HOW WE PHOTOGRAPH TOGETHER

I hope you’d wake at a ridiculous hour to watch your first married sunrise even if no one were there to hold a camera. On a freezing morning, having someone in the hallway with a jacket makes it easier. A first light in the cold. The way up for a view you won’t forget. You go because the experience is worth it. The photograph is what holds it.

In something this small, there is no crowd to slip behind and no program running without you. This isn’t the big-wedding setup, where the photographer documents from the perimeter; I am inside it, close, one of the few people actually there. The photographing becomes part of the day itself, the way the vows are, the way the walking is. Not something happening to you. Something happening within it, with you.

Especially during the vow reading, most people instinctively turn away when they feel something. Here, that is the part worth turning toward. The tears, the long silence after the vows, the breath you take before you can speak again, none of it is something to manage or hide. I’ve watched a groom go completely off-script because he had more to say. I’ve seen vows whispered straight into an ear, when even ten guests felt like too much of an audience.

And your kind of togetherness is welcome exactly as it is. Many of the couples I photograph have been together for years, in a settled, un-performy way. A grown-up love can stand near each other, look at two different things you each love, a hand resting on an arm, and be entirely together. One of my favorite frames is this couple who look posed and aren’t: he loves looking at glaciers, she loves watching the sunrise, so they simply turned toward what each of them loved.

When my husband and I married, our photographer used a silly word to make him smile. It worked. But now, every time I look at that photograph, I hear the word instead of the memory. That is what I want to spare you. If the moment was real, the image stays true to it, even years from now, and even when the real thing was quiet, still, or not smiling at all.

I’ll guide you into good light and step in when geometry matters. When something genuine is happening between you, I leave it alone. If you’re not sure what comes next, just be together, and stop thinking about me for a while. Look into the lens or forget it entirely. Take in the view and lose track of the camera. I move around a lot, so I can find completely different frames without you having to move an inch. So if you don’t hear from me, you are doing everything right. If you want to stand still, we stand still. If it’s cold, I’ll be quick. If you’d rather dance, I’ll follow.

If we’re wandering and I spot a good rock in the right light, I might ask: climb it, stand in front of it, or skip it. If you have saved photos you love, bring them along, and we’ll capture the spirit of the shot, but with your real day. If you’d like portraits looking directly at the camera, some of each of you alone, or with guests, I am glad to, though most couples find they mostly want the two of them, inside it.

In the end, I’m there for the photographs you’ll carry home, the ones you want to show your people, the ones you’ll want to put on your wall or phone right now, the ones you’ll love when you grow older. Memory, essence, and art, woven together. If anything ever feels off, tell me. The day is yours. I am here to walk through it with you, and to hold it exactly as it actually is.