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Brest: Festival Pluie d’images

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The  ice field stops before me and opens out onto the calm, still depths beyond. I sit on the side of my motionless sled, a few meters from the water’s edge, atop this expanse of floating ice which stretches back over forty miles behind me to the nearest dwelling. I have reached the northernmost point of my journey, and as my thoughts begin to wander, I contemplate the extent of the contrasts I have seen throughout this vast territory, and at the heart of its people.

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