Were I a journalist, I’d prefer not to write for the “society” pages, where the wealthy and beautiful show up week after week. The same sentiment keeps me from making the Golden Gate Bridge the subject of most of my art work and photographs. But sometimes, going through the archives, you just have to say “I surrender.” So today, a picture from Baker Beach on an October morning three years back. San Francisco being what it is, weather-wise, this could have been almost any morning in any month. O! how we suffer from the lack of climate extremes!
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.