I think this photograph is more fun if I avoid saying too much about it. I will say that it actually is a photograph, and one with no more post processing work than I might apply in, say, a landscape photograph. I made the photograph while out on the street in San Francisco earlier this week, doing night photography with my friends and fellow photographers of Studio Nocturne SF.
Blue sky reflected in channels on tide flats, Point Reyes National Seashore
In late July I spent a day at Point Reyes National Seashore, a location that is probably just within a reasonable one-day out-and-back drive for me. (And, yes, on occasion I indulge in completely unreasonable drives to photograph certain special subjects, but that’s a story for a different post.) From looking at weather forecasts, I was hopeful that I would arrive early enough to grab a fresh pastry at Point Reyes Station (success!), make it out to the Seashore before the fog cleared (success!), and then photograph as it cleared away (less success!). I never did break completely out of the fog, and the final destination of my daylong hike was pretty thoroughly socked in.
But along the way there was some interesting light, combined with some fortunate timing. My hike took me along Drakes Estero, the large, shallow estuary that extends inland from the beaches surrounding Drakes Bay. I had not checked the tides before going, but it turned out that I arrived at a rather low tide, and the water had retreated far enough to leave the mudflats high and dry, broken only by twisting channels where a bit of water remained. The fog directly overhead darkened the mud flats, but the water reflected the blue sky from an area of clearing further in the distance. Once again, it was good fortune that made a photograph possible — these abstract blue patterns could only occur at low tide, with fog overhead, and with blue sky at the fog/clear boundary nearby.
I was in Yosemite Valley for the weekend, initially for the opening reception for the Yosemite Renaissance 32 exhibit in the Yosemite Museum Gallery next to the Visitor Center. Friday was all about the exhibit — the wonderful reception and then afterwards with my many friends among the artists in the show and others artists who have a connection to the event. This was also the seasonal peak of the annual Horsetail Fall excitement, a phenomenon that brings hordes of people to a couple of small areas… but consequently brings a degree of solitude and quiet to many other parts of the Valley.
In any case, my visit was also an excuse for photography. On my last morning there I was up an out in the 17 degree chill before sunrise. I headed to a nearby clear area from which I had an unobstructed view of some of the mighty cliffs. As I photographed I alternated between subjects that were typical landscape material — trees on ledges, morning light slanting across granite, snow and ice — and more abstract images focusing a sort of disembodied landscape and isolation striking bits of pattern and color high on the cliff walls.
I have a series of photographs, a series that contains only a few images, that I call “imaginary landscapes” — photographs that do not attempt to be objectively real depictions (not that photographs can truly succeed at such a thing) but instead go for what I might term a subjective reality. This photograph is perhaps the urban equivalent to those. An “urban imaginary landscape” perhaps?
The source image came from a recent visit to San Francisco, when I was in a location where I could look directly toward the outer shells of a number of very tall buildings. Because the weather was overcast, the light was muted and it made its way into shadowed areas that might otherwise be very dark. This produced a source image that allowed me a great deal of leeway for interpretation in post.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books and Amazon.
