These images were taken between 2020 and 2022—during a window when time folded, traffic vanished, and the city’s usual roar lowered to something more like a purr. I wasn’t a photographer. Still not, really. I didn’t set out to document anything. I was just there—with a camera and a sense that something rare was happening.

When the world locked its doors and drew its curtains, San Francisco exhaled. Her mask slipped, and underneath the performance was a seductively strange hush. Streets once brimming with choreography fell still. Alleyways breathed differently. The fog curled with more privacy. Shadows lengthened without interruption. It was, in many ways, the most beautiful the city has ever been.

And I caught her like that. Not with mastery—just presence. A flirtation between lens and atmosphere. These photos are evidence of an erotic stillness, a sovereign solitude. The world called it a pandemic. I called it an invitation. I wandered the ghost-town grid with no audience, no eyes but mine and the Gods’. The city became a stage for things unnoticed.

Some of these photographs appear in my book, SPIRAL OMNIBUS, woven among poems and rituals like old memories tucked between spells. But here, you can view them alone—stripped of framing, offered in the raw hush in which they were born.

This is my amateur eye, yes. But it is also my altar of attention. And San Francisco, unmasked, let me see her.

Now, I offer her to you.

Click the links below to explore the streets (and cliffs) of San Francisco.