It started in High School
I know this is hard to believe, but I'm from the 1900s. My training as a photographer started the old-school way, with film. One of my core memories involves my first days in the darkroom, learning how to transfer a light-sensitive film roll to a processing canister in a pitch-black closet.
It's bad enough that I was a theater kid and an orch dork. The truth is, that simply wasn't enough geekery. If I wasn't in the auditorium or a practice room, I was in the dark room. A core group of us hung out in the photography classroom like it was our business, an no-one else's, to be there.
Then I got married
I never gave up photography. Even while life shifted around me—school, work, relationships—I always had a camera nearby. But getting married myself is what pulled me into the world of weddings. I loved everything about it—the dresses, the decor, the Pinterest boards—not because they were perfect, but because of what they represented.
I wasn’t interested in trends for the sake of trends. I was drawn to the personal touches: handwritten vows, thrifted centerpieces, a family dog wandering down the aisle. The quiet moments that happen between the planned ones. That’s where the real story lives, and that’s what I’ve been chasing ever since.
At one time I was very well known in the online wedding community as "MB", so much so that I was hired by a major wedding website to lead the moderation of their online forums. That job was fun and I miss it, dearly.
I photographed my first wedding in 2010. It was a favor for a friend, low-key and a little chaotic. I didn’t really know what I was doing yet, but I knew how to look, and more importantly, how to notice. That day changed everything.
Since then, I’ve photographed well over a hundred weddings—in backyards, in courthouses, on beaches, in barns, on mountain peaks. I’ve worked solo and alongside teams. There were times I worked shoulder to shoulder with high-end planners at luxury venues—celebrating with people whose lives looked nothing like mine. It was a different world, and for a while, I moved through it quietly, documenting it all with curiosity and care.
I’ve navigated tight timelines, unexpected weather, nervous couples, and more than a few family dynamics playing out in real time. I’ve restructured photo plans on the fly when the flower girl melted down, the officiant got stuck in traffic, or a thunderstorm rolled in five minutes before the ceremony. I’ve helped bustle dresses, tracked down missing groomsmen, and gently redirected overly involved relatives.
From Weddings to Pets
I didn’t give up weddings—but one particular winter pushed me close. I loved winter weddings—the light, the atmosphere, the quiet—but they were long, physically demanding, and often unpredictable. After shooting two weekends in a row and white-knuckling it down I-70 in a blizzard to get home, something shifted. I realized I was ready for a different pace.
My son had just started school, and it didn’t feel right that when he was finally home for the weekend, I was off working someone else’s big day. I loved every wedding I photographed, truly—but I couldn’t keep trading my own family time for someone else’s. Eventually, the cost was too high, and I knew it was time to shift.
I still love photographing weddings, but these days, I’m drawn to simplicity. Small gatherings rooted in connection, not production. Love over logistics. Family over formality. I’m here for the meaningful details, not the performance.
When I got married, I'd been drawn to weddings.
Just as it had been before, a major event in my life led me towards something else in photography.
Enter a three-legged Great Dane puppy.
My Sweet Girl, Matilda
In 2019, I drove 13 hours each way to pick up a three-legged rescue dog. I can’t fully explain it, something about her just pulled at me. I knew I had to go. It was a long, hot summer drive, and one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
She, however, was not convinced. At first, she was furious. I had uprooted her from her foster home and pried her out of the beloved bean bag chair she clearly had no plans to leave. We had to carry her to the car, and I felt like a monster. She spent the first six hours pretending I didn’t exist. No eye contact, no interest, just pure indignation.
But around hour ten, something shifted. I stopped at a rest area and sat on the cool grass with her. She finally looked up at me, sighed, and melted into my lap. That was it, she was mine, and I was hers. We were bonded from that moment on.
For the next several years, she proved to be the most fun, intelligent, beloved dog a girl could have in her life. As a family, we adored her beyond words. She brought us unending joy and unconditional love.
In 2024, after a completely normal day of running, playing, and eating like usual, Matilda sprinted up the steps, collapsed without warning, and died of sudden cardiac arrest. One moment she was full of life, the next she was gone. It was fast, unexpected, and devastating.
Unfortunately, Great Danes are known for having heart problems. We did everything right; but her time was up and she left us quickly, gracefully, and with a surprising amount of peace.
I truly believe Matilda had to go before the rest of her body gave out. She was still strong, agile, and full of life—but at nearly 100 pounds, we knew her time was limited, bouncing around on three legs.
She went out before she had to slow down, before we had to watch her struggle. In a way, I think she chose that.
The Pet Photography Life
It was Matilda who truly shifted my focus to pet photography. I’d spent years photographing weddings, portraits, families, and events, but I hadn’t given much thought to photographing pets professionally, despite how central they are to our lives.
When Matilda died suddenly, I realized just how much that mattered. I had thousands of phone photos—snapshots of her being silly, sleeping, stealing snacks, but only a handful taken with my professional gear. I thought I had time. Most of us do. We assume there will be another season, another walk, another excuse to pull out the camera.
Most of the clients I work with still have time—days, months, even years—with their pets. I thought I did, too. That’s why I do this now. To make sure no one has to say, *I wish I had more.*
Within months of making this change, I'd already photographed so many pets. Many of them experiencing their last days with their families before crossing the Rainbow Bridge.
These photos are so important.
