See spray

Not sure where it happened, but somewhere along the line the words “San Francisco” became linked in my head to “graffiti.” And not talking about the lame pot leaves and profanity that you see most of the time, but real art sprayed across walls by daredevils at night.


Seeing it in person did not leave me disappointed. Of course there is the stuff on the sidewalks, the stuff on the doors and walls of the stinky alleys of the Mission District (it reeks - in a climate where it barely rains human waste is allowed to seriously fester and bake in the sun) which is nice in it’s own way. But in the lesser-known areas is where the true gritty art comes forth, the art of every daring kid that has something to say in their own free time.

My friends were great, intelligent, resourceful people but still we had a few bumps along our way. First we unsuccessfully tracked a pair of photographers who were probably figments of our imagination because they disappeared so completely and quickly. I noticed that some of the homeless out west snack on Japanese food and carry their own lighters. I learned that Sam is quite the bendy monkey and that Anya has endless patience with me. We had some fun analyzing the chemical content of a little cove in the bay – a cove shallow enough to lack water, but instead was a bog of jelly-like green scum that smelled like rotten eggs. The seagulls didn’t seem to mind, as their footprints were all over the jiggly bubbles. The sea lions, however, didn’t really venture there. I think I heard one honking at us as we shimmied our way across via 2 inches of concrete using our tiny fingers.

There comes a time every now and then when I look at my situation and think to myself, “Self, you really are going to get hurt this time. You’re a generally lucky person but this is It. You’re done. And then what are you going to wear?” And I get a little scared. I like Sam a lot but we’d pretty much just met. I would not want to have to make him fish me out of the gelatinous green goo that was the result of concentrated bay buildup over countless years. Talk about a bad first impression!

Fortunately that time didn’t come (yet). I warned them both that I am a slowpoke with a bum ankle and to please bring a book to read or something while they waited for me. Shuffle, scramble, grip, slide. Also, I never carry my tripod strapped to my backpack, so the weight distribution this time was… new.

I had a good morning despite my frustration. California is new terrain in many different ways and I am completely unused to the light, the climate, the business operations and the general practices of society. Apparently. If there could be a subtle nuance in the exploration of old buildings, this was it. Even the packing company building was the same as the stuff I’m used to, but completely different. I could get to like this.



The tagging was even better than I had ever expected. Some was fresh, and many were old. But it was everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I thought I had seen interesting graffiti in my time out east but I was dead wrong. Omigod colorful. Where do these people learn this? Are art schools better (cheaper) over here, or is the inspiration just in the tap water? The locals, I am sure, just pass a blind eye to this kind of thing. Heck, they probably protest about delinquent minors or good-for-nothings since they’ve got to protest about something. Ha ha.

Two things stick out in my mind: One, the bucket o’ bones sitting next to the opened box of ashes from a local crematorium. I don’t think any of us are really willing to admit that they were human bones but they were big, bigger than a dog, maybe bigger than a pig. Usually I see at least one dead animal or the remains of a dead animal in every building, so as, um, nervous as that made me I was able to check that off my list.

Two, the cat on the roof who was scared to death of us. We were talking about something (Cameras? Possibly. Smugmug gossip? Probably) and Anya is yelling at me from about 50 feet away. Eventually I can make out “CAT! See the cat??” but only as something hairy is bolting right at me. Its paws are barely touching the ground it's moving so fast, and it makes a sharp turn at my feet and loses purchase on the ground, slams right into Sam’s shins and runs down the staircase. Hmm. If I were a cat, that’s not how I would have done it.



Apparently the left and the right don’t quite see eye to eye, but that’s OK. We have better buildings in the east, but since the art is so pretty I’ll let it slide. I'm really interested in seeing how Sam's Mark II and large format captured it.

Here is my gallery, also a recent victim of a watermarking experiment.