I'm kind of a mantra guy, though probably not in the traditional Hindu, transformative sense of the word. That would be too much wishful thinking for a guy from Long Island.

My mantras tend to be a little less of the calming sort and more on the functional side. "Never get off the boat," a line from Apocalypse Now, for instance, has always been a personal favorite, used in my newspapers days to remind myself that changing one's mind at the last minute--like leaving a secure media platform before the president arrives--is never a good idea. Once on, stay on. Another mantra I find myself repeating a lot is, "It's always easier to say I'm sorry than to ask permission." That one goes a long way when dealing with pesky church ladies. (Actually, church ladies only come in the pesky variety.) And then there's my seven-year-old daughter's personal favorite, one which she has now wisely adopted as her own: "Never have a shake when you can have a malt." It's a nuanced distinction, to be sure, but it's nuance that separates us from the hoi polloi, right?

But when it comes to weddings, there is only one mantra that matters to me. And believe me, when you've photographed 400 weddings in 11 years, you need a good mantra. Maybe even some prescription Tylenol. It's quite simple and it goes straight to the heart of what I try and do each weekend. Every Saturday morning, as I get ready to do it all again, I repeat this one phrase to myself:

Not last week's wedding.

"That's it?" you're thinking. Yup, that's it. Nice and easy. Because a couple can get married at the Four Seasons in Georgetown or a farm in Charlottesville, but if the only pictures you're shooting fit into some formulaic grocery list downloaded off of weddingphotography101.com, how can you tell the difference? If every photograph from the day involves permutations of family pictures in the rose garden, how do you know what the weekend was really about?

Meggan Crum and Scott Schneider were clearly thinking not last week's wedding when they chose a secluded, fog-encased beach in Tofino, British Columbia as the site of their nuptials. This place is so off the beaten path that it took almost seven hours to get there by car and ferry. And that's just from downtown Vancouver! Scott and Meggan fell in love with Tofino when they first visited there, and they knew that it was the place for them. It's easy to see why. More than simply asking friends and family to go to an out-of-the-way destination spot--Costa Rica, say--these guys wanted their loved ones to experience a place that actually has meaning to them, that actually represents who they are.

And how long did it take me to figure out that Tofino, this little, hippy surfing village on the Pacific Ocean represents who Meggan and Scott are? About ten seconds. I had just arrived from my journey to Tofino and met them at their cottage at the Long Beach Lodge Resort. They were on their way over to the Wickaninnish Inn, a Relais & Chateaux property where the wedding would take place, and I asked if I could jump in back and scope things out. We walked onto the beach and that was it. Meggan, who, back in New York, is the accessories editor for In Style magazine, looked immediately at home and, well, non-New York-ish in her big, comfy sweater and no shoes. It's the anti-New York, this place--quiet, undeveloped, pristine. Scott, meanwhile, was having a blast pretending the 8 ft. strands of seaweed that litter the beach were bullwhips left behind by Indiana Jones. 

I got it immediately. Tofino is a place without pretense. You can be Indiana Jones if you want, or you can be a kid listening for the ocean in a shell. This is not the Hamptons, where one goes to be seen, but rather a place one goes to be ignored. It's a place where the best fish tacos you'll ever eat come from the side of an old truck, where you can watch a mother bear and her cubs prowl the beach looking for crab, and where the salmon you're eating tastes so amazingly good simply because it was swimming in the ocean an hour earlier. "Simply" might be the best word of all here. Tofino is a wonderfully simple place.

A wedding is simple when you can roll out of bed, walk among towering trees to the cottage next to yours, and feast upon halibut and dungeness crab caught and cooked by the groom's brother. (There was so much fish from the deep water fishing trip the guys made that lodge guests not even affiliated with the wedding, not to mention housekeeping staff, were all being invited to take part. "Pssst. Wanna try some salmon?" could be heard along the beach.) A wedding is simple when guests who have never surfed before can roll out of bed, take a few minutes of lessons, and be up riding waves in no time. A wedding is simple when all the girls can go for a walk on the beach together in the mist, scarves and sweats and fleece, combing the tide pools for all sorts of little creatures. (Don't laugh, but I'd never seen living starfish before, only the dried and dead kind you buy at Wings on the Outer Banks.) And a wedding is definitely simple when the chairs for the ceremony are actually pieces of deadwood and the chairs for the dinner that follows are actually logs.

Throw in a good bit of sophistication and fashion and it all worked together beautifully. The elegance of Meggan's Oscar de la Renta dress and Christian Louboutin shoes against the softly crashing waves. Scott's great linen suit against the sand. The incredible interiors of the Wickaninnish set off by the sea. (In the winter, the resort pipes in the sound of the furious storms going on outside.) The simplicity of the chuppa against the shoreline. The beautiful Coach bag Meggan and Scott left for each of their guests, bags filled with decidedly non-Coach-y things like beef jerky and Maple Leaf Frisbees.

In all honesty, I jumped at the chance to shoot this event, an opportunity that arose after I shot the wedding of their friends, Meg and Geoff, this past January in Washington. Meggan's  request came right as I was watching the Vancouver Winter Olympics each night and I thought, who wouldn't want to go there?!? I worked for a long time in the newspaper business, and a lot of that time was spent photographing celebrities. Nine intensely pressure-filled minutes with Nicole Kidman in a hotel room. Still, I can only imagine the pace of Meggan's job at In Style. (Her friend Taylor Tomasi Hill is the accessories editor at Marie Claire.) So I can certainly see why she would fall in love with a place like Tofino. It's the ultimate in alter ego, a continent's remove from the hustle of midtown Manhattan. Now, having returned, I'm thrilled I was able to have this little Canadian adventure. Like Scott and Meggan, I'm sure I'll return.

Good choice, guys. :)

To see a little mini-gallery of pictures from Scott and Meggan's wedding, click here.

See ya.

Matt

I thankfully have no first-hand knowledge to back this up, but I'm told there are some brides out there to whom a spot of rain on their wedding day would be cause a bit of consternation. You know, worrying about guests and dresses and I've-been-dreaming-about-this-day-for-so-long kind of stuff.

That would not be Carly Berger.

In fact, nothing short of constant laughter would be Carly Berger. And so when the heavens opened up a bit on her wedding day, the only thing Carly seemed to be concerned about was that there were enough umbrellas on hand for her adorable nephew to play with. The little guy was having a field day playing amidst the pile of parasols in Carly's hotel room, and that seemed to be a perfect way to approach the whole rain thing in the first place.

So rather than write "Carly Berger and George Loranger were married on a bit of a rainy day in Annapolis a couple of weekends ago," let's keep things real. Carly Berger and George Loranger were married on an absolutely perfect day in Annapolis a couple of weekends ago, with the sounds of boat horns, mariachi bands and canons to help celebrate their wedding. And a lucky spot of rain ended up providing the couple with some great photo opportunities to boot.

I don't write these things, by the way, to make couples feel happy. From the moment I entered Carly's room at the Westin Annapolis, I didn't hear a single worry about the weather. Not one. Between that adorable child in diapers running around the room and the great soundtrack in the background (Mark Knopfler's "Romeo and Juliet" and Simon and Garfunkel's "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her," two of my own favorites), there wasn't much time for weather discussions anyway.

Next door, George was just a tad nervous, and I did my level best to keep his eyes on the prize. As I've told hundreds of brides and/or grooms over the years--this was nuptials #399 for me--there are two kinds of nervous: taking an LSAT nervous and wedding nervous. The former is a gut-wrenching feeling, with college acceptances and all that stuff hanging in the balance, while the latter is pretty much all good, as you get to marry the person you love. 

After watching the bride laugh with her mom and dad (they don't seem to do serious very well), we headed off to the ceremony. George and Carly wedding's took place in the gorgeous chapel of the United States Naval Academy, where, if you really want to see something cool, you can go down below to the crypt and see the sarcophagus of America's first great naval hero, John Paul Jones, he of "I have not yet begun to fight" fame. (And not of Led Zeppelin bassist fame.) It's a place of monumental beauty, the chapel is, and George and Carly will, decades from now, look back and feel fortunate to have been married in such a place.

Of course, with Naval Academy chapel comes Naval Academy graduates, and George and his buddies looked dashing in their dress uniforms. (Perhaps someone can explain the significance of the armadillo that kept popping up all day. I think it's the mascot of an Annapolis bar by the same name, though I could be wrong.) George's dad looked particularly proud, smoking on a huge cigar outside the Annapolis Yacht Club with some of his son's friends. Oysters, crab and shrimp were in abundance, a mariachi band was playing, and sailboats came and went from the downtown harbor. 

In fact, if I were to distill 399 weddings into a list of practical advice, like the LSAT example, item #7 might be: When in doubt, get a mariachi band. I have a couple of years to the next big milestone in my life, my 50th birthday, but I've always thought that a backyard party with mariachi band would be the way to go. The musicians and the music are always pure joy.

Once inside for dinner, guests dined on crabcakes, got an impromptu and impressive drum recital from the father of the bride, and watched Carly be surrounded by a bunch of officers singing "You've Lost That Loving Feeling," right out of a scene from a movie whose name I don't even need to mention.

All in all, a perfect wedding.

To see a mini gallery of pictures from the wedding of George and Carly, click here.  

Me, I'm going to see if I can enjoy a few minutes of the first sub-100 degree day in Washington in the last month.

See ya,

Matt

Life works in funny ways.

Last year, a young girl in high school wrote me an email asking if I offered any internships. Truth be told, we don't, but this girl, Lindsay, wrote a very nice note, explaining that she thought she might be interested in photography as a career, that she loved my Nicole Kidman portrait, that she loved all my dog portraits.

"What I'm really looking for is a first hand experience with a professional photographer because I think I might want to major in photography in college," Lindsay Gallo wrote. "If you would be willing to allow me to shadow you and observe you at work for a week or two, I would really appreciate it. I have a portfolio of my work which I can email to you upon request. I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for considering me." Maybe I'm a sucker for women named Lindsay, but of course I said yes.

Well, Lindsay started her two-week internship last Monday. (And even further to her credit, I've since learned that her school doesn't actually require students to complete an internship. Lindsay just decided on her own that it would be a good thing. I was never that together in high school, trust me.) And the first thing we had to do was edit the wedding of Bern Hoffman and Jenni Walkwitz, who both happen to be in the education field.

As we began perusing the photos, Lindsay, who is a endearingly quiet, perked her head up. We had come to the first pictures of the bride jokingly posing in front of a yellow school bus bearing the name "The Potomac School." The bride and groom both work at that esteemed institution and were able to secure a couple of buses to transport guests to and from the ceremony.

"Um, that's my soccer coach," she said." "That's my school!"

Welcome to my world of coincidence.

Bern Hoffman and Jenni Walkwitz were married a few weekends ago in a beautiful ceremony at Woodend, home to the Audubon Society. Like many of the weddings I've shot recently, what made this wedding so wonderful were all the little touches, starting with those school buses. (I haven't ridden on a bumpy school bus in years. it brought back plenty of memories.) Chairs were draped with little flower pots containing, well, live flowers, not anything cut. Pictures of Jenni's mom lined the mantle. 

Everything felt perfectly comfortable and that seems to be what we all strive for in a wedding these days.

Of course, I was keyed in pretty early on that this was not going to be a stress-filled day. When I went up to see Bern and the guys, I opened the door and saw nine guys piled into a bed, all of them intently watching the World Cup. Not one of them seemed particularly concerned. Bern then took a phone call from his friend who had just had a baby and he held the phone aloft so everyone could say hello. It was sweet.

Sweeter still were all the little creatures who popped by to watch Jenni and Bern get married, and I'm not talking about that adorable flower girl and her ever-present bag of Goldfish. No, when you get married at Woodend, it's a bit like a Disney matinee, with birds chirping, scores of deer watching, and little rabbits hopping through. At one point I thought we might get some hummingbirds to help put bustle Jenni's dress, like in Cinderella. (Yes, I've seen Cinderella.)

All kidding aside, the most beautiful single moment of the day for me was when Jenni eyes turned skyward and I could tell she was thinking of her mom. 

Right about now, Bern and Jenni are winding up a long trip to Australia. I'm not sure if they're still Down Under or if they've survived the grueling flight home. (I did it once and the only thing that keeps me from returning to gorgeous Sydney is that darned flight!)

And now that we're done editing, I'll have to find something more for my intern to do. Maybe she'll recognize my next clients, too!

To see a mini gallery of pictures from Jenni and Bern's wedding, click here.

Take care,

Matt

Tap you heels together three times....

Earlier this week, I wrote about the wedding of Adrienne and Peter, a wedding filled with personal touches like a Cuban pig roast rehearsal dinner in the backyard. Today, I'm going to be talking about an entire wedding in the backyard.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I really do love weddings at home. I've said this many times before. A few years back, I shot my neighbor Kate-Alden's wedding. I woke up, got dressed, walked to the bottom of my hill and began shooting. When the bride and groom stopped for lemonade after the ceremony at a stand manned by all the neighborhood kids, I though I was in some kind of dream. There's something about the faces, the familiarity of a wedding at home that instantly makes you think of Dorothy when she clicked those slippers together.

With that in mind, Sarah Reilly and O'Neal Spicer (if you don't think that's the greatest name ever, stop reading now) were married on June 19th in a place oozing with family history--the Reilly's farm on the eastern shore of Maryland. Driving up that morning, soaring over a traffic-less Bay Bridge, and meandering through the back roads to Rock Hall, I was already relaxed by the time I arrived. (Maybe because Cliff did the driving over the Bay Bridge part. My worst phobia!) But you'd be crazy not to be relaxed when you drive up a dirt road to a sign that reads "Decoy Farm."

Past the rows of antique wooden ducks, I found Sarah upstairs, curlers in hair, lying on a bed and being fanned by her hairdresser. A pretty funny way to start the day! Though it was pretty hot outside, Sarah was as calm as a sailboat without a wind, laughing as she secretly watched her father practice his dancing steps on the lawn below. She laughed with her sisters and mom, her excitement just beginning.

O'Neal was downstairs, looking dapper in his suit and yellow tie. Sarah wanted to see O'Neal for the first time in private, so I stood patiently outside. When the right time arose, I snapped just a few frames through the doorway. One of them might be my favorite picture from the day.

The wedding ceremony itself would take place down the farm a bit, literally right on the water. (If I have my bearings right, on a map it's called "Lawyer's Cove.") Guests fanned themselves and drank lemonade as they waited for Sarah to arrive in proper farm fashion-- beneath a parasol, on a spruced up four-wheeler. A slight breeze blowing to balance out the heat and all was well with the world.

Well, in truth, all was truly well when, a half an hour later, I counted at least twenty children running around the yard, climbing on swings and sleeping in hammocks. What is it about children at weddings? They add just the right touch of silliness and joy. As the sun set over the Reilly farm, I looked over and saw a father and son playing catch and all I could think of was the last scene of "The Natural."

Inside the tent, planner Sara England Cunningham created a gorgeous scene, with a lounge area and a row boat literally filled with ice. Sarah's mom and sister gave a wonderful toast, and her dad continued with a beautiful speech of his own.

Now, some cake cuttings end with a kiss and some cake cuttings end with a toast. But Sarah and O'Neal went just a little further. The second they sealed their cake tasting with a kiss, fireworks crackled above the farm. We all raced out of the tent, me fumbling away in pitch black trying to see the controls on my camera. (Note to self: get a mini flashlight for times like this.) I couldn't see a thing, so I just felt my way around the camera, turning dials this way and that. I think I got 73 consecutive blurry frames--fireworks usually require a tripod--until I got what I knew was a decent photograph.

And with that, I said to myself, "There's no place like home."

To see a little mini gallery of pictures from the wedding of Sarah Reilly and O'Neal Spicer, click here.

Take care,

Matt

Well, it's hot here in the nation's capital. I'm not sure if it's "Africa hot," as Matthew Broderick once said in Biloxi Blues, and I'm not even sure it's Biloxi hot. But Washington, D.C., as I've learned after 22 years, has a brand of heat all it's own  and it can compete with the best of 'em.

In fact, it's so hot here right now--the thermometer in my car read 106° five minutes ago--that we are now refugees from our own office. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, Matt Mendelsohn World Headquarters happens to be above a Greek restaurant. And that Greek restaurant has a flat roof which is covered in tar. That would be our ceiling. To watch our pathetic little air conditioner even attempt to do battle with this kind of heat is an exercise in futility.

Yup, it's basically hopeless. We come here for a few minutes, use up the three whiffs of cool air in about 120 seconds, and that's about all the work we can put in for the day. (You think I'm kidding. I'm not.)

But I know that there are a few couples who have been very patiently waiting for sneak peeks of their wedding pictures. And because we aim to please, I will suffer for the next hour trying to get this blog entry wrapped up. (On the plus side, I'm losing weight as I type.)

Adrienne Bory and Peter Hamm had a wonderful wedding, one that began with a Cuban pig roast at home and ended with a serenade by a street musician in Old Town Alexandria. In between, all laughs.

I like Peter and Adrienne a lot. I knew it the day after we first met, when Adrienne sent an excited email: "The thought of having you there for our big day and the chance to have one of those collection of photos for ourselves--taken through your artful eye--to cherish for ever and ever (and ever) had us positively giddy all the way home."

A good start, no? And then, several months ago, when we were doing engagement photos, Adrienne bonded with my daughter Alexandra, keeping her occupied as I shuffled between three different couples among the cherry blossoms. (There's only good light for thirty minutes or so, so we batch shoot!)

She should have quit while she was ahead, because Alexandra never forgot her. When Peter and Adrienne graciously invited us to their rehearsal dinner, I had to pry Alexandra off of the bride. "Alexandra, you need to give the bride a rest," I kept saying and to no avail. But we had a blast. You've heard me say many, many times here that the best weddings are often the ones with the least paraphernalia--the pricey tablecloths and such--and this wedding proved my point again.

Some things you need to know: Peter has a very large family. Eleven siblings, if I'm not mistaken. (All the men look exactly like Peter, just in varying heights.) And his mom is Cuban. Mix those two ingredients, toss in a pig that's been roasting in the driveway all day, add some plantains, rice and a whole mess of kids jumping up and down, and you have a rehearsal dinner that is pitch perfect.

The next day was no different.

Peter and Adrienne got dressed at the Hotel Monaco, a place where picture opportunities seemingly tumble down those cool corridors. Because it happened to be pretty hot on their wedding day, just like today, we tried to go slow and stay indoors as much as possible. I hate to make a bride or groom sweat before the wedding. But at the Monaco, that's never a problem.

From there, we all shuttled over to Gonzaga College High School and the majestic St. Aloysius Church. Adrienne beamed with happiness as her father escorted her down the aisle. And she and Peter continued to beam as they sat through Mass. (My assistant Cliff made one of the cooler pictures of the day up in the balcony, Adrienne framed against the stained glass window.)

And from Gonzaga, with dark storm clouds brewing, we all drove down to my neck of the woods, Old Town, for a cool and casual reception at the Torpedo Factory. Now a home to scores of artists in the heart of Alexandria, the Torpedo Factory once served as, well, a torpedo factory, building naval munitions from the end of World War I to the end of the Second World War. It's a cool place to host a party and an even better place to put what had to be the world's largest paella pan in the middle of the floor. 

From roast pig the night before to amazing paella, Peter's Cuban heritage was out there for eating. And it was delicious.

And now, as it gets to the boiling point here in the studio, I will wrap things up. (If you don't hear from me in an hour, call 911.) But not before relating my favorite moment of Peter and Adrienne's wedding, something that would never be on any wedding schedule. A few minutes before the paella was unveiled, the bride and groom took a little walk outside the Torpedo Factory. Tourists were everywhere, boats were bobbing on the water, and out of the blue (s?), a street musician started to play for them. And without missing a beat, the newly married couple enjoyed a first dance like none other I've seen.

To see a little gallery of pictures from the wedding of Peter and Adrienne, click here.

Take care,

Matt

All hotels should have a big front porch filled with rocking chairs, don't you think?

The Homestead does. It oozes rocking chairs. And if Thomas Jefferson, who visited this beautiful resort in the Allegheny Mountains in 1820, thought there should be a pursuit of relaxation, who are we to argue? Because when you strip away the cell phones and the laptops and the GPS's from our lives, there's just nothing better than sitting on a breezy front porch on a hot summer day, sipping a glass of lemonade.

Maria Costello and Matt Cochrane were married at The Homestead last Saturday, a day filled with so much sun I'm not sure it can get actually get any brighter. Let's assume that's a sign for these two. They chose to have their wedding at a beautiful mountain resort--a four-hour scenic drive from Washington, D.C., through the George Washington National Forest, finally arriving at a place George himself passed through in 1775. That's a lot of Washington in one sentence, but when you come down to Hot Springs and see (and smell) its pastoral appeal, you can certainly understand why so many of the founding fathers were so enamored with the area.

I'm assuming Matt and Maria had the same reaction. A very peaceful drive to a very peaceful place. Who wouldn't want to be married here?

The Homestead isn't a place for weddings on a timeline, for stressful folks, or for weather worriers. It's the kind of resort where seemingly every other table has a half-completed puzzle calling out your name. It's a place to chill, and that's just how these guys started their day. It was sweet to see Maria sitting on her bed, quietly reading a note from Matt. It was sweeter, and funnier, to see that the gift box she opened contained a new dog tag for their pup, Gepetto Pierce Bernuy Costello Cochrane. (I've included in the gallery a photo of the handsome threesome from their engagement portrait last fall.)

Matt didn't seem very stressed either. I met up with him in the business center of the hotel, where he wrote his vows to Maria. Just Matt and a bunch of computers. Later, like every other groom since that famous biblical wedding in Cana, he struggled a bit with his bow tie. It's amazing how something so little can stump even the strongest of men. On the other hand, a groom in the time of that Cana wedding had only limited access to that thing we call the internet, where YouTube videos abound on bow tie tying. Score one for the future.

The wedding ceremony itself was located in the Spa Garden at The Homestead, a gorgeous little spot, secluded and intimate. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hot. At one point I saw one of Matt's groomsmen with an ice bucket on top of his head. But given how much we worry about rain on wedding days, complaining about it being too nice would seem piggish, no? It was beautiful, end of story.

Maria came down the hill, escorted by her brother Dave, the two of them following some adorable little nephews. Matt got a little emotional as his letter to Maria was read aloud. (After the bow tie, writing about Maria was probably easy!) And with a kiss and a pop of champagne cork, it was time to enjoy. The coupled even had a champagne bar set up, so guests could sample all of their favorite bubbly brands. Way cool.

Right now, Matt and Maria are in one of my favorite laid-back cities on the planet, Sydney, Australia. I sent Maria the link to BridgeClimb, by far the number one tourist attraction in that city, a guided walk over the top of the Harbor Bridge. When I was there, you could see folks making the climb from dusk until dawn. But just like The Homestead, Sydney is a no-pressure kind of place.

Maybe they'll choose to lay on the beach instead.

As ever, to see a mini gallery of photos from the wedding of Maria and Matt, click here. 

In the meantime, I'm going to figure out an excuse to get back to The Homestead in the fall. It's got to be spectacular.

Take care,

Matt

This one's for Pam.

Last Saturday, someone was missing from the wedding of Alison Smith and Matt Marriott. At the last minute, due to the concerns of her doctors, Alison's mother was unable to travel from Atlanta for the wedding. I always hate to hear something like that, until, of course, I slap myself on the cheek and remind myself that's what I'm here for.

In a world in which photography has been reduced to a tiny commodity for one's iPhone or Facebook page, we do have to remind ourselves that good photography will outlast our little gadgets and stand the test of time. (Based on the ever-growing crack in my phone, that could be three minutes.) Good photographs--think of those incredibly durable pictures from grandma's wedding in 1932, the ones printed on fiber paper--are meant for the long haul. Our hard drives will fail, our Droid will get stolen, our Facebook identity will get stolen by some guy in Nigeria who's the long lost son of an oil baron with a secret stash of $16,000,000,000 U.S. But good photography should outlast us all.

So in the spirit of photography doing what it's supposed to do, creating a loving record that will last centuries, here's a quickie visual summary for Alison's mom, Pam. These pictures may not take the place of being there, but I hope they make your day a little brighter.

And, as a silly bonus, I'll give a little play-by-play to go along with the pictures.

1) Alison and her bridal gang began the day at the Hotel Palomar in Dupont Circle by watching Steel Magnolias, the best/worst movie ever made, depending on your gender. I will bite hard on my tongue and pretend that I agree with the former, not the latter. I think the girls were on viewing number 73 by the time I entered the room, and would have reached an even 100 had they not kept blowing a circuit breaker with all those hair dryers and curling irons. Luckily, the power outage coincided with Daryl Hannah's scenes in those horn-rimmed glasses, so it wasn't a total loss.

Seriously, it was very cute.

2) Matt gave his groomsmen custom made cufflinks, each made out of a map of special significance. (One cufflink has a map of where that groomsman is from, the other a map of where they met Matt.) They are seriously cool. I'd get one for my self except that it would probably break the jeweler's heart to have to put a map of Plainview, Long Island on a cufflink. Greenville just works in a way that Plainview doesn't. 

3) It was a lot of fun riding over to Meridian House with Alison and her sisters, Ashley and Jeanette. The hired town car was busy making its rounds and we all ended up jumping in a taxi together. I'm not sure I understand, but Alison does this thing where she throws her head back and makes a snorting noise. "She's been doing it since we were kids," her sister Ashley explained to me. "She just throws back her head and makes this obnoxious sound. Sometimes we can keep the laughter going for fifteen minutes. It's truly obnoxious."

4) Light. Oh, we photographers like our nice light, and as Alison stepped outside into the courtyard with her dress on, the light was just perfect. She popped, as photographers like to say, her birdcage veil perfectly set. (I've had two brides in two weeks wearing birdcage veils and I hope I have more. Way dramatic!) It's hard not to find a good place to take pictures at Meridian House--there are so many statues and vases and linden trees that it's almost too much. I love the simplicity of the photo of Alison standing in the front driveway. 

5) Rain. Well, I should say no rain. But it was as close as you could come. By the time the first guests were being seated, the storm clouds began gathering. By the time the bridal party started proceeding, there were distant sounds of thunder. And by the time the ceremony began, I was starting to wonder. Are we gonna get this in?? And you know what happened? Nothing. It was absolutely perfect. I believe the first actual rain drop fell only seconds after Alison and Matt kissed for the first time. Remind me to bring these guys to the race track some day.

Not that it mattered anyway. As we scrambled to do some family pictures after the ceremony, the drizzle got a little stronger. And no one seemed to care. If I could give out gold stars for being troopers, everyone associated with this wedding would receive one. Not a single person complained about getting a little wet, most of all Alison, and we managed to get every picture we needed done. 

6) Alison and Matt are dancers. They danced constantly, with each other, with their friends, with their family. Like Kim and Brandon, last week's couple who dazzled their guests with a sultry tango, I'm noticing a trend of brides and grooms who take their dancing seriously. And that's really great. When i stepped outside for some air, and looked back through the window, I knew I had my favorite picture of the night. 

7) We wrapped up the evening with a little ride around Washington, Matt and Alison in their vintage 1930's Bentley, me trying to keep up in my 2004 Volvo XC90 in desperate need of a new transmission and brake rotors. I think it was a tie, but I'll give the edge to the Bentley.

A beautiful way to spend a Saturday, all in all.

To see a mini gallery of pictures from the wedding of Alison Smith and Matt Marriott, click here.

Take care,

Matt

Over the years, most of the posts on this web site have been intended for brides and grooms and their families. Couples, I think, love being able to see some pictures  from their wedding while lying on a beach in the South Pacific. Though many of my readers are fellow photographers, this has never been a blog about photographic technique, nor has it ever really been about the logistical process.

Until today, that is.

Something happened last Saturday at the wedding of Kimberly Sarna and Brandon Barr--two things, actually--that need to be discussed. Though both will end up being footnotes in our memories, if even that, it's still worth noting them here.

Kim and Brandon had a beautiful wedding ceremony on a beautiful Saturday. They chose two fantastic venues for their wedding, the World War I Memorial, officially known as the District of Columbia War Memorial, and historic DAR Headquarters a few blocks away. Now, everyone knows about the Daughters of the American Revolution, but not so many people could find the World War I Memorial if hard pressed.

You see, it's a bit hidden and that's part of its charm. Nestled in the woods right off the reflecting pool of the Lincoln Memorial (we know where that is, right?), and directly behind the enormous and still relatively new World War II Memorial, the District Memorial feels downright quaint. Dedicated by Herbert Hoover in 1931, it has the feel of a tiny little Greek temple. I've always loved this place and when Kimberly told me that she had received National Park Service permission to hold her ceremony there, I was delighted.

Of course, in order to do anything on National Park Service land these days, one needs a permit. Any professional photographer knows too well that you can't take pictures on the Mall without one. Go to the Jefferson, wave the permit at the officer. Go to the Lincoln, wave your permit. While any tourist can take pictures on the Mall until their camera runs out of batteries, professionals must obtain permits each and every time. I won't debate the point here. The rules are the rules and I learned to live with them years ago.

In the case of Kimberly and Brandon, not only did they need to obtain the necessary photography permits, but they also had to get an actual use permit to stage their ceremony. That's a horse of another color. But Kimberly was on top of everything and we were 100% certified.

So imagine my surprise, in the moments after Kim and Brandon said their I do's, to see a shorts-clad photographer climbing all over the monument while shooting a couple's engagement portrait. I mean, you didn't need a PhD. to tell there was a wedding going on, or that one had literally just finished. The telltale signs were all there--you know, like a bride, a groom, chairs, guests, flowers, that kind of stuff. But no, these three were oblivious to it all, managing to get in every picture I was trying to take.

So I did what seemed logical. Incredulously, I yelled, "Um, excuse me, there's a wedding going on here. Could you give us some time???" Looking at me as if I had asked them to surrender their first born child, the three mumbled something under their breath and went on taking their pictures. 

"Um, EXCUSE ME," I bellowed. We have a permit for this memorial. Could you come back in, like, ten minutes?" This time they relented. And in ten minutes and one second, guess who was back climbing all over our wedding pictures?

"You said ten minutes, " the other photographer said, and I thought, well, serves me right for specifying a time. But time wasn't the issue here, rudeness was. There are plenty of places in D.C. where multiple photographers end up with multiple wedding parties. Senate Park fountain is one, and photographers and brides and grooms each try and stay our of each other's pictures. But that wasn't the case here. Kim and Brandon were actually having their wedding at this spot and deserved a bit of courtesy.

I tried the permit  thing again. "You don't need a permit," the photographer snarled and I laughed at his cluelessness. (In my younger days, I never bothered to get permits either. Then I grew up.) "You do!" I said back, and just before I got any further, one of Brandon's groomsmen came up and eloquently finished my sentence.

"It's just disrespectful," he said, and with that we all left to go to the Jefferson Memorial for a group picture. (And yes, we had a permit.)

When we got to the Jefferson, the most amazing little thing happened. As I was about to start shooting a photograph of the bridal party, a group of around 75 middle school kids, all wearing the same brightly colored t-shirt, approached from the side. Oh, boy, I though, here we go again.

And here's what those kids did:

They all stopped, every single one of them, so as not to get in our shot. Then they applauded for Kim and Brandon, every single one of them. Little kids, ladies and gents. They didn't have a clue what had happened fifteen minutes earlier. They did what they did because somebody raised them with manners.

As I said, all of this is but a footnote. No one will remember those kids. Years from now, we'll all remember Kim's amazing dress, well remember the tango that she and Brandon executed flawlessly, and the memorable performance of "Proud Mary" sung by Kim's friend. We'll remember how stately their cocktail hour was inside DAR and how gorgeous that blusher veil looked on the bride. But I'll certainly remember how a bunch of school kids taught a trio of grown-ups a lesson. And mostly, we'll remember how much in love Brandon and Kim were that entire day, from the moment they opened each other's gifts, in their respective hotels, to the time they stopped dancing.

Except they never seemed to stop dancing.

For a mini-gallery of pictures from Kimberly and Brandon's wedding, click here.

Take care,

Matt

Blame it on the father of the groom.

As I was pondering what to write this morning, of how to sum up the gorgeous wedding (and gorgeous weather) of Ryan Coyle and Kate Coyne last Saturday at Union Station, I kept drifting back to the beautiful toast given by the bride's dad.

As you can imagine, I've heard a lot of toasts over the last twelve years of shooting weddings, usually evenly split between the categories of "good" and "too long." But every once in a while one stands out from the crowd, and there was definitely something strikingly poignant in the toast given by Mr. Coyne. As he stood in the grand East Hall of Union Station, a cathedral if ever there was one to locomotive transportation, Kate's dad artfully deconstructed exactly what was at the heart of train travel. It came down to this, something few of us have probably pondered so eloquently upon: two parallel steel tracks, like two human hearts on the same course, connected by an infinite number of ties--family ties--along the way. 

I can't, in paraphrasing, do justice to his metaphor, though I will tell you it landed sweetly back at the station we were in, Union Station, as the luck of names would have it.

(Mr. Coyne could have added another ingredient into the mix if he had wanted: fragility. Union Station was built in 1908--designed by the legendary architect Daniel Burnham, he of the Flatiron Building and the Chicago World's Fair--and was, bewilderingly, allowed to fall into a state of total disrepair by the 1970's. Another station, perhaps the greatest example of turn-of-the-century architectural magnificence of them all, New York's Pennsylvania Station, was demolished in 1963, when I was just one. A photo of one of the statues that sat atop the old Penn Station lying in a landfill in New Jersey actually haunted me as a child. But I digress.)

In the spirit of Mr. Coyne's toast,  I have another little fable for you. It comes courtesy of Aesop, that Greek guy we all remember from elementary school. I thought of it as I was trying to deconstruct, at least photographically speaking, what made shooting Ryan and Kate's wedding so picture perfect. Like those parallel train tracks, I came up with two things, too: The wind and the sun.

Here's Aesop's version first:

The Wind and the Sun were disputing which was the stronger. Suddenly they saw a traveller coming down the road, and the Sun said: “I see a way to decide our dispute. Whichever of us can cause that traveller to take off his cloak shall be regarded as the stronger. You begin.”

So the Sun retired behind a cloud, and the Wind began to blow as hard as it could upon the traveller. But the harder he blew the more closely did the traveller wrap his cloak round him, 'til at last the Wind had to give up in despair. Then the Sun came out and shone in all his glory upon the traveller, who soon found it too hot to walk with his cloak on.

Ah, good old yin and yang. The wind and the sun were everywhere last Saturday. You couldn't avoid either if you tried. It was truly one of the most brightest days of the year, but it was the gusts of wind, some hitting 55 mph, that provided the real fireworks. Everywhere you went, flags were flapping, complete with that soundtrack usually reserved for the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Crack...crack!

This all makes for great weather to be outside taking pictures, but it also makes for some challenges for the bride's, well, head. Imagine veil-as-spinnaker, yanking your hair every ten seconds. For years I've secretly groaned at bridal pictures featuring grooms tucked underneath a bride's veil because they're so darned cheesy. Grooms don't end up under brides' veils unless they're told to so by a photographer. Fortunately, we didn't have that issue last week. Kate's veil was everywhere, and at one point she even made a Ryan Zimmerman-esque midair catch, saving it from outer space.

Not to be outdone, the sun cast its spell, and not just in the obvious way. It worked its wonders not high in the sky, but late and low, when it counts for guys like me. We don't want harsh, bright sun. We like our sunlight an hour or two before sunset, when the color temperature starts inching up and gold becomes the prevailing hue. As we left St. Albans to ride to Union Station, that's exactly where the sun was, low and golden. Shooting Kate and Ryan relaxing in the back of their vintage Bentley was a sight to behold, all backlit, drenched sunlight.

Right now, Kate and Ryan are sitting on a beach in the British Virgin Islands (I think that's where they told me they were going!). Let's hope they're being warmed by a hot sun and comforted by a cool breeze. 

To see a mini gallery of pictures from the wedding of Kate and Ryan, click here.

See ya,

Matt

Every year, the same problem.

How do you deal with the delicate (pun intended) issue of too many brides and grooms and not enough cherry blossoms? Very simply: You have great couples who don't mind doubling up and sharing some of the light.

This year, after the worst winter on record in the nation's capital, the blossoms surprisingly came a bit earlier than expected and lasted a much shorter time than usual. The warm weather had thrown a bit of a monkey wrench into our portrait plans. Like planes at La Guardia, time slots began stacking up. After all, there's really only one window of opportunity for shooting couples (and families) down around the Tidal Basin and it involves the word sunrise. Well, actually, if you add in the dreaded parking factor, we're talking 0600.

It gets more complicated. Once in place, the light hangs around for only about twenty minutes max. Sure, you can find some nice backlight at 8:00 am, but after that the odds decrease severely. All while the throngs are increasing at terrifying rates. By 9:00, total bedlam--gridlock takes over Ohio Drive, tempers flare, and unobstructed views disappear. 

That's where having great clients comes in. I asked some of my brides and grooms if they minded sharing some of that golden hour and i don't have to tell you that no one objected in the slightest. We tagged team the light, swapping couples in and out, and May 15th got to chat with May 8th. In fact, because the sun was constantly rising (or popping in and out of clouds), the color balance was different for just about everyone.

A special thanks to bride-to-be Adrienne Bory, who drew the lucky straw of having to amuse my six-year-old daughter Alexandra at sunrise. They hit if off and the photo of Alexandra wrapped in her blanket, looking like she just woke up at Woodstock, is one of my new faves.

To see a mini gallery of cherry blossom portraits, click here.

Take care.

Matt