Photography as an Act of Listening

Education

March 8, 2025

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Forget everything but the way it feels to be here. No matter her subject, Nikki documents moments with an intuitive sense of their emotional relevance and inherent beauty. 
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A groom in a navy tuxedo and black loafers sits in a modern hotel room, using a shoehorn to slip on his shoes. His hair is neatly styled, and he wears glasses. Behind him, a woman in a white, knee-length dress with sheer, billowing sleeves stands with a small camera, capturing the moment. She wears delicate white heels. The room features floor-to-ceiling windows with views of contemporary city buildings, a concrete column, and a minimalist interior design. A small round table nearby holds a champagne flute and a glass of amber-colored liquid.

There’s this common misconception that photography is purely visual. That it’s about composition, lighting, and technical know-how. And sure, those things matter. But after years of photographing weddings, portraits, and the beautifully unpredictable in-between, I’ve come to a different conclusion:

Photography isn’t just about what you see. It’s about how well you listen.

You can be the best in the game technically, but if you’re not attuned to the people in front of your camera—if you’re not listening—you’re missing the most important part.

A groom in a classic black tuxedo and bow tie reaches for his bride’s hand as she twirls in a modern, knee-length wedding dress with sheer sleeves. Her delicate veil drapes over her arm as they move together in a softly lit hallway, an 'EXIT' sign glowing in the background. Captured in timeless black and white, this candid moment radiates effortless joy and elegance.

Why Listening Matters More Than Posing

We’ve all heard it before:

“I hate getting my photo taken.”
“I always look awkward in pictures.”
“I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

What people are really saying is, I don’t trust that I’ll be seen the way I want to be seen.

And honestly? Fair. Photography has historically been about control. Photographers direct, pose, and mold people into what they think looks good. But if my previous career and years in social work taught me anything, it’s this: People just want to be seen and understood. And if they don’t feel that from you, they will not open up in front of your camera.

So I don’t start by clicking the shutter. I start by listening, by paying attention.

How I Listen Without People Realizing It

I used to send out pre-wedding questionnaires, the kind that ask couples how they met and what their dream wedding looks like. But I found that the richest details—the ones that actually make the photos feel real—came from live conversations, not static answers typed into a form.

Now, I build rapport in a way that feels natural. I ask sneaky, open-ended questions, the kind that invite people to tell me about themselves without overthinking it:

  • Tell me about a time you got your photo taken and loved it.
  • What’s something you really love about yourself?
  • What would your friends say about you?

Most of the time, people don’t even realize they’re giving me everything I need to create the images they’ll treasure the most.

Because here’s the thing: People want to be seen, but they also want to feel safe while being seen. My job is to create that space for them. This is the year of saving space, after all (thank you, Cynthia and Ariana).

A couple enjoys a quiet morning in bed, wrapped in white linens, sipping espresso while reading the newspaper. The groom, wearing a striped long-sleeve shirt, takes a sip from his cup, while the bride, in a simple white tee, gazes at her drink with a serene expression. The minimalist, modern bedroom setting with soft natural light evokes an effortless, intimate start to their wedding day.

What Active Listening Looks Like Behind the Camera

Listening isn’t just about words. It’s about body language, micro-expressions, and the energy in a room. It’s about noticing when someone is holding tension in their shoulders or shifting uncomfortably because they feel too on display.

This is where my background in forensic interviewing comes into play. Back when I was a social worker, I was trained not to move past the rapport-building stage until the person taught me something about themselves. I use the same approach in photography.

Before I lift my camera, I observe. I talk. I joke. I mirror their energy. I make sure they know I’m interested in them—not just in taking a “pretty picture.”

If someone is particularly nervous, I acknowledge it instead of ignoring it:

“What’s making you nervous?”

I don’t dance around the discomfort. I name it, which immediately disarms it.

One time, I photographed someone who became tearful at the beginning of our session. Instead of rushing to “fix” it, I just asked:

“What’s going on for you right now?”

She told me about a past traumatic experience she’d had while being photographed. So we talked. And instead of pushing her into poses that made her uncomfortable, I let her guide the session.

Sometimes, listening means putting down the camera for a minute and giving people space.

A groom in a sleek black tuxedo twirls his bride in the air on a city sidewalk, her dress billowing as she laughs in motion. Captured in black and white, the couple radiates joy against a backdrop of tree-lined streets, modern glass buildings, and passing cars. A spontaneous, cinematic moment that feels both timeless and full of life.

The Power of Mirroring in Photography

People don’t just listen with their ears. They listen with their whole bodies. And if they sense any discomfort or awkwardness from you, they will match it.

That’s why I mirror or model for my clients–depending on what they need.

If they’re high-energy and playful, I lean into that. If they’re more reserved, I slow things down. If someone needs reassurance, I give it to them—not in a way that feels forced, but in a way that feels specific and real.

I’ll say things like:

“Hey, I’m going to take some bad photos today–it’s inevitable. I’m also going to take some really good ones. And I’m going to delete the bad ones.”

If they’re really in their head, I’ll show them the back of my camera—which I never do unless it’s needed.

And if someone is nervous about looking a certain way, I don’t just tell them they look good—I show them how they already do.

Because the best photos happen when people feel at ease. And feeling at ease starts with trust.

A bride and groom walk hand in hand through the sleek, modern lobby of The Conrad Hotel in Washington, DC. The bride wears a chic white dress with sheer billowing sleeves, while the groom looks sharp in a classic black tuxedo. The grand curved architecture, marble floors, and golden glass wine display create a luxurious, contemporary backdrop for their effortlessly elegant wedding day.

Photography as Collaboration, Not Control

One of the biggest shifts I’ve made in my career is realizing that photography should be collaborative, not controlling.

I try not to impose a look on someone–why force them into a mold that isn’t theirs? I pay attention to who they already are, and I let that guide my choices.

Sometimes, a couple will come in thinking they want ultra-editorial, high-fashion poses. But as we talk, I realize that’s not actually them. They’re silly, affectionate, and unfiltered. So we pivot. Because why would I ever make someone look like someone they’re not?

Some couples barely touch in real life, so why would I force them into a hyper-romantic embrace that feels fake to them?

Listening isn’t just about hearing. It’s about adjusting based on what you hear.

A bride beams with joy, holding a vintage Polaroid camera in one hand and a freshly printed instant photo in the other. Dressed in a casual white tee and soft cotton lounge pants, she stands near a bright floor-to-ceiling window, bathed in natural light. The playful, carefree energy of the morning sets the tone for an effortlessly stylish wedding day.

Final Thoughts: The Most Powerful Images Aren’t Forced

The best images aren’t staged. They’re not over-posed within an inch of their life. They happen in those fleeting in-between moments—the unguarded seconds where people forget they’re being watched.

That’s the kind of photography I want to create.

And that’s why, above all else, I listen.

Because when you listen—when you really listen—you don’t just capture how someone looks. You capture how they feel.

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