For nearly twenty years, weddings have been at the heart of my work.
In the beginning, I photographed anything and everything that came my way, learning with every session and slowly finding my voice behind the camera. Eventually weddings became my specialty. For more than a decade I had the privilege of documenting love stories across the United States and around the world—standing on black sand beaches in Iceland, wandering the canals of Venice, watching the sun fall behind the Canadian Rockies in Banff, and capturing vows exchanged everywhere from Jerusalem to the Hawaiian Islands.
It was an incredible chapter of my life and career. But somewhere along the way I realized something important.
The story was never meant to end at the wedding.
The wedding day is the beginning of a legacy, not the conclusion of it.
When a couple stands together and promises their lives to one another, they are stepping into something far bigger than a single day. The years that follow—the anniversaries, the children, the ordinary evenings at home, the laughter that fills a growing family—those are the moments where a life together is truly built.
Becoming a mother deepened that realization for me in ways I never expected.
Motherhood slowed me down. It softened me. It gave me a new reverence for the ordinary moments that once felt small but now feel sacred: babies in window light, toddlers underfoot, families gathered together in the living room. I see now how fleeting these seasons are and how meaningful it is to preserve them. These children, these families, are building legacies in real time.
And photographs are often the only way those moments live on.
I think often about the photographs passed down through generations—the ones tucked into albums, stored in cedar chests, pressed into the pages of family Bibles, or framed along the staircase walls of a home. Those images become the visual memory of a family. They tell future generations who came before them and remind them that their story started with love.
Photography has always been about legacy for me.
But legacy doesn’t stop at “I do.”
Today, I still photograph weddings for couples who believe in the long haul—marriages rooted in commitment, faith, and the belief that what they are building matters. But I also photograph what follows those vows: the anniversaries that mark the years, the babies who change everything, the families who gather together again and again as life unfolds.
The quiet, beautiful moments that make up a lifetime.
Everything we hope to remember is preserved in a photograph.
To be the one who pauses for a moment and says, “Wait… this one stays,” is one of the greatest honors of my life. These images will outlive us. One day they will hang on someone’s wall or be discovered by a grandchild who wants to know where they came from.
And when that happens, the photograph will say what words cannot:
This love existed.
These people were here.
This life mattered.
That is why I photograph what comes after “I do.”
Because the story is just getting started.
