Just outside of Mandalay there is a place devoted to stone carvers and their craft. Here, the workers take a much needed break from the powdered stone filled air. They exude a characteristic stoicism and inner strength that is compelling yet slightly uncomfortable in a way.

A stone worker uses the now traditional electric tool to carve yet another granite version of the Buddha.

In a small home within a weaving village we find young girls with glue, sparkling sequins and medal and cloth appliqués. They are producing wedding dresses for the less affluent. The garments are entirely beautiful and the children's pride in showing them off and displaying their impressive skills was heart warming. Children working at a very young age is ubiquitous throughout Myanmar and not considered as anything more than necessary for survival of the family.

Workers pull reams of cotton string from boiling vats filled with coloured dies. The heat and humidity make you feel like you have to swim through the air, not walk the ground. As always, there is a bold confidence with young men with difficult jobs. They chew huge wads of betel nut that turn their lips to crimson and their teeth to fence posts of black beans.

A man tends to the spooling of string used for cotton shirts and Longyis.

Work in the factories around Mandalay, Myanmar comes with a 24/7 commitment. All along the walls are changes of clothing, laundry, dirty dishes from lunch on the run while children wander through the fast and noisy machinery. Old equipment covered in dust and cobwebs often means continuous maintenance as the machines are still in full operation. This picture is a part of a Factory Workers series I have been working on for the last 4 years.

Two workers build fires for boiling and dying the cotton string used in the mechanized looms to build cheap longyis, which both men are wearing here. As you can tell, even in the early morning cool, the heat of the fires is repressive and the men lean back from its sudden bite.

The silks of Varanasi India are famous. Workshops such as this one are dedicated to adding starch and a stiffness to the fabric through a drying process in a kiln. First it needs to be threaded through these metal rods so it can be pulled tight, then rolled.

Varanasi, India is said to be the oldest city in the world. It’s labyrinthine streets present themselves to a traveller as a spider web of decrepit doors, cobble stones, arms-width alleys of mystery and a full sensory overload. Hidden behind these walls is the ancient silk trade, still finding usefulness in an age of machines and technology. Silk hangs on ancient looms piloted by life-long weevers. The furious pace of hands and feet mix with the care and attention to detail to bring to the rest of us the occasional work of art, but also the ordinary and utilitarian.

The old town of Hanoi punctuates the greater, and more hectic major city of Hanoi. These streets are more interesting. They often make little sense in their intersections and street directions. Tiny plastic, child-sized tables and chairs welcome the limber and flexible to relax with a handmade beer, a basket of deep-fried crickets and other miraculous treats. Shops open to the street front showcasing all manner of plastic utilities and colourful trinkets and toys to delight children.

In the old markets of Bangalore, India you find the young and old working side-by-side in trades meant to curve a disposable society. Old items become useful again and again. The damaged are fixed for a fraction of the cost of fresh and new.

More and more tourists are headed to the recently and increasingly more open Myanmar. The old skills and arts still remain here seemingly untouched with the exception of the colourful and well preened visitors eager to disembark enormous and stinking buses to grab up the soon to be disappeared crafts and skills of a generation delayed. Progress of time and communication means that these arts will not last forever with interest waning and succession of the generation before becoming a worry.

The ubiquitous piece of clothing in Myanmar is the Longyi, a kind fo skirt worn by men mostly. It is often made for cotton in a tight plaid pattern. It is like a sheet before it is wrapped around the waste and tucked at the front for a quick and relaxed fit. A factory outside of Mandalay first makes the thread, then uses clunking and oily machines to do the work which was once done by hand weavers. The factory is both work and home for many with laundry hanging and used dishes strewn about the place. Women and men eat bowls of rice in between repeated ongoing maintenance of the overworked equipment.

A hand weaver uses older wooden looms to provide the authentic experience of hand-made cloth. The factory is fronted by a beautifully appointed and air conditioned shop. Expensive silk cloth with intricate designs is made even more special through expert merchandising with a Western flair. Meanwhile older workers with leftover skills tend to production in a sweltering, but surprisingly relaxed workshop behind the scenes.

Thread used to manufacture Longyi cloth is boiled with colours in a huge wok over an open fire. Shirtless boys with wooden sticks churn the contents. Others take the now cooled string and arrange it for further processing on machined looms. The young boys are thrilled to show us around unconcerned for safety or judgement. I am dragged into spectacularly dark and progressively eerily cramped and stiflingly hot rooms to meet overjoyed workers anxious to show off their existence to a camera. Momentarily they feel the pride of celebrity and the need to be documented.