THE ART OF SEEING WHAT OTHERS FEEL
Anticipation. Observation. Empathy.
Before I tell your story, let me share a little of mine.
THE BOY IN THE DARKROOM
I was eight or nine years old when I first discovered the magic of photography. At a sleepaway camp, I became fascinated with the darkroom, watching an image gradually appear on photographic paper. There was something extraordinary about seeing a moment reveal itself before my eyes.
Years later, when I was old enough to drive, I purchased my first Pentax K1000. That camera became my companion as I explored Cunningham Falls in Maryland and the Blue Ridge Mountains during autumn. Sometimes I hiked six miles just to reach a particular view. I loved photographing landscapes, waterfalls, wildlife, and friends. I wasn’t thinking about a career. I simply loved discovering the world through a camera.
That curiosity never left me.
A WOMAN WHO SAW POSSIBILITIES
In 1993, before Carla left Maryland for St. Louis, I gave her a photograph I’d taken of the Colorado prairie, with storm clouds approaching across the landscape. It was captured on slide film, and although I don’t know where it is today, I remember the image and the woman I gave it to.
Four years later, Carla returned to Maryland and asked me a question that would change our lives: “Would you like to start a photography business?”
I loved photography, but I hesitated. Photographing a wedding meant accepting responsibility for memories that could never be recreated. Carla remembered a photograph I’d captured of a deer in motion and wondered why someone who could photograph an unpredictable animal couldn’t photograph people at a wedding.
She proposed giving the business six months to see whether we could make it work. If it didn’t succeed, at least we would know we’d tried.
Our friends Frank and Linnea provided one of our earliest opportunities. We photographed their entire wedding, at two locations, for $500. Our equipment was modest, but our determination wasn’t. We worked carefully, brought lighting equipment, and began discovering what we could accomplish together.
From the beginning, we also wanted our photographs to reflect the people we served. At bridal shows, we displayed brides of different ethnicities, sizes, and backgrounds because we believed women should see themselves represented in wedding photography.
THE MILES BEHIND THE MEMORIES
In those early years, Carla arranged appointments with prospective couples, and we loaded our car with wedding albums and framed photographs to visit them at home. There was no GPS guiding us through unfamiliar neighborhoods. Carla read the maps while I drove, sometimes searching for addresses long after sunset.
And according to Carla, she was a rock star. At least in her own mind! We sang along with the radio, talked about our plans, and occasionally disagreed. Those long drives became part of our life together, filled with memories we could never recreate.
Eventually, we realized it made more sense to invite clients into a studio. Building the business took time, money, sweat equity, and courage. It took about two years to gain real momentum, but by our second year, we had booked thirty clients. What began as a six-month experiment had become Artisan Photographics.
We were building more than a business. We were building a life together.
THE ART OF ANTICIPATION
One photograph from 1999 reminds me why anticipation matters in wedding photography.
Everyone was gathering outside for the release of a white dove. I knew the moment would happen quickly, so I positioned myself on the church steps, ready to capture the bird and the reactions of the people surrounding it.
Then a guest stepped directly in front of me. I asked her to move, explaining that I was there to photograph the release, but she resisted. We were on steep steps, and I was concerned someone could get hurt during the excitement. Fortunately, another guest quickly helped clear the space.
And then the dove took flight.
Children reached toward it, hands stretched into the air, and faces filled with excitement. I pressed the shutter and captured a moment that would never happen quite the same way again.
This was 1999, when I was still photographing on film. There was no digital screen to check the result. I had to trust my preparation, camera settings, timing, and instinct.
“Being in the right place at the right time isn’t always luck. Sometimes it’s knowing where to be before the moment happens.”
WHEN PHOTOGRAPHY BECOMES PERSONAL
Anticipation is only part of my approach to photography. Just as important is empathy—the ability to recognize another person’s emotions and sometimes be deeply affected by them yourself.
I remember photographing a bride surrounded by her bridesmaids as she prepared for her wedding. At one point, she looked toward the window and began to cry. My first thought was that perhaps I had said something that upset her.
But as I watched, I recognized something more personal unfolding. The significance of the day seemed to have reached her. She was about to walk down the aisle, and the emotions were overwhelming.
I continued photographing because I recognized the sincerity of what I was witnessing. Her emotions affected me, too. I wasn’t simply documenting a bride preparing for her ceremony. I was witnessing a deeply human moment that couldn’t be directed or recreated.
WHEN THE TEARS RETURNED
Later that same day, I photographed the bride during her dance with her father. Once again, her emotions surfaced. Her hand covered her mouth as tears rolled down her cheek, and she held him close.
Two different moments from the same wedding, each revealing something deeply personal.
Over the years, I’ve learned that meaningful moments aren’t always announced. Sometimes they’re found in a gesture, an expression, or an embrace. You have to remain observant, recognize what matters, and occasionally allow yourself to feel it.
“A camera records what happens. Empathy helps me understand why it matters.”
THE PASSION THAT REMAINED
Johanna’s wedding portrait beneath the banyan tree. While I composed the photograph, Carla knelt behind the tree, holding a light to create the beautiful backlighting that helped bring the image to life. It was one of those moments when our teamwork became part of the photograph.
In 2013, life took Carla and me in an unexpected direction when we moved from Maryland to Florida. It was a difficult transition, personally and professionally. After years of building Artisan Photographics, I stepped away from photographing weddings regularly, and for a time, I struggled with the uncertainty and the loss of the professional life we’d known.
But my love of photography never disappeared.
Even during those quieter years, I continued noticing the world through a photographer’s eyes. A rainbow after the rain, the colors of a sunset, a sunrise reminding me how fortunate I was to welcome another day, or one of our cats doing something that made me smile.
After all these years, my camera has become an appendage—an extension of who I am. Photography is how I see, create, and sometimes express feelings that words cannot quite capture.
And throughout this journey, I’ve been fortunate to share my life with Carla, who recognized possibilities in my passion long before I knew where they might lead. She helped build the business, supported the creative process, and understood the work behind the finished photographs.
THROUGH MY EYES
Some moments announce themselves with laughter. Others arrive quietly, in a touch, a tear, or a glance that lasts only a heartbeat.
Over the years, I’ve learned to recognize these moments, anticipate them when possible, and preserve them as they unfold.
These are a few of the moments that reminded me why I fell in love with photography.
BEFORE I TELL YOUR STORY
Looking back, I realize that the little boy who stood fascinated in a darkroom all those years ago never really left me. He’s still curious, still looking for something beautiful, and still discovering what a camera can reveal.
I’ve spent decades photographing people during some of the most meaningful moments of their lives. And I’ve learned that the photographs which remain most important aren’t always the carefully arranged ones. They’re often the unexpected moments: a spontaneous reaction, an emotional embrace, a tear that appears without warning, or a child reaching toward a dove.
Today, I’m not looking to photograph the greatest possible number of weddings. I’m looking for couples and families who value experience, observation, empathy, and genuine storytelling.
When someone invites me to photograph their wedding, I understand they’re trusting me with something deeply personal—their families, their relationships, their memories, and the story of a day that will never happen quite the same way again.
I don’t expect my photography to speak to everyone. But I hope that when someone looks through my work, they’ll recognize something meaningful and become curious about the person behind the camera.
I don’t simply want to photograph how your wedding looks. I want to understand what makes your story yours.
When the celebration ends, the music stops, and everyone returns home, I want those photographs to bring people back to their memories—not simply to remember what happened, but to remember how it felt.
I’ve spent decades preserving memories for others. Looking back at those photographs, I realize how much of myself I left in them.
After everything life has brought my way, I still have stories I want to tell. And whoever invites me to tell theirs will find a photographer who brings his experience, his passion, and his whole heart to the work.
I wasn’t just photographing what I saw. I was photographing what I felt.