Konorebi, “Stag.” (Weekly Photo Challenge: Close Up)


Good Evening:

Brand new mural in the Lower Haight, about 50 feet from the intersection of Haight & Fillmore:

Konorebi: "Stag."

Konorebi: “Stag.”

Not bad at all, but if you look close up, you will see an extreme rarity among San Francisco murals: a variation of Pointillist technique. “Konorebi” seems to be the pseudonym of a woman named Nora Bruhn, whom you can find on Instagram. Here, instead of using tiny dots of primary colors, she used white. Here are some closer looks.

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I think she used her fingertips to apply the white paint. As far as I can tell, Konorebi is mostly a photographer, but this represents a nice change of pace for both her and for San Francisco murals.

Vonn Scott Bair

Land’s End, San Francisco, California, 4 July 2015. (Weekly Photo Challenge: Half and Half)


Good Evening:

Thanks to our famous fog, some of the pictures I took at Land’s End over the July 4th holiday proved suitable for the Challenge. All shots taken with a Nikon D40, a few slightly cropped in iPhoto.

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Vonn Scott Bair

The Minimally Artistic Art of Instant Minimalist Art, 21 July 2015. (Weekly Photo Challenge: Half and Half)


Good Evening:

Saturday afternoon, walking to the grocery store, wondering how one might respond to this week’s Photo Challenge. An odd one, given how all photography texts emphasize the Rule of Thirds. Then I noticed this in a laundromat:


Huh. One color becomes two by the simple expedient of shadow.

Turns out that if you look around, you will find a lot like this. You will see only one color in each of the following, but shadow will create the impression that you see two. All pictures taken with my iPhone 6 Plus.

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Of course, eventually I had to break my “one color” rule–or in this case, bend it:


And then I just forgot about the rules, period.

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Vonn Scott Bair



Good Evening:

Tonight, I saved someone’s life. My 14th, in fact.

I kinda screwed up.

I had just seen some friends perform a reading of a few short plays written by W. B. Yeats at Pianofight, a theater-slash-bar-slash-music venue-slash-restaurant on Taylor Street between Ellis and Eddy. Turned left, heading back to Market Street and the bus that would take me home.

The man walking toward me looked like trouble.

Not trouble for me, for himself. Short, probably Caucasian, he dressed entirely in black with a black hoodie pulled over most of his face. In the shadows he looked almost invisible, but this was no mugger looking to surprise his victims like a well-camouflaged Stonefish or Gaboon Viper. He had gotten so drunk that even with his feet spread wide and his arms held out for balance and a healthy dollop of good fortune, he could just barely stand. He looked down at nothing with his jaw slack and eyes glazed. He looked up at me.

Then he walked out onto Taylor Street into fast incoming traffic.


He stopped, turned to look at me, and tried to give me the finger except it was too hard for him to do. Yes, he was that drunk-slash-stoned.

An all white van zoomed past him, right where he would have stepped if I hadn’t yelled at him. The driver did not honk at the man, nor did any of the cars following him. No one could see him in the shadows.

He tried once more to give me the finger, but once again he could not. “Hey, I was trying to help you!” I shouted.

The man leaned to me with his palms up. I cannot feel certain, but it appeared that he was crying. Then he turned again and walked into the middle of the street.

But the light had turned red and the street had emptied of traffic.

Once again, the man turned to me with his palms up. I cannot feel certain, but it appeared that he was crying. Then he turned again and walked all the way across the street to safety. And that’s when it hit me.

He had tried to commit suicide.

And I had ruined his evening.

Far worse men than him in far worse shape than him have turned their lives around, and I hope he does, too. I would hate to think that I had done him an unkindness by saving his life.

Vonn Scott Bair

A Serendip of San Franciscans: City Hall, 12:54 p.m., 16 June 2015.


Good Evening:

I have arbitrarily decided that the group noun for a number of my fellow citizens will be “a Serendip of San Franciscans.” I took all of these pictures in front of City Hall, all of them in the space of a single minute on Tuesday afternoon using a Nikon Coolpix 9900, edited slightly in iPhoto.

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Vonn Scott Bair

Angel Pagan: A Player Who’s a Fan of the Fans.


Good Evening:

This is San Francisco Giants centerfielder Angel Pagan:


And yes, center field can become a lonely place to play.

You will find a few players like Pagan on teams that win a bunch of championships in just a few years; they remain totally unknown to casual fans of a sport, mostly unknown to fans of opposing teams, and totally appreciated by the fans of their teams who know that they make quiet but decisive contributions to a team’s success, even if all they do consists of a single critical play during a single critical playoff game.

But I hadn’t noticed one curious aspect of his defense until Saturdays’s 4-2 loss to Arizona.

He will literally turn his back on the game.


Between batters, sometimes between pitches, he turns around and looks at the centerfield bleachers. Well, no, not the bleachers. He likes to watch the fans. Angel Pagan likes to watch the folks who like to watch him, sometimes even grinning or laughing when he sees an especially colorfully costumed fan. And then somehow he turns around in time and sets himself in preparation for the next pitch. I wish I knew how he does that.

A few more shots from Saturday’s game; overall, my camera work was even worse than the Giants’ offense, but a small handful turned out satisfactorily.

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This gentleman continued a tradition started last year by of all things New York Mets fans: inoffensive, bizarre, sometimes funny insults directed at Hunter Pence. Pence even got insulted by President Obama during the team’s White House visit last month (“Hunter Pence eats pizza with a fork.”). Hence, this sign in response:


Yeah, we get really strange in the San Francisco bleachers.

I’ll never sit anywhere else.

Vonn Scott Bair