Between feeling and remembering. Between art and artifact. Between photojournalism and poetry.
And how a single photograph can somehow hold all of it.
Between feeling and remembering. Between art and artifact. Between photojournalism and poetry.
And how a single photograph can somehow hold all of it, memory taking shape before it knows it’s becoming one.
Hi, I’m Michaela— a Minnesota-based fine art and film photographer (and lifelong noticer of light). I capture couples, weddings, families, and brands with a digital-and-film hybrid approach that’s part fine art, part documentary, and entirely personal. But before all that—before cameras and clients and film rolls—it started with light.
Film slows me down enough to see it; digital keeps me quick enough to catch it. Together, they help me tell stories that look like memory feels.
Hi, I’m Michaela! I'm a Minnesota-based fine art and film photographer (and lifelong noticer of light). I capture couples, weddings, families, and brands with a digital-and-film hybrid approach that’s part fine art, part documentary, and entirely personal. But before all that—before cameras and clients and film rolls—it started with light.
I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be a photographer. I just knew I was mesmerized by light— how it moved through a room, how it changed people, how it changed me. I used to write things down: what the air smelled like after rain, how someone’s laugh filled a kitchen, the way moments became memories without warning.
I was always, always noticing.
Picking up a camera felt like another way to do that. Photography keeps me endlessly curious about how we remember the lives we live— how color, texture, and light turn a fleeting second into something we keep reaching for.
And somewhere along the way, I realized it wasn’t just the pictures I loved—it was the presence.
click for a poetry break!
I believe the most beautiful moments aren’t made—they’re met. Presence is what makes them possible.
I approach every story with both intuition and intention: offering direction when the light or posture asks for it, and stepping back when life already knows what to do... be lived.
The experience matters as much as the imagery. Before the camera ever comes out, we talk about what you value most—the people, the rhythms, the fleeting moments that build a life: a shoulder squeeze, a look across the room, the way the quiet feels when everyone’s finally home. Every timeline and session is designed to protect that space, so you can actually live it while I document it.
And before you know it, presence becomes a practice
Brand shoots that move with the same creativity and care you built your business on—part storytelling, part strategy, part “don’t move, the light just found you.”
Wedding days filled with light and laughter—the veil snagged on your bouquet, the best man crying even though he swore he wouldn’t, the way golden hour makes everyone look like they’re in a period drama.
Family sessions that unfold at home, where someone’s always missing a sock, the pancakes burn a little, and the real magic happens somewhere between the chaos and the cuddles.
Different mediums, same intention: to make art that doesn’t just show your life, but seems to be living it alongside you.
Learn more
Learn more
Learn more
And because every artist’s eye is a sum of their small obsessions—let me tell you a bit about mine
I find inspiration everywhere: in pottery that sits a little crooked, in thrifted glassware that ricochets afternoon light across my kitchen cabinets, in conversations that last far too long to call “small talk.”
When I’m not behind the camera, I’m probably curled up with a book I’ll definitely lend out and maybe never see again, sending a twenty-minute voice note to a long-distance friend while my matcha goes cold, or road-tripping north with my husband, Jake, just to watch the seasons change.
I find inspiration everywhere: in pottery that sits a little crooked, in thrifted glassware that ricochets afternoon light across my kitchen cabinets, in conversations that last far too long to call “small talk.”
When I’m not behind the camera, I’m probably curled up with a book I’ll definitely lend out and maybe never see again, sending a twenty-minute voice note to a long-distance friend while my matcha goes cold, or road-tripping north with my husband, Jake, just to watch the seasons change.
tucked into florals, rolling across tables, perfuming the desert air. Somewhere between the sun and the hiking boots I wore under my dress, they became a symbol of joy and abundance that’s followed me ever since.
So yes, I know the difference between an apricot and an orange. But together, they tell the story better: poetry and practice, sweetness and sunlight, the art and the everyday.
You’ve probably noticed the little orange sketches woven through this site. They’re not random. Each illustration opens to an excerpt from The Apricot Memoirs by Tess Guinery, a poetry collection that’s shaped the way I see art, presence, and all the in-between moments that make a life. It’s tender, transcendent, and full of the kind of wonder that sneaks up quietly—much like the art I create out of your life.
The oranges, though? They’re personal. They were everywhere at my own wedding in Arizona—
You’ve probably noticed the little orange sketches woven through this site. They’re not random.
Each illustration opens to an excerpt from The Apricot Memoirs by Tess Guinery, a poetry collection that’s shaped the way I see art, presence, and all the in-between moments that make a life. It’s tender, transcendent, and full of the kind of wonder that sneaks up quietly—much like the art I create out of your life.
The oranges, though? They’re personal. They were everywhere at my own wedding in Arizona— tucked into florals, rolling across tables, perfuming the desert air. Somewhere between the sun and the hiking boots I wore under my dress, they became a symbol of joy and abundance that’s followed me ever since.
So yes, I know the difference between an apricot and an orange. But together, they tell the story better: poetry and practice, sweetness and sunlight, the art and the everyday.
which, fittingly, brings us to the 'apricots'
which, fittingly, brings us to the 'apricots'
tucked into florals, rolling across tables, perfuming the desert air. Somewhere between the sun and the hiking boots I wore under my dress, they became a symbol of joy and abundance that’s followed me ever since.
So yes, I know the difference between an apricot and an orange. But together, they tell the story better: poetry and practice, sweetness and sunlight, the art and the everyday.
You’ve probably noticed the little orange sketches woven through this site. They’re not random. Each illustration opens to an excerpt from The Apricot Memoirs by Tess Guinery, a poetry collection that’s shaped the way I see art, presence, and all the in-between moments that make a life. It’s tender, transcendent, and full of the kind of wonder that sneaks up quietly—much like the art I create out of your life.
The oranges, though? They’re personal. They were everywhere at my own wedding in Arizona—
You’ve probably noticed the little orange sketches woven through this site. They’re not random. They’re personal.
They were everywhere at my own wedding in Arizona— tucked into florals, rolling across tables, perfuming the desert air. Somewhere between the sun and the hiking boots I wore under my dress, they became a symbol of joy and abundance that’s followed me ever since.
They've also taken on a new meaning with my love for The Apricot Memoirs by Tess Guinery, a poetry collection that’s shaped the way I see art, presence, and all the in-between moments that make a life. It’s tender, transcendent, and full of the kind of wonder that sneaks up quietly—much like the art I create out of your life.
So yes, I know the difference between an apricot and an orange. But together, they tell the story better: poetry and practice, sweetness and sunlight, the art and the everyday.
Light always finds the people who aren’t looking for it.
The in-between seconds are where most stories actually live.
The photos I didn’t mean to take—the crooked tablecloth, the flower girl asleep under a chair— are the ones I come back to again and again.
Film photography is a lesson in letting go.
I never met a crooked picture frame I didn’t trust.
• Light always finds the people who aren’t looking for it.
• The in-between seconds are where most stories actually live.
• The photos I didn’t mean to take—the crooked tablecloth, the flower girl asleep under a chair— are the ones I come back to again and again.
• Film photography is a lesson in letting go.
• I never met a crooked picture frame I didn’t trust.
And at the end of the day, what I’m really chasing is proof that you were here, and that it all meant something.
"best decision ever."
"Good heavens, you're phenomenal! The attention to detail, the way you've captured our emotions and memories... everything is perfectly encapsulated. Best decision ever to have you document our wedding day!"
emily, bride
Whether it’s your wedding day, your family mid-chaos, or a creative vision that deserves its own frame, I want to help you see it the way I see everything—honestly, artfully, and a little in awe of the light.
the apricot memoirs
tess guinery