A one-year immersion crash course in Bangkok, Thailand, has fortunately exposed me to the palpable beating heart that this City of Angels has to offer.

It has dominated and devoured me, like the seedy pimp it is portrayed to be. Except, this is not the city of immorality, cheap thrills and t-shirts. It is not the quick fix of chased dragons, hoodwinkers, and charlatans.

This is Bangkok. A city, whose foundations are laid on a brick work of superstition, a fantastical world of myth and legends, where magical spirits are appeased with offerings and worship. It is tangled with markets, food and animals. A hodgepodge mishmash of wealth and poverty, in a city saturated with colour, in air, that is thick with both a stench, and aroma of real life.

"I am not a Sex Show," offers a consciousness of Bangkok. A confession of contradictions. It unearths and offers insight into the artificial image in which Bangkok is better known for. It reveals a perspective of what it is not.

The hundreds of photographic images that I have taken over the past year have been assembled in a patchwork of order. Each digital print is crushed with multiple shots of a specific genre (whether protesters, street markets or Soi dogs) then over printed with a barely legible statement that opposes the visual.

Forcing you to move in close, look harder at what is being said, and work it out for yourself. Each print offers the stimulus of Bangkok, and with it the realization of what it is not.