A Gesture That Gathers the Light
I had not planned to make an image that evening. The heat had faded, and the stone corridors of Ta Prohm exhaled the breath of centuries. The jungle was quiet—thick with the kind of gold that arrives only when the sun has begun to let go.
Then, between two columns, half in shadow, I saw it.
A circular carving—small, almost obscured—held the figure of a deer, prancing in perfect stillness. One hoof lifted, curved like a question. A ring of leaves enclosed its form. But it was not the design that held me. It was the way the light touched it. Not as surface, but as invocation.
The deer seemed to do something—though it hadn’t moved in a thousand years. Its raised hoof called the sun downward, as though dusk itself answered. There was grace here, yes. But also authority. The soft kind. The kind that does not demand reverence, but draws it in like breath.
I placed the tripod gently. Focused slowly. Let the long exposure receive what the moment offered: the hush, the gold, the gesture that gathered the light.
Later, in the studio, I shaped the negative with chiaroscuro until the image remembered what the stone had said. Each print is toned in gold by hand, not to decorate, but to keep alive the warmth I witnessed—when silence bent around a hoof, and light became prayer.
One hoof in still air
a breath of gold in the leaves—
stone, remembering.
Also in Library
From Mountain to Monastery
Angkor Wat survived by learning to change its posture. Built as a summit for gods and kings, it became a place of dwelling for monks and pilgrims. As belief shifted from ascent to practice, stone yielded to routine—and the mountain learned how to remain inhabited.
Why Theravada Could Outlast Stone
Theravada endured by refusing monumentality. It shifted belief from stone to practice, from kings to villages, from permanence to repetition. What it preserved was not form but rhythm—robes, bowls, chants, and lives lived close together—allowing faith to travel when capitals fell and temples emptied.
The End of Sanskrit at Angkor
The final Sanskrit inscription at Angkor does not announce an ending. It simply speaks once more, with elegance and certainty, into a world that had begun to listen differently. Its silence afterward marks not collapse, but a quiet transfer of meaning—from stone and proclamation to practice, breath, and impermanence.
$250
Ta Prohm, Temple, Angkor, Cambodia — 2021
Limited Edition Archival Pigment Print
Edition
Strictly limited to 25 prints + 2 Artist’s Proofs
Medium
Hand-toned black-and-white archival pigment print on Hahnemühle Bamboo — a museum-grade fine art paper chosen for its quiet tactility and reverent depth, echoing the spirit of the temples.
Signature & Numbering
Each print is individually signed and numbered by the artist on the border (recto)
Certificate of Authenticity
Accompanies every print
Image Size
8 x 8 inches (20.3 x 20.3 cm)
A deer, encircled by stone leaves, raises one hoof into light that feels both remembered and newly born. When the Deer Danced the Sun Down captures a moment not of action, but of invocation—a gesture held in silence that seemed to draw dusk from the sky.
At Ta Prohm Temple, as the Cambodian sun vanished behind the jungle canopy, a sandstone medallion shimmered with sudden presence. The deer appeared to glow from within, its curved form receiving light as breath, not surface. The image evokes sacred circularity—motion paused in eternity.
Captured on medium format black-and-white film with long exposure, the photograph was later shaped using classical chiaroscuro techniques to reveal its quiet gravity. Each print is hand-toned in gold, echoing the molten warmth of that sacred dusk.
Printed on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper, this archival pigment print is signed and numbered in a strictly limited edition of 25 + 2 Artist’s Proofs.
Let it offer stillness—the kind that glows in the corner of your room long after the sun has gone.
Click here to enter the Artist’s Journal and step deeper into the hush behind the light.
