The Moment Before She Moved
The temple was still sleeping when I arrived. Not silent, exactly—something more ancient than silence. The kind of hush that presses gently against the skin, softening each breath until the body feels made of mist.
I moved barefoot through the western court of Preah Khan, careful not to disturb what had been waiting long before I came. The stone beneath my soles was smoothed by centuries of rain and reverence. Then, just before dawn, I found her—an apsara carved into the wall, her body leaning forward as if in mid-emergence from another world.
She seemed to be listening. The lines of her form were nearly erased, yet her poise remained. Time had softened her features, worn them to a gentle absence—but not an emptiness. In that quiet moment, presence poured through every loss.
I composed the frame slowly. Through the ground glass, her image appeared inverted, floating. I waited, watching how the light moved across her. The longer I stood there, the more the air seemed to lean toward her. I did not press the shutter until the moment surrendered itself completely.
Dawn exhales on stone—
rain-worn grace leans into light,
breath waits in silence.
The exposure itself felt less like an act than a listening. And later, in the studio, I would return to her again—not to impose, but to receive. Each layer of shadow shaped by hand was a way of holding what could not be held: that hush, that sorrowful grace, that quiet that never leaves.
Also in My Journal
Stillness in the Shape of Shelter
A rain-streaked Buddha sits beneath the coiled naga Muchilinda, not to resist the world, but to hold stillness within it. This meditation reveals a print shaped by breath, not description.
The Shelter That Remains
Time gathers around the Buddha as breath, not burden. In this haibun, the artist offers a moment that does not explain itself—it simply remains, unmoving beneath the shelter of silence.
What Light Remembers
Light rests on the Buddha’s chest without revealing him. In this moment of reverent waiting, the image forms as presence—not picture. The serpent shelters, the stone remembers, and the poem listens.
$250
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)
Dawn drifts across Preah Khan like a whispered psalm, finding an apsara carved mid-breath, her worn features turned toward a light that has travelled centuries to meet her.
Stone damp with night rain exhales; moss darkens the thresholds; silence grows until it feels almost visible—an unseen veil between the present and something immeasurably older.
I approached barefoot, each muted footfall dissolving into the hush. In that suspended moment her gesture seemed to move without moving, inviting the heart to remember a rhythm older than speech.
Captured on large-format black-and-white film, the exposure lingered, allowing low light to carve shadow like water over stone. In the studio, meticulous hand-toning and classical chiaroscuro extended the devotion, revealing subtleties of grain and breath otherwise lost.
Printed as a museum-grade archival pigment print on Hahnemühle Bamboo paper, this work is limited to twenty-five impressions, with two Artist’s Proofs—each signed, numbered, and accompanied by a certificate.
Welcome her stillness as a quiet threshold within your own space.
Previously titled ‘Apsara I, 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.
