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From the series "Apsaras"
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On the road, you imagine, in the jungle prevailing amid some remote Angkor's temples, that here, on the spot where you've just tripped up because of a root, a banyan tree, here, on that morsel of dust not worthy a giant wood spider's attention, here right on this spot, one day, long time ago, here a queen walked, lost during her favorite stroll. Indradevi was a queen of the 12th century, loved by a king, a man, a family. She was famous all over the kingdom for her beauty, her oval face. She impressed sculptors and singers, and if the songs are lost amid the crumbs of granite, once impregnable walls, her smile, outlined by a chisel, is still present around a corner, between a termite's nest and a anti-personnel mine. The Apsaras, as the one seen delicately in the background of this photo, were not only sculpted deities. They could sometimes be princesses and queens. But the seconds, minutes, hours piled up in centuries and wars, thus disappears the grace of a woman from another age. Beyond the heavy canopy of Cambodia's jungle languishes, still, the ghost of queen Indradevi.

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