A creative, candid & low-key couples story in Bellingham.

“If it feels wrong, it might be right.”

With each adventure I jump into—whether it’s photography, writing, or a combination of both—this statement remains a footprint in the back of my mind.

For many photographers, photographs are simply that—photographs.

It depends on who you ask, of course.

The fashion photographer may tell you they’re passionate about the clothing, the model, the industry. The wedding photographer may spin a glamorous tale of magical love and pristine white ballgowns. The portrait photographer may wax poetic on the nature of shadow, light, and the in-between with their subjects—whether it’s the swell of a new mother’s belly, or the sacred exchange between two lovers before they lean into their first kiss.

At the very least, every photograph taken is a memory snapped in time. Explorations of the aesthetic, the romantic, and the soulful. Those attributes are beautiful. I would never argue that. But I would argue that not every photograph is designed to carry the same intention, and the person behind the camera is equally responsible for the input, the output, and the impact those images leave on society long after they’re gone.

These thoughts have stuck with me weeks after I had the opportunity to photograph Chandler and Katy—two candid, curious, and wonderful young artists who were more than willing to get in front of my camera.

And with them, we explored the moving nature of natural curiosity, innocence, and perspective of the natural vs. controlled in the vintage surroundings of Bellingham, Washington.

If it feels wrong… it might be right.

“This reminds me of Children of the Corn.”

I looked up from my point-and-shoot film camera, perplexed, then laughed. I had seen the wispy strands of dead grass caught in the summer wind. I had noticed the crunch of thorny fronds under my shoes. I had glimpsed the fresh blackberries bursting out of the nearby bush, begging to be touched, to be tasted… and not once had I considered the obvious.

I was so consumed by internal anxiety that I’d forgotten to acknowledge what inspired me. What was right in front of me.

“Yeah, think you’re right,” I said to Katy—a kind, creative soul who suggested we explore the side of a glass beach no one really ventured towards—and gestured for her partner, Chandler, to move further into the grass. “Let’s try it out. See what happens.”

I didn’t know what to expect from the photographs in the moment, but I knew we were documenting something. There was intention, if not yet understood.

What that was, I wasn’t sure what it would be. My only vision for the experience was to capture artful people in love, for where they are. How they see each other, how they communicate. My only “goal” was to lean into that.

It’s a strange two-sided coin, where I want to be voraciously competitive with myself and my old work, and accepting of the natural and chaotic.

Chandler and Katy are two very curious, very artistic people.

They have a view of the world that’s refreshing, and candid, and interesting. It’s a perspective so full of life and appreciation for the little things around them—from the dilapidated wooden shack by the shoreline, to the batches of blackberries sprouting in their cages of twisted stems and thorns—that it was easy to follow their steps.

I’m a naturally controlling person, but I also value chaotic mistakes. I find that an infusion of the two is what creates the most interesting work, whether through writing fiction, drafting personal essays, or taking photographs.

I’m on a journey to rebuild my photography venture from the ground up, so that involves creating a new body of work. It also involves creating a new perspective.

It involves creating planting, redefining and growing my roots once again (over and over and over again) while exploring themes that mean a hell of a lot to me—mirroring, the abstract, artistic over candid, the weird, the wild, the cinematically composed and expressed, and themes of beautiful melancholy, sadness, and tragedy that deserve to be explored more than its brethren.

Old souls. Youthful minds.

Taking portraits of Chandler and Katy felt like connecting with old souls with youthful minds.

They’re in college, highly intelligent, and banter back and forth with so much laughter that it was hard not to smile with them.

I asked them to show me a spot that’s meaningful to them, and they did.

They recommended the unconventional spots hidden behind a popular glass beach in Bellingham, Washington, for a reason. It was a short walk for them from their university, which echoed to me how often they went there together.

It was refreshing to let people move and act as they would without a camera. For some people, taking on a more documentarian approach is necessary. For others, you need more creative control. I love asserting creative direction, but sometimes the ability to sit back and let people breathe, act on their own, and allow the emotion to flood the photographs is the answer.

A marriage of the two creates the most exceptional images, in my opinion.

I took over a hundred photographs, which was unusual for me. I used to overshoot. I don’t anymore for a lot of reason. Some are hard to grasp, and others I can freely express. I try to be more intentional and present, and less in my head. Being “in my head” is wonderful when i’m editing—and editing is most of the creative process for me. I take it very seriously.

This was interesting, though, because the editing experience for Chandler and Katy was like viewing everything from two lenses.

One was in the moment, where I was focused on composition, communication, and direction. The other—once the photographs were uploaded and I could get to work in Lightroom—occurred when I noticed the little micro-movements, actions, and in-between thoughts splashed into every frame.

To call this a “session” feels strange, so I won’t.

I’ll call it a collaboration between three people who all value storytelling, art, and being themselves. I believe so deeply in helping people view themselves as they are, and using your creative eye as the portal. I love the art of subtlety, and I love the art of chaotic creativity.

With this experience, it felt wrong to take pictures in the moment. I was distracted, had a strange anxious stirring in my chest, and wanted desperately for these images to feel genuine. I wanted them to have a pulse. I needed them to reflect Chandler and Katy as they showed themselves to me.

Nothing else mattered.

I think the more love stories I document, the more these feelings will thread into one another, to create something monumental for everyone. I long to make that possible for people who think similarly, who value the intention behind a photograph—the emotion that extends beyond shadow and tone—more than whether or not it’ll look like an award-winning spread in Vogue.

(Can already tell you I’m not the “Vogue” kind of photographer)

I have an intimate wedding to photograph a few weekends from now that I’m tremendously excited for. I have a styled bridal concept session coming up, with a focus on themes of sadness and a fractured love that I can’t wait to capture on film and digital, and so many other projects I’m so excited to execute.

For the first time in awhile…

Things feel truly aligned.

If you liked this story…

Collaborating with artful, curious people is one of my blood types (pretty sure).

If you’re longing for a story-driven engagement session, creative portraits, or wish for a narrative-minded photographer to immortalize your intimate wedding or elopement…

Get in touch with me below.

Thankful you’re here.

- Taylor