Object as a Portrait by Luksika Pratumtin

I make portraits of people, not the kind that captures what I see in front of me, but what I feel and hear through their stories, the mood they carry as they tell them. It’s about capturing the mood, the story, and the essence of their home in a single piece, hoping it will spark that conversation again and again.

If I were to place my object next to a photo of my muse (or what would traditionally called the sitter), you might say it’s not a portrait at all. It looks nothing like them. Originally, portrait comes from the French word “portrét,” meaning “to trace,” so traditionally people expected the sitter and the portrait to look alike. But personally, I believe the charm of portraiture doesn’t lie in how realistic it looks, but in the artist’s interpretation of the person, how they feel, what their story is, how the artist chooses to tell it and the ability of the portrait itselves that can connect with the viewer to make them feel something. So  the portraits I create are emotional reflections of how my muses feel about their own stories, with those stories shaped into objects.

“This object reminds me of you.”

Has anyone ever said that to you? Or have you ever seen something that instantly brought a person or memory to mind? My objects as portraits work in a similar way. I’ve always dreamed of creating a home that people can’t wait to return to. Now, starting small with pieces that light up a space, make people feel at home, and create a sense of belonging by infusing their character and the stories that make their eyes light up when they talk about them. Each object turns those moments into something tangible, sparking conversations again and again.

The object that remind them of: Holidays

The first object I created as a wine holder. It tells a story of a couple who share a deep passion for wine. For them, wine isn’t just a drink, it’s something woven into their life together. Their “couple thing” is visiting vineyards, going on wine tastings, and bringing bottles home from every trip. They always wrap the bottles in their clothes and tuck them into their luggage, so most of the wine in their home carries that memory. I used that story as inspiration to shape the piece like fabric wrapping gently around the bottle, as if hugging it. I also incorporated spherical forms, a visual element from their home, to make it feel personal and familiar. My hope is that the object will remind them of their joyful vineyard trips and help them feel recharged after a long day at work.

The object that remind them of: Homes

This object is for a husband and wife, he’s an architect and she’s a writer, to remind them of their several homes. When I first visited their London place, it felt so poetic with its clear “water” theme reflected in their decorations. Their characters balance beautifully: the tectonic from him, the poetic from her. This object reflects their sense of home in several layers. The clay body itselves has been carried from Germany to London by the husband. The moon shape was inspired by the spot where the wine holder will sit, in the center of the table where the surface reflects a painting of a moonlit lake which is near the area where the wife grew up. I shaped it with a curve to represent the tide and the relationship between the moon and water, inspiring the name “Moon and Tide.” The glaze was mixed with London soil to create that texture, in the hope that this piece will remind them of all the places they call home.

The object that reminds me of: me

There was a time when I became obsessed with finding my “unique style.” I was so focused on it that I eventually lost sight of what actually felt like me. One of my professors once said, “Think about what it would look like if you turned into an object.” That sparked an idea and made me  start asking people, “If I were a chair, what kind of chair would I be?” From there, I created nine versions of a chair, each shaped by other people’s words and my own which I called my portrait as a chair. This made me realise that different people see different sides of us, and together they reveal a fuller picture of who we are. On top of that, it also reminded me of a version of myself I’d been missing, the simple me in a T-shirt and jeans, not overthinking anything, just focusing on my work and the joy of creating.

Pratumtin's exhibition on Brick Lane for London Design Week, September 2025

The object that remind them of: Their relationship 

A relationship doesn’t always mean a romantic one, it can also be the bond you build with your work.In my previous exhibition, I had the opportunity to create 28 objects representing wine, people, and places. I spoke with a range of wine personalities:  from growers, makers, and sommeliers to journalists and enthusiasts. The concept began with a simple question: “If your story, personality, and place in the wine world were translated into an object, what would it be?” Each person responded in their own unique way: one saw themselves as a wine decanter that helps people open up; another as a quirky glass that brings joy to the room; others imagined bottles entirely their own shape. What connected them all was how their view of their relationship with the wine world was infused with their personal story and journey into their objects. By placing these pieces in their own spaces, I hope they serve as reminders of their path, how far they’ve come, and why they fell in love with it in the first place.

If you can create an object 

that reminds you of anything, 

what will it be?

Will it be a person, a place or experience?

One thing I’ve noticed is that people often choose something they don’t have with them right now, something they want to hold onto in the physical world. And sometimes, they already have it, but want a stronger sense of it in their space. What about an object that reminds them of something they’ve been missing? Maybe it’s their home, their free time to simply do nothing, or even a version of themselves. I would definitely create an object that reminds me of something I miss. I also realised we miss these things the most when they’re no longer with us, whether just for a moment or forever. That’s why all the little things that remind us of them feel so meaningful as we try to hold on. This is why I love portraits in this form. They don’t just represent people through a different medium, but through the stories they want to tell. Making what’s been missing, or not fully present become visible in their  space and make it tangible  is what I love most about creating objects as people’s portraits.