The smallest wedding I photographed last year and the one I think about most. Thirty people, one table, and everything within forty metres of everything else.
When a day is that concentrated you stop hunting for moments and simply follow the room. I did not change lenses after two o’clock.
Small is not simple
People assume a thirty-person wedding is an easy job. It is the opposite: there is nowhere to hide, everyone notices a camera, and there is no crowd to disappear into. You earn the right to be invisible by turning up early and learning names.
My grandmother has never liked a photograph of herself. She has one of these framed in the hall.
Marcus’s grandmother is ninety-one and told me at lunch that she did not dance any more. At half past eight she danced for eleven minutes.
