The Emotional Responsibility of a Shutter Click - July 25th 2025

I was recently asked to shoot another wedding—this time for a family member.

And as much as that request filled me with joy (and truly, it did), it also stirred something deeper. A familiar ache. A knot of nervous energy that hasn’t really loosened since the first time I was asked to do this kind of thing.

You see, weddings aren’t exactly my usual genre.
Not by a long shot.

I’m not opposed to them. I don’t dislike shooting weddings—in fact, I genuinely love being a part of the day in my own quiet way. I love watching two people make that kind of promise to one another, whether it’s a buttoned-up traditional celebration or something barefoot and unconventional. I even love dressing up, if I’m being honest. It feels like ceremony, like permission to step into something sacred.

But here’s the truth: the idea of being a solo shooter at a wedding?
That scares the absolute hell out of me.

Not because of the technical aspects. Not because I don’t know how to work a camera, or read light, or help people feel comfortable in front of the lens.
But because weddings are heavy with emotion.
They’re full of anticipation, deep expectations, and fleeting, powerful moments that do not repeat themselves.
You get one chance.
Maybe two, if you’re lucky. But rarely more.

When I first bought my camera nearly four years ago, I knew—really knew—that if I wanted to be a good photographer, I’d have to learn to do more than just document what I saw.
I’d need to feel what I was seeing.
I’d need to learn to recognize when something meaningful was happening, even in the margins.
And most of all, I’d need to learn how to capture it—emotion, meaning, movement, presence—in a frame. And then paint that frame in the edit so that someone else could feel it, too.

That’s the real weight behind weddings for me.
It’s not the gear, the timeline, or even the sheer number of shots.
It’s the emotional responsibility behind every single shutter click.

Because this isn’t just any day.
This is their day.
And I know how it would haunt me if I missed a moment—if I didn’t do the day justice.

Even now, four years into this journey, I still question whether I’ve fully grown into that kind of pressure.
Whether I have the skill and the soul to rise to that occasion.

But here I am—saying yes to wedding number two.
Another chance to walk that tightrope between nerves and trust.

The first time I was asked to shoot a wedding, I was wound so tightly I could barely eat.
And what’s wild is—I’ve shot dozens of events before. I’ve had magazine assignments. My very first photo job was capturing images of a Mrs. America Curvy pageant winner.
I’ve photographed boudoir sessions that required an indescribable level of vulnerability and trust.
I’ve been asked back repeatedly by Rally Cross drivers to shoot adrenaline-fueled racing events with moments that flew by in fractions of a second.

But weddings?
They live in a completely different emotional register.

Because it’s not just the speed of the moment—it’s the weight behind it.
You’re not just trying to get a great shot.
You’re trying to honor a memory before it even becomes one.

And that? That’s a different kind of art.

Still, I believe in my eye.
I believe in the way I see people.
I believe in the quiet way I move through a room—how I catch the side glances, the soft laughter, the private moments unfolding when no one thinks anyone’s watching.

I believe enough to say yes.
Even if the nerves still follow me.
Even if I’m not sure I’ll ever be “completely ready.”

Because maybe that’s what art is, anyway—being willing to feel the fear, but doing it from the heart.

Cheers to the full-time wedding photographers out there—the ones who wake up every day and choose to carry that emotional weight with grace, precision, and passion. What you do is nothing short of remarkable.

And to the brides and grooms—past, present, and future—who have seen something in my work that moved you enough to trust me with your most sacred day…

Thank you.

That kind of trust is humbling in a way I can’t quite put into words.

You give me the courage to keep growing, to keep saying yes, even when my heart flutters a little faster than normal while I’m behind the lens.

Here’s to wedding number two.
To the weight of the shutter.
To emotion, imperfection, presence—and maybe even a few shots that carry more than light.

— A.H.