A midwest-based WEDDING, corporate, & PORTRAIT PHOTOGRAPHER

The assignment was to photograph the owners of a high-performance sailing yacht during an M32 regatta in Coconut Grove, Florida. At the last moment, it was decided I should join the crew aboard the yacht as it was towed out of the harbor—just for a few photographs, with plans to transfer me back to the coach boat once we reached open water.

But plans changed the moment the wind arrived. As I focused on documenting the crew’s seamless choreography—sails rising, lines snapping into place—the breeze filled in and suddenly, we were airborne. The yacht lifted, skimming the waves with breathtaking speed, more flight than float. I clung to the edge, surrounded by a team of elite sailors outfitted with crash helmets and knives tucked into their life vests. I had neither—and no time to think about it. I had also never sailed before. One kind soul thought to grab my camera and capture the moment—a gesture I remain deeply grateful for.

I’ve been hooked ever since.
These days, when I’m not behind the lens during our beautiful Michigan summers, you’ll likely find me on my own little Tiffany-blue sailboat, Jenny & Co., racing across Reed’s Lake with the same wind in my hair and joy in my heart.

90 people.  That's it.  That's the story.  Organized and photographed within 10 minutes.  We got this.

With the perspective that only time grants, I often find myself wishing I had embraced more solo travel before the beautiful, all-consuming responsibilities of family and children began. But there’s no time like the present to begin again. In recent years, I’ve discovered that my soul feels most alive in the quiet freedom of traveling alone—where reflection, wonder, and restoration find room to flourish.

Two places in particular have captured my heart. The first is Emerald Lake Lodge in British Columbia, especially during the shoulder season from mid-October to mid-November. It’s the kind of place where the air feels crisper, the silence more sacred, and a wood-burning fire is all the companionship you need. The food is exceptional—a non-negotiable for me—and the views are nothing short of transcendent. Tucked just beyond Banff, it’s a hidden gem that many overlook, but once found, never forgotten.

The second is Cartagena, Colombia—a city that feels like a 17th-century New Orleans dressed in vibrant color and radiant warmth. Bougainvillea spills from balconies above cobblestone streets, and ceviche arrives in coconuts, served with the kind of hospitality that lingers long after the meal is over. It’s charming, soulful, and surprisingly affordable—a place where beauty meets authenticity at every turn. If you ever go, I have the best recommendations.

I lost my father in 2005, though in many ways, I began losing him years earlier, as illness slowly took him from us. He never saw me become a photographer, but he was always my greatest encourager—steadfast in his belief that I could pursue anything I set my heart on.

Years later, I found myself photographing a private event where the entertainment was none other than The Doobie Brothers—my dad’s all-time favorite band. He was a passionate musician, and nearly every memory I hold of him is wrapped in music or time spent on the water. As I stood behind my camera that night, capturing the rhythm and energy of the band he loved most, I felt him with me. Just for a moment, he didn’t feel so far away.

More recently, I had the honor of photographing an intimate event featuring REO Speedwagon—another of his favorites. That evening marked the band’s final official concert; by 12:01 a.m., the name would be retired. As the night came to a close, the sound engineer handed me a gift: the evening’s final set list, signed by the band. A small gesture that meant the world.

I know my dad would have been over the moon. And in these unexpected moments, I’m reminded that he’s still very much a part of my story.

My journey into photography began with a college film class and the quiet magic of the darkroom. I transitioned to digital in the early 2000s, just as sharing photos online—long before social media—was beginning to take shape.

Back then, I’d leave half-sheets of paper on reception tables (with the couple’s permission), inviting guests to share their email addresses for access to the wedding gallery. It turned out to be the most impactful marketing I could have imagined.

After one East Lansing wedding, I received a confused reply: “Who are you and how did you get my email?” I had double-checked—it was written down incorrectly. I explained and apologized, and her response came quickly: “Actually, I live in Florida and I’m helping my daughter in Atlanta plan her destination wedding in Kauai—and we love your work.”

That following April, I had the joy of joining their family at the Princeville Resort for a celebration that felt like a dream. Years later, we reunited at Disney World and laughed about how a mistyped email led to a lifelong connection—proof that sometimes, the best stories begin by accident.