Complimentary worldwide shipping on orders over $400 · No import tariffs for most countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

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

Where light lingers, time kneels. The world waits to be seen — not taken, but received.
The Weight of Light

3 min read

In the hush before dawn, light gathers until waiting becomes prayer.
Long exposure teaches surrender — to breathe with time, to let the unseen complete the image.
What remains on film is not possession, but trust made visible.

Read More
The Silence Between Temples
The Silence Between Temples

3 min read

Between one breath and the next, the world holds its pulse in silence.
Here, between temples, devotion hums without voice—light becoming memory, memory becoming air.
Step softly into the space where sound has already bowed,
and feel the sacred linger in what remains unspoken.

Read More
Hands of the Sculptor — The Craft as Meditation
Hands of the Sculptor — The Craft as Meditation

1 min read

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.

Read More