Here's What 20 Years of Photographing Weddings Here Has Taught Me

I photographed my first Telluride wedding in 2005. And after more than 20 years of photographing people in these mountains, there's one thing I know for certain: Telluride doesn't always follow the plan.

The weather changes. The light changes. Sometimes the road you planned to take isn't the road you end up on.

And honestly? Some of my favorite photographs have happened because of it.

When I photographed my first wedding in Telluride more than 20 years ago, I thought my job was to make beautiful photographs.

And of course, it still is.

But somewhere along the way, I realized I'm photographing something much bigger.

I'm photographing your dad while he's still here to walk you down the aisle.

The way your mom looks at you when you're not watching.

Your grandparents holding hands during the ceremony.

Your best friends laughing about something that makes absolutely no sense to anyone else.

The nervousness before the ceremony. The relief afterward. The wind that completely destroyed our plan and somehow made the photograph better.

And the person you chose, looking at you in a way that you probably don't get to see yourself.

Telluride has taught me to expect the unexpected.

Twenty years of weddings have taught me to pay attention to the little things.

And life has taught me that photographs become more important—not less—as time goes by.

Yes, we'll photograph you with those incredible mountains behind you.

But the mountains aren't the story.

You are.

The best wedding days aren't always the ones that go perfectly.
Weather rolls in. Timelines shift. A veil takes off in the wind. Someone is late. Telluride has a way of reminding you that you can't control everything—and sometimes what happens instead is better than what you planned.

How your wedding feels matters more than how it looks.
A beautiful tablescape is wonderful. The mountains are spectacular. But if you're stressed about keeping everything perfect, you can miss your own wedding. The couples who give themselves permission to experience their day are the ones who give me the most meaningful photographs.

You need more time than you think—but not necessarily more photography.
You need breathing room. Time to hug people. Eat something. Fix your lipstick. Stand alone with your new husband or wife for five minutes and say, Can you believe we're married? A great timeline isn't one where we've managed to cram in more photographs. It's one where nobody feels rushed.

Telluride doesn't care about your timeline.
This one could be fun in your voice. Mountain weather, gondolas, traffic, altitude, changing light and getting 30 people from one place to another all have opinions of their own. Local experience matters because knowing when and where to pivot can completely change the day.

The photograph you think you'll love most often isn't the one you do.
Of course we'll make the beautiful portrait with the mountains behind you. But years later, it may be Dad trying not to cry. Your grandmother watching you dance. Your sister fixing your dress. Or the look your spouse gives you when nobody else notices.

Family photographs matter—even when nobody wants to stop for them.
They're rarely the sexiest part of wedding planning. And yet those photographs can become some of the most important images I make all day. People change. Families change. People we love won't always be sitting in that chair.

The mountains are the backdrop. The people are the story.
Telluride is breathtaking, but you don't hire a photographer simply to prove you got married somewhere beautiful. Twenty years from now, you're going to look past the mountain and straight at the person standing beside you.

Trust creates better photographs than a shot list ever will.
When I know who matters to you, I know where to look. I notice Mom watching from across the room. I know that Grandpa helped raise you. I recognize the college roommate you haven't seen in three years. That's how photographs become your photographs instead of a collection of someone else's Pinterest ideas.

You don't have to choose between candid and beautiful.
This is a huge part of what I do. Documentary doesn't have to mean messy or unflattering, and beautiful doesn't have to mean stiff. Sometimes you step in, find incredible light, give a little direction—and then let something real happen.

Sometimes my job is knowing when not to take the photograph.
I get paid to be a fly on the wall. Not every intimate moment needs a photographer three feet away. Experience teaches you when to move closer—and when to give people space.

The more comfortable you are with your photographer, the less you'll notice the camera.
I love to connect with my couples. From our first phone call to truly getting to know one another through out my process, this is so important to me. By the time your wedding date rolls around, we are like dear old friends. We truly know each other and I'm not just another vendor.

Tradition only matters if it matters to you.
First look? Great. Wait for the aisle? Great. Intimate wedding? Wonderful. No wedding party? Also wonderful. Keep the traditions that mean something and give yourself permission to leave the others behind.

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