For two decades, two photographers and a painter slipped in and out of Laos and Vietnam, collating silent images of everyday life on both film and canvas. The resulting collection is one of emotive reflection and intimate observance. The images provided by Sam Sisombat, the Laotian-born photographer, are stark and honest in their portrayal of a rebounding land and people. His collaborator, the half-Vietnamese painter Zohra Lacal, hones in on her subjects, eliminating details to provide a sharp focus on daily activity. Rounding up the exhibition, Véronique Wlody seems to have dug deep into the heart of Vietnam, rooting out emotions to delicately place them on film.

Casting his lens far and wide, Sam Sisombat explores the breadth of the Laotian landscape. His pictures sweep across the nation, and are taken from the viewpoint of a passive onlooker. Differing greatly from the intricate close-ups of his friend Wlody, his snaps follow a rule of arms length, and hint at a hesitation to seem intrusive. His collection acts like a sentimental souvenir of the spectacular scenery and humble people. The compiled images, from the Au fil du Mékong series, illustrate the daily activity around the glassy Mekong River, and provide an insight into the life of rural Laotians. Despite their depictions of strenuous labour, a resounding note of tranquillity seeps through each frame. The subjects are shown perched upon piers that extend across the water, serenely waiting for things unseen. Their postures and expressions show a patience that's reflective of the land they inhabit. Although still officially a communist state, Laos is emerging from crippling socialism, and thanks to the loosening of trade restrictions, is slowly gaining economic and industrial growth. Tourism is the fastest growing industry, but the lack of infrastructure has meant that tourists are only trickling in, not pouring. For now it seems, as romantically portrayed by Sisombat, the country lingers between a suppressive past and a hopeful future.

Despite the simplicity of her paintings; a series of geometric spheres and polygons, Lacal manages to create a sense of busyness. The predominant use of bright oranges, burnished reds and loud yellows tarnish the canvas with noise, and a real sense of bubbling activity jumps out at you. Her faceless subjects; ordinary Vietnamese going about their business, are poised in the midst of action. In Reflexisme and Prièrité, crooked rows of conical hats shield the faces of farm workers who are bent double harvesting rice. Elélualité is a vision of floating white. The viewer is placed behind the straight back of a girl riding her bicycle, graceful and elegant in a billowing Áo Dài (traditional Vietnamese dress). Also on a bicycle are the father and son in Doucitude. Muted tones of her signature red show the two at dusk, balancing skilfully on two wheels. Once again the faces are either spherical blobs or hidden entirely under the brim of a cone hat. The blurring of visage only serves to enhance the focus on activity and reflects the true quality of people watching, whereby our eyes and minds focus on the actions of those we observe rather than the accuracy of their features. Lacal's real achievement is the creation of hustle and bustle with bold paint strokes and even bolder colours. She cleverly transports you to a lively street corner of Vietnam and makes you feel like a spectator caught in a whirlwind of commotion.

Wlody's curiosity in Vietnam lies in the restoration of the nation's psyche after the ravages of war. While Sisombat photographed from a distance, she closed the gap between herself and her subjects, dipping her camera into the depths of human emotion. Drawing the viewer into the inner circles of community life - family, friends, work and play - she zooms into her subjects in a way that seems empathetic but non-intrusive, providing an intimate documentary on the personal lives of ordinary Vietnamese. The emotions displayed are raw, yet captured with a dreamy tenderness. The most striking image is that of a lone silhouette of a boy, nimbly showering under the cascade of rainwater running from the roof of a hut. The beautiful picture is shot like a private memory plucked from childhood. A cropped image from her series entitled Anger shows a father and child looking distant and lost, not angry at all but almost defeated, as if they've no longer the energy to muster the emotion. The father's hand on the child's head is firm and assuring, though his eyes tell a story of uncertainty. Here Wlody demonstrates what she does best, blurring the line between bystander and subject. The subliminal feelings she has captured - fear, love, hope and elation - are projected like a stealth force, hushed but hard hitting. The only artist of the three who does not have ethnic roots in the land, her connection is on a humane level and each photograph resonates with quiet compassion.

Though differing in styles and viewpoints, the three artists share one deep-rooted desire - to scuff away the façade. Presenting detailed revelations, their images develop into more than just a study of Vietnam and Laos, but a probe into the artists' deeply personal experiences and their observance of life at its nucleus. This thematic investigation of two countries and their surfacing from dark histories inextricably links the works to transmit a clear message of survival, a visual endorsement of "Life must go on".