follow along on my instagram
As I got older, I too started to documented everything. Not because anyone told me to. Because even then, I understood that moments don't keep.
My grandmother taught me that without ever saying it out loud. She has a cottage that is a complete disconnection from reality — and somehow, at the same time, the most real place I've ever known. Craft-filled, sun-soaked, laughter-ridden summers. My whole life, was filled with summers at the lake cottage. And I'm proud to say I've never missed a summer in all 24 years of my life.
She is the kind of woman who has a warm baked treat waiting when you walked through the door, who writes cards in her best handwriting, who makes ordinary afternoons feel like something worth remembering.
I was always trying to hold onto that feeling — the warmth of being somewhere you belong, with people who love you, in a moment that won't come back.
My whole childhood was documented.
My whole childhood was documented — home videos, photos, nothing too small to point a camera at. My parents' voice behind the lens saying say, "Hey, wave!"
I grew up feeling documented and loved, and somewhere along the way I realized those two things had always felt like the same thing to me.
Junior year of college was the first time Colorado actually felt like home. I'd moved out from Arizona and was holding out for that moment — waiting for it to feel like the right idea.
For a while, I was in between friendships, trying to figure out where I belonged. And then slowly, something settled. I was making real connections, building a life that felt like mine. I was finally doing things that felt worth documenting.
So I did. I documenting everything. I would bring my camera with me everywhere. I'd send the rolls off and wait, sometimes forgetting what I'd even shot, and get the photos back weeks later holding something I still can't fully explain. Proof that it happened. That I had actually lived it.
Then, I found my mom's film camera.
Colorado Wedding Photographer
view portfolio
That was the moment everything became real.
I felt alive in a way I hadn't before. I was doing it. And something in that season became very clear: I wasn't trying to build a business anymore. I was just doing the thing I was always meant to do.
I spent years second shooting and assisting, learning from the sidelines, waiting until I felt ready. And then one day I stopped waiting. I booked my first solo wedding.
I worked overtime all week, just to leave early on a Friday and drive straight to the mountains. I checked into a hotel and showed up with my whole heart.
That was the moment everything became real.
I felt alive in a way I hadn't before. I was doing it. And something in that season became very clear: I wasn't trying to build a business anymore. I was just doing the thing I was always meant to do.
I spent years second shooting and assisting, learning from the sidelines, waiting until I felt ready. And then one day I stopped waiting. I booked my first solo wedding.
I worked overtime all week, just to leave early on a Friday and drive straight to the mountains. I checked into a hotel and showed up with my whole heart.
That's when I understood what I wanted to do.
