Before the Door That Breathes
The last hush of night clung to the fig leaves like breath withheld. Rain had moved on, but its presence lingered—in scent, in shadow, in the way water tucked itself into the seams of stone. The forest did not wake so much as deepen.
I approached the doorway slowly. The roots were not wrapped, but woven—fig and spung braided into one living threshold, one memory of ascent and surrender. Stone, too, had softened. Beneath the Kala’s devouring mouth, a lintel held the impression of prayer, half-eclipsed by bark. The shadows inside the door did not recede. They breathed.
I stood without speaking, spine aligned with root, as if waiting for a breath I might share in silence.
roots taste fallen rain
limestone inhales the stormlight—
a doorway exhales
The exposure was slow, but time was already altered. Later, I would guide the negative back into form, each hand-toned contour a return to the hush that held me. What emerged was not the image of a ruin, but the exhale of something that remains alive.
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
Ta Prohm, Angkor, 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 are doorways that do not open into rooms, but into listening.
At Ta Prohm, before the jungle stirred, I stood before one such portal. Two trees—one strangling, one yielding—had braided themselves into the stone, their roots clinging like hands to a forgotten threshold. Above, the Kala’s mouth devoured time. Below, silence pressed against the dark.
The photograph was made slowly, as breath returned to the forest after rain. I worked with a large-format analogue camera, allowing the long exposure to gather what little light there was. In the studio, I shaped each silver tone by hand, using classical chiaroscuro to echo not just the scene, but the hush I felt inside it.
The final print is an 8 × 8-inch archival pigment print on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper. The edition is strictly limited to 25, with 2 Artist’s Proofs. Each piece is hand-toned, signed, and numbered on border recto, and includes a certificate of authenticity.
Let this image become a threshold of stillness in your space.
Click here to step through the breath of the image into the Artist’s Journal.
Previously titled ‘Strangled Doorway, Ta Prohm Temple, Angkor, 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.