Why I Print on Bamboo
by Lucas Varro
There is a profound quietude in the temples of Angkor—an ancient breath that lingers in stone, moss, and morning light. When choosing how to bring these moments into the world as physical prints, I seek materials that do more than serve the image; they must honour the spirit of the place.
This is why I print my work on Hahnemühle Bamboo—a paper born not of forested pulp, but of the rapid-growing, self-renewing bamboo plant. As the world’s first fine art inkjet paper made from 90% bamboo fibres, it reflects my reverence for nature and impermanence—for beauty that leaves no wound behind.
Bamboo grows swiftly, needs little water, and requires no pesticides. It yields far more cellulose per acre than trees, yet asks less of the land. To print upon it is to collaborate with a plant that teaches resilience and generosity—less an act of consumption, more a gesture of reciprocity.
Its natural white tone—free of optical brighteners—glows with a quiet warmth: soft, muted, like temple sandstone in morning haze. Its gently textured surface cradles the photograph as a whisper cradles a prayer. Monochrome prints, in particular, find a deeper voice here: shadows breathe, mid-tones sing, and highlights drift like incense into silence.
For me, it is not enough that a print be archival—it must also feel alive. The subtle tactility of this paper gives soul to the image. It transforms a photograph into an offering.
Every print I make is the result of long, patient hours in the temples—measured not in time, but in stillness. By choosing bamboo, I extend that stillness into the material world, with a paper that honours the earth, carries the image with grace, and disappears softly into time.
Also in Library
Those Who Keep the Way Open — On the Quiet Guardians of Angkor’s Thresholds
Quiet gestures shape the way into Angkor — a swept stone, a refilled bowl, a hand steadying a guardian lion. This essay reflects on the unseen custodians whose daily care keeps the thresholds open, revealing how sacredness endures not through stone alone, but through those who tend its meaning.
Multiplicity and Mercy — The Face Towers of Jayavarman VII
A new vision of kingship rises at the Bayon: serene faces turned to every horizon, shaping a world where authority is expressed as care. Moving through the terraces, one enters a field of steady, compassionate presence — a landscape where stone, light, and time teach through quiet attention.
Stone That Dreams
Bayon wakes like a mind emerging from shadow. Its many faces shift with light and breath, teaching that perception—and the self—is never singular. In walking this forest of towers, the pilgrim discovers a quiet multiplicity within, held together by a calm that feels both ancient and newly understood.
