The fog returned yesterday to San Francisco — with a difference: it was apparently colored, eerily, by smoke from distant fires. At Lands End, in the northwest corner of the city, it was not only foggy but dark well into mid-morning. I was working without a “middle gray” reference card, and so, after the fact, it is a challenge to make the image show the precise tone of the atmosphere. I can describe it only as a variant of sepia.
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.