This week's imagery comes courtesy of Mats Kahlstrom, a Stavanger native honing his skills on the northern fringes. Mats carries that quiet humour you only find in the Scandinavians and is as easy going as they come. His images speak for themselves.


Chasing Flight

We hunt creases in stone walls

Shrill calls through still air

Duck gelid masses that draw

Force beyond all umbra

Rich time screws seconds tight

Water breaks light, we chase flight

To thread inclement angles

Lip swings her hiemal clip

Boreal nips the bitumen press

As slate grey whispers guess

The guns of gold dawn strike

Water breaks light, we chase flight

Our collapse cheats gravity

Delight in torn insanity

Beryl blue limbs clatter

Teeth chatter, lips cerulean

Steal a lungful gasp

Water breaks light, we chase flight

Eventide, under dull skies

We cheat cold concrete weight

Bones prey for the howling gulls

To dodge the pull of land

To inhabit ebbs and flows

Water breaks light, we chase flight

photo by Mats Kahlström
photo by Mats Kahlström

Beyond the Scars


Curtain whispers tight refrain
Shifting degrees on the march
Swell train, feeding the parched
Freedom in grace again

The freezing reports from the face
Snap sharp with whipcrack calls
As the gulls pinwheel to
Track about Jurassic cliffs

Soaring, stealing infinity from
Shot teeth of the breaking walls
The lift-and-crash guillotine falls
The thralls of a life get forgot

A murmur, a murmur, a shout
The tide touches open wounds
The devil in those sounds, and
The walk turns into a rout

Beyond the scars, beyond the scars
The limitless passage of passing Bars
A silent orchestra proud salutes
The wicked twist of the clouds

Beyond the scars, beyond the scars
Thrills of a life burn wild
And gravity tugs from the boiling pit
Eyes shine jangled and riled

Slight walking, slipping on kelp
Marking the card of time
Dancing to the sometimes yelp
The vagabond song of the brine

Beyond the scars, beyond the scars,
The devil dances about the seams
And the turnstile spins its dreams
The turnstile spins its dreams

Dancing to old North Sea songs
The spirit breathes where it belongs
It gathers, tripped, building a lip
Into the scars of the swell we slip

Into the scars of the swell we slip

photo by Mats Kahlström
photo by Mats Kahlström

Convoluted

Air, gathered in fitful starts,

leaks like tree sap,

spotting our greatest wounds

with a bosky crust

I will grind you,

between leather-capped tips

scrape up the fragments

and re-cast your form

I know your combination,

like the tree roots know

the press of earth

about their lumpen limbs

photo by Mats Kahlström
photo by Mats Kahlström

Mats has been documenting the relationship between Joel Stevenson and his anything-but-ordinary slab explorations in Norway. You can find more of Mats' work here: http://www.matskahlstrom.com or Joel's specifically designed surfboards here: http://www.jsboardservice.no