Free Shipping On all Orders over $400 · Zero Tariffs for Most Countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

The air before dawn was thick with sandalwood and stone.  My breath slowed as I entered the gopura, matching the rhythm of monks passing ahead.  The statue stood waiting—eight arms unmoving, sequins catching the last star of night.  His smile had not changed in centuries.

He did not look at me.  But presence has weight.  It settled just behind my ribs—where memory keeps its oldest keys.  Some moments cannot be framed; only received.  I positioned the tripod not to act, but to listen.  One long exposure became a vow.

In the darkroom, I shaped the silence with chiaroscuro.  Not to replicate the moment—but to honour its hush.

 

The sequins held night’s last star.
A monk passed, barefoot, unnoticed.
His saffron robe touched air like wind through silk.

Stone remembers patience.
Light offered nothing; it waited.
Then the shutter—and the statue—
did not move,
but something eternal did.

His smile remains.
Not joy, nor sorrow.
Just the balance that outlives both.


Also in My Journal

Stillness in the Shape of Shelter
Stillness in the Shape of Shelter

1 min read

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.

Read More
The Shelter That Remains
The Shelter That Remains

1 min read

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.

Read More
What Light Remembers
What Light Remembers

1 min read

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.

Read More