Bored with obvious reality, I find my fascination in transforming it into a subjective point of view.

---Ernst Haas.

I don't know why, but I'm always looking for that 1970's polaroid look, the sort of picture that I've already got. This isn't quite it; too pure, not faded enough. You know what I mean, empty car lot, California, or wide sweeping highways. Quite literally: the end point, where the 'traveller's journeys are done'; from now on all the frontiers are inward ones (Hopper).

No more promises of Utopia; this is as good as it gets. It's a perfect summer's day outside, there's nothing on on the box, but your thoughts are all scattered and phoney, paralysed by endless amounts of trivia. Modern life (Simmell). When everything is possible, nothing is. Leonardo was fascinated by everything and maybe, therefore, by nothing.

An endless, dreary Sunday afternoon, an afternoon swallowing down whole years, its every hour a year. By turns walked despairingly down empty streets and lay quietly on the couch. Occasionally astonished by the leaden, meaningless clouds almost uninterruptedly drifting by. 'You are reserved for a great Monday!'. Fine, but Sunday will never end.

---Kafka.

Joel Sternfeld, of course...