JAIMEE
Some moments announce themselves before they arrive—I pay attention to those.
meet
Empathic
Observational
I’m drawn to moments that feel like nothing at all—until you realize they’re everything. A glance across the room. A hand on a shoulder. The stillness before the music starts. These are the things I notice. The things I hold onto.
I learned early how quickly life can shift—how love and loss often live right next to each other. In 2021, my sister asked me to photograph her engagement before her fiancé deployed. I didn’t know it at the time, but those photos would become something we all clung to. Not long after he came home, he was diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer. Through his treatment and recovery, those images were a quiet constant—a reminder of who they were before everything changed.
That experience opened something in me. It taught me that photography isn’t just about documenting what happened—it’s about noticing what matters, and preserving it for the days ahead. I’ve been chasing that kind of honesty with my work ever since.
When I’m not photographing weddings, I’m usually with my husband, Arryn, and our dog, Georgia—finding beauty in the ordinary, the unplanned, the quiet. That’s where I feel most at home, and it’s how I approach your story, too.
I won’t ask you to perform. I’ll be there to witness, to feel with you, and to make sure what mattered most doesn’t slip away unnoticed.
I'M JAIMEE
showing up for you
MY APPROACH TO
When you choose me, you’re not just hiring a photographer—you’re inviting someone who’s fully present. I’m there to witness, not direct. To notice the small moments happening between the bigger ones. To see your day exactly as it happens — without interrupting the rhythm of it.
This is about being real, together. I’ll show up with an open heart, ready to listen, laugh, and blend into the people you love. I want the day to feel like yours—not like something that was curated for photos.
Working with me means you’ll have someone who pays attention to what matters to you. No scripts. No forced anything. Just honest, quiet care—and photographs that reflect the day as it actually felt.
REACH OUT
our wedding day
my own story
We spent the morning drinking milkshakes. There was no schedule, no rush—just time. Time to breathe, to be together, to let the day unfold without expectation. We eloped in the mountains, just the two of us, and everything about it felt like us: quiet, unrushed, and completely present.
I remember how the light moved across the valley behind us. I remember the way my husband’s voice caught during our vows, and the surprise first dance to a song I didn’t know he’d picked. These are the things that have stayed with me—not because they were photographed, but because I lived them. Fully.
And yes, the photos are beautiful. But they’re not the reason I remember the day the way I do—they’re just a doorway back into what was already there. That experience shaped how I approach every wedding now. Because what I valued most wasn’t how it looked—it was how it felt. And that’s what I want to protect for you.
your story matters to me
This work has never been just about photographs. It’s about holding onto what matters—about remembering the feeling of a moment, even after everything else has changed.
My dad passed when I was seven. I don’t have many of my own memories of him, so I’ve pieced together who he was through the stories people tell. They say he was the funniest person in the room, the most caring man they’d ever known. And when I look through old photographs, I believe them. I can see it in his eyes. I can feel it in the way he looked at my mom or held one of us kids in his arms. That’s the power of a photograph—it fills in the gaps, makes a person real again.
That’s what drives me in this work. Not just creating something beautiful, but creating something that lasts—something that tells the truth of who you are and what you’ve lived. So one day, when words fall short or memories start to fade, you’ll still have something that brings it all back.
REACH OUT
mid-spinning, mid-laughing, mid-living
in the fleeting, tender glances you think no one sees
wrapped in the warmth of your favorite people
