Behind the Work
The Thinking Behind the Work.
What Links Weddings, Projects, and Writing
The Thread That Connects
On paper, weddings, social documentary projects, and novels seem unrelated. In practice, they are closely connected.
All three rely on listening. All three depend on trust. All three require an understanding that people are more than a single moment, headline, or chapter.
This space explores that connection. It looks at the ideas and experiences that influence how I photograph, how I collaborate, and how I write. It reflects on the balance between humour and depth. It examines the responsibility that comes with telling stories — whether on a wedding day or within a novel.
If you want to understand the foundation beneath the images and the books, this is where you will find it.
Recurring Themes Across Weddings, Projects, and Writing
The Long Conversations
Over time, I’ve realised my work follows several clear threads.
They show up in weddings. They surface in community projects. They shape the novels I write. At first, I thought they were separate ideas. They are not. They are ongoing conversations — and each one keeps growing.
This space introduces those threads.
Some explore resilience. Some look at identity. Others sit with humour in difficult places. A few deal with social issues that are often misunderstood or simplified. All of them begin with real conversations and lived experience.
Certain themes return again and again: dignity, second chances, memory, belonging, quiet courage, the tension between who we were and who we are becoming. I do not chase trends. I follow questions that refuse to leave me alone.
And yes — many of these threads will become books in their own right. Some already have. Others are forming quietly in the background. Each will be handled carefully, with the same balance of honesty and accessibility that runs through my work.
Think of this as the outline before the chapters.
The ideas are here. The stories are developing. And, inevitably, a few of them will end up with their own cover and ISBN.
What Really Happens Between Click and Criticism
A Survival Guide for the Overthinking Photographer
Photography can look confident from the outside. Calm direction. Quick decisions. Clean final images. Inside, it often feels different. Every shoot can feel like a test. Every click carries the risk of getting it wrong. Every delivery email holds a small pause before opening the reply.
Self-doubt in a visual world is sharp. It shows you other people’s highlight reels daily. It whispers that talent is luck, that consistency is fragile, that this will be the job where you are finally “found out.”
Across these posts, I unpack that voice — the comparison, the perfectionism, the fear before pressing the shutter, and the strange gap between what clients see and what runs through your head.
There will be honesty. A bit of dry humour. And a clear reminder that doubt and competence often coexist — even when you are quietly falling apart while still getting the shot.
Why Self-Doubt Sounds So Convincing
An Honest Look at Writing, Failure, and Not Quitting
Self-doubt does not disappear with experience. It adapts. It shifts from “You’re not good enough” to “You just got lucky” to “You won’t be able to do it again.” And somehow, it always sounds convincing.
Across these posts, I unpack perfectionism, imposter syndrome, comparison, the panic before pressing publish, and the strange mix of confidence and insecurity that fuels creative work.
There will be honesty. There will be humour. And there will be a steady reminder that continuing — even while doubting — still counts.
Calm on the Outside, Mild Chaos on the Inside
What No One Tells You About Shooting Someone’s Big Day
From the outside, it looks steady. Confident. In control. Inside, it can feel like pressure balanced on a memory card. Weddings are not repeatable. There are no second takes. The first dance only happens once. The vows are spoken once. The light changes quickly. So do emotions.
Every wedding carries weight. Not just technical pressure, but responsibility. You are trusted with something that cannot be recreated. That privilege is enormous — and so is the internal noise that sometimes comes with it.
Across these posts, I unpack the nerves behind the lens. The fear of missing the moment. The gap between calm direction and mild internal chaos. The strange mix of confidence and doubt that lives in the aisle, at the edge of the dance floor, just before pressing the shutter.
There will be honesty. A little humour. And a steady reminder that care often feels like pressure — and that pressure, handled well, becomes presence.