A decade of love, light, and lessons from behind the lens
Ten years is a long time to witness love. In that time, I’ve photographed over 150 weddings — from intimate backyard ceremonies to sprawling vineyard celebrations, from rainy Saturdays that turned out to be the most magical days imaginable, to golden-hour moments that felt almost too perfect to be real. And through all of it, I’ve learned things no photography school could ever teach.
This isn’t a post about camera settings or lens choices. It’s about people, presence, and the quiet truths that only reveal themselves after years of being welcomed into one of the most meaningful days of someone’s life.
In my first year, I spent enormous energy orchestrating the “perfect shot.” The right angle, the right light, everyone looking exactly where I needed them to look. And yes, those images were beautiful. But when couples come back to me years later and tell me which photos they return to again and again, it’s never the perfectly posed ones.
It’s the father seeing his daughter in her dress for the first time. The groom quietly mouthing “Wow”. The flower girl who got distracted by a butterfly. Those in-between, unguarded seconds — that’s where the real wedding lives. My job evolved from directing moments to hunting them.
Photographers talk about golden hour like it’s the holy grail, and it genuinely is extraordinary. But I’ve learned that the most important skill isn’t finding the best light — it’s knowing when not to interrupt.
Some couples want to sneak away for a sunset portrait session. Others are happiest surrounded by their people, and pulling them away — even for ten minutes of stunning backlight — creates anxiety rather than romance. Over the years I’ve gotten much better at asking the right questions beforehand, and at reading the energy in a room on the day. A great image in suboptimal light will always beat a technically perfect image of a couple who’d rather be at the dance floor.
I used to think timeline anxiety was a ‘Type A bride’ thing. Now I understand it completely. A well-crafted timeline is one of the most loving things you can give yourself on your wedding day. It means you’re never rushed. It means the moments that matter have room to breathe.
I now spend real time with every couple designing their timeline collaboratively — not just the photography portions, but the whole day. Because when you’re not watching the clock, you’re actually at your wedding. That presence shows up in every photograph.
Early on, I siloed myself. I was focused purely on my shots and my light without thinking much about the florist trying to do final touches, the videographer also trying to capture the first look, or the coordinator who needed to move the family for portraits. That lack of communication cost everyone.
Now I connect with every vendor before the wedding day. Not just to coordinate logistics, but because I genuinely believe that when the team loves each other’s work, the couple feels it. The energy on a wedding day where vendors are collaborative and generous is completely different — and the photos reflect that warmth.
The most common thing couples say when we first meet is: “We’re not photogenic.” After ten years, I can tell you with certainty that this is never true. What they mean is: “We’ve never had someone help us feel comfortable and ourselves in front of a camera.” That’s a photographer problem, not a people problem.
This is why I always suggest an engagement session. Not just for beautiful images, but because by the time wedding day arrives, we already know each other. You know I’m going to make you laugh. I know you tilt slightly left when you smile. That familiarity is worth more than any piece of equipment I own.
I have lost count of the number of couples who’ve called me in a panic the week before their outdoor wedding about an incoming forecast. And I have lost count of how many of those same couples have told me afterwards that it was the best thing that could have happened.
Rain creates intimacy. It gives you something to laugh about together. It softens the light in the most extraordinary ways. Some of my absolute favorite images were taken under grey skies with guests sharing umbrellas. Weather doesn’t ruin weddings — rigidity does. The couples who lean into it always have the best stories.
Wedding planning culture can spiral into an obsession with details that often go unnoticed on the day itself. I document every detail beautifully — the hand-lettered seating chart, the heirloom ring box, the morning light falling across the dress. These matter, and they tell the story of who you are.
But I’ve watched couples spend the morning of their wedding in a tailspin over centerpieces that were two inches too low, or a boutonniere that was the wrong shade of white. The couples who remember their wedding day most joyfully are the ones who decided, at some point, that done is perfect. Your guests came for you, not the details.
If I had to distill ten years into a single truth, it’s this: the photographs that last are made of trust. Trust between the two of you. Trust between you and the people you’ve gathered. And trust between you and me — that I will see you clearly, and preserve what matters.
I am still learning. Every wedding teaches me something. But I’m deeply grateful to have spent a decade being let into so many love stories — and I cannot wait to tell more.
