I'm Kate. I'm photojournalist. And I do weddings.
When I introduce myself like that, I often catch a flicker of disappointment in people's eyes.
As if they were expecting something else. War. Wildlife. Street photography. Something with a World Press Photo credit in the background.
Instead?
Cakes. Bouquets. A shot list from the aunt.
I could explain that weddings are one of the most demanding genres in photography. Eight to even twelve hours straight, no second takes, every moment gone the second it happens. Documentary and art at once, reportage and portraiture, theatre and raw truth.
But what's the point? Some people will only ever see the white dress.
I remember the day I stopped explaining myself. The bride, instead of the usual "thank you for the beautiful photos," said something I didn't expect:
"I'll never forget how you took my hand and reminded me it was our day."
Reminded her? Isn't that obvious?
Apparently not always.
I see weddings from the inside.
I watch people's own day turn into a performance for others – often people they barely know. I watch "this is how it's done" slowly suffocate "this is what we actually wanted."
I watch brides cry – not from joy, but from exhaustion. From playing so many roles at once: granddaughter for grandma, daughter for mum, friend for the bridesmaids, daughter-in-law for the mother-in-law, perfect bride for the groom.
And for themselves?
By the time they get there, there's nothing left.
In my family, everyone studied economics.
I did too.
I worked in corporate. I had a plan for a safe, stable life, instead I chose uncertainty.
No – that's not quite right.
Uncertainty chose me.
It's the thing that makes me ask uncomfortable questions: Are you sure you want that dance? Why are you inviting guests you don't actually like?
Whose wedding is this, anyway?
My specialty?
Photographing the moments when people forget they're being photographed.
The father of the bride stepping outside for a cigarette – even though he quit years ago.
The groom's mother fixing her makeup after her son says "I love you" – knowing it wasn't meant for her.
The bride holding her mother a little longer than usual, as if apologising for having grown up.
The groom's composed face cracking, just for a second, into the face of a boy who is really stressed.
Someone might say: that's unprofessional. They'd be right.
A professional executes the brief. Works through the list. Delivers the product.
I do something different. I document the humanity that happens to take place at weddings.
I catch the truth between the poses. I find beauty in imperfection – because in perfection,
I usually find the lie.
