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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 My Journal

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

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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.

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The Shelter That Remains
The Shelter That Remains

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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.

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What Light Remembers
What Light Remembers

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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.

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