A Stillness Deeper Than Victory
evening light lingers—
a fallen shield in shadow
keeps the hush of time
A hush gathers along the colonnade—as though the sandstone itself slows its breathing. Last sunlight does not descend; it rises from within the carvings, memory surfacing through centuries of dust.
The relief stills the storm of Kurukshetra. Hooves rear, spears arc, yet violence is absent. One soldier stands apart, shield lifted at the threshold of surrender or transcendence. I surrendered, too—exposing the large-format film in a single, unhurried breath.
In the darkroom I returned to feeling, not fact: myth’s ache, carved silence, the faint ember of something sacred. Hand-toning coaxed that ember into paper—gold and ash rather than black and white. What remains is aftermath: the silence following thunder, the breath that carries the soul across an unseen gate.
The warrior still waits—not for triumph, but for the light that remembers.
— L.V.
More from the Library
The Leaf and the Pencil
A leaf holds my attention. Then I remember that I can draw. The pencil reveals things I had never noticed, but introduces its own demands: proportion, shading, the desire to make something beautiful. When I try to describe the encounter, language presents another difficulty. An essay about the uncertain distance between looking at something, understanding it, and being present with it.
The Work We Return To
We have become very good at measuring persistence, and less good at asking what deserves it.
A musician begins the same passage again. A writer returns to an unfinished sentence. Someone stands before a familiar face carved in stone, with nothing new to photograph.
What brings us back when enthusiasm has gone? And how do we distinguish devotion from the demands that quietly consume the rest of our lives?
Under the Gallery
Rain, a carved hand, and the small movements of lives separated by centuries. A new literary piece from The Vow.
$895
Angkor Wat Temple, Cambodia — 2020
Limited Edition Archival Pigment Print
Edition
Strictly limited to 7 prints + 2 Artist’s Proofs
Edition Number
This listing is for the first numbered print from the Large Collector Edition: 1/7
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
28 x 28 inches (71.1 x 71.1 cm)
“There is a radiance that survives the clang of swords.”
A golden hush settles upon Angkor Wat’s western gallery. Here, the mythical Battle of Kurukshetra no longer roars; it breathes. A lone warrior—shield lifted—stands in the after-silence where conflict surrenders to memory. Late-afternoon light glides across the relief, awakening an inner glow that seems to rise from the stone itself.
During a solitary visit in 2020, photographer Lucas Varro waited, listening for that subtle radiance. Exposing large-format black-and-white film in a single, patient breath, he received the scene rather than seized it. In the darkroom he coaxed warmth into silver, hand-toning each print with whispers of gold that echo the canopy-filtered light of that evening.
Printed on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo, renowned for its velvety surface and sustainable heart, every sheet becomes a quiet sanctuary for tone and texture. Limited to 25 signed prints (+ 2 Artist’s Proofs), the work offers permanence not only in craft but in contemplative presence.
Should this image find its way to your wall, may it stand as a still point—an illuminated threshold where stone remembers, and light speaks without sound.
Follow the quiet path into the Artist’s Journal to wander deeper into this hush.
Previously titled ‘Battle of Kurukshetra I, Study II, Angkor Wat Temple, Cambodia. 2020,’ this photograph has been renamed to better reflect its place in the series and its spiritual tone. The edition, provenance, and authenticity remain unchanged.