Happily it’s Spring. I took lunch outside twice last week, the crunchy greens fit nicely with the warm sunshine and smiles of passersby on the San Francisco sidewalks. Eventually the black coats will disappear and I’ll get raccoon eyes from all of this dining en plein aire with my shades on. It’s a good feeling.
Today I printed for two hours, concentrating on one shot from my Yosemite roll. I’m not quite satisfied with the results – there is a fingernail-shaped hair/scratch/something visible in the center of the frame that I have to investigate. And I’m still figuring out how to avoid getting gray snow. Later this week I’ll polish things up.
Funny that I spent this sunny day inside a darkroom. Yesterday, photographing outdoors at Muir Woods, the rain soaked me. I’m pretty sure some of the photos I took will either be slightly out of focus or feature large water droplets at random places in the frame. Curiously, I’m anticipating how the negatives will turn out.
Anyway, there’s books to read this Spring. My first one is Sunnyside by Glen David Gold. I just got an advanced reading copy on Friday, thanks to Powell’s Books of Portland. It was their latest selection for their book club, Indispensible. I’m still in the first part and I’m really liking it. The book doesn’t officially come out until May, so I feel kind of spoiled that I get to read something new from one of my favorite authors before most of the public does.
All in the celebration of Spring. It’s a good feeling.
Filed under: City Life
Enter the days of foggy mornings followed by sunshine bright enough for a hat and warm enough for shirt sleeves. I’ll try to take in as much as I can this month. The morning brings the storm – four consecutive weeks of twelve hour shifts to beat the deadline later this month. Just like last year.
This year I decided to take the entire month to celebrate turning one year older. But instead of showering myself with gifts or flying out to distant places (which I can’t do anyways because of work!) I’m opting instead for some real quiet time alone. Low budget bliss. With all the sunshine the City’s getting, the streets swell with people walking, bicycling and driving just about everywhere. I’ve had enough of playing Human Google Map and Visitor Guide to all things San Franciscan. I prefer keeping to myself these days, silenty observing life and nature and things.
Escaped on a slow drive through side streets and found a seat in my favorite café in Cole Valley to enjoy organic roast and sketch the menu signs plastered to the walls. I took my time with the sketch, out-lasting three lunching patrons on our shared table and the heat of the large cup of coffee I ordered. And although I lost myself in the personal reverie of drawing I could still hear animated conversations and smell the flavors around me. Balsamic vinegar, melted Swiss, a creamy latte, buttery croissants, marinated mushrooms. It’s amazing how sensations drive creativity.
If things don’t get too hectic at work (and I get to have at least one day to myself this coming weekend instead of having to pack work into my laptop computer) I think I will drive to Monterey via Highway 1, the scenic coastal route. I haven’t visited there in a long while. Last time I got to see the baby great white shark in the main tank, but the aquarium has long since returned the little gal to the ocean. I do miss the sea otters, though. I want to see if I can photograph them floating on their backs with half-opened shells piled onto their tummies. Always a fun scene to watch.
…
(9:47pm) Annnd they want my weekends as well. Hrmph!
It’s back and it’s draped over everything here like a cloak. Buildings appear to rise and erase, sometimes almost entirely, in its mist. Streetlamps illuminate at a softer glow. People, cars, sidewalks emerge and fade in a matter of a few feet. I love it. I love walking in it because it’s like walking in a surreal dreamscape. Things are there but you can’t see them. Every fiber in your body tells you there is a postal box ten steps ahead. A park bench with a man dozing on it immediately to your right. Commuters stepping off of a bus that’s pulled up behind you. But the fog blankets all, forces you to keep attention. Demands you to open other senses to hear, smell, touch your way through it.
If I have to wake up very early tomorrow to catch more fog on camera, I will. For now, a cameraphone shot will have to do. This morning, the fog fades the tracks by the cable car line at California and Market:
They are on to me. The girl and the boy. I saw them again this afternoon when I sat down directly in front of the girl and her latest book. She held it flat on her lap so that I could not read the title. She pursed her lips upon turning the page, adjusted her glasses and stared sidelong at the lady giving directions for a rendezvous through her cell phone until the call ended. One of these days I’ll ask the girl what she’s reading because it might be worth checking out. In the meantime she had glanced up at me momentarily with a look in her gray eyes that said, “Oh. You,” before resuming reading. And again the boy arrived to assume his usual post, two stops later, clockwork. Only this time he wore a brown baseball cap and slightly longer hair.
And again I slept.
They are boarding the train same as me. The regulars. Couple in matching black leather jackets. Big man in big brown loafers. Contractor in t-shirt and mustache who talks to Student in shorts and full beard. Each one selecting their respective seats or standing room spaces, clockwork. They are on to me, my furrowed eyebrows, spikes and sleepiness. Standing always at the rear with eyes closed as the train enters the tunnel.
I’ve had a half a dozen haircuts since I started riding this train for work. Wore the black trenchcoat for each of the foggy days – there were many. The tan trenchcoat for a Spring shower three times. Friday blue jeans, clockwork. Seven different pairs of shoes and two different messenger bags, not counting the two times I’ve had to supplement with the company computer tote. Six different power suits rotated over countless different power meetings. Jackets. Many jackets. Many shirts. I wore a hockey jersey on Thursday that turned a lot of heads. But never a baseball cap. I can’t deal with hat hair.
The seasons have cycled from cold to hot to cold and rain is coming once again in a few days’ time. When this month ends so will my time with the regulars. I’m changing gears, moving work closer to home and further from the office. It’s better that way, easier on the wallet. It gives me more time to write, draw, shoot, print and travel. I want it like that. I will miss them, the regulars. They will probably take my standing space. Such is the way of the rush hour. My life in the city in this year.
