The Silence That Still Walks
Some images begin with a prayer. Others begin with ruin. This one began with both.
In the Hall of Dancers at Preah Khan Temple, the roof has long since fallen, yet the room still gathers its centre. Columns lean as if listening. Rain darkens the stone. Apsaras, worn but not erased, stand above each doorway—still poised, still watching.
It was just after the monsoon when I arrived. The light was not dramatic. It didn’t rush. It entered carefully, touching the corridor as if asking permission. I placed the tripod gently. The exposure would be long.
Captured on medium-format black-and-white film, this image carries the hush of that hour. Not simply what I saw, but how the silence moved. In the darkroom, I shaped the tones using classical chiaroscuro, letting the shadows breathe and the light return. Hand-toning each print allows me to extend that presence into the physical world—so that each piece carries not only the spirit of the temple, but the stillness of the moment I met it.
This is not a photograph of brokenness. It is a photograph of how presence remains.
Printed on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper, Through All Things Broken, Light Still Walks is offered as a signed and numbered archival pigment print in a Limited Edition of 25 + 2 Artist’s Proofs. It is not simply an image, but a space—where ruin is not absence, and silence is not empty.
To receive it is to allow something ancient and alive to dwell with you, gently.
More from the Library
The Leaf and the Pencil
A leaf holds my attention. Then I remember that I can draw. The pencil reveals things I had never noticed, but introduces its own demands: proportion, shading, the desire to make something beautiful. When I try to describe the encounter, language presents another difficulty. An essay about the uncertain distance between looking at something, understanding it, and being present with it.
The Work We Return To
We have become very good at measuring persistence, and less good at asking what deserves it.
A musician begins the same passage again. A writer returns to an unfinished sentence. Someone stands before a familiar face carved in stone, with nothing new to photograph.
What brings us back when enthusiasm has gone? And how do we distinguish devotion from the demands that quietly consume the rest of our lives?
Under the Gallery
Rain, a carved hand, and the small movements of lives separated by centuries. A new literary piece from The Vow.
$895
Preah Khan Temple, Angkor, Cambodia — 2021
Limited Edition Archival Pigment Print
Edition
Strictly limited to 7 prints + 2 Artist’s Proofs
Edition Number
This listing is for the first numbered print from the Large Collector Edition: 1/7
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
28 x 28 inches (71.1 x 71.1 cm)
Light does not ask whether the roof remains. It enters anyway—through stone, through silence, through the long corridor of memory.
Captured before dawn in the Hall of Dancers at Preah Khan, this image reveals a chamber both open and intact, broken and breathing. Rain has passed. The roof is gone. And still, the apsaras lean above the doorways as though they remember something sacred. In the distance, the stupa gathers shadow and quiet—a centre not of form, but of presence.
Standing before this scene, I felt no urgency. The long exposure was not a technique, but a way of listening. Later, in the studio, I shaped the photograph through chiaroscuro and hand-toning—guiding it gently toward the spirit I met that morning.
This signed and numbered archival pigment print is crafted on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper, offered in a strictly Limited Edition of 25 + 2 Artist’s Proofs. Each print is hand-toned individually and accompanied by a Certificate of Authenticity.
Let it be a still point—where breath, shadow, and memory remain.
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