Found in Red

A love letter to San Francisco, written one red note at at time

Found in Red is a love letter to San Francisco, composed one red note at a time. This series uses the color red as a unifying thread, weaving through the city’s neighborhoods and layered stories. Through everyday scenes and overlooked details, each photograph captures a quiet moment of connection within the rhythm of urban life. Whether it is a string of lanterns, a faded sign, or a spray-painted heart left on a crumbling wall above the sea, these images offer a more intimate and affectionate view of the city. Together, they create a visual portrait of San Francisco that moves through spaces both familiar and unexpected, always carried by the quiet, steady presence of red.

Cupid’s Span, Embarcadero

I wanted to begin this visual love letter at the edge of the city, where San Francisco first opens its arms.

Cupid’s Span felt like the right place to start. A bright red arrow aimed skyward, playful and bold. Its gesture of affection anchors the theme of love and introduces the red thread that runs through the series.

Set against the Bay Bridge and a wide-open sky, this moment offers stillness before the city’s rhythm takes over. It is a quiet breath, a beginning full of possibility.

Chinatown Lanterns

Red floats above the street like a string of quiet wishes. These lanterns always stop me. Even in broad daylight, they feel a little magical, like they belong to a slower rhythm.

I love how they brush against the sky while the Transamerica Pyramid rises in the background, sharp and insistent. It is a moment where old and new share the same air.

Here, the red is celebratory, but also grounding. It is both decoration and memory. This photo holds the tension I feel in the city, between wonder and wear, heritage and high-rise.

Man and Streetcar, Market Street

This is the kind of moment I often see and almost miss. A man crossing the street, a red streetcar slipping by. It happens in a blink, but the movement stays with me.

There is something about San Francisco’s transit rhythm that feels like a pulse. Sometimes it rushes, sometimes it waits.

The streetcar is timeless, but he isn’t. He is now, mid-step, mid-thought. That contrast is what drew me in. A pause inside the pace. A glimpse of stillness in motion.

Carousel + Child, Pier 39

There is something about carousels that makes time feel less certain. The music, the color, the slow spin, it is all suspended, just for a moment.

I watched this child watching the ride as it kept moving, and it reminded me how quickly we move through things. Wonder does not last long, but it leaves an imprint.

This image holds the feeling I return to often in this project. Red can be joy, but it can also be memory. And sometimes, both at once.

Cable Car on Red Tracks

Some parts of San Francisco feel like they never stop moving. The red tracks lead the eye, but they also lead the body, forward, uphill, onward.

This cable car feels like a thread in motion. It ties neighborhoods together, carries stories in every direction, and echoes a rhythm that has been part of the city for more than a century.

For me, this photo is about momentum. About following something familiar, even when you do not know exactly where it leads.

Round House Cafe, Golden Gate Bridge Plaza

Just steps from the Golden Gate Bridge, this little café curves like a warm invitation. The bold red trim caught my eye, but it was the shape that made me stop.

It feels like a pause built into the city, a place to catch your breath before or after crossing something big.

Here, red outlines the moment. It frames the stillness, drawing just enough attention to let the quiet settle in.

Love Locks, Pier 39

Love makes us want to leave something behind. A name, a date, a heart-shaped lock, all saying we were here and we meant it.

There is so much hope tangled into this fence. Bright colors, bold handwriting, small acts of belief.

Red here is about holding on to love, not because it is perfect, but because it is worth it.

Golden Gate Detail, Golden Gate Bridge

Sometimes I forget how red this bridge really is. Up close, the paint feels almost alive. You can see where it drips and thickens, where it has been layered again and again.

I liked the quiet geometry of this moment. No cars, no people, just lines, light, and history held together by color.

Here, red is more than a symbol. It is something cared for, preserved, and made to last.

Red Chair + Blue Cap, Presidio Tunnel Tops

I do not know who he is or how long he sat there, but I remember how peaceful it felt. A red chair facing the bridge, a blue cap tilted just so.

This is what I keep chasing in the city, these small, quiet moments where someone has carved out time just to be.

The red here is subtle but grounding. It holds the scene still, like a breath you don’t want to break.

Ice Cream Van, Marina Green

This one made me smile the second I saw it. The red ice cream van, the striped umbrella, the kids pressed up to the window, it felt like something out of a memory.

San Francisco can be fast and unpredictable, but moments like this remind me of its softer side.

Here, red is delight. It is sweetness and joy and just enough color to stop you for a minute.

Ross Alley Mural, Chinatown

This wall in Ross Alley feels alive. Layered with posters, street art, and fragments of thought, it reads like a conversation that is always evolving.

I was drawn to the chaos and color. It felt different from the rest of the city, louder and more urgent.

There is clearly something political happening here, though I do not know the full story. That uncertainty is part of what draws me in. Red here is expression. It is identity, resistance, and the need to be seen.

Red-Roofed House, Crissy Field

This building has always caught my eye. The white walls, the bold red roof, the way the palm trees stand like quiet guards around it.

I waited for someone to ride by, hoping for a bit of movement. When the cyclist showed up wearing red, it felt like everything clicked.

This photo is about balance. Architecture, nature, and a small moment of life moving through.

Yoda Heart Sculpture, Union Square

This sculpture makes me laugh every time I see it. A heart, a quote, and a little bit of Jedi wisdom, all tucked into a city staircase.

It is playful, but it still carries weight. Public art like this has a way of surprising you, especially when it meets you mid-step.

The message on the other side reads, “Do or do not.” It is simple, direct, and full of meaning, just like Yoda himself.

Graffiti Heart, Sutro Baths

Sutro Baths is one of my favorite places in the city. It holds so much, history, decay, ocean wind, and a kind of quiet magic.This graffiti heart felt perfectly at home here. Bright, messy, a little worn down. To me, this moment captures what I love about this place. It is art and erosion, past and present, all sitting in the same frame.

Li Po Lounge at Night

This corner of Chinatown has always pulled me in. The red neon, the quiet street, the sense that something is unfolding just out of frame.At night, the city softens. Things blur a little, slow down.

Li Po Lounge glows like a memory.

Red here is not just light. It is presence. It is history, waiting.

Surfer and Golden Gate Bridge

This moment felt like a pause before something begins. The surfer heading toward the water, the bridge rising out of the mist, the city barely visible behind it all.

I loved the stillness here. The soft fog, the washed-out sky, the way red holds its place even when everything else fades.

This photo reminds me that even in motion, there can be calm. Even in the unknown, there is something steady to hold on to.

Lantern Alley, Chinatown

This alley felt like a story I walked into by accident. Lanterns overhead, a bold mural on one wall, and a motorcycle leaning in like punctuation.

The scene was layered but calm, vibrant but not loud. It felt lived in.

Red here is rhythm. It moves through the frame like a heartbeat, connecting all the scattered parts into something whole.

Red Church Door, Trinity St. Peter’s

This felt like the right place to end. A red door, quiet and certain, holding more than it shows.

There is something about it that feels unfinished in the best way. Like a question. Like a path that turns just out of sight. Maybe the next red is on the other side. Maybe the door opens onto another story.