When you mention Tiburon, a lot of assumptions get made. It’s an incredibly expensive place to live, one of those San Francisco–adjacent towns where people assume the past has been traded in for tech and wealth. And honestly, who could argue with wanting to live on that wooded peninsula overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge?
But “old Tiburon” is still alive. And I was invited into a home that quietly honors it.
In a small, leaky A-frame that felt more window than wall, this family of four greeted the sunrise together over Angel Island. We played guitar and vinyl records, smudged little hands and faces against the glass, and quietly ate toast and bananas as light cracked through the morning overcast.
As the morning warmed, we piled into the old family Volvo, roll-up windows and all, and headed up to Old St. Hilary’s Preserve for a short hike. Their typical weekend rhythm. Kids wandered ahead on the trail while the San Francisco Bay emerged from the mist below.
Mom wanted these photographs made entirely on film, and I’m grateful for that instinct. Film has a way of meeting mornings like this with a little more patience. Nothing rushed, nothing overly polished, just light and color and life as it really felt in the moment.
I want to say these photos ooze nostalgia, but nostalgia usually looks backward. This was something different. This was simply a beautiful life being lived, right now, exactly as it is.
This Is Why
This is why I photograph families – because want you to remember how it felt.
If you see beauty in the chaos, if you want to remember the whole rollercoaster that is childhood + parenthood, I hear you.
Want to chat? Drop me a note.
