As a kid, I remember walking into the circus. Before the show even started, that enormous tent transformed an empty field into The Greatest Show on Earth. It wasn't just a cover; it created an entirely different world.
As we got older, the tents got a little more sophisticated. Cirque du Soleil introduced us to beautifully engineered structures with climate control and an even greater sense of anticipation. But the feeling was the same. You stepped inside, and reality stayed outside.
Over the years, some of my favorite tents have been the ones built for weddings.
I still remember my cousin's backyard wedding in the 1980s. A huge tent was constructed in my aunt and uncle's yard, and while I don't remember every detail of the reception, I vividly remember my Uncle Joe walking around saying to everyone, "This thing cost me an arm and a leg... ten thousand dollars!"
At the time, that number seemed unimaginable.
Years later, as I became a wedding photographer, I often thought about Uncle Joe. If someone invests that much into creating a beautiful space that's only going to exist for one evening, it deserves to be remembered. That became part of how I approached photographing weddings.
One of my earliest lessons came while working for my mentor, Monte Zucker. After the reception had begun, he quietly carried his Hasselblad outside, set it on a tripod, and simply... waited. For nearly twenty minutes.
He was waiting for those perfect few minutes of dusk when the sky still held color and the lights inside the tent began to glow. When I later saw the developed negative, I understood. He hadn't just photographed a tent, he had captured the atmosphere, the anticipation, and all the work that went into creating that magical space.
A few years later, while working for Andy Marcus Studios in New York, I photographed a wedding at The Plaza Hotel. The ballroom had been transformed into an indoor tent, complete with grass covering the floor. As a 25-year-old photographer, I remember thinking this temporary masterpiece probably cost more than my childhood home. (Sorry, Uncle Joe... this one definitely topped your $10,000 tent.)
That experience reinforced something I've never forgotten: these incredible environments often take days to build, are enjoyed for only six or eight hours, and then disappear forever.
Unless someone takes the time to photograph them.
So, if you're planning a tent wedding, choose a photographer who is passionate about every part of your celebration, not just the people, but the details, the atmosphere, and yes... even the tent.
Because long after it's been taken down, your photographs will be the only place where that magical little world still exists.
