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The strangler fig’s roots descend like fingers through centuries.  Where they meet the host tree, and the stone carved beneath it, something ancient tightens—a tension not of violence, but of listening.  The threshold at Ta Prohm has become more than an architectural relic.  It is a breathing aperture of time.

When I arrived, the rain had only just left.  Everything glistened with memory.  The carved Kala above the portal opened its mouth in mythic stillness, while darkness behind the door waited without invitation.  I exposed the film slowly.  That gesture was not technique, but devotion.

In the studio, the negative unfolded like a held breath.  I shaped it through chiaroscuro, calling the shadows back to their original weight.  Each print is hand-toned until the hush becomes visible again.

Within the Spirit of Angkor series, The Door That Breathes rests at a pivot between decay and becoming.  It is not a record of ruin, but of reverent surrender.  The image invites the viewer to dwell in that space where stone yields without breaking, where presence is defined by patience.

Between breath and stone, a quiet pulse endures.

Printed as an 8 × 8-inch hand-toned archival pigment print on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper, the edition is strictly limited to 25 impressions, with 2 Artist’s Proofs.  Each is signed and numbered on the border recto, a mark of quiet authorship and enduring care.

To bring this image into one’s space is not to possess it, but to keep company with a doorway that still breathes—an aperture into silence, and into your own listening.


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