Fine Art Manhattan Wedding Photographer: Where Sophistication Meets Emotion

Hailing a cab from Central Park East to Restaurant Daniel on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.

I wasn’t the type of kid that dreamed of moving to New York. My older sister discovered musical theater at a young age. My mom would bring her up here from Philadelphia to see Broadway shows every so often. She dreamed of being on the stage and living in the big city. While I knew I wanted to be a photographer, New York never really factored into my imagination. I had a vague fantasy of exploring the world for National Geographic. I would pour over photographs from foreign lands and my consciousness would somehow be transported to exotic and mystical places. I couldn’t conceptualize what it would take to live that life, but I knew that photographs had power and I wanted to wield it. So until high school, Broadway was my only real exposure to the big apple. I hadn’t yet understood the myriad of dreams New York is capable of containing. She’s like a cosmic Russian doll with the dreams of multitudes nestled inside her.

Annie & Patrick sharing a special Champagne Toast at the iconic Chelsea Hotel in the Flatiron District shortly after it was remodeled.

Studying photography was absolutely a dream come true to me, I loved discovering its secrets and magic, but Philadelphia left me feeling lonely. I never really fit into the culture and I constantly had the feeling I was missing something. While New York wasn’t yet calling me, I felt an intense desire for my life to be something more. My professor sensed an innate talent in me and arranged for me to do my junior year internship at the prestigious Pace MacGill gallery on 57th and Madison streets. I was dazzled by the experience. It was like I was peeking through a door that was left cracked open to a world I never knew existed and I stood transfixed by the sights. It was the kind of classic internship that movies are made of: no pay and long hours doing all kinds of menial tasks. I would regularly spend all day running all over town dropping off prints or picking up frames or delivering expensive gifts to high end clients. I got to meet the inimitable Irving Penn on one such occasion. On another such errand I stood patiently in Duane Michals’ kitchen while he chatted amiably as he bent over his washing machine, which as it turned out, was his favorite place to sign his prints. Emmet Gowin and his wife Edith were regulars at the gallery, coming in to help catalog his archive. These were heroes, giants even to my young photographic heart. This was in the pre-iPhone era. I once spent the better part of an afternoon trying to find my way to a film lab on Little West 12th Street which all these years later still sounds like a fictional place to me. And every Monday it was my responsibility to pick up a dozen white roses at the same flower shop on Park Avenue and arrange them in a vase for reception. It felt decadent and luxurious and I wanted more of that level of excellence.

Detail of a waiter at Bemelman’s Bar the historic Carlyle Hotel on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.

By the time I got back to Philadelphia for my senior year I had fully caught the bug. I started reaching out to wedding photographers immediately to see if they needed an assistant or second shooter. It was another year after I graduated before I landed a job for the semi-famous photo world darlings and identical twins Doug & Mike Starn. I moved up to Brooklyn immediately and used to ride my bike from Williamsburg to their warehouse studio in Red Hook. It was a version of New York that seems like it’s all but disappeared now. Patti Smith’s memoir ‘Just Kids’ came out just three years after I moved to Brooklyn and somehow coincided with the moment when the bottom fell out of the photography industry. It was incredibly romantic and inspiring to me to imagine Patti and Robert Mapplethorpe experiencing the New York of the 70s, true artist-bohemians living the dream. My sister never ended up singing on Broadway. Instead, she stayed in Philadelphia and pursued a career in opera. Meanwhile, I discovered a version of New York that young Carey never could have dreamed of. I found mine in the galleries, the artist studios and the warehouse spaces. I’ve lived in New York eighteen years now and I’ve still never once gone to a Broadway musical. Instead, I’ve danced till dawn at warehouses in Bushwick. I’ve partied in countless lofts and watched symphonies from skyscrapers. I’ve worked in art galleries and for photo agents and assisted on photo sets. So many doors have opened for me over the years and still, every time I get to a new one, I feel the magic. Sometimes I even close my eyes in anticipation of what otherworldly scene awaits me. Am I dreaming?

In the elevator at The Plaza Hotel on 5th Avenue on our way to the first look.

Looking back on it now, I realize what a thoroughly perfect introduction I had to this city. New York is a city that is constantly changing, a whirling vortex of energy that’s nearly impossible to keep up with. Every door you open is a window into a secret world. A dream unfolding just for you. Yet there’s also this timeless iconic style imbued throughout everything that is somehow indestructible. The layers of history are steeped into the walls. My favorite thing about Manhattan weddings is still the mysterious feeling that every room I enter holds a surprise gift. A New York story waiting to be told. I once had the distinct pleasure of photographing Andra Day while she serenaded a couple at Bemelman’s Bar at the Carlyle Hotel. The next day the couple had a baby grand piano wheeled into their penthouse room and brought in a pianist to lead guests in an after-party sing along. Another time I was photographing a wedding at The Grill. I felt a buzz of energy behind me and turned around to realize the Clintons (even Chelsea) had all arrived. I hadn’t even been told they were coming. But I remember the more quotidian occurrences just as strongly, the park employee who turned a blind eye when I took portraits in Central Park’s conservatory garden without a permit. The strangers shouting congratulations whenever they see a bride on the sidewalk.

Jazz Musician playing Trumpet at the Angel Orensanz Foundation in Manhattan’s Lower East Side

Most of my couples proudly claim they aren’t traditional, that they’re doing their wedding their own way (if you listen closely you can almost hear Frank Sinatra crooning). But after so many years of photographing here in my beloved city, I’ve started to pushback. New York has its own flavor of tradition. It might not look like the weddings our friends hold in our home towns. It might not have a huge bridal party or be in the church we grew up attending, instead it looks like dinner at a glamorous New York restaurant or historic venue, a yellow taxi cab hailed between venues, a quick walk through Central Park, or maybe a champagne toast in a SoHo loft, vows at City Hall followed by oysters at Grand Central. Even as I write this I can hear Alicia Keys anthem blaring in my head, “… concrete jungle where dreams are made of.” My job now is to document your dreams.

Metropolitan Museum Engagement Photography NYC: An Urban Love Story

Pure joy on the Met steps - the Upper East Side energy is contagious

Technically, you are not allowed to take photographs in New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. I arrive with my smallest camera and a prayer that the docents will turn a blind eye. Katie has brought not one, not two but three outfit changes and an effervescence that is contagious. Max is as a patient as they come. He has brought no outfit changes.

We are going for a timeless NYC gritty aesthetic, something that feels straight out of an editorial magazine spread from the 90s. Somehow we manage to keep a low enough profile inside the art museum despite Katie’s showstopping strapless dress with a bow adorned on the back. It’s such a joy to walk through all these magnificent galleries. The necessity to be inconspicuous somehow lends itself to a carefree, candid joie de vivre. Outside, we quickly stop at a food truck before popping into Central Park then make our way down to Tribeca and over to Brooklyn. A thoroughly New York experience.

A spontaneous dip in the Temple of Dendur wing while museum-goers pass by

Katie and Max in the Met's modern wing - Katie showing off her unique style with her signature bow drawing every eye

The Metropolitan Museum of Art doesn't technically allow photography without a permit, and they certainly don't allow what amounts to an impromptu engagement session in their galleries. But there's something irresistible about the challenge. The Met is one of the most iconic cultural institutions in the world, sitting regally on Fifth Avenue overlooking Central Park. For couples who want their engagement photos to feel like they're part of something larger than themselves - part of the cultural fabric of New York - there's no better backdrop. The risk is part of the appeal. Katie and Max weren't interested in playing it safe. They wanted their photos to feel a little dangerous, a little rebellious, very New York. So we showed up with my smallest, most discreet camera, dressed to blend in as much as possible (though Katie's showstopping dress made that nearly impossible), and moved through the museum like we belonged there. The key to pulling this off is confidence and speed. Act like a couple who just happens to be visiting the museum, move quickly, don't draw attention. The docents are looking for tripods and professional lighting setups, not a photographer with a small camera capturing candid moments.

A quintessential New York moment - stopping at a street food cart between locations

Katie arrived with a garment bag that could have clothed a small bridal party. Three complete outfit changes: the strapless white dress with the dramatic bow on the back for the Met, a chic teddy coat and sunglasses for the Upper East Side and Central Park, and a sharp white blazer with a plunging neckline for downtown. Each look had a distinct energy - editorial elegance at the museum, uptown sophistication in the park, downtown cool in Tribeca and Brooklyn. We were going for a 90s editorial aesthetic, the kind of effortless glamour you'd find in vintage Vogue or Harper's Bazaar spreads. Think Christy Turlington and Linda Evangelista walking through the city like they owned it. Max, bless him, brought zero outfit changes. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and let Katie be the star. His patience was remarkable - waiting while she changed in museum bathrooms and back seats of cars, never once looking annoyed. Their dynamic was playful and easy. Katie's effervescence was contagious. She moved through the day with the energy of someone who genuinely loved being photographed, who understood that we were making something special together. Max grounded her, patient and steady, smiling at her antics, game for whatever came next.

Max flagging down a taxi on the cobblestones of Tribeca - effortless New York sophistication

Max on the streets of Tribeca - classic New York cool

After we'd pushed our luck at the Met as far as we dared, we spilled out onto Fifth Avenue and made our way to Central Park. A quick stop for outfit change number two, then we wandered through the park capturing that uptown elegance. From there, we headed downtown to Tribeca - Katie in her third look, both of them ready for the grittier, more industrial aesthetic of lower Manhattan. Tribeca gave us cobblestone streets, cast-iron architecture, and that perfect late afternoon light that makes everything look cinematic. We stopped at a food truck (because that's what you do in New York), Max hailed a cab with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times, and then we drove across the Brooklyn Bridge as the sun started to set. There's something about moving through multiple neighborhoods in a single session that captures the full breadth of what New York is. It's not just one thing - it's elegant museums and street food, uptown sophistication and downtown grit, Manhattan and Brooklyn, monuments and everyday moments all woven together. That's what makes it New York.

Walking the cobblestone streets of Tribeca in Katie's second look

There's a particular energy that comes from shooting in places where you're not entirely sure you're allowed to be. Everything becomes more urgent, more alive. You move faster, you're more present, you take risks you wouldn't otherwise take. Katie and Max embraced this completely. The need to be inconspicuous at the Met somehow made them more natural, more themselves. When you can't pose for long, when you have to keep moving, the photos end up feeling less staged and more documentary. It's the opposite of a controlled studio environment, and for the right couple, that chaos creates magic. This approach isn't for everyone. It requires couples who are game for adventure, who don't need everything to be perfectly planned, who can laugh when things go sideways. But for Katie and Max, the guerrilla style of moving through the city, changing locations and looks, shooting quickly and quietly when necessary and more boldly when we could - it all added up to something that felt authentically them and authentically New York.

A quiet moment in the back of the car between neighborhoods

Driving across the Brooklyn Bridge - Manhattan to Brooklyn in minutes

Winter Engagement Session in Central Park: Timeless Romance in January

Maggie and Tyler at the Lake in Central Park, with The San Remo towers on the Upper West Side skyline

For good reason, the budding flowers of spring, the lush green of summer and the vibrant foliage of fall are more popular engagement photography backdrops than a blustery winter day. But Maggie & Tyler were excited to be newly engaged and didn’t want to wait. They were also planning a New Year’s Eve wedding, so taking engagement photos in January wasn’t at all that intimidating for these two. First we went to the iconic Bethesda Terrace where they bravely shed their coats for a few shots, then we walked over to Bow Bridge and documented some romance with coats on. We finished up at Tavern on The Green where we didn’t really take photos so much as down some libations to get us warm. The timeless styling of their looks reminded me of scenes of Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford in front of The Plaza in The Way We Were. The soft gray winter light truly brought out something beautiful in these two.

Maggie and Tyler in the warmth of Bethesda Terrace Arcade, Central Park - those iconic Minton tiles providing shelter from the January cold

There's something about winter engagement sessions that most couples overlook in their rush to wait for better weather. The light in winter has a quality I can only describe as forgiving - soft and even, with none of summer's harsh shadows or the unpredictability of spring. Central Park in January empties out in a way it never does the rest of the year. The crowds thin, the tourists retreat indoors, and suddenly you have Bow Bridge nearly to yourselves. There's an intimacy that emerges when you're cold together, when you're huddled close not for the camera but because you need each other's warmth. The bare trees reveal the bones of the landscape - the architecture of the park itself becomes visible in ways the lush foliage obscures. And there's something romantic about choosing to be outside in the cold, about the deliberate decision to mark this moment rather than wait for convenience. Winter asks something of you, and couples who say yes to that tend to show up differently. More present. More willing to be vulnerable. More themselves.

A kiss on the Bethesda Terrace steps - where the architecture is as romantic as the moment

Warmth and light in the Bethesda Terrace Arcade - Maggie and Tyler finding shelter from the winter cold

Bethesda Terrace is one of my favorite spots in Central Park any time of year, but in winter it reveals itself differently. The ornate stonework and carved details that get obscured by summer foliage stand out against bare branches and gray sky. The arcade underneath provides not just architectural beauty with those famous Minton tiles, but actual refuge from the wind. We started there because I knew we could duck in and out of the cold, warming up between shots while still getting that grand, romantic Central Park feeling. From there, Bow Bridge was inevitable - it's perhaps the most iconic spot in the entire park, and in winter, with the mist rising off the lake and the Central Park South skyline soft in the distance, it feels like stepping into an old film. The cast iron railings, the gentle arch of the bridge, the way it frames the city behind you - it's pure magic. We finished at Tavern on the Green not so much for photos as for survival. By that point we'd been outside for over an hour and the cold had seeped into our bones. Hot toddies and laughter in a warm room felt like the only logical conclusion to our winter adventure.

A stolen kiss on Bow Bridge with the Central Park South skyline disappearing into the winter mist

What struck me most about Maggie and Tyler was how effortlessly elegant they were. Maggie's white pleated dress with the dramatic bell sleeves, Tyler's classic camel and navy - they looked like they'd stepped out of a 1970s film. There was something about the soft neutrals and clean lines that felt both completely contemporary and utterly timeless. When I watched them together on Bow Bridge, I kept thinking of Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford in The Way We Were - that same kind of classic, understated romance. They were planning a New Year's Eve wedding, which made perfect sense for them. There's something about couples who choose threshold moments like New Year's Eve - they understand symbolism, they're drawn to beginnings and transformations. They weren't interested in a big production or an over-the-top celebration. They wanted intimacy, meaning, and a party with their closest people as one year became another. That sensibility showed up in everything, including their willingness to brave January in Central Park for engagement photos. They trusted the process, trusted the aesthetic, and showed up fully even when it meant being cold.

Maggie and Tyler on Bow Bridge as the sun begins to set over Central Park South

There's a particular rhythm to shooting in winter that I've come to love. You have to work quickly, but not frantically. You need to read your couple's comfort level constantly - watching for the moment when cold shifts from invigorating to miserable. I've learned to find the warm pockets: the arcade at Bethesda, the sheltered side of Bow Bridge, anywhere the wind can't quite reach you. I keep sessions shorter and more focused. There's no lingering, no endless wandering. We move with intention from spot to spot, and somehow that urgency brings out something beautiful. Couples are more present when they're cold together. There's less self-consciousness, more genuine closeness. They hold each other because they need to, not because I've asked them to. And there's something about knowing you'll warm up together afterward - that shared reward of hot drinks and the glow of having done something slightly challenging - that bonds people. Winter engagement sessions aren't for everyone. But for couples like Maggie and Tyler who are willing to say yes to the cold, who trust that the soft gray light and bare trees will be worth it, the results are always more intimate and honest than I could have orchestrated any other way.

Lost in each other by the Lake - the kind of moment that makes you forget about the cold

Maggie and Tyler returned to celebrate their New Year's Eve wedding at the Garden City Hotel. View the complete wedding gallery here.

Origins, or, the making of a fine art wedding photographer

Grandma peeling an orange, taken while I was in high school circa 2002

I’m around twelve years when my dad first hands me his camera. I had taken pictures before this, of course, but I have no memory of those. On this day, standing in the back driveway, looking through his viewfinder, I feel something essential shift inside of myself. A feeling I can only describe as ‘ah, let me just show you.’ A feeling that I could finally be understood in a way that prior to this, I didn’t know I had been missing. I had found my instrument.

I remember telling my mother immediately that I was to be a photographer. I can’t say she fully believed how monumental a moment this was for me, but she did enroll me in the first darkroom class that she could find. And, to my complete and utter frustration, art classes followed. Because in my mother’s house if I was going to do something, I was going to do it well. I spent the better part of my free time over the next ten years in the dim red glow of a darkroom.

How can I describe the miracle, witnessed over and over again, of an image emerging from nothingness onto a of piece of paper floating impatiently in a pool of developer?

I was (am) obsessed with photography. When not in the darkroom I spent hours on the floor of the library pouring over photography books. My need to understand how to see was insatiable. I thought about nothing else. These were my college years when I had that luxury, an early exposure to a life dedicated to art and light. Internships in prestigious photography galleries and lowly assistantships in the studios of my idols followed. I took on my first wedding before I even graduated with my photography degree. Can you really capture a memory in light? I needed to know.

Marlee, from my senior thesis circa 2006

I heard the siren song calling to me. Weddings were magic and they were terrifying, each one an epic playground of chaos and joy. They required me to learn how to play my instrument to the best of my ability. I needed an arsenal of techniques to rely on. I needed speed. I needed to be able to feel my way through the music of the day. It was a grueling learning process but I thrived under the onslaught of intensity. The photos were my sweet reward.

And then it all caught up to me. Because while I knew to the tip of my soul how to take a great picture, serving brides, meeting all their expectations as a young woman with no business sense, well that really took it out of me. It would be many more years before I gathered all the skills to handle the emotional weight of a wedding.

Stephanie, 2018

Somewhere in the midst of all this, my mother passed away. I was only twenty eight and I couldn’t make much sense of any of it. My life already felt a bit off track. Or rather, I had lost sight of the track entirely. I was working for an art handling company, trying to get my bearings, but mostly partying and dancing till dawn. I had sworn off weddings entirely. But when I returned to my desk after the funeral everything felt so wrong. I was overwhelmed with the knowing that I couldn’t sit at this desk any longer. There were wounds, old and new, that suddenly felt urgent to heal. With all of the energy and abandon I had previously poured into photography, I started obsessively studying spirituality. I had so many questions; I felt convinced the answers lay hidden in the secrets of enlightenment (grief dressed up as an existential crisis). It was my certification in yoga that brought me back to my calling. I wanted to dedicate my life to meditation and practice, but I needed a career that could support me. Sitting on the beach, staring out at the ocean, I thought to myself: I need to shoot weddings again. The following week I received an email from an old friend asking if I’d document her wedding. The universe was listening.

Self portrait, 2024

In the ten years since that moment on the beach I have received three yoga certifications before turning my attention to studying dreaming and archetypal symbolism such as the tarot. I don’t know what will grab my fixation next, but all of this learning and healing is fuel for my work. I’ve come to see myself as a sort of medium. I open myself to the experience of your wedding. I open myself to the feelings, to the sounds, to the music and rhythm. I open myself to the nerves and the excitement, the joy and the grief. I let myself feel all of it with you, and, through an alchemy I’ll never fully I understand, I channel those feelings into your photos. It is an honor, a blessing to serve as sacred witness for one of life’s most important rites of passage.

You can read more about how dreamwork informs my wedding photography and how it led me to photograph a wedding during a sacred Sufi ceremony in Turkey.

From bride to motherhood, and the photos that marked the way…

I first met Rachel and Ron in the heart of lockdown. They planned a tiny wedding on a terrace at the Bowery Hotel conducted over zoom as was the only way at the time. It was joyous and exuberant and oddly perfect for them. Lockdown gave a small handful of couples permission to truly lean into the unorthodox. Couples who could never have gotten away with small weddings of one or two guests truly shined. Rachel glowed.

A few years passed, Rachel was all aglow again, this time with the unmistakable beauty of a mother to be. The pregnancy path was not easy so it felt right to document the moment with photos. She and Ron came to my studio in Brooklyn. I got to hear about how their lives had changed since the wedding, how excited they were for the baby to join them. I got to witness Rachel, again, in all the glory of this rite of passage.

It was only a few months before I got to meeting baby Liv. We waited until she was out of the infancy stage when I could witness her personality start to take shape. A relationship with her mother already in bloom. My own mother passed away over a decade ago. I often think of her now. I’m in the middle of my life and it’s unclear if I too will be mother, but I wonder what her maternity time was like for her anyway. I wonder what she looked like and how she felt. I like to imagine Liv discovering these photos in twenty or thirty years. Imagining who her mother was before she knew her. Piecing together the story of herself and getting to experience this moment through her mother’s (and my) eyes.

So much about the work I do is about marking the important moments in your lives. It’s about witnessing your intimacy and allowing me to be in on the secret of it all, to live through it with you if only for a brief moment, a deep intimacy built in short bursts.