empty space.

I like to run my fingers along the callouses on your hands. 
I like to feel your grip on my skin.

Burlap and wild flowers.

It's the moleskin and the drafting pen.

front cafe.

Don't know what to do Sunday morning? Grab a coffee. Want to relax after work? Let's go for drip. Got problems? Coffee.

For me it's comforting and the experience is more about my association with Sundays, warm beds, and relaxation, than the caffeine buzz that comes with it.

Front Cafe is a tiny spot in Potrero operated out of a former industrial loading dock. (My kind of space. My kind of windows.) It's a short bus ride away to a kind of peace that's a little softer and a little quieter than the norm.

I love flowers. But flowers in mason jars? Take me to heaven.

Kudos to Maria for pulling off this furry coat with style and poise.

sketch #2.

There are things and places that I don't want to share with anyone, until I've shown them to you.

some other sketches.

tailored.

gaze.

red scarf.

sprouts.

A couple months ago I started volunteering with a Bay Area organization called Sprouts, a non-profit group which bring kids into the cooking process--from visiting farms and harvesting produce, to prepping and cooking with respected local chefs. As the photographer for these classes, my main focus was on the kids and their interaction with food, but when I could sneak away I took some of my own still shots as well.

These shots are a selection from a dumpling-making session with Chef Michael of La Folie. 

things that fall.

things that fall
me, for you.

I like it a little dirty.

Vestiges of winter.

what spring does.

You do to me what spring does to the cherry trees.

It was a sunny day so my roommate and I decided to do some exploring and ended up finding the most gorgeous views of the city, ever. 

Coca Cola.

I love sunshine.

nothing is better than

nothing is better than the taste of your laughter in my mouth 
and the settling of your fingertips on my skin.

On the weekends I try to find time to walk the city, grab a coffee and buy some flowers for myself.

Will you have some tea with me?

Bread pudding.

swedish.

When I speak to you, my mind becomes an alien thing 

and I don't know where to put the words 

like this is the first time I've spoken English, and maybe I really speak Swedish and maybe I don't.

rustic.

It's wool, warmth, slightly prickly. It smells like coffee grounds that I haven't yet thrown out. It's gingham. It's your bed and your hands and me curled up in the space beneath your chin. Rolled sleeves, a slight touch of hand, the fraying leather strings on your shoes.