30/05/2026
Cambodia, Angkor Wat.
Angkor Wat was the first place I ever photographed a real body of work. I’d just spent a lot of money on Nikon gear I didn’t fully understand — reading the manual on the flight over, figuring it out as I went. I was winging it, like I often do. Looking back, that trip changed everything.
I’ve returned three times over the last twenty years, and each visit has felt different. Not because the place has changed, but because I have. The heat, the scale, the way the temples rise out of the jungle — it still hits you the same way every time.
There’s a weight to the history here. Angkor was once the centre of the Khmer Empire, one of the largest pre-industrial cities in the world, before it was abandoned and slowly reclaimed by the jungle. More recently, Cambodia lived through the brutality of the Khmer Rouge and years of conflict. You still see traces of that — bullet marks left in some of the stone. You don’t always notice it straight away, but it’s there.
It was here I first started photographing monks. At the time I didn’t think too much about it — I was just drawn to them. The colour, the stillness, the contrast against the stone. Over time it became something more. Each visit brought me a little closer to Buddhism, not in a formal way, but in how I started to see things in my own life and worldview. I’ve made friendships here that have stayed with me. Monks I’m still in touch with today.
The first images I took here ended up becoming an exhibition. It did well. And without realising it at the time, it set everything in motion. A lot of what I’ve done since traces back to this place.
There’s something about Angkor Wat I can’t fully explain. It’s not just the temples, or the history, or even the scale. It’s the feeling of being there — the people, the openness, the way things seem to meet you where you are. Cambodia has a quiet strength to it, and a warmth that stays long after you leave. I keep going back. It never feels finished.