Pixeure
Pixeure
When the bridge closed unexpectedly last week, I had no intention of being bothered by the lack of cars. I’m a Muni and BART girl, and thereby was not affected what-so-ever by the lack of concrete connection. However, it did occur to me that I would have quite an opportunity here: cross the bridge, get some shots in the quiet.
It was first and foremost my intent to get on the bridge; I had it all planned out. Highway Patrol probably wouldn’t be interested in blocking off entrance to Yerba Buena and Treasure Island because it’s an isolate and therefore there wouldn’t be an issue walking down the onramp and setting foot on the colossal structure. Moreso, I’d been watching the traffic cameras all day to see if they were doing regular patrols of the bridge, and they weren’t. Of course, it seemed too easy, but I was ready to chance it.
Midnight rolled around, and I hopped on the 108; the only non-local boarding the bus. Traveling across the Bay Bridge with no other traffic is an eerie experience. The lack of din normally emitted from surrounding vehicles was gone, and the sounds of the bus were amplified loudly against the pavement and metal. You could really feel the bridge underneath your feet.
Upon reaching the Yerba Buena exit, it came to my attention that my assumption had been right: CHP was in no way blocking the exit, but they had set up a blockade at the tunnel. This meant that any opportunity to get on the bridge would most likely result in what I’d call less-than-a-handshake with the law. Conflicted at that point, I decided I’d try to get as close to the bridge as possible without getting run over by the few vehicles entering and exiting the bridge. (Highway Patrol had their relief station for shift changes set up on Treasure Island and were enjoying the emptiness by cruising blindly down the roads at 70+mph.)
To make my non-native status even more obvious, I exited at the first stop off the onramp, shouldered my tripod and hiked up the hill to the top of Yerba Buena. I’d been tipped off that there were opportunities to slide down the hill over the tunnel and plant feet on the bridge, but without a guide I was really walking blind. With this in mind, I’d like to say I gracefully landed exactly where I had intended to go, but alas, that was not so. I slipped and slid all over the hill like a greasy watermelon, very unable to keep my grip or plant my feet. I incurred quite a few scrapes, bruises, ripped fingernails, and a split lip (from ramming my tripod into my face), but my equipment remained thankfully unscathed.
All in all, it was 4.5-5 hours of walking, scouting, and shooting, and though I never made it on the bridge (which I will admit is a disappointment), it was a testament of will and character, and even more so of the ability to work with a still and unchanging subject. Working at night with a structure that has no changing physical parts, moving shadows, or possible anomalies is as difficult as eating rocks. You are forced to find the creativity and the uniqueness in a shot that looks much like many taken by photographers before you; it is an unyielding model that cannot be coaxed. In this way I came away somewhat victorious, finding that having the time to “fiddle” when you know little to nothing will change made this photo shoot both a thinker’s game and proof that I am improving in composition, if only a little.
The end of the evening culminated with a silent ride back to the city, once again courtesy of the 108, which I spent reflecting on both the absurdity of my decision to go so late and the gorgeousness to be a single person on the connection between land, island, and land again. I may never actually put feet on the Bay Bridge, but I can now say that I have experienced solitude in ridership on its surface. That in it of itself is a monumental experience, because like the Golden Gate, it is a structure that we cannot be without. It is one of the physical things that for so long, because of its routine existence, was forgotten as necessary and defined; the phrase “you don’t always know what you’ve got till it’s lost” is exemplary in the six days of its closure. Though parts of it may be pointedly dilapidated, it is a marvelous piece of architecture that represents an enormous history and a continual presence in the future.
The hardest part of starting to share one’s work is to start with the right photo. How do you capture the eyes of so many readers in only one shot? One that may make or break whether or not the reader comes back again? I have many favorites, and even more that I dislike, but each requires a thought to accompany it in publication. So what, on the first post, do you share with the world to make them want to come back?
This time, I could not pick. Instead, I tribute a moment in which I realized that though holding a camera may not be my calling, using it to document the world as I see it was a mighty fine thing-on-the-side. It was the ability to become photographed in fond company and find out later (as in this instance) that I was just as much a good artist as I was subject that made me believe some of what I do must be worth sharing, even if only with a few interested souls.
I shoot because my head is full, and there are many images I would prefer not to forget. As much as my eyes are my eyes, my lens is my second pair, and thankfully it translates into longer memory.
