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- Sunday Night Post -

After all the trouble and anxious sweat, I still find myself looking for the one smooth and curvy metal monster that will take me far away from here and further into the unknown and arid landscape.

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- Sunday Night Post -

Burnt Lake water washed my white skin as it turned red, father sun spoke its wisdom through the night, to the sound of my righteous brother’s hands, softly plucking away the fog and calling the glorious light again. Another day started, many miles away.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"In this crowded world the surfer can still seek and find the perfect day, the perfect wave, and be alone with the surf and his thoughts …" R.C.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"When the eyes see what they have never seen before, the heart feels what it has never felt before." B.G.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"Knowing nothing. Finding nothing. My feet are cold."

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"In his writings, a wise Italian says that the best is the enemy of the good."

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

The air in the city today tasted like cold turkey, and it reminded me of how far away the scorpions on the beach were…

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

I live for these arid days of spikes and toes, when colours become shades of silver, buildings become sculptures, and soft legs become sacred ivory.

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- Sunday Night Post -

These days are about fixing things. A bike, or a processing machine, or an old Chevy transmission, or a thick emulsion on a piece of very expired ektachrome. It’s all the same, it’s all magical, it’s all a product of our small hands and our small brain. Not money. The same conflicting relationship lies between colour and composition, retina and celluloid, man and machine. Beautiful problems to have, i say.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

'He had no talent for wealth, and knew how to be poor without the least hint of squalor or inelegance. Perhaps he fell into his way of living without forecasting it much, but approved it with later wisdom. “I am often reminded, that if I had bestowed on me the wealth of Croesus, my aims must be still the same, and my means essentially the same”' H.D.T.

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- Sunday Night Post -

Capricia is not feeling so well. Memories get lost in the celluloid sea of images. Again and again, remember to remember. The rest is bliss.

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- Sunday Night Post -

Pursuing the celebration of my brother’s birthday, I remind myself of the mild wilderness, the taste of the water, the sounds of the trees, the textures of our skin, the colours of the rocks. All for us my friend. Remember to remember !

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"Just then we slammed onto the freeway and my stomach flew into birds with snakes curling at their wings and we joined the mainstream of American motor thought." R.B.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

it’s impossible to paint the glory of the forest. Like the early morning peace, all day, the great colours of the great spirit flooded our eyes with tears of joy.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

After all the trouble and anxious sweat, I still find myself looking for the one smooth and curvy metal monster that will take me far away from here and further into the unknown and arid landscape.

All images©s.chaussee

- Sunday Night Post -

Burnt Lake water washed my white skin as it turned red, father sun spoke its wisdom through the night, to the sound of my righteous brother’s hands, softly plucking away the fog and calling the glorious light again. Another day started, many miles away.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"In this crowded world the surfer can still seek and find the perfect day, the perfect wave, and be alone with the surf and his thoughts …" R.C.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"When the eyes see what they have never seen before, the heart feels what it has never felt before." B.G.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"Knowing nothing. Finding nothing. My feet are cold."

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"In his writings, a wise Italian says that the best is the enemy of the good."

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

The air in the city today tasted like cold turkey, and it reminded me of how far away the scorpions on the beach were…

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

I live for these arid days of spikes and toes, when colours become shades of silver, buildings become sculptures, and soft legs become sacred ivory.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

These days are about fixing things. A bike, or a processing machine, or an old Chevy transmission, or a thick emulsion on a piece of very expired ektachrome. It’s all the same, it’s all magical, it’s all a product of our small hands and our small brain. Not money. The same conflicting relationship lies between colour and composition, retina and celluloid, man and machine. Beautiful problems to have, i say.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

'He had no talent for wealth, and knew how to be poor without the least hint of squalor or inelegance. Perhaps he fell into his way of living without forecasting it much, but approved it with later wisdom. “I am often reminded, that if I had bestowed on me the wealth of Croesus, my aims must be still the same, and my means essentially the same”' H.D.T.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

Capricia is not feeling so well. Memories get lost in the celluloid sea of images. Again and again, remember to remember. The rest is bliss.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

Pursuing the celebration of my brother’s birthday, I remind myself of the mild wilderness, the taste of the water, the sounds of the trees, the textures of our skin, the colours of the rocks. All for us my friend. Remember to remember !

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

"Just then we slammed onto the freeway and my stomach flew into birds with snakes curling at their wings and we joined the mainstream of American motor thought." R.B.

All images©s.chaussée

- Sunday Night Post -

it’s impossible to paint the glory of the forest. Like the early morning peace, all day, the great colours of the great spirit flooded our eyes with tears of joy.

All images©s.chaussée

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