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
The Weight of Light
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.
The Silence Between Temples
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.
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.
