What Light Remembers
The light was already waiting.
It touched the Buddha’s chest without revealing him. A gesture without insistence. A kind of reverence.
The serpent’s hood rose above like a curved breath—its silence shaped in sandstone, its stillness more vivid than the air. No birds moved. No shadows slipped.
In that unmoving, something opened. Not toward understanding, but toward presence.
I framed the image slowly. The exposure long. As if light itself had to remember what it was becoming. I did not adjust—I yielded.
Later, in the studio, I shaped the image by hand, letting shadow do what it knows best: speak without sound.
The film held the silence. The hand-toning returned its warmth.
The Buddha never moved. But I did. A little closer to what light remembers.
The poem followed. Not like a caption. But like a prayer:
The stone does not forget.
It softens.
It deepens.
It cradles what was once light
and gives it back as presence.What coils above is not defence—
but grace in spiral form,
shelter made visible.And the Buddha?
He listens still,
not for sound,
but for what comes after it.He does not open his eyes.
The world has already entered.
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.
$250
East Mebon 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 Buddha rests in the sanctum of East Mebon Temple, still beneath the hooded coil of a naga. The stone is weathered. The light, faint. And yet, something here endures—not in form, but in stillness.
This is not the stillness of death, but of shelter. A breath held in stone. A silence that has chosen to remain.
Captured on medium-format black-and-white film, the exposure was slow, shaped more by reverence than composition. In the studio, chiaroscuro techniques guided the image’s depth and dimension. Each print was hand-toned to echo the warmth and inwardness felt in the moment of capture.
This signed and numbered work is printed as an archival pigment print on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper, offered in a strictly limited edition of 25 with 2 Artist’s Proofs. The print holds not only image, but presence—a quiet companion for spaces of reflection.
To welcome this image is to allow stillness to shelter the light in you.
Click here to explore the Artist’s Journal and enter the silence.
