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September in San Francisco, when the Pacific light softens at dusk and the city’s vertical lines tilt against the horizon. Ludwig Favre works in the hours between day and night, where red neon signs bleed into brick facades and cable cars glide against a sky still holding traces of blue. The photographs gather around corners,quiet streets lined with parked cars, motel signs glowing like small beacons, the occasional figure passing under overhead wires or stepping onto a blue tennis court beneath overcast skies. What lingers is a balance of warmth and coolness: the red glow of liquor store signs against the muted tones of autumn foliage, the geometric patterns of interior walls catching shafts of light, the texture of weathered brick and exposed metal fire escapes. There is motion, but it is measured,figures walking past planters, vintage cars parked under leafy trees, laundry machines lit by fluorescent strips that reveal urban streets beyond. The series traces a path through the city’s contrasts: the red suspension bridge stretching over water, the narrow dirt path winding through dense underbrush, the soft evening light bathing pastel buildings and palm trees alike.












































