Shayan Afzal

I stepped out of the Ferry Building into the soft embrace of dawn’s light. The city, in its awakening, seemed to breathe softly, the air crisp and the faint hum of a new day beginning to stir. To my right, the Bay Bridge stretched across the water, a silent giant, indifferent to my gaze.

People often find such structures awe-inspiring, their grandeur meant to evoke a deep emotional response. Yet, for me, the Bay Bridge was simply a bridge. I failed to grasp the fascination it held for others. It stood as a road, practical and functional, nothing more. Perhaps it was the hour or the solitude surrounding it, but it left me feeling curiously detached. Even in the nascent light of morning, it lacked any photogenic charm. It was not art; it was utility incarnate.

My inspiration often stems from the realm of documentary photography, where the goal is to capture the world as it exists and describe it in its unvarnished truth. Sometimes, this endeavor takes on a poetic quality; at other times, it remains starkly real. Not every corner of the world is designed to captivate the senses. Not every human creation is meant to elicit awe. Often, things are simply practical—they exist to serve a purpose. The bridge gets you from point A to point B, and that is its sole function. I’ve heard of the light show that graces it by night—certainly, a spectacle in its own right. But in the morning, there was no light show to behold, just the plain, unembellished structure before me.