san francisco photographer

Bush and Kearny

Empty Lot

It was about 90 degrees in the South of France. Coming from San Francisco, where it's sweater weather all year round, I was definitely out of my element. On this particular day, I went on a walk on my own. It was at the peak of the day, and the sun felt like it was unnecessarily hovering overhead. The place I was staying at was just beyond those houses in the background, and to reach it, one would have to walk around this large area of grass. It was funny to me that this old Mercedes was parked out there in the middle of the grass. It looked so sad there, out in the middle of nowhere. But who knows, maybe I was projecting.

Morning Coffee

6th Street


Lonely Chair in the Mission District

Honey pot

She looked over at me in that way. We were having dinner with some family friends. The hot summer day was finally a temperature we could tolerate. The sun twinkling through delicate leaves just beyond the window. She's eating less now, I've noticed. She always watched what she ate. As children, when she made a mistake, as a punishment we'd tease her that she couldn't have salad for a week, as if salad was her honey pot. but this is different. I know it's a symptom, but every symptom is so quietly apparent, a slithering gas leak slowly moving nearer. One more bite.


South of Market


How appropriate it is that yesterday was also my parents anniversary. Two people who love each other so completely. A love that has taken many forms over the last 40 years of being together. In recent years I have come to realize how important it is for me to photograph them, if only to hold onto the present or past. Simple moments.  It's a real pleasure to see a love so admirable, so quiet, so sweet. I wish that love on everyone. It would make all the other stuff worth it. It has to.

 "It doesn't get any better than this: music with my best friends in the moonlight." Dad said as we sat at the table outside on a spring night. 

 "It doesn't get any better than this: music with my best friends in the moonlight." Dad said as we sat at the table outside on a spring night. 

Pierrevert, France

Pierrevert, which is in the South of France, was an incredible place, but it was also above 90 degrees every day. Coming from San Francisco weather, it was rough. Regardless, I spent most days walking about 6 miles, checking out exhibitions, meeting other artists, and when I got the time, photographing on my own. The town of Pierrevert was very old, parts of it were built even as early as 1500-1700. The sweet couple hosting me shared the history of the town, explaining how the hills and mountains surrounding them protected the people from attacks. And while a lot has been built since the towns origin, it still has that isolated feeling. 

I loved seeing the overgrown weeds everywhere. Living in a big city, like San Francisco, nature is manufactured to fit between concrete slabs. A Tree here, bush there, and when the roots wreck the concrete, they just cut the tree down. And while I'm not really the nature-type, it's difficult not to appreciate a landscape so lush and seductive. The wind blowing through it's snail infested mane, and the sort of quiet and reflective air that gets into your lungs. 


It just keeps ticking. A machine in constant disarray, moving so fast you can't tell if it's speeding up or slowing down. The distant hum of steel to concrete, drowned out by bluetooth conversations, and bustling cars. A rollercoaster moving so fast you can only focus on the blurs of color as they pass you by. Look at it. Look at it hard. Concentrate. Try to follow one blade on the ceiling fan as it circles and circles and circles. As soon as you catch it, it's already gone again. Concentrate.