From my first gig after graduating from Salt, Brian and Wilson’s wedding in Cambridge: perhaps this asks the question, “do you really want a documentary-style photographer shooting your wedding?” This is still one of my favorite images from that day.
But lest you get the wrong idea of how the day generally went — that’s not good documentary! — here is this picture, also.
Did I cry at this wedding? Of course, always.
What a strange, lovely thing we do, promising something as elusive as feelings, guaranteeing something as uncertain as the future. The potential for my own marriage has always alarmed the hell out of me, but weddings make it look so . . . natural. If you can love and give yourself to someone, you should. Just be there, take his hand. We create rituals for this kind of thing, so that you know what to do. We grant symbolism to the shape and materials of jewelry (forever, forever), to the weather that day (good luck, bad luck), to the color of your outfit (purity, beginnings). Everything means something today, if you want it to; everything can predict something else.
And everyone else you love is here too — like the circles we would form backstage in high school before opening night, chanting I will hold you up.
When I was going into the ninth grade, I knew I was not going to be very popular. First of all, I still drew cats wearing prom dresses in chalk on the sidewalks. Second of all, in middle school I had managed to finagle a couple of friends, but in the new school our classes didn’t line up. And so that first day of high school, I was a little anxious as I walked to the bus stop. I ran my clammy hands up and down the cloth strap of my brightly embroidered farmer’s market bag (seriously). Who would I hang out with now? (And, as I wrote in my diary, “what about boys? Don’t they get beards in high school? AHHHH!”)
And I get to take their engagement photos! Fun!
