One photograph fills both pages, giving the tiled pool room as much presence as the portrait.
Telling a Whole Wedding Story in Print
There’s a book on display in my loft from Nancy and Anthony’s wedding at Pleasantdale Chateau in West Orange, New Jersey. When I pull it partway out of its slipcase, I can see the suede spine and the uneven edges of the paper. There are 110 leaves in this one, 220 page sides in all. The book is twelve and a half by fifteen and a half inches closed. Once it’s open on the table, you can begin to see what that size does for a photograph.
Nancy and Anthony’s Deckle Edition measures 12½ × 15½ inches closed, with a suede spine and a matching distressed leather slipcase.
A Photograph Should Be Able to Hold the Page
That’s the standard I set for myself when I design a wedding book. Most of the pages in Nancy and Anthony’s book carry a single photograph. A quiet frame needs to be able to hold your attention just as well as one with a room full of people in it. That matters to me across a book this long. I want to tell the whole story, including the moments that give the bigger ones their meaning, and still make you curious about the next page.
One black-and-white spread pairs a close photograph of Nancy behind her veil with a wider view of the church steps. Your eye can stay with her for a moment before crossing to the church. The two photographs are doing different work. One gives you an expression to spend time with. The other gives you a sense of where you are.
A quiet portrait of Nancy faces a wider view of the church, shifting the reader’s attention from expression to place.
When a Photograph Needs Both Pages
The portrait of Nancy and Anthony in the tiled pool room runs across the open book. The blue panes and green tile fill much of the left page. On the right, you come to their faces beside a striped column. At this size there’s room to see the texture in the windows and still come back to the two of them. That’s when I like to use a double-page spread. I’ll bring several smaller photographs together when their relationship tells you something you couldn’t get from any one of them alone.
Another spread places a close portrait beside a wider photograph of the couple in front of the château. I like what happens when those two distances meet at the fold. You can look at the couple up close, then let your eye travel past them into the grounds. I think about that change of distance when I’m photographing, and I get to work with it again when I put the book together.
Two portraits on facing pages let the eye move from the couple to the grounds around them.
The Paper Is Part of the Experience
The torn edges of 110 watercolor-paper leaves are visible before the book is opened.
This book has a suede spine, a distressed leather cover and a matching leather slipcase. The photographs are printed on thick, off-white watercolor paper that feels soft under your fingertips. Each leaf has a deckle edge, the irregular edge left by tearing the paper. From the side, you can see the different tones of the printed photographs in the stack before you’ve turned a single page.
What I like about leaving the book out in the loft is that I can pick it up and find myself stopping somewhere different. I know the photographs. I know where they go. There’s still a chance I’ll stay on a page for a reason I hadn’t considered when I put it there.
The open book shows how the thick watercolor paper curves into the suede binding.
See how I photograph weddings at Pleasantdale Chateau. If you’re interested in having me photograph your wedding and design a book from the work, you can inquire with me directly.