Complimentary worldwide shipping on orders over $400 · No import tariffs for most countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

Stillness is audible; the temple listens back.

In Angkor Wat’s cruciform gallery—once the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas—a lone figure endures: the Enlightened One beneath Muchilinda’s vigilant coils.  Before dawn, Lucas Varro met this hush.  Flagstones were cool, lampblack shadows intact.  A single shaft of morning settled upon the serpent’s brow, and the shutter closed as softly as eyelids in meditation.

Medium-format black-and-white film received the silence.  In the studio, chiaroscuro coaxed depth; hand-toning warmed the stone until it seemed to inhale its own radiance.  The resulting print, Anahata Nada—the unstruck sound—belongs to the inward current of the Spirit of Angkor series.  It makes no declaration; it waits.

Printed on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper and limited to twenty-five numbered impressions with two artist’s proofs, each sheet bears the quiet tally of devotion.  Signed, authenticated, and presented in archival harmony, the work offers not an object of veneration but a space that listens with you.


Also in Library

Stone That Remembers the Sky
Stone That Remembers the Sky

1 min read

This poem listens to Angkor not as ruin, but as grammar—where moss, shadow, and proportion carry devotion forward without spectacle. What endures here is not glory, but measure: a way of standing that no longer needs witnesses.

Read More
Rice-Ghost and the Seven Drums
Rice-Ghost and the Seven Drums

3 min read

At harvest, the danger is not hunger but forgetting how to listen.
This folklore retelling speaks of drums struck for silence, of grain taken without gratitude, and of a narrow figure who does not punish—only waits. A tale of pacts made not with spirits, but with attention itself.

Read More
Sepia-toned banner illustration of a jungle-choked ancient stone doorway, its entrance wrapped by a massive naga-like serpent and tangled roots, leading into deep shadow and mist.
Naga Vow

2 min read

A lost city sleeps in the jungle, its thresholds carved with serpents — not ornament, but law. This vow-poem enters love as sacred hunger: desire as guardianship, devotion as possession, the body speaking without language. A liturgy of heat, roots, rain, and the terrible tenderness of being claimed.

Read More