09/04/2025
I discovered Ina Coolbrith Park years ago—a small, quiet pocket tucked above the city that almost feels like it shouldn’t exist. It’s not a well-known spot, but I kept coming back in October and November, when the air is dry and the colors are clean. I wanted to frame the San Francisco skyline in a way that felt intimate, almost secret.
Timing the blue hour was the hardest part. The light shifts quickly, and the buildings begin to glow just as the last color drains from the sky. I almost missed the moment completely while adjusting my composition through branches that framed the view.
But then it clicked—the lights came on, the framing held, and I caught the city glowing in silence. It’s a view most people never get to see, and one that I’ll always think of as my hidden version of San Francisco.
irst set out to photograph the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles, I knew I didn’t want the usual postcard angle. My goal was to create something abstract—an architectural portrait that made the viewer pause, recognize the structure, but also see it in a new light. I had this vision of clean, fluid shapes and powerful contrast, but when I arrived, the colors just weren’t working.
For a moment, I thought the whole shoot would fall flat. I walked around the building again and again, looking for something to save the frame.
Then I noticed how the soft light discharged across the metal—quiet, but striking. That was it. I let go of the need for color and leaned fully into form and light. The result was exactly the type of abstract interpretation I’d hoped for—recognizable, but different.
