Thailand is in a moment of reflection. With the passing of Her Majesty Queen Sirikit, The Queen Mother, many Thais are revisiting the cultural legacies she safeguarded. And none more visible than khon, the monumental masked dance drama that has defined royal performing arts for centuries.

For people encountering khon for the first time, it’s easy to be swept up by the spectacle: jeweled masks, sweeping choreography, and a story pulled from the Ramakien, Thailand’s national epic. But behind the spectacle is a revival story. Not long ago, khon was fading from public life, its highly specialized craft ecosystem at risk of disappearing.

Queen Sirikit’s efforts reversed that trajectory. Her decades-long work rebuilt the ecosystem around khon (the dancers, the artisans, the costume makers) and brought the performance back into the national spotlight.

What Exactly Is Khon? A Quick Guide for Newcomers

Khon is one of Thailand’s most elaborate classical art forms — a fusion of dance, mime, oral narration, orchestral music, costume and mask craftsmanship. Traditionally performed by male dancers in the royal court, khon tells episodes from the Ramakien, the Thai adaptation of the Indian Ramayana.

Every movement is codified. A tilt of the hand, a flick of the wrist, a pivot of the heel. These all represent emotions, weapons, or divine power. The performers don’t speak; instead, a narrator chants the story while musicians play the pi phat ensemble.

Iconic characters include Hanuman, the white monkey general; Tosakan (Ravana), the multi-headed demon king; and celestial heroes and heroines who move with controlled precision. They are inherited vocabularies of movement passed down through formal training.

And while khon may look larger than life, every detail serves a symbolic function: colors, embroidery patterns, mask shapes, even the curve of a dancer’s fingers. It’s an art form built on discipline and memory, a literal embodiment of Thai aesthetics.

How Khon Nearly Disappeared

For much of the 20th century, khon was in decline. Modernization pulled audiences toward new entertainment forms, while the traditional patronage system that had supported palace arts began to shrink.

The royal court once sustained dozens of specialized crafts that made khon possible, but by the late 20th century, many were down to only a handful of practitioners. And the risks weren’t limited to performers. Entire crafts essential to khon were collapsing:

• Khon mask making
• Gold-thread embroidery
• Traditional costume weaving
• Papercraft stencils used for mask patterns
• Elaborate headdresses and ornaments
• Specialized garment construction techniques

All of these were part of a single cultural mechanism: if one piece failed, the whole form weakened. And these weren’t commercial skills. They required long apprenticeships, often handed down within families. And as fewer young people trained in these crafts, the knowledge base thinned. By the late 20th century, khon was losing audiences and its infrastructure.

Without dancers, narrators, mask makers, embroiderers, and musicians trained in the same vocabulary, the art form risked fragmenting beyond repair.

This was the landscape when Queen Sirikit stepped in.

The Queen’s Cultural Intervention

The turning point in the narrative is unmistakable. When Queen Sirikit learned how fragile the khon ecosystem had become, she rebuilt the entire cultural infrastructure needed to keep the art alive.

Her approach had three major components:

1. Reviving Endangered Crafts: She created pathways for young artisans to learn from the few remaining masters: mask-makers, embroiderers, goldsmiths, weavers, and papercraft specialists. Many of these crafts survive today because she ensured they had continuity.
2. Professionalizing a National Repertoire: Khon had long existed in fragmented forms across local troupes and palace traditions. Under her direction, scholars, dancers, musicians, and artisans worked together to codify choreography, costumes, and character designs into a unified standard. It made khon easier to teach, preserve, and present to the world.
3. Elevating Khon as a Cultural Institution: From the curated performances at the Thailand Cultural Centre to the nationwide trainings supported through SUPPORT Foundation, her initiatives reframed khon not as a relic, but as a living, teachable art. It set the foundation for UNESCO recognition and international tours decades later.

Without The Queen Mother’s intervention, khon might still exist, of course, but not at the scale, quality, or institutional strength it enjoys today.

Her passing has reignited interest in this work. The institutions, schools, and artists she supported continue to shape Thailand’s cultural landscape, evidence that her influence lives not only in memory but in the ongoing practice of the art itself.

How to Experience Khon Today

For anyone in Thailand — resident, expat, or traveler — khon is now more accessible than at any other point in its history.

The most direct experience is at the Sala Chalermkrung Royal Theatre, where royal-sponsored productions present full-scale performances with restored costumes, live pi phat orchestra, and subtitles that make the story legible for international audiences.

Additionally, for a limited time only, the SUPPORT Foundation is putting on a khon performance of the deeply emotional “Satya Pali” episode of the Ramakien at the Main Auditorium of the Thailand Cultural Centre, from November 6th to December 8th, 2025. Tickets available from Thai Ticket Major.

For a deeper look at the craftsmanship behind the stage, the Queen Sirikit Museum of Textiles offers exhibits on khon costume design, mask making, and textile conservation.

Those exploring Bangkok’s historic core can also visit Wat Phra Kaew, where the Ramakien murals wrap around the cloister in a continuous narrative of gods, demons, and heroes — the same characters who appear in khon. And for anyone unable to attend a performance, museums, royal exhibitions, and cultural centers frequently display masks, headdresses, and embroidered textiles that reveal the detail behind the art form.

Khon today is both performance and heritage. Experiencing it firsthand helps place Queen Sirikit’s legacy — and Thailand’s wider cultural revival efforts — into a living context.

Her passing invites a renewed look at the institutions and people who continue this work. The revival she began now belongs to the country at large, a shared inheritance that blends royal legacy, artistic mastery, and public accessibility. Safeguarding it ensures that future generations will understand not only the beauty of the performance but the depth of the culture it represents.