In Flight

Location: Angel Island, San Francisco, CA

Date: July 2011

I could boast as to how simple it was to snap this shot of a raven in flight. Let me just say it was all possible to the soaring winds at the very mouth of the Bay. While in the midst of completing my hike at Angel Island, I had two options. One, I rest easy and blissfully eat my meal on the east-side of Angel Island. Or two, enjoy a marvelous panoramic view of San Francisco and its entirety, but there is a catch. The west side of the ever-marvelous Angel Island drops what seemed to me about 10 degrees in temperature, and turbulent winds that are sure to knock-your-cap-off! Nonetheless, like a vulture I waited patiently above the peek of the Island to catch a glimpse of these overweight ravens take flight. Though the ravens were cuddling up in a ball enjoying a great view, I did not have all that plumage to keep my body clement. I was growing impatient, but had lovely curious Blue Jays to sing to me while I waited. Soon after, life struck to one of the ravens, I quickly set my camera to "multi-shot" mode and lifted the viewfinder to my eye. Though the raven was aspired to fly west, the cold crisp San Francisco gusts had other plans. With winds capable of cradling me, the cavernous raven was going nowhere. The raven looked as though it was hovering, and as much as it flapped its arms, it soon grew weary.

Everlasting Lanterns

Location: Chinatown, San Francisco, Ca

Date: July 2011

In the ever intelligent words of Confucius, he claims "Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it." Certain individuals can jump to a specific location and be completely ignorant of the sole beauty of a place. I speak of people not as a whole, but as a group, a culture. A culture and generation that defines other cultures as taboo and often disgusting. I will admit, as a child, I perpetually found myself belittling my own culture. I never sought to seek the beauty of any culture, let alone my own. I, for one was ignorant, a child, immature, or growing up exploring my own individuality. There have been a handful of times that I regret dwindling precious years not acknowledging beauty itself. Culture is beautiful, a marvel to our generation. It seems as though today, the world is constantly aspiring to become ONE... a youthful aesthetic brigade. To me it feels as though it's a hunt to find a culture so genuine, so when I unexpectedly wandered into Chinatown, I felt a great sense of comfort. To the naked-ignorant-eye, chinatown might appear as a bedraggled, catchpenny location. I was re-living a dream, walking a street rich in color, colors that did not compliment one another in anyway. To me, the hot pink with lime green outlining building was indeed the most inferior. My eyes did not know where to rest, vibrant colors raced in every location each screaming for attention. The streets where decorated with traditional Chinese lanterns hung dangling and dancing, complementary of a crisp San Francisco breeze. Though I am not Chinese, I admire their culture, the Chinese stick together and often times look after one another. This place was not trash, but a treasure. For a quick second as I gazed aimlessly at the lanterns, the breeze appeared to have stopped and it was almost as if each individual lantern was calling me positioned and ready to have me snap a shot. Although I drained the life out of the picture, what I felt most that screamed home to me was the chinese lanterns that went on endlessly down the entire street. It was as if though the everlasting lanterns unified all of Chinatown.

Colibrí

Location: Balboa Park, San Diego, CA

Date: April 2011

I once read that in Mayan legend, the hummingbird is actually the sun, playing charades and cloaking himself to court a beautiful woman, who of course as we all know is the moon. Upon arriving at Balboa Park, I habitually lose my full attention to commonly admirable commodities. A garden thriving in Spring time is quite often a place of peace and quiet, so silent and soft in fact that I could hear the roses sing beautifully. As an amateur photographer, I commonly walk up to the rose stare closely, I perceive to the petals and gaze at the sight of its veins. "Veins in the petals?" I think to myself. I stare at my own forearm and notice a burgeon pulse in my veins almost as if I was carrying my very own beating heart in my forearm. With the my apprehension I have on veins, I proceed to interrupt the flow of sweet nectar to the petals of the rose and partially tare half a petal off. The rose then began to bleed its fragrant nectar on my fingers. Upon studying the flow of the rose's blood running through my fingerprints, a curious petite hummingbird floats and penetrates the mouth of the Rose. As quick as a hummingbird's metabolism, I lift my budgeted digital camera and snap a beautiful shot of a very intimate moment in nature.

SIde Note: I have named this photograph "Colibrí," meaning hummingbird in spanish.