There’s a quiet part of me that always knew I’d end up here—among the ivy-covered estates, cobblestone streets, and the layered histories of the East Coast. Even as a young girl growing up in San Diego, I dreamed about this part of the country. I couldn’t explain why—it just felt like a kind of home I hadn’t reached yet. It’s no surprise that, years later, I’d find myself stepping into a new chapter as an East Coast wedding photographer—finally pursuing the work I’ve long felt called to create in cities like Philadelphia, New York, and Washington, D.C.

For years, that part of me softened as life unfolded around my husband’s career in the Marine Corps. We moved often, raised babies, navigated transitions, and built a life of service, resilience, and presence. In the quiet of the California desert, something began to grow. I started building something of my own.

I became a photographer.

Not just someone who takes photos—but someone who watches for meaning. Who sees the in-between. Who believes that legacy doesn’t start in the big moments, but in the tender, blink-and-you-miss-it ones.

In 2022, I visited New Hampshire, and I felt it in my bones—that moment when everything in you exhales. I didn’t want to leave. I knew then that I had to find a way to get back—not just for a trip, but for good. It took time. It took planning. And it took the unwavering support of my partner—who finally looked at me and said, “It’s your turn.”

So here we are—packing up a decade’s worth of memories, desert sunsets, and a whole lot of heart, and heading to Philadelphia. It’s where we’ll grow roots. Where I’ll photograph love stories that unfold in historic hotels, opulent estates, and quiet gardens tucked away in cities steeped in history. A home base close to the timeless beauty of New York, the grandeur of Washington D.C., and the countless legacy-filled locations I’ve long dreamed of.

California will always be the beginning. It’s where I became a mother. Where we started our family. Where my business was born and stretched and reshaped through years of learning and grace. I’ll miss the slow, golden evenings in the desert. The friendships. The wild light that only the West Coast can offer. But I carry all of that with me. I always will.

The East Coast has always spoken to me in a language I’ve only recently learned how to understand. The elegance. The history. The sophistication rooted in tradition. It’s the kind of backdrop that matches the way I see the world—layered, emotive, intentional. And it’s the kind of work I want to do more of—not just for the beauty of it, but for the meaning it holds.

If you and I were sitting across from each other in a quiet café and you asked me what kind of photographer I am, I’d tell you this: I love the quiet moments as much as the big ones. I see the pauses between the words, the way your hand finds theirs, the slow exhale before walking down the aisle. I’m not just there to take pictures—I’m there to be a guide, a calming presence, a witness to all of it.
(You can read a little more about my heart for this work here.)

This move is big. It’s unfamiliar. But it’s time. And even if I’m doing it scared, I’m doing it with my whole heart.

It’s actually a phrase that’s stayed with me—“do it scared.” I first heard it on this podcast by Ruth Soukup years ago, and it’s been circling back to me ever since. Because courage isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, steady, and rooted in hope.

If you’re planning a wedding on the East Coast—one rooted in legacy, beauty, and deep meaning—and looking for an East Coast wedding photographer who brings a calming presence and a timeless eye, I’d be honored to walk through it with you.

Let’s build something that lasts.