The Q train lurched to a stop somewhere beneath Lexington Avenue. It was August 2020, and I was another face in a mask, scrolling through my phone in the fluorescent half-light of the New York subway. Then I saw it—an image that would change everything, launching my journey as a wedding photographer.

A Colombian photographer's Instagram feed glowed on my screen: bridal shoes arranged like museum pieces, ceremony moments caught in honey-colored light, the collision of tradition and spontaneity frozen in a single frame. I couldn't look away. The train started moving again. I didn't notice.

Bridal shoes arranged like museum pieces, honey-colored light dancing across tradition.
The moment that sparked a New York wedding photographer's journey across America.

That moment—stuck underground, discovering a visual language I didn't know I'd been searching for—became the dividing line in my life. Within months, I'd left my corporate job and picked up a camera with a new purpose: to document love stories across America.

Chicago taught me about wind. I remember standing on the Michigan Avenue Bridge last September, watching a couple exchange vows as gusts off Lake Michigan threatened to carry away the bride's veil. We laughed, we pivoted, we caught the moment anyway—her joy unmistakable even as she held her dress down with both hands. The Windy City doesn't apologize for its weather, and somehow that raw honesty made their ceremony more memorable, not less.

San Francisco showed me how light transforms everything. At a small wedding in the Presidio, fog rolled through the eucalyptus trees just as the couple said "I do." The mist softened every edge, turned the afternoon ethereal. I've shot weddings from Miami's vibrant Art Deco hotels—where Cuban-American families dance salsa until dawn—to the sun-scorched beauty of Charleston's historic plantations, where Spanish moss frames every shot like nature's own wedding decoration.

In Portland, I documented a ceremony in a converted warehouse where the couple served locally roasted coffee and the bride wore boots under her dress. In Colorado, I hiked to an alpine meadow at 10,000 feet, my equipment strapped to my back, to capture vows against the Rockies. Seattle gave me a rainy-day wedding that turned out to be one of my favorites—umbrellas became props, reflections in puddles became art.

Savannah surprised me with its Old South elegance meeting modern love. I photographed a same-sex couple exchanging rings in Forsyth Park, their families from across Georgia and South Carolina gathered in celebration. The Spanish moss, the wrought-iron benches, the centuries-old live oaks—they witnessed something both timeless and beautifully new.

Each wedding teaches me something. Every city speaks its own dialect of love. Miami celebrations explode with color and music. New Orleans ceremonies blend reverence with irreverence in a way that feels distinctly American. Texas weddings go big—I've shot at ranches where the dance floor was bigger than my first apartment.

But here's what I've learned from crisscrossing this country with my camera: the geography changes, the traditions vary, but the core moment—when two people choose each other in front of everyone they love—that's universal. Whether it's a beach ceremony in the Florida Keys or a barn wedding in rural Oregon, I'm there to catch the unrepeatable.

The split-second when a father sees his daughter in her dress. The barely-there touch of hands during the ceremony. The wild, uninhibited joy of the first dance. These moments don't wait for perfect conditions. They happen once, and then they're gone.

That's why I'm here—standing slightly to the side, camera raised, waiting for the moment that tells the truth about your day. From that stalled subway train to your wedding, wherever in America you're celebrating, I've learned that every love story deserves to be seen, remembered, and preserved with the kind of attention it took me years to understand.

This is what I do now. This is what that underground moment led me to. And I wouldn't have it any other way.