The Listening Tension Between Silence and Form
“Light is the brief permission stone gives to time.”
Mist rose without urgency. I stood at the edge of it, where tree and guardian cohabited the breath between root and roar. The lion’s flank was veiled in lichen so white it could have been mistaken for moonlight. Above, the fig’s roots descended with a patience I could not name.
I held still, not in preparation, but in recognition. These were not statues, not trees. They were presences. And I—if I was careful—could dissolve just enough to remain within their exchange, unseen.
The photograph would come. But first, the silence.
The earth prays downward
in braided syllables of root,
while granite keeps the relic of a roar
quiet beneath its lichen veil.Morning inhales—
shadow drawn up the ribs of stone,
photographer invisible,
listening for the hush
that names a threshold sacred.Nothing moves.
Yet presence migrates
from bark to jaw to aperture,
and the negative drinks
what no tongue could shape.
Also in Library
Hands of the Sculptor — The Craft as Meditation
In the hush of the galleries, the sculptor listens rather than strikes.
Each breath, each measured blow, opens silence a little further.
Unfinished reliefs reveal the moment when mastery becomes meditation—
when patience itself is carved into being,
and the dust that falls at a mason’s feet becomes the residue of prayer.
The Asura Within
At the gates of Angkor Thom, gods and demons share a single serpent.
Across this bridge of struggle the pilgrim learns that the asura is not evil but unfinished — the restless force within each of us still grasping for light.
To cross the naga is to balance passion with compassion, struggle with stillness, shadow with dawn.
Garuda and the Serpent · Flight and Surrender
Between Garuda’s wings and the Nāga’s coils, Angkor breathes its oldest truth: flight and surrender are one motion. In the carvings where sky and water entwine, the pilgrim learns that freedom depends upon gravity, and that stillness itself is a kind of flight.
$260
Preah Khan Temple, Angkor, Cambodia — 2020
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 hush presses down over Preah Khan before sunrise—thick with breath, shadow, and the scent of old rain. Roots fall like robes, and the white-mottled guardian lion waits in silence.
Here, tree and statue face one another without motion. A sacred tension lingers—not of conflict, but of equilibrium—where each presence dignifies the other. Light arrives slowly, as if asking permission to touch what time has already sanctified.
Lucas Varro stood within that silence, sensing an unspoken ritual unfolding. The image was captured on large-format black-and-white film with a long exposure. Later, in the darkroom, chiaroscuro was shaped by hand, and the final print was toned to echo the breath of stone and bark.
Each archival pigment print is hand-toned by the artist on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper and issued in a strictly limited edition of 25 + 2 Artist’s Proofs.
Let this guardian of stillness take root within your contemplative space.
To trace the hush between breath and stone, click here to explore the Artist’s Journal.
Previously titled ‘Guardian, Preah Khan 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.
