Why I Don’t Niche — And Why That’s Intentional

I’m often asked what I photograph.

Weddings. Families. Couples. Empowerment sessions. Under the Stars. Landscapes.

The list makes some people uncomfortable — especially in an industry that encourages photographers to pick one thing and stay there.

But I didn’t arrive here by accident.

I arrived here by paying attention.

I don’t photograph categories. I photograph connection.

Connection looks different depending on the moment.

Sometimes it’s quiet and internal — a woman standing alone in the landscape, reclaiming herself.

Sometimes it’s playful chaos — children laughing so hard they forget the camera exists.

Sometimes it’s reverent — two people under a vast night sky, realizing how small and extraordinary they are at the same time.

These moments don’t live in neat boxes.

And neither does the work.

For a long time, I hid behind scale.

I live in a place where the landscape is dramatic and commanding.

Mountains. Sky. Space.

It felt safer to photograph the grandeur — to let the environment do the talking.

But over time, something shifted.

I realized that what moved me most wasn’t just where people were standing —

it was how they were standing with themselves and each other.

The stillness.

The way shoulders drop.

The way people soften when they feel seen instead of directed.

Now, I hold space for both.

The grand and the intimate.

The wide frame and the quiet glance.

Not niching is a creative choice — not a lack of clarity.

I understand why niching is popular. It simplifies marketing. It makes decisions easier.

But my clarity lives elsewhere.

It lives in tone.

In pacing.

In how I guide sessions gently instead of posing aggressively.

In creating experiences where people don’t feel like they need to perform.

Whether I’m photographing a family, a couple, or someone standing alone in the landscape, the intention is the same:

Presence over perfection.

Emotion over expectation.

Story over formula.

If you don’t fit neatly into a box — you’re in the right place.

Some stories unfold in a single moment.

Others need space, darkness, laughter, or time.

I don’t believe your story needs to be simplified to be beautiful.

And I don’t believe my work should be either.

If you’re drawn to images that feel cinematic, grounded, and quietly honest —

we’ll likely understand each other just fine.