19/10/2025
Love isn’t just one thing.
It’s not always bright and joyful and sunshine. Sometimes it’s melancholic. Sometimes it’s heavy. Sometimes it’s that quiet in-between state where you’re just holding on to each other because everything else feels uncertain.
I grew up with The Cure, Joy Division, The Smiths, AFI. That atmospheric, moody sound that sits in your chest. Music that holds complexity, joy and sorrow existing in the same space. Beauty in the darkness. Songs that feel like fog rolling in, like late nights when you can’t sleep, like the weight of everything but somehow still beautiful.
I’ve always been drawn to that mood. So why the f**k would I only photograph one emotional register of love?
That Løkken workshop earlier this year broke something open. We shot grief and loss, a couple in black on a clifftop cemetery, North Sea wind cutting through everything. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t celebration. It was raw and heavy and real.
I realized I’d been limiting what I thought my work could hold.
Lovers Sessions don’t have to be about romance and joy. They can hold the melancholic moments. The weight you carry together. The in-between states that don’t fit the perfect Instagram li(e)fe, but are deeply true.
Some couples come to me not to celebrate but to be seen, in whatever they’re actually going through. Working through something heavy. Finding their way back. Holding on when staying feels harder than leaving. That’s love too.
For couples: If you’re not in that bright, happy phase right now, that’s okay. Your love doesn’t need to be in one specific state to be worth capturing.
For photographers: If you’ve been limiting what your sessions can be, question that. Expand the range. The photographers who break through hold complexity.
The best work comes from being open to the full spectrum of what people actually live.