Presence Beyond Time: A Sacred Axis of Seeing
At the threshold of Angkor Wat, a god waits without speaking. Eight arms extend from a body cloaked in jasmine and sequined saffron. Known as Ta Reach—the King of the Ancestors—he stands not as relic, but as presence. To encounter Him is to feel a hush enter the chest. To photograph Him is to listen more than to frame.
Lucas Varro arrived before dawn. The corridor smelled of sandalwood and time. Pilgrims moved like breath. When the hush within the gopura and the hush within the artist aligned, the shutter opened for a single long exposure—medium format black-and-white film receiving what words cannot hold. In the studio, light and shadow were shaped through classical chiaroscuro and hours of hand-toning until presence returned to the print.
Here, Vishnu does not dominate—He dwells. His smile, grave yet human, holds both creation and dissolution in balance. This is Cambodia’s soul: ancient, wounded, luminous. Within the Spirit of Angkor series, Presence Beyond Time stands as a sacred axis—an image through which all others quietly orbit.
The edition is limited to 25, with 2 Artist’s Proofs reserved. Each print is signed, numbered, hand-toned, and printed on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper—chosen for its softness, sustainability, and reverent tactility. Included are a Certificate of Authenticity and Collector’s Print Folio Statement.
To live with this work is to welcome a presence—not loud, but unyielding. A gaze that remains.
Also in Library
The Crocodile and the Moon Eel: A Tide-Bargain
A crocodile waits in hush where river bends to moonlight. From the silt, a pearl-lit eel rises, whispering a bargain of scale and tide. What is given is never returned whole: hunger meets silence, storm keeps watch, and the river writes its law in breath.
Field Note: Blue Hour at Angkor
The blue hour settles over Angkor like a hush in stone. Naga coils dissolve into shadow, carvings soften into silence, and hunger without teeth endures. A sketch becomes listening. Each fracture is a hymn, each hollow a river. A field note on patience, memory, and the stillness that lingers.
At the River’s Bend
Dusk leans against the bank and the water forgets its hurry. A heron holds one bead of light. In the reeds, someone counts—commas between breaths. The river practises memory; cicadas re-thread a broken necklace. Perhaps art is only this: placing the pause so the note can be heard.
