I’ve always loved the way that light was seen, and depicted, by the American painter Edward Hopper (1882-1967). Sometimes, as I’m out and about in an urban setting, I find instances where life imitates his art. In particular, the ubiquitous stucco walls in my area of San Francisco are a perfect surface for the flat planes of light I see in his work, and the diffusing ocean mist also doesn’t hurt. Here are three images, unabashed homages, that I’ve made over the years: “Hopper Morning,” “Apartments at Sunset,” and “Night Entrance.”
Lake Merced, near the southern boundary of San Francisco, one morning of Thanksgiving weekend. Fog in, out, in, out again. It was a certain kind of morning that urged a certain timeless treatment of the images … or at least, a treatment evoking an earlier time in photography’s history. Strangest and most wonderful to me were the tall unfamiliar rooftops rising in the melting fog. In their stairstepping vagueness they seemed like something from an ancient civilization.