Some venues do half the work for you. Fern Hill Barn is one of them — hillside views rolling out in every direction, that kind of barn-wood-and-string-lights warmth that photographs itself, and light in the late afternoon that turns everything gold. But the reason this film works isn't the backdrop. It's Tori and Jesus, and the fact that not one moment in it was staged.
That's the whole approach here: no posed walk-throughs, no "do that again for the camera." I shoot the day as it's actually unfolding, then color grade it with the same warm, film-like tone across every wedding — because a wedding shouldn't look like content you scroll past. It should look like something you'd want to sit down and watch again in ten years.
Spencer, Massachusetts sits about an hour outside Boston, tucked into rolling countryside that feels a world away from the coast — a different kind of New England beauty than the salt-air weddings I usually cover, but just as cinematic in its own right. Fern Hill Barn leans into that: rustic without trying too hard, elegant without losing the charm of an actual barn. Tori and Jesus's day made full use of it — golden light spilling across the hillside during portraits, the tent glowing from the inside as the reception picked up, and a couple who looked completely like themselves the entire time, not like they were performing for a lens.
That's the argument for documentary wedding film, every time. Not that it's a nicer version of photography, but that it's the only format that actually holds onto the feeling of a day like this — the light, the noise, the way two people look at each other when they think no one's watching closely. A photo holds a second. A film holds the whole thing.
If you're planning a wedding somewhere in New England — barn, coastline, backyard, doesn't matter — and you want it captured the way it actually felt instead of the way it was supposed to look, that's the work I do.
Locations
July 9th, 2026