings when he sees his work for sale as the authentic article. "Sometimes I'm proud because they are so good," he admits, "but sometimes I'm afraid people will find out and get angry." In any case, he adds, "the dealers sell them for too much."

A British collector, Islay Lyons, who calls Yas "the greatest living sculptor in Thailand" and has commissioned several originals from him, deplores the fact that his "energy goes into making fakes."

Art Historian Piriya, however, while admiring Yas' "creative copies," points out that "to make a completely creative work is something different." A Western art dealer has told Yas that his own original sculptures could be sold for $10,000 in New York City, but Yas is skeptical. "I can't afford to do my own art. It's easier to sell copies. People want to buy old things."

Old or new, Yas manages to sign those pieces he deems his best. He may bury his signature in the elaborate headdress of a Khmer head or seal a piece of paper with his name on it inside a statue. "If they're perfect," says the master copier, "I always sign my name somewhere. That way I'll know which are mine." .

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