By the time I finish editing a photo session, whether it be portraits or a wedding or something else entirely, I know every wrinkle on his face. I know the pimple on her forehead. I’ve seen every imperfection closely and repeatedly.
But I’ve memorized the shape of his eyes. I could trace them on a paper. I’ve seen her hair light up with the sunset and her hands try to tame it, but fail. Some wild things are beautiful. Her hair. His eyes. The shapes and the imperfections.
You have to fall in love with the photos a bit, I think. And you fall in love with the person, too. Not in a romantic way, even. In the way you fall in love with the sunset or with driving at midnight or with a fresh cup of coffee or with the words he wrote that night at 1am. You know they’re not perfect, but you know they’re beautiful none the less. You fall in love with that imperfect beauty.
That may be the deepest falling in love: to fall in love with something wholly. To know the imperfections and choose to love anyway.
The burden and the gift of my job is that I get to share what I see. Those photos are my eyes and my hope is that the world, or even just one person, falls in love in the same way.