Let's Have Coffee

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

I’m an urban photographer. Why? Partly because most of my life I’ve lived in or near cities. But another big reason is that I was never especially successful with nature photography. My photos never felt differentiated. They were usually just one big green blob of blah. About 30 years ago, I mostly gave up.

Last week, I went shooting with Holden Herbert and it was his turn to pick the location. He promised to take me to one of his favorite spots it was a beautiful hiking trail so I was determined to try to figure out how to do better at nature photography. The overcast sky was a big help. And like my recent night photography, being able to go back and immediately review my results and settings was a big help.

One thing I knew was that opening the aperture would help separate the subject from the background. But what I learned was more interesting: the widest aperture wasn’t always the best choice. The in-between apertures mattered more.

Check out these two. The first image was shot at f/2. The flower itself is more in focus, but much of the plant disappears into blur. The second was shot at f/3.6. The flower isn’t perfectly sharp, but I like that more of the plant holds together as a subject.

Subscribe now

Below are some more of my results.

Nothing here is remarkable. But that’s not really the point. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had a bit of success with nature photography.

What changed? Maybe the skills I’d built doing urban photography came with me onto the hiking trail. I wasn’t consciously trying to photograph nature the way I photograph the city, but maybe this time we’re just able to see and photograph shapes, textures, and colors just like I do in San Francisco.

Maybe I didn’t need to become a different kind of photographer. Maybe I just needed to bring the photographer I already am into a different setting.

If this post gave you something useful — an idea, a setting to try, or just a reason to go out and experiment — you can buy me a coffee or upgrade to a paid subscription. Either one helps keep my energy up for shooting and sharing.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Buy me a coffee

From the first time I tried night photography about 35 years ago, I was hooked. But I didn’t feel like I ever mastered it.

At first, night photography feels like you learn the basics and the rest is luck… but the more I do it, the more I understand that a bit of learning goes a long way towards ensuring good luck.

Subscribe now

Back in the film days, it was hard to build that skill. By the time you got the film back, you might have forgotten the precise settings. And when you finally figured out what you wanted to do differently, it might be weeks or months before you were back in a similar situation with the chance to try again.

Digital changes that. You can adjust while you’re still out there. And when you get home, the EXIF data tells you what worked, what didn’t, and what might be worth trying next.

Last night, I had about an hour to kill in San Francisco and stumbled onto a great spot for long-exposure night photography: an intersection with buses moving in both directions as well as others turning through the frame. A food court nearby attracted DoorDashers on motorcycles, and a bar in the background had a great neon sign.

At first, I played with the aperture setting and then realized it didn’t matter. I did remember that underexposing was key. So. from there I set the camera to burst mode, put ISO and aperture on auto, dialed in about -2 exposure compensation, and took direct control of only one variable: shutter speed. That let me concentrate on picking moments and subjects — watching the buses, cars, motorcycles, and pedestrians, then adjusting the shutter speed based on how fast they were moving and how much blur I wanted.

A few things I learned — or relearned:

I still don’t like long exposures of vehicles when the light trails appear in front of the car. That effect always feels a little backwards to me. I’m much more interested in panning shots, where the background lights blur and the vehicle lights stay a bit more connected to the subject.

For panning, shutter speed matters more than I remembered. What I found was that the faster the vehicle was moving, the faster the shutter speed I could use. Anything slower than about 1/4 second mostly fell apart for me. Anything faster than about 1/30 second cut out too much of the motion. The useful range seemed to live somewhere between those two.

What I liked best were the images where the subject was partly readable, the background became streaks of color, and the city felt like it was moving rather than simply glowing.

Night photography still has luck in it. But the more I practice, the more I realize the point isn’t to eliminate luck. It’s to give luck a better place to land.

If you haven’t tried this, go out and give it a shot. Set your camera so you only have to think about shutter speed, find a place with moving lights, and experiment. If you try it and run into problems, let me know.

If this post gave you something useful — an idea, a setting to try, or just a reason to go out and experiment — you can buy me a coffee or upgrade to a paid subscription. Either one helps keep my energy up for making and sharing this work.

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

Buy me a Coffee

Anyone who’s lived in Northern California long enough probably knows the experience: you’re driving north on 101, headed toward Petaluma or Healdsburg, when that odd building on the left flashes by at 70 miles an hour.

Someone in the car asks, “What’s that?”

And someone else answers, “That’s the old Birkenstock factory.”

Beyond that, most people don’t know much about it. Last week, I had the treat of visiting the building and hearing about its next life.

The building was designed by John Savage Bolles in the 1960s as a warehouse for McGraw-Hill, which was expanding its textbook sales in California. Later, it became a warehouse for Birkenstock. After that, it sat empty for many years.

Docomomo NOCA, an organization dedicated to the celebration and preservation of modern architecture, arranged an incredible tour last week.

Recently, the Eames Institute of Infinite Curiosity purchased the building and began developing ambitious plans for it. This is the nonprofit that grew out of the legacy of Ray and Charles Eames — the designers behind the famous Eames Lounge Chair, as well as furniture, films, exhibitions, toys, graphics, and so much more.

The Institute’s CEO, John Berry, and Chief Curator Llisa Demetrios talked about their plans to turn the building into a museum — although “museum” may be too limiting a word — designed to inspire curiosity and a passion for design. It’s probably still a few years away, but it’s exciting to see such a fitting new use for such a remarkable building.

Below are some of the photographs I made during the visit.

Finally, I’ve been absent from posting for about six weeks because I’ve been finishing an incredible passion project I’ve been working on for the past seven months. I’ll share more about that here next week. And although I’m desperately behind, I’ll try to catch up on reading your posts and notes.

Warmly,
josh

Subscribe now

Share

Leave a comment

In late January, I posted about “covered cars.” Soon after, Mark Foard, Søren K. Harbel, Travis Huggett, Rafa, Nick Orloff, and others began chiming in about their own experiences, posts, and ideas about the subject.

That exchange got me thinking about my own experience photographing cars. For a few years, I tried approaching them the conventional way—showpiece shots at car shows or striking cars I happened to see on the street. The results never really resonated with me.

Eventually, I found car photography approaches that did. Covered cars was one. Cars with patina—where age, wear, and texture matter more than polish—were another. I had assumed I might be something of an outlier.

Seeing others respond to the covered-car photos made me realize there’s a whole world of car photography out there, and it made me curious how other photographers think about the subject.

That curiosity sparked the idea for Car Week—a simple prompt inviting people to share their own take on photographing cars.

I’ve been so thrilled at all the enthusiasm for this idea and have had so much fun looking at everyone’s posts! Below are some of the posts and notes people have shared.

A special thanks to who does an amazing job with weekly prompts and helped promote this idea to all his followers. If you’d like to participate in more ideas like this, be sure to check out his Essence of Photography Substack (with the best URL on Substack). Check out his notes feed to see his reader’s amazing car photos.

Read on, and please share this post and add comments if you have any.

Share

Leave a comment

Car Week Posts

‘57 Chevy

captured a ‘57 Chevy and wrote about how he captured the image at a car show — a surprisingly hard venue to photograph cars — then explains how he processed the image. Check this out if you want to improve your car photography.

Japan’s Kei Cars

After introducing this idea, I immediately thought of and his delightful Japan Ordinary Substack. His frequent posts embrace the idea that some photos are like fine wine; they grow even better with age. I knew he would have cars in his seemingly vast archives. He did not disappoint with a great post on Kei cars.

Driving a Car That Moves You

explains what it's like to drive a car with a personality; what it’s like to drive a car you have affection for. Why do people drive an old Porsches? The speed? The looks? David explains how it is about so much more.

An air-cooled Porsche 911 has character. Every rattle and buzz is a mystery, the controls are perplexing, and wind whistles over the windshield. But that thrum!

The sound of the boxer engine is as comforting as listening your lover’s heart. The steering is precise, and the clutch and brakes are consistent. They require — and reward — effort. When you’re finished driving it, you feel like you’ve actually done something.

A Day at the Races

When started writing The Fainting Hare back in July, his first two posts were on photographing the Permco Grand Prix Speed Tour. I particularly enjoyed this image from his part 2.

“Cars can be challenging for photographers”

claims “I’m not a car guy,” but his images tell a different story!

Citroën DS

beautifully captures his friend’s French Sports Car by streetlight (and as the morning starts). Great inspiration to think about how to approach a subject differently.

Public Transit Lovers Still Make Great Car Photographers

Even after giving up car ownership shows that us transit lovers can still enjoy the aesthetic qualities of cars.

Random Captures

’ Random captures (I obviously love his subhead!) go from shiny and new to the afterlife of cars.

So Many Car Shows, Not Enough Time

has both a series in her notes feed, including this reminder that car photography can go beyond just the car, and a great post showing how focusing on a detail like hood ornaments can be a great approach to car shows.

The Fog of War

shows us how you can make amazing car photographs even if you don’t think of yourself as someone who takes a lot of car photos, including this gem:

The Two Car Photos that Inspired Søren Harbel

’s comments on my covered cars post were my inspiration for Car Week. Read about how two car photos inspired Søren and see his homage to Robert Frank, along with how cars inspired him growing up.

An Homage to Cars

does a fabulous job painting a picture of cars throughout his life along with photos that illustrate this. I particularly like the toys.

Artistic Vehicles

has a great article on the aesthetics of cars.

Owners

also ran into my frustration with car photography but solved it in a different way: Capturing the cars with their owners.

In America the Car is King

Riding Along in My Automobile from has this incredible radio and much more.

Ten Toyota Taxis

A fun look at the Toyota Taxis of Tokyo from Foto Notes

Approximately 23 Cars, 2 Dogs, and 1 Cat Coast-to-Coast

Great set of images here from

Cars are not always the subject

writes about how cars are not typically his main subject

Cars in Notes

Beyond the posts, I also got lots of great car photos in notes, including:

’s ‘Pippin the Panda’

’s Mustang.

A Dodge from who plants the idea of a Motorcycle week

Great use of a wide-angle from

That cute front-opening BMW from

A great car from an English Cars & Coffee from .

A snow-buried Cadillac from

chose a car but more importantly reminded us what is the sometimes hardest part of photography: “which one to post?”

does a nice comparison of the modern design of a house awith the “decidedly non-modern design” of a 90s Buick.

has this great image of an old Morris

has this beautiful photo and explains the Mustang logo, which I have seen many times and never considered

posted this oddball gem and I hope he shares some more info on it

…and color from Søren?

As said “Who would have thought I would live long enough to see a colour photograph from Søren! =D” but says “The idea is not to let everyone get too comfortable…. 😆”

sent me these great grills and a hot-rodded Saab

I love the motion blur from

posted this gem that made me think about all the photos hiding in my phone of my kids with this best-selling car. Who wants to take the lead in putting together Cozy Coppe week? 🤣

More…

If you direct messeged me your post and I missed it, please accept my apologies and message me again, and I will add to this post.

Your Thoughts…

I hope you enjoyed these car posts and I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Leave a comment

Two weeks ago, just after a rainstorm, I finally slipped out for a walk.

A new subject revealed itself almost immediately.

I’m calling it The Annotated Urban Landscape.

Cities are covered with markings that were never meant for the average passerby. They’re messages written for utility workers, inspectors, contractors, and city crews. Once you start noticing them, they appear everywhere.

Numbers on a light pole identifying its location. Inspection tags stapled to telephone poles. Spray-painted arrows pointing to buried cables. Manhole covers labeled by the agency that installed them. Faded curb paint from long-forgotten parking regulations.

Sometimes the markings are fresh and clear, other times they’re weathered, layered, half-erased, and cryptic. They document the hidden systems that make our built environment function.

This fits perfectly into the kind of photographs I’m drawn to: the passed-by, the under-appreciated, and the not-noticed.

What struck me on this walk was how photographic these small details can be. The textures, the colors against concrete and metal, the odd typography, the traces of time and weather. They’re fragments of a larger story written across the city.

The images here are just a first pass—more like field notes than a finished project. But the idea stuck with me. I suspect this could become something worth pursuing.

From now on, I’ll be keeping my eyes open for the city’s annotations and attempting to figure out how to make them into interesting photographs.

Have you photographed the bits and pieces that make up our urban environments? I’d love to hear about your experiences or hear your thoughts on this subject.

Leave a comment

Share

During my recent LA trip, I spent a day photographing with , whose travel series Photowalks TV has grown from YouTube into a nationally broadcast show on Scripps News. It’s been exciting to watch that evolution—and to see what persistence around a creative idea can become.

He offered to show me around Venice Beach. I told him I didn’t want the typical tourist shots—I had just learned about the Venice canals and wanted to start there. He insisted we begin at the skate park instead. I reluctantly agreed.

He was right!

Photographing the skateboarders was pure energy—movement, timing, blur. I had more fun than I expected, and I left with a new itch to explore people in motion more seriously. I’m now looking up skate parks near home. I’m hooked.

The big takeaway wasn’t the photos. It was the reminder that shooting with someone else pulls you out of your habits. You borrow their eyes for a while. You try something you might have skipped on your own. And sometimes you discover a new passion.

Go photograph with someone. You’ll both leave with more than the images you make.

Leave a comment

Here are some of the patterns and symmetry I saw.

I’d love to hear how these made you feel.

Leave a comment

Sometimes I am disappointed that I can’t photograph the car underneath, but more often I think the covered car makes a better photograph. Are there covered cars in your neighborhood? Do you photograph them when you see them or skip over them?

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

One thing I tell every photography student: take pictures.

Go on photo walks with the explicit goal of photographing. But also carry your camera when you run errands. Pull out your phone when something catches your eye. However you do it, the first step in becoming a photographer is simple: make photographs.

Below are 166 photographs I made in the first few weeks of January (plus the last few days of 2025).

I also shot another ~800 images on a pre-sunrise trip to photograph the San Francisco skyline, during an astrophotography outing, and while working on my previous reflections post. I’ve left those out here—they’d overwhelm this example, and I handle large shoots like that differently, especially when bracketing produces many near-duplicates.

This isn’t about volume. It’s about consistency.

In 25 days, I took a camera out on 17 different occasions. Some outings were intentional, some incidental. Big or small, the habit is the same: either grab a camera and go shoot, or notice a moment, pull one out, and make a photograph.

Step 2: Pick the Photos With Potential

These don’t need to be your best images. At this stage, you’re simply marking the ones with possibility—the images worth a second look.

If you made multiple versions of the same shot, reduce them quickly. Took six frames? Can you get to two or three? If not the best, then at least the best candidates.

You might:

• Add the ones you like to an album on your phone

• Create an album with all these photos and remove the ones you don’t like

• Print a contact sheet and mark it up with a pen

There’s no single right method. I use Lightroom’s flag/pick tool. The method doesn’t matter. Doing the work does.

Here are the 65 picks (highlighted in green) out of the original 166.

Here are those 65 separated out

Step 3: Narrow Further

Now go through this smaller set again and ask a harder question: Which of these might actually become good photographs?

If needed, do a quick straighten, crop, or auto adjustment—nothing elaborate. Just enough to see whether an image has real potential with a bit of work.

If you have multiple images of the same subject, try to get down to one. If that’s not possible yet, at least reduce it to the strongest few.

At this point, the set should be small enough to evaluate carefully. I’m down to 35 images here. Ideally, it would be 30, but a few require an A/B decision that needs more time.

Step 4: Pause

This is a good place to stop.

Step away. Give it time. When you come back, you’ll be looking at a manageable set of images with fresh eyes.

I’ll return to these later. For now, one image jumps out at me—an accidental photograph. Not planned. Not deliberate.

But as Bob Ross said, there are no mistakes, only happy accidents.

I’ll leave you with two other quotes:

“Energy and persistence conquer all things.” — Benjamin Franklin

“Your first 10,000 photographs are your worst.” — Henri Cartier-Bresson

Now look around. Grab your phone or a camera and make a photograph. Take ten. Take a hundred.

Warmly,
josh

I’m curious—how often are you taking pictures? What do you do to make it happen more consistently?

Leave a comment

Over the past few years, I’ve actively looked for reflections. Recently, I merged that obsession with my enjoyment of Burlingame Point, and the Reflections Photo Walk was born (next one on March 8). 

In the process, I built this Reflections Field Guide—part scavenger hunt, part composition playbook. My hope is that it helps you notice reflections more often, and then actually use them: to add layering, ambiguity, structure, or so much else.

Here are some of the many ways I have found the to put reflections to work:

• Puzzle shot

• Negative reflection space

• The framed reflection

• The window as portal

• Facade as canvas

• Low, high, and very high distortion

• Reflection squared

• Full frame reflection

• The puddle shot

• The still lake

Here is the roadmap:

Puzzle shot

Puzzle Shot with Negative Reflection Space

Framed Reflection

Window Portal

Facade as Canvas

Image credit:

Low, High, and Very High Distortion

Reflection Squared

Full Frame Reflection

Puddle Reflection

Check out Donald Kinney’s San Francisco work for amazing use of puddles. And a hat-tip to Nico van Dongen for the suggestion to flip the reflection

Still Lake Reflections

Interested in Reflections?

If you’re in the Bay Area and interested in my reflection-focused photo walks chcek my upcoming events or email me at josh@weinbergphoto.com.

For one-on-one photography lessons, details are at weinbergphoto.com, including instructions for booking a free 30-minute consultation.

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Today I’m turning on a paid subscription to Random Capture, but I’m not putting any of the writing behind a paywall.

That’s intentional.

I want the ideas here — about slowing down, seeing differently, paying attention, and the joy of making photographs — to stay open and accessible. Writing has been big part of how I think, teach, and learn, and I don’t want access to that to depend on someone’s ability or willingness to pay.

At the same time, I’m in the middle of a real transition.

After decades in corporate communications, I’m steadily shifting my work toward 100% photography and photography education — teaching, mentoring, portfolio reviews, photo walks, workshops, and helping people figure out what they want to say with their images. This Substack has become a key part of that ecosystem. Turning on paid subscriptions is a way for people who find value here to directly support that work.

Instead of locking content, I’m doing something different.

What paid subscribers get

A paid subscription is $50/year. In exchange, you get real time with me, not access to gated posts.

Each year, paid subscribers receive:

• Two hours of photo consulting, usable however you want
  That can be:

  • A portfolio review (plus follow-up)

  • Photo lessons (in person or remote)

  • Help with Lightroom, editing, or workflow

  • Guidance on building a photography website, Substack, or zine

  • A conversation about photography goals and direction

  • If you’re in the Bay Area, a custom in-person photo walk

• Your choice of one physical thank-you

  • One of my photo zines

  • or an unframed 8×10 photographic print

For context: my consulting time is normally $75/hour, my zines are $8, and prints are typically $50. If you take full advantage, the value is well over the subscription cost. That’s on purpose. I wanted this to feel generous, not transactional.

Why this structure

Substack requires a minimum monthly price. Rather than charging for posts, I wanted to make sure there was clear, tangible value tied to the subscription — especially value that reflects what I actually do now: teaching, mentoring, and helping people move forward with their photography.

This model keeps the writing open, while letting people say, “I believe in this work, and I want to support it.”

No pressure. No guilt. No disappearing posts.

Who this is for

Paid subscriptions make sense if:

• You’ve been reading for a while and want deeper engagement

• You’d benefit from one-on-one guidance or feedback

• You’re working on a project, direction, or transition of your own

• You want to support the work behind the scenes

If you just want to read and think along, stay right where you are. Nothing changes for free subscribers.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Note: Even when announcing paid subscriptions, I couldn’t do a post without some new photos. Here are a few from yesterday’s pre-sunrise trip to Treasure Island. Subscribe and learn how to get shots like this — or better, let’s shoot them together.

The Camp Snap Pro is a screen-free digital camera that costs under $100 and leans hard into retro styling. It’s part of a growing movement of lower-end (often screen-less) digital cameras, sometimes called “unserious” or “toy” cameras. I think those labels do these cameras — and particularly the Camp Snap Pro — a disservice. I prefer the term “mindful cameras.” These devices prioritize the experience of shooting over technical perfection—and when used well, the results can be surprisingly good.

At this price, Camp Snap isn’t trying to compete with Fuji, Sony, Nikon, or Canon. It lacks an adjustable aperture, image stabilization, or auto focusing (or manual focus, for that matter). However, it also lacks endless menus, and the only settings are flash on/off and a filter dial (i.e., film simulations). Think about it as a digital version of the disposable camera. And that’s the key. It is simple by design, and that simplicity unlocks a shooting experience that higher-end cameras can sometimes stifle.

From Summer Camp to Cult Classic
The Camp Snap story started with a mix of parental frustration and nostalgia. Founders Brian and Melanie Waldman realized that when they sent their child to summer camp, the “no-screen” policies meant even basic digital cameras were off-limits. As they say, “ after a couple of summers of sending our kids to camp with disposable cameras and only a handful of worthwhile photos, we realized there had to be a better option.” Finding no screen-free alternative, they began tinkering, and in 2023, they released the original Camp Snap ($70). It was a big hit with their core audience, but many photographers who picked it up wanted more.

Listening to Their Fans
Camp Snap listened to the photographers, and late last year, they released the Camp Snap Pro with better resolution (16MP vs 8), a better flash, and some other asked for updates.

The Pro’s retro styling (and lower shutter lag!) makes it feel less like a “toy” and more like a legitimate tool for photographers.

The Beauty of Shooting Simple
I reached out to the company for a test unit because I loved the idea of shooting without a screen to cut out distractions. What I found went deeper than that: while losing the screen helped me focus on my subjects, the real game-changer was the total lack of settings. Since I couldn’t fiddle with menus or second-guess my exposure, I spent all my energy just looking for light and subjects.

There are definitely limitations. The biggest hurdle is the limited dynamic range. Because there’s no screen, I didn’t realize how the sensor handled light until a few outings—but once I saw and analyzed my results, I started instinctively gravitating toward the specific scenes where this camera actually shines.

Final Thoughts
If you want a deeper dive into technical specs, there are plenty of hardware reviews out there. But for me, the value is in the change of pace. The Camp Snap Pro has changed how I see and respond to a scene. It’s an “unserious” camera that has made me a more serious observer.

Check out some of my results below, and if you’re interested in picking one up, please use my affiliate link.

If you already have a Camp Snap or Camp Snap Pro (or if you want to see one in action), I’ll lead a San Francisco photo walk dedicated to the Camp Snap on Monday, February 16th (President’s Day). Respond or email me for more on this.

Subscribe now

Have you used an “unserious” or “mindful” camera? What did you think? Leave a comment and let me know.

Leave a comment

One of the best ways to learn photography is to be part of a community. Whether it’s a class, a photo walk, a Substack audience, or an online group, sharing work (and the thinking behind it) accelerates learning—and keeps everyone motivated.

I’ve been developing and leading my synagogue’s photo group for the past few years, and it’s been one of the most rewarding teaching experiences I’ve had. The group includes people at very different stages—different cameras, different confidence levels, different visual instincts—but everyone shows up curious and open.

A few weeks ago, I gave the group a simple challenge: photograph your Hanukkah candles each night. What came back was remarkable—and each night it was wonderful to see how people were influenced by images from the night before. Check out some of the results below.

Subscribe now

This experience reinforced something I believe deeply: when you put work out there, when you look carefully at what others make, when you talk about why an image works—or doesn’t—in a supportive, low-ego environment, you improve and you help others improve.

That’s why I’ve been slowly building both online and San Francisco–based photo communities. Small groups. Real conversations. A focus on seeing, not gear. Encouragement without fluff. Feedback without intimidation.

If you’re interested in being part of a supportive photo community—whether you’re just getting started or you’ve been shooting for years—drop me a note. I’ll send you links to the WhatsApp and Facebook groups so you can see if it feels like a fit.

Photography doesn’t have to be solitary. In fact, it’s better when it isn’t.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

Whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Diwali, New Year’s, Bodhi Day, or Makar Sankranti—or something else entirely—I want to wish you a wonderful year ahead, with hopes for peace and togetherness.

Warmly,
josh

Downtown San Francisco took a beating during the pandemic. Offices emptied out, crime followed, and I kept hearing, “San Francisco is in a doom loop—it’s done, it’ll never come back, its best days are past.” But anyone who knows this city’s history understood where this was heading. San Francisco has always cycled through booms and busts, reinvention after reinvention. That’s why the city’s flag is a phoenix rising from the ashes. And true to form, San Francisco has come back.

Subscribe now

Bringing Life Back to Downtown.

Even in the depths of Covid, the neighborhoods continued to thrive while downtown, the Financial District, and tourist areas were hit hardest. The city didn’t sit still. It created new programs to bring people back—Thursday Night Out, night markets, entertainment zones, and public art installations.

The Myth vs. the Reality of San Francisco Right Now

These programs have been steadily bringing people back, and the rebound has been far stronger than most people outside the Bay Area realize. The AI boom is also filling offices again, driving hiring, and bringing new energy.

Yet when I talk with out-of-town friends, they still ask, “Isn’t San Francisco a terrible place to visit right now?” If that’s still your impression, come visit. I’d love to show you around.

Let’s Glow SF and the Return of Downtown Energy

One of the first big pushes to re-energize downtown launched in December 2020: Let’s Glow SF. It began during the darkest, coldest stretch of that first pandemic winter, when downtown felt empty and we all felt isolated. The Downtown SF Partnership commissioned artists to project large-scale animated works onto building façades, transforming the Financial District into an outdoor light-art gallery.

Now in its fifth year, it has grown into one of the largest projection-mapping festivals in the country. Last year it drew more than 87,000 visitors, and based on the crowds I saw last night, this year will likely be even bigger. If you’re in the Bay Area, go now—next Sunday, December 14, is the last night.

The art is spectacular, but the real joy is seeing downtown alive again at night—groups of young people leaving a trail of sweet-smelling smoke, parents with strollers, couples on dates. And next Saturday, December 14, you can add drunken Santas wrapping up SantaCon.

Below are scenes from Let’s Glow SF and nighttime San Francisco more broadly.

See the City Through a Photographer’s Eyes

After nearly 30 years here, I still think this is one of the most photogenic cities anywhere. If you want to see San Francisco—and learn how to photograph it—I’m running a three-day San Francisco photography workshop April 20–23. Three packed days of San Francisco photography, sites, and history.

Cost is $850 and limited to six participants. Start breaking in your shoes, and call me at 415-723-6009 or email josh@weinbergphoto.com for more details.

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

It’s the dark part of the year. By the time I’m ready for my afternoon photowalk, there’s barely any daylight left — golden hour starts before 4 p.m., and by 5 it’s fully dark. Not only does that make walk-around photography harder, but it’s also a little depressing. So the question becomes: what can you shoot and what will lift your spirits?

My answer: photograph illuminated art. Around the world, light-art festivals are multiplying — the Amsterdam Light Festival (which starts this week) is a great example. Here in San Francisco, we have Illuminate (now called City of Awe), with projects like The Bay Lights, as well as Let’s Glow SF. And it’s not just outdoor events. Museums that blend science, art, and technology are often reliable, year-round sources of light-based artwork. San Francisco’s Exploratorium is one of the most popular.

That’s where I started my light photography this year. Last weekend, I visited the Exploratorium’s annual Glow exhibit, a well-loved winter showcase of luminous and interactive installations. It opened recently and runs through late January. Both the Glow exhibits and the permenant exhibits were great subjects.

Below are some of the images I made — and below them are a few tips for when you head out to photograph light-art installations yourself.

Subscribe now

Light-art subjects work well because they offer strong contrast: typically bright, saturated lights against dark surroundings. But they also come with challenges. If you usually rely on auto-everything, you’ll need to take control of exposure and white balance.

Two tips:
Under-expose. Your camera will often overexpose as it tries to brighten the dark backgrounds (it doesn’t know that’s supposed to be dark). Underexpose 1 to 3 stops (or more)— exposure compensation is the easiest way to do this; just use the negative numbers.

White balance matters. Light-art installations use strong artificial color, so Daylight or Auto WB may not reflect what you saw. I tested a few settings and settled on Shade, which produced the truest color. Your exhibit might need something different, so experiment.

If you want to stay closer to home and photograph your own or your neighborhood’s holiday lights, has a helpful article:

The Photographer's Perspective

Photographing Holiday Lights

The holiday season is about to hit hard, and that means light displays are going up (or are up already) everywhere. You can get some magical photos of these displays if you do a little advance planning, use the right gear, and choose the best settings. As they say, “it’s lit!” With that, here are my tips for getting better photos of holiday light displays…

Read more

7 months ago · 5 likes · 2 comments · Jason Odell

And if you’ve made it this far and want a little humor about the early darkness, here’s a cute video from the Holderness Family:

This week is Thanksgiving here in the U.S., and I’m lucky enough to be spending it in warmth and surrounded by family. The holiday itself may be American, but its core idea—pausing to recognize what we have—is universal. Wherever you find yourself, I hope the week offers a moment to reflect, reset, and appreciate what’s good in your life.

Warmly,
josh

Subscribe now

Leave a comment

I’ve learned over the years that I’m drawn to photographing things with patina—cars, buildings, doorways, anything in the neighborhood that shows age and weather and time. Those surfaces feel alive to me. They’ve earned their character.

I appreciate a good renovation, but there’s always a moment of disappointment when the patina disappears. It’s that quiet “don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone” feeling you get when a familiar surface suddenly looks anonymous.

What hits even harder is when someone doesn’t restore anything at all—they just roll a layer of paint over it. No repair, no care, no preservation. Just a quick coat that erases everything underneath.

I’ve walked New York, San Francisco, and Burlingame for decades, making thousands of photos, and you start to notice when the old texture gets paved over—or painted over—overnight. One day it’s a surface full of stories; the next day it’s just…smooth.

Above and below are a few before-and-after moments where I watched that happen.

Subscribe now

Here are a few more places I see on my walks that still have patina. I am keeping my eye on them because they can be gone with a stroke of a paintbrush.

Leave a comment

Let me know your thoughts.

Until next Friday morning,
josh

p.s. Remember to check zineschool.com if you’d like to create a zine, or visit Etsy to obtain a copy of my recent Chicago Zine.

Learn to make a zine

Buy Josh's Chicago Zine - 6 left

Zine School Origins

Over the past year, I started making zines myself: first pasting small prints into cheap notebooks, then creating hand-folded, laser-printed prototypes at home, and eventually publishing my professionally printed Chicago zine. Selling out half of that run in the first week was especially meaningful. It was the first time I’d ever offered my photography for sale, and having people I’ve never met choose to buy it was a powerful milestone. Along the way, I learned a lot about the different approaches to making zines, the tools that can make the process simple, and how to push through the moments where people tend to stall.

I heard from a surprising number of readers who said that seeing my process renewed their interest in creating a zine of their own — and it was clear some had been thinking about this for a while:

That’s when I realized something: many people want to make a zine, but they get stuck in the same places I did at first — too many decisions, too many tools, not knowing which steps matter, chasing perfection, or simply lacking a structure or accountability that keeps the project moving. Another realization was that people don’t need complicated software or expensive materials. Simple can be better.

Zine School grew directly out of these realizations.

Six Weeks to Done

The first Zine School cohort will run in January and February and include three one-hour Zoom sessions plus ongoing online discussions. It’s designed as a small, supportive cohort built around simple tools, hands-on work, and practical guidance. With a maximum of six people, everyone gets attention, encouragement, and momentum — and by watching each other work, we help each other move forward.

The goal is simple: finish your first zine and get it out into the world.

No Fancy Tools Required

Zine School is built around the simplest tools available. If you already use InDesign or Scribus, that’s fine — but the core workflow will use: Apple Pages (the preferred tool — free on Macs, surprisingly capable) or Google Docs (for Windows/Chromebook users or anyone who prefers it).

We’ll embrace the simplicity of these programs, understand their limitations, and learn how to design around those so your zine looks intentional and well-crafted.

A home printer (laser or inkjet) is helpful for prototypes, but not required. Black and white is fine — and if you only have access to a printer at a library, workplace, or copy shop, that works too. Zine-making is about using what you already have and making the most of it.

Who It’s For & What We Will Create

This program is designed primarily for photographers, but anyone who wants to create a zine is welcome. Zines are wide-ranging: Some are handmade with images pasted and spines stitched. Others are printed at home, at a local copy shop, or produced through an online print service.

In this cohort, we’ll focus on preparing a file to send to a printing service, but you’re free to choose a different approach based on your project.

What You’ll Learn

• How to define the concept for your first zine

• Editing, sequencing, and shaping your narrative

• Choosing size, orientation, paper, and page count

• Layout using simple, accessible tools

• Page flow, margins, borders, and aspect ratios

• Creating prototypes at home

• Preparing a print-ready PDF

• Working with Mixam, Blurb, or DIY printing

• When to order proofs and how to revise effectively

• Pricing, selling, trading, and promotion

• Strategies to overcome decision paralysis

• How to keep the process joyful rather than overwhelming

Why I Created Zine School

I’m doing this because I’ve learned how powerful it is to give your work a physical form. Finishing a zine changes how you see your own photography, and seeing someone hold it and respond to it is even better. Making a zine doesn’t need to be complicated — it can be simple, clear, and genuinely enjoyable. I want others to experience the satisfaction of turning an idea into something real.

Intro Price

Zine School introductory rate: $49
Future cohorts: $149+

How to Join

Zoom meetings will generally take place on Sundays, late in the day. Final dates and times will be set in December. A registration link will be on zineschool.com shortly.

If interested (or curious), send me a message at josh@weinbergphoto.com, and I can save you a spot if it's right for you.

Lets Go

If you’ve been wanting to make a zine but never quite made it past the idea stage, this is the moment. Let’s make something real.

Warmly,
josh

Leave a comment

The Joy of Holding a Photo

All day long, images fly past us — on Instagram, Facebook, text messages, and more. We see them, appreciate them for a moment (maybe even screenshot them), and then they’re gone. Holding a photo in your hand changes that. You pause. You look longer. You return to it. It becomes part of your physical world, not just your digital one.

A photography zine is an accessible way to hold an artist’s work in your hand. It’s a curated set of images where the photographer has chosen the format, size, order, and whether to include text or let the pictures speak for themselves. It takes you on a short, intentional journey — a few minutes of visual calm in our otherwise fast-scrolling world. And these days, it’s just nice to get something in the mail that isn’t a bill or solicitation.

Zines 1-3: Giveaway / Trade Only

Early last year, I dove into learning how to make zines, but most of what I found made the process seem overwhelming. Then I read a post by , who reminded me that a meaningful project doesn’t need to be elaborate or perfect — just made. That encouragement got me started.

I created a few handmade zines and was instantly hooked. I printed them on my laser printer, hand-folded and stapled them, and sent a few copies of each to Substack writers and photographers in the U.S., New Zealand, and Germany.

Hearing their reactions — and seeing photos of my zines in their homes — sealed it for me. I knew I wanted to keep going.

Chicago: My First Zine for Sale

Last month, I spent three full days photographing downtown Chicago — more than 2,000 shots of buildings, sculptures, sunrises, reflections, and movement. When I got home, my challenge was to find the gems. Once I did, I knew this project needed to live beyond a Substack post. It was the perfect chance to take my zine-making to the next level.

I found software for simple layouts, realized that a landscape format would better showcase the photos — without much added cost, chose paper sizes that fit the image’s aspect ratio, and ordered a small batch from Mixam. When my box of zines arrived, I sat down and slowly flipped through. Seeing my images on paper — beyond the screen — was deeply satisfying. I hope you’ll get a chance to enjoy them as well.

This first edition — limited to sixteen copies — is about 6×9 inches, 24 pages, and contains 14 images. Each is signed and numbered.

They’re only $8, including free U.S. shipping.

If you’ve enjoyed my photography or writing, I hope you’ll consider supporting this project. You can buy it on Etsy, or reach out directly if you’d prefer Venmo or want to swap for something you have made.

Buy Zine

The Joy of Paper

Zine making is not the only way I’ve been reconnecting with print this fall. I’m currently taking a Digital Photography course at the College of San Mateo focused on professional printing. We’re learning to proof, analyze, and iterate—adjusting tones and masks until a print truly feels “final.”

I’ve been amazed at how different an image feels in print versus on screen. The process forces me to scrutinize each frame more deeply, notice subtle tones, and refine my editing. It’s also pushing me to explore masking and selective adjustments—skills that will strengthen all of my future work, printed or not.

It’s rewarding to see my images large and hanging on a wall, holding their own space in the world.

If you’re an artist or photographer with work trapped on devices, I hope my efforts inspire you to bring your art into the physical world — and that you, too, find yourself pausing, looking longer, and returning to your images again and again.

Warmly,
josh

Buy zine from Etsy

Contact me for a swap or Venmo

Leave a comment

Donald Kinney

Years ago, I started noticing extraordinary photographs of Marin County appearing in online Bay Area photography groups. Over time, I learned they were by Donald Kinney — and once I heard his story, it’s always inspired me. Since then, I’ve seen his exhibits, purchased his books, met him, and — delightfully — photographed alongside him a few times.

Here is his story:

Meeting Ansel Adams

My first images were color slides taken while I was backpacking along the eastern slopes of the Sierra. My jaw dropped when they came back from Kodak. I was 12 years old. It’s such a vivid memory—I knew right then that I wanted to be a photographer.

I was the lucky boy growing up on the Monterey Peninsula, walking in the footprints of Weston and Adams.

Instead of doing homework, I spent every minute outside shooting pictures or developing in the darkroom. Deep inside was this glorious feeling that I finally had a voice. And inspiration would find me when I least expected it.

I was photographing the same things Ansel Adams was photographing, and as a teenager, I saw him. It was a bright, chilly morning in Carmel when I spotted the man I admired, if not idolized. There was Adams in the flesh—bushy beard, string tie, wide-brimmed hat, and confident stride. I recall his voice was high-pitched, yet soft. He seemed to have a kind manner but I was very shy in those days. I couldn’t approach him, but I left a message on his windshield.

I get this card in the mail about a week later that says, “Give me a phone call, and we’ll arrange a time for you to come over.” I give him a call and half an hour later, I am sitting in his living room.

He looked at my photographs, which weren’t good, and told me how I could improve each and every one of them. His advice was inspirational, yet humbling.

I invited myself back to his house a few months later after working on what he told me. I had apparently improved quite a bit and he complimented me. The highlight of my life was meeting him but beyond his willingness to share his technical secrets, he taught me a lesson in generosity.

Donald wanted to build a life centered around photography. He attended Brooks Institute for a semester but became disillusioned with its emphasis on photography as a business rather than a creative practice. He moved to the Bay Area and went to work — unfortunately, not doing photography.

A life away from photography

I worked at mundane jobs in manufacturing and retail, all the while complaining: “On a day like this Ansel Adams would be out photographing.”

For the next 30 years, Donald mostly looked out the window at what he was missing —photographing whenever he could — but never enough to satisfy his cravings.

When he retired early, he dove back into photography full-time. For the last 22 years, he’s been doing what he loves most.

Now: Eating, sleeping and breathing photography 24/7

A few years ago, he described his daily rhythm this way:

As it was in my youth—more or less—I eat, sleep and breathe photography, 24/7. I’m living my dream!

My days start well before sunrise—just me, with prayers for atmospheric drama. Some days I photograph on the shore of San Pablo Bay; other days I head down to the Golden Gate Bridge. On a different morning, I may be captivated by the sun struggling to break through clouds above the lake in west Marin.

Ripples and reflections of our creeks put on a wonderful show. I never know what I will discover during a hike through redwoods and ferns, or in my own backyard where I’m greeted by a mother deer and her fawns. I am a lucky guy. I have developed a voice and I appreciate beauty.

A new chapter: San Francisco

Donald loves Marin County, which he captured like no one else. But two years ago, to his surprise, Donald moved to San Francisco.

I never imagined I’d be living in the City, but here I am!

His subject matter changed, but his artistry didn’t. The city simply gave him new patterns, textures, and light to explore.

The key to amazing photography

As you learn about Donald or get to know him, you realize that his photography is built on dedication, hard work, persistence, practice, and most of all, passion.

Generosity is a lifelong gift

The key lesson Adams taught Donald clearly stuck because he’s also one of the kindest, humblest, and most generous photographers you’ll ever meet.

See more pictures, or get some for yourself

Donald sells prints and photo books but that’s not his goal. His goal is to fulfill his lifelong drive to capture and share the beauty he sees. That said I encourage you to buy one of his books or a print if you can!

If you want to hear Donald tell his story and discuss his photography, watch the interview below. Then keep scrolling for more of Donald’s photos or look for him on Facebook at: facebook.com/donald.kinney1

Donald Kinney’s Marin

Donald Kinney’s San Francisco

The man himself

Final thought

Donald’s caption for this one resonates with me: “It is one big art gallery out there!”

Subscribe now

More of Donald Kinney’s work here and here.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Leave a comment