When Light Becomes Memory
The jungle was quietening. Leaves hung as if they had been listening all day. The gate loomed before me—not with grandeur, but with breath. Its carved edges blurred slightly in the low light, softened not by shadow, but by remembering.
She stood above, just visible through the hush. A devata held in high relief—serene, composed, offering not a motion, but the residue of one. Her hand lifted a blossom, and in that gesture, something ancient stirred. Not beauty. Not symbolism. Presence.
It was as if the stone had once been fire and still remembered how to burn. I stood beneath her long enough to forget the time, the gear, the process. Only when the light reached her cheek did I move. The tripod legs pressed gently into the earth. I adjusted the camera, not to frame her, but to listen. Long exposure was not a technique—it was a way to breathe with her.
What entered the lens was not light. It was memory. What left the shutter was not sound. It was silence.
In the studio, months later, I did not print her. I invited her forward. Shaped the shadows she knew. Lifted gold where her fire had once lived.
the blossom still lifts
though the sun has long since passed—
the fire that remains
Also in Library
Stone That Remembers the Sky
This poem listens to Angkor not as ruin, but as grammar—where moss, shadow, and proportion carry devotion forward without spectacle. What endures here is not glory, but measure: a way of standing that no longer needs witnesses.
Rice-Ghost and the Seven Drums
At harvest, the danger is not hunger but forgetting how to listen.
This folklore retelling speaks of drums struck for silence, of grain taken without gratitude, and of a narrow figure who does not punish—only waits. A tale of pacts made not with spirits, but with attention itself.
Naga Vow
A lost city sleeps in the jungle, its thresholds carved with serpents — not ornament, but law. This vow-poem enters love as sacred hunger: desire as guardianship, devotion as possession, the body speaking without language. A liturgy of heat, roots, rain, and the terrible tenderness of being claimed.
$270
Angkor Wat Temple, Angkor, Cambodia — 2018
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
11.5 x 5.8 inches (29.2 x 14.7 cm)
Evening gathers at the western gate of Angkor Wat. The stone no longer reflects the sun—it releases what it remembers. A devata lifts her hand in timeless offering, her gesture poised not in motion, but in presence.
In this contemplative image from the Spirit of Angkor series, Lucas Varro captures one of the temple’s most radiant carvings—her form framed by a palace of flame-leaf scrolls and crowned by a silent kala.
The photograph was exposed on large-format black-and-white negative film beneath the golden hush of day. In the artist’s studio, classical chiaroscuro shaping revealed her presence, and a final hand-toned veil of gold summoned the light she once held.
This strictly limited edition of 25 + 2 Artist’s Proofs is printed on museum-grade Hahnemühle Bamboo paper. Each print is signed, numbered, and individually finished by the artist, making every impression a unique act of reverent craftsmanship.
The blossom she offers is not for the eye, but for the soul.
To step into the moment behind the image, click here to explore the Artist’s Journal.
