Studio journal
Cambodia – When Silence Speaks
I arrived in Cambodia expecting to see one of the greatest archaeological wonders on earth. Instead, I found a country where beauty and tragedy continue to exist side by side. Among magnificent temples, weathered statues and endless galleries of silent faces, I felt an unexpected heaviness. It became impossible for me to admire the stones without sensing the lives that had disappeared around them. This is not a story about Angkor Wat. It is about what Cambodia quietly leaves behind in those who are willing to listen.
From 6 to 13 December 2024, I travelled through the Angkor region of Cambodia.
Like many visitors, I stood before the immense temples and admired the astonishing craftsmanship that has survived for centuries. Yet almost immediately I felt something I could not explain. My energy slowly disappeared. Each day I became weaker, and eventually I became seriously ill.
It was not the tropical heat. It was something far more difficult to describe.
The museums affected me even more than the temples themselves. Broken Buddhas stood silently in their display cases, their heads separated from their bodies by centuries of war and looting. Ancient sculptures carried scars that no restoration could erase. Rooms filled with quiet faces seemed to be watching history unfold without ever speaking.
Outside, thousands of visitors hurried from temple to temple, cameras raised, eager to capture another perfect photograph before moving on to the next destination. I found myself slowing down instead. I wanted to understand what had happened here, not simply what remained.
One moment has stayed with me ever since. During our journey I asked our Cambodian guide a simple question.
“Why haven’t we seen a single elephant?”
His answer was calm.
“They all fled to Thailand because of the landmines.”
It was such a simple sentence. And yet it said everything.
At that moment the history of Cambodia stopped being something I was reading about. It became painfully real.
Later I visited places where human remains were displayed as silent witnesses to violence that is still within living memory. There was no need for dramatic explanations. The silence itself carried more weight than words ever could.
Even the dragonfly appeared again. As on so many other moments throughout my journey, it crossed my path unexpectedly. Whether coincidence or quiet companion, I have long stopped trying to decide.
By the time I left Cambodia, I felt relieved. Not because I disliked the country, quite the opposite.
I left with enormous respect for Cambodia, for its people, and for the quiet dignity with which they carry a history that few visitors truly stop to consider.
Some places fill you with energy.
Others ask you to carry a small part of their memory.
Cambodia was one of those places.
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During my stay in Cambodia I created a series of five works on paper inspired by these experiences. They are presented separately in the chapter Works on Paper – Shadows of Angkor, where they can be viewed as independent artworks rather than illustrations of this journey.
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