89//365

once

we stopped in chinatown on the way out of san francisco. took one last walk around before ending up at the playground, where we let the kids run willy nilly before the long drive home. in the middle of it all, my brother called and somehow I managed an entire phone conversation about a recent job loss, the current state of the world and the uncertainty of everything while keeping one eye on the kids and the other on a heated game happening just a few feet below. motherhood, in a nutshell.

76//365

once

we saw the world famous bushman in action, down at fisherman’s wharf in san francisco. there he was, hiding behind a trash can, shaking his branches at people, making them jump, yell out. I didn’t know he was famous at the time, didn’t know this was actually how he made his living. I just left a little something in the tip jar and marveled at how we all do what we’ve got to do to get by.

64//365

once

I wanted to make a portrait of a woman I saw on the street whose eyebrows were, in a word, complicated. but when I asked for her permission, she said no, so I shot the earrings she was selling instead.

59//365

once

I got lost in chinatown in san francisco. turned right when I should have turned left or left when I should have turned right, who knows. felt the edges of panic and ducked into a nearby stairwell to reassess, which is when I convinced myself it might be nice to just be lost for a little while. to use an entirely different compass, if only for a few minutes. to wander for an hour with nary a glance at google maps. 

54//365

once

my friend kateri said you couldn't quarantine magic hour. and she was right.

28//365

once

I saw the city of san francisco through a soupy fog and immediately wanted to sit down and write a love letter to it.

sixty second love letter (one)

love letter//number one from andrea corrona jenkins on Vimeo.

a sixty second photograph that is really a sixty second love letter to a place I love so much it makes my bones hurt: san francisco.

I last traveled there in august of 2016, thanks to my dear friend tracy. sometimes I think I miss it more than portland. but I don't want to talk about it.

year two of the sixty second photograph project and we're not making films every month like we did the first year, just every once in a while, you know, all quarterly-like. which gives us all a little more breathing room, I think. I first shared this film during the great in between, aka my six-month silence here. I put it out there with the rest of the lovely films, said nary a word about it. now feels like a good time to say a word about it.

tracy, this is for you. you are all up in this film, even if your face isn't.

(music: queen by the octopus project)

san francisco

rewind to the big cross country road trip home, june 2014, portland, oregon to atlanta, georgia, days four and five (out of twelve!), one last road trip through san francisco. and it's not that we won't be back (we will, we will) but there won't be another road trip down to san francisco from portland, no more races down the I-5, no more meandering down the 101. we drove our car over the golden gate bridge one the last time, said our goodbyes and headed south on I-5.

p.s. that toast in the second photograph, it's the toast. the artisanal toast I talked about yesterday. the artisanal toast I said would make you cry.

p.p.s. that first photograph of ava and ward. it gets me every time.

rainbow town

the words, they escape me. but the colors, they do not. I brought some home from a recent trip to san francisco, slipped them in my pocket like candy. other things I brought home: a few polaroids, a few rocks from china beach, an old straw hat (gifted), an old mamiya/sekor (thrifted) plus strawberry-stained clothing, sunkissed skin. I crossed number 40 off the list and learned that the friends who will voluntarily get naked with you in somewhat public places (aka the japanese communal baths) are the friends you keep forever and ever amen. the ones who do not laugh when you tell them you've never made whipped cream from scratch (never, not ever, not once) are the good ones. the friends who will sit at the beach and talk and dig through rocks, even when they have a million other things to do, the ones who will brave holiday and/or parade traffic on a weekend for you, are the keepers. I have a few keepers in that city they call san francisco, I have a few golden ones. girls, you know who you are.

p.s. speaking of collecting colors and good people, xanthe and I are back with color//colour lovers. round two starts next week and you can play along, if you like. details to come.

sundays (31/52)

sunday, august the 4th: fleamarket sky (my kind of sky), jenny (with one heck of a vintage dress), alix (with one heck of a vintage pennant), a few lamps I wanted to take home (but didn't), jenny! at the alameda flea! also, fleamarket donuts! followed by a barbeque at greg and alix's house featuring: jenny's pretty salad, alix's sweet drinks,  wolfie/henry/ezra (plus one iphone) and mah girls. not pictured: the rest of the crew (aka greg, ward, ava) plus mildly sunburnt skin, piles of really really good things. (really really good things= stellar fleamarket scores).

back story: jenny. after all these years, jenny. whom I've been following online since 2005 and then somewhere along the way, we became friends. then she introduced me to alix and dang it if I didn't love her too. 2013 will be our year, jenny told me. just you wait and see. 2013 is when we will meet. and dang it if that's not how it played out. one whirlwind road trip to oakland and there we all were. and it was so good I can barely even stand to talk about it. so good I wanted to cry.

(sundays, sundays, sundays)

photobooth friday

(san francisco, musee mecanique, june 2008)


(san francisco, rayko photo center, june 2013)

five years, just like that. there are differences, yes, but the big one: I did not have to pay a nine year-old ezra to sit still in the booth. I did not have to ply him with money. progress, people.