
At Angkor, two temples hold the memory of a king’s parents. Ta Prohm honours Wisdom and records a kingdom’s hospitals; Preah Khan honours Compassion and sustains religious teaching. Among inventories of rice, medicine and labour, something more personal begins to emerge.

One hand rises towards her breast; the other follows her waist. Between their gestures, the smallest spaces become strangely difficult to leave.

A face of perfect composure. Two hands still busy with a crown. A tiny human comedy, held in weathered stone.

A little doorway keeps its darkness. Beneath the waterline, another appears — just as clear, and impossible to touch.