May 28, 2022
I was invited as Sam's plus-one to her elder sister's wedding, and I naively assumed that nothing would be said if I brought my camera, but the magnetism of that device seems to pull people into me for good and ill. There is something to be said about the aura a professional camera exudes and the potential of being documented by it even in a digital age when nearly every facet of our life is open to recording. I was fortunate on this day to have no hostile interactions; no one in the family or on staff assumed any mischief in my photographing even when I wandered off onto the grounds later that evening.
However, if I made myself present to the bridal party, some general confusion as to my role being the wedding photographer was inevitable even with the real photographer standing beside me. I had to explain on several occasions that I was in fact not part of the wedding, and in one instance had to adamantly refuse to film the bride's entrance. I would then feel a bit stupid and suspicious standing there amongst the guests, outed as not a professional but a miscellaneous paparazzi. It would have been a fruitless endeavor to explain myself in such a time and place, and little good it would do me regardless. It didn't help that my connection to this extended family was a thin thread dangling in the grasp of my girlfriend. In the scope of the wedding and the significance of that day, I was probably not a passing thought to most people, but I could occasionally catch a puzzling glance now and then that asked "then what are you doing here with that camera?"
The wedding photographer was himself a very young man, younger than me in fact, which only served to stoke the flame of my own insecurities. It was of course an absurd thing to be upset over. I had no interest in photographing something as mythologized and time-sensitive as a wedding. But struggling deeply as I was with finding a profession, anything at all that could provide me with a semblance of a path in my art, I envied what I perceived was a self-assured, self-reliant young man. Sam, being friendly and curious, asked the photographer his history. He had essentially stumbled onto his job having not even taken up photography until very recently. That bit of information did the opposite of inspiring hope for me or relieving any bit of jealousy, and I spent the rest of the evening sulking in my strange, non-monetizable liminal space photography, convincing myself that I was wise enough to ignore my selfish, envious heart.
As an aside, I should say that I'm aware using a wedding to rant about this personal artistic grievance is a bit self-obsessed, and I should probably pivot and talk about the event itself, but on this particular day, existing as a photographer left me exposed to what I enjoyed least about the craft, and it reaffirmed my stark disinterest in commercial work.
I could tell you that I enjoyed the wedding itself, but for me, a wedding carries with it such a weight of ceremony and significance that I feel dissociated stepping into it. It's not too dissimilar from a prom, which hangs in anticipation over one's head for months before being set loose in a fury of floridness that is too overwhelming and too impersonal for me to "enjoy" in the same way that I enjoy the outdoors or a good book. A wedding has the advantage of being a more intentional labor of love meant to celebrate a union not just of individuals but of families and communities; a prom is often relegated to the lust of childhood. Still, in both, I stand amongst people that I know and love dearly, and some I don't know at all, but robed and painted in royalty as they are in fabrics and colors that I don't recognize, I am separated from both family and stranger even as I share their attire. The bridal party themselves, heavy-laden with the anticipations and anxieties of their duties, cannot rest until the reception tables are filled with food and wine, until the final group photographs are captured and the final traditions are performed; the bride and groom will never rest until they lie on their honeymoon cushions. How could I talk to Ted on his wedding day when he sat with a million rehearsed dominoes in his mind slowly falling one after the other, dominoes that would continue to fall until the night was over and he was away from the crowd? And what about Sam, who stands beyond me in her layers of silken black hair held together by bobby pins, beautiful and nervous, contemplating her role in the ceremony? In my love for these people, I so desperately want to latch myself onto them, but I know I shouldn't, not until their burdens are lifted. It was strange to feel such a strong power in these ceremonies: a force that was not wrong (how could say it was wrong for us to dress up or behave in ritual?) but still overwhelming, almost unbearable at times. After all, it was love that we were celebrating here, but there was also responsibility, commitment, obligation, and an element of elevation in which we were all temporarily more than just people. These were things that I could never claim to be wrong, they were in fact very honorable in the right circumstances, but they were still frightening to me in their strength.
It was for all these reasons that I drifted from the ceremonies to the scenery surrounding me, pulled back into the dream occasionally by the uncomplicated tenderness of Ozzie's smile looking at his bride or the tears that pooled in Sam's eyes as I wondered at her thoughts. I admired the decorations and the names printed on napkins and matchbooks. The manicured landscape was beautiful or as beautiful as nature can be that is trimmed and toyed with modern human hands. The early summer breeze was still cool from spring's departure as it surfed over the rolling green hills, and sitting outdoors amongst the neat rows of wedding chairs, surrounded nearly on all sides by tall figures of shrubbery, the pastor's gentle words were reduced to a faint whisper, overtaken by the continuous susurration of the wind that coated the fabrics of our clothes. I sat back and drifted off as the vows were read, hearing their promises only in a far-off dream.