Things change, yet stay the same.

Disclaimer: I was hesitant to put this out. I am not 100% sure of the direction I want to take this newsletter in general, but I have been sitting on some of this for so long that I fear if I don't just go for it I'll never do it. Forgive me if my thoughts seem a bit scattered! I hope you find some encouragement, and maybe take something away from it.

I put off shooting weddings for a long time. I would frequently get asked, but I would decline. I can't even entirely pinpoint why. I wanted to be an urban artist. I wanted to be a street photographer. I wanted to "make bangers" and hit it big on Instagram. I wanted to sell prints. I wanted to be interviewed on your podcast. I wanted the dopamine fix.

But really, I wanted to leave a dent in the world.

Wedding photography felt stale. "Ok, stand there and look at me! Place your hand closer to his shoulder. There ya go!"

"Click!"

It didn't seem cool. It wasn't what I wanted to do. Not to mention the pressure and the responsibility! What if I missed the kiss?! (Relax, that's only happened to me once...)

Over time, things began to change for me. An old friend of mine, Michaella Jelin, who also happens to be one of my favorite photographers on earth, has such a unique approach to weddings. Even in her earlier years, there was something about her work that stood out to me. Even though wedding photography wasn't much of an interest of mine at the time, and even though I had zero connections to the people in her photographs, the images made me feel like I was present with them. They made me feel like these were my loved ones. I could feel the energy of the moment in my bones. This is, after all, what a great photograph should do, but it had never occurred to me until then that I could feel this way by looking at someone else's wedding photos.

If you're in the industry at all, you've probably noticed the fairly widespread movement encouraging photographers to think outside the box when documenting weddings. I love this, personally. I can't pinpoint where exactly this originated, but if I had to guess I'd say that John Dolan probably had something to do with it. That's all beside the point though. This whole "new" way of thinking, this perspective that I had never considered, heavily influenced my decision to give wedding photography a chance. After declining so many other opportunities over the years, I finally decided to say yes.

There is no need to go in to detail about my entire journey right now. Sure, I've shot a handful of weddings, especially early on, where I wish I could have a do-over. I've even shot some recently where I wish I had done a thing or two differently. Maybe I shouldn't feel that way though. All of these experiences, both good and bad, shape us as artists. It's part of the process, and I would argue that it never really ends. I'd wager that the painter, the poet, and the musician may all share in common the fact that they wince a bit when revisiting some of their earlier work.

Right now I am focused on continuing to embrace my own voice, trusting my gut, and leaning in to what comes naturally to me. This seems to be a never-ending process, but I think I am slowly beginning to make sense of this. The comparison game is real, and I think a lot of us play it. It's natural. The idea that this is how my photos are supposed to look because that's how they do it can muffle our own unique voices and vision which deserve to be heard and seen in these spaces.

But so many of these ceremonies and rituals share many commonalities, at least on the surface. The structure is a familiar pattern: we get ready, we take group photos, we do the ceremony, then the reception, and then we leave. It can be easy to get a little too comfortable. But when we peel back the outer layer, we begin to notice there is so much more to observe. Every couple is different. Every family dynamic is different. Every personality is different. Everyone's style is a little different. The emotions this week may be different than last week. There is joy, excitement, sadness, awkwardness, and maybe even frustration or anger. Families are complex, and all of these things are subtle nuances that create unique opportunities for us as artists.

So how do I stand out? How do I not do what everyone else is doing? Does it even matter? These are the questions I am constantly asking myself. Things change, yet they stay the same. Clients want a more candid "documentary" style, as if wedding photography wasn't already "documentary" by nature, but we still end up following the trends and doing what others do. Clients want film again, but we still take the same types of photos as we did on digital. We may even change our approach to fit what clients supposedly want, but it's still just as easy to fall into the group-think mentality that tells us how things should look or feel.

I don't claim to have any magical answers, and its not as if I am qualified to offer such guidance anyways. I wonder if we emphasized staying true to ourselves, and doing our best to not play the comparison game, if we'd see even more variety in this particular category of art. What if we put less pressure on ourselves by simply trusting ourselves? I am the chief among all over-thinkers, so maybe this entire newsletter should just be a private journal entry for myself. Or maybe you can also relate.

To be honest, I don't even care that much about being on your podcast anymore, and I certainly don't care about injecting Instagram “likes” into my veins. I want to emphasize being present in the moment, not worrying about the past or future, and trusting my own instincts. I believe that is when I do my best work.

Thanks for reading! If you missed my first post where I share a bit more about my reasoning for doing all of this, you can read it here.