Why I Don't Put a Limit on Images
One of the questions I get asked pretty often is:
"How many images will we receive?"
It's a fair question.
Most photographers deliver a specific number of images. Some photographers deliver 20. Others deliver 50. Some deliver 100.
There isn't necessarily a right or wrong way to do it.
It's simply how many photographers choose to run their business.
But for me, I've never been able to look at photography that way.
Because when I think about photographs, I don't see files.
I don't see download numbers.
I don't see image counts.
I see memories.
And memories are incredibly difficult to put a number on.
As I've gotten older, I've realized something that I didn't fully understand when I first picked up a camera.
Photographs become more valuable with time.
Not less.
When we're taking them, it's easy to focus on the present.
We're worried about outfits.
We're worried about whether our kids are behaving.
We're worried about whether our hair is cooperating with Texas humidity.
We're worried about whether everyone is looking at the camera.
But years later, none of those things matter.
What matters are the people in the photographs.
What matters are the memories attached to them.
What matters is having something tangible to hold onto when life inevitably changes.
And life always changes.
There are two people in my life who taught me that lesson in a way I never expected.
My best friend, Sam, passed away in 2016 after a tragic car accident shortly after we graduated high school.
A couple of years later, my Nana passed away after battling lung and brain cancer.
Both losses happened much earlier than I ever imagined they would.
And both completely changed the way I look at photographs.
When someone you love is gone, photographs suddenly become much more than photographs.
They become pieces of a story.
A connection to a moment you can never revisit.
A reminder of a laugh, a smile, or a season of life that existed once and now only lives on through memories.
There are photos of Sam that I have looked at hundreds of times.
There are photos of my Nana that I will probably look at for the rest of my life.
Not because they're technically perfect.
Not because they're framed perfectly.
Not because they would win awards.
But because they remind me of people I love.
People I miss.
People whose stories still matter.
Those photographs help keep their memories alive.
And honestly, that's one of the biggest reasons I photograph the way I do.
When I'm photographing a session, I'm obviously looking for the big moments.
The smiling-at-the-camera photo.
The family portrait that gets printed and hung above the fireplace.
The image that becomes a Christmas card.
But I'm also paying attention to the little things.
The things that seem ordinary in the moment.
Because I've learned that those are often the photographs people treasure most later.
The way your toddler reaches for your hand.
The way your husband looks at your kids when he thinks nobody is watching.
The way your daughter curls up beside you.
The way your grandparents hold their grandchildren.
The way your senior laughs when talking about their plans for the future.
The way a newly engaged couple looks at each other right after the proposal.
Those moments matter too.
And I never want someone to lose a meaningful memory simply because it didn't fit within an image limit.
Over the years, I've had clients tell me that some of their favorite images weren't the ones they initially expected to love.
Sometimes it's a candid moment tucked between poses.
Sometimes it's an interaction that lasted less than a second.
Sometimes it's a photograph they almost overlooked when they first received their gallery.
But then life happens.
Kids grow.
Parents age.
Grandparents pass away.
Relationships evolve.
And suddenly that "extra" photo becomes one of the most important photographs they own.
I think that's what makes photography so special.
We don't always know which moments will mean the most later.
We only know they mattered once they're gone.
That's why I deliver all of your best images.
Not because it's trendy.
Not because it's expected.
Not because it's easier.
I do it because I genuinely believe memories shouldn't be limited by a number.
If a photograph helps tell your story, I want you to have it.
If it captures a meaningful interaction, I want you to have it.
If it preserves a memory that may someday become priceless, I want you to have it.
Every gallery I deliver includes:
- All best edited images
- Color versions
- Black and white versions
- Unlimited downloads
Because I believe your memories deserve to be preserved completely.
Not partially.
Not selectively.
Completely.
At the end of the day, photography has never been about image counts for me.
It's about people.
It's about preserving moments that can never be recreated.
It's about giving families something to hold onto long after a season of life has passed.
Because if there's one thing I've learned through both photography and life, it's this:
The moments we think we'll remember forever are often the ones that fade the fastest.
Photographs help us hold onto them a little longer.
And sometimes, that means everything.
