For some reason the public transit stations and stops in San Francisco have long intrigued me. I think it may be a combination of things: people often pause there and may present interesting subjects, the forms and colors of some of the shelters are interesting, and they are, of course, a part of the overall urban environment here.
I was photographing an area of buildings and walkways along the San Francisco waterfront when I noticed this stop, sitting in the middle of the road that passed by. The glow inside the shelter was the only significant source of light, with only pinpoints of light from nearby windows and street lights to supplement it.
The camera is tilted. The guy is hanging off the edge of the frame. The sun is blown out in the center of the sky. It was underexposed. Darned bus appeared in the frame. That’s street photography, and I like it. There isn’t a whole lot to say about the photograph itself — or perhaps there is more to say that will fit into two paragraphs. The fellow caught my attention as we were walking along. As he passed, with the sun backlighting his wild hair, I had just enough time to squeeze off a shot without even raising the camera to my eyes.
Doing street photography reminds me of an important thing, namely the crucial role that several things play in photography, things that don’t often get quite enough attention among some photographers, especially those who tend to gravitate to landscape photography and who (with good reasons!) like to attend to the careful calculation of many aspects of picture-making. (Don’t worry, I like to take those things into consideration, too.) The things too often left unsaid have to do with the role of luck and with the importance of being able to respond very quickly, even intuitively, at times. We simply cannot control all aspects of a photograph. In a few situations — perhaps working in the studio with inanimate objects — we can come rather close, but in almost all other sorts of photography it is as much about finding a thing and then recording it in the best way possible during the time we have to work with it. Clearly, this photograph is highly reliant on things I could not control. But, honestly, the same could be said about wildlife photography, and even about many landscape photographs.
Autumn afternoon light falls on meadow and trees in Yosemite Valley
These trees and I have become old friends. I have photographed the trees and the meadow in which they are located many times over the years. (I don’t generally name places, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a number of fellow Yosemite visitors recognize them.) I’ve been there in every season — summer (fighting crowds!), fall (with oaks turning golden brown), spring (with green meadows and new leaves the trees), and winter (when I hiked across closed roads to get here, and had the meadow to myself).
When photographing in Yosemite Valley I almost always pay close attention not only to my immediate subjects but also to the atmospheric conditions and the light. On this day smoke from wildfires filled the valley. At first that might seem rather unpleasant — and it certainly is not good for eyes or lungs! — but it also can create some beautiful atmospheric effects, from muting colors to glowing in the light. At this time of year the sun passes lower in the sky and the edges of shadows move across the Valley floor and create changing and beautiful conditions. At this location the first light arrives late and leaves early since there are very tall granite faces nearby that block the sun. I arrived here just at the moment before the shadow moved over these trees, but while a shaft of light came through a cleft in the upper cliff walls and fell on the trees.
Trees, fog, and snow on the granite summit of El Capitan glow in a final beam of sunset light.
Near the beginning of March I was in Yosemite Valley for three days in conjunction with the opening of the Yosemite Renaissance XXIX exhibit. (One of my photographs is in the show.) It was a wonderful weekend in many ways. Lots of artists of all sorts were there for the opening—and for Yosemite!—and I had the chance to get together with many friends among them. It was also a time of atmospheric conditions that were spectacular in ways that interest me as a photographer – broken light, occasional rain, mist and clouds.
On this evening we went to Tunnel View since it was mostly gray down in the Valley and because there was some promise of not only drifting clouds and mist there, but also of some late day light. All of those things happened, but as the end of the day approached, the “lights went out” as the clouds to the west thickened and blocked the setting sun. I continued to shoot for a while, mostly focusing a long lens on small distant details within the scene, but I finally decided that the light was simply becoming too flat and I walked back to the car to pack up, thinking about the friends I would soon join for dinner in the Valley. At the back of the car I removed the long lens, collapsed the tripod, and was packing everything away when Patty, who was sitting the front seat and facing the valley, exclaimed, “Look at that light!” Frankly, I wasn’t expecting much, but when I looked up I saw a blood red band of light stretching across the cliffs of El Capitan on the left and Sentinel Rocks on the right. Apparently the sun had found a narrow gap in the clouds almost exactly at the point it reached the horizon far to the west. I immediately knew that this light would be gone very quickly—at best it might last a minute or two—so I worked very quickly to set up the tripod, attach the camera, and stick a long lens on it… not even looking up at the view as I worked. No time to look! I quickly moved the camera to the nearest possible shooting location and, working almost entirely intuitively, quickly picked out perhaps four different shots, each focusing on the momentarily best bit of light as the scene evolved quickly. The final bit of light was a rapidly fading stripe just across the snow- and cloud-shrouded summit of El Capitan, where the upper rocks, snow, and trees picked up the intense red light for a matter of a few seconds, and then it was gone.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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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.
