Hello, I'm Andrew

Wedding Photographer — Sheffield, Yorkshire & across the UK

I didn't grow up thinking I'd photograph weddings. Who does. Astronaut, fighter pilot, police officer, that sort of thing. I did the police one, for six years, as it happens. Ask me about it over a coffee.

Photography began properly in 2016. I was working as a Project Manager at a university, and my partner, Shaun, was heading off to Hong Kong over the summer to do some architecture work. I needed something to focus on while he was away, and between us, sat pondering with a cocktail in the Botanist in Manchester, we landed on photography. I bought an Olympus the following day.

I didn't really know what I was doing with it. I found a series of tutorial videos by a guy called Ben Long and threw myself into them, on my breaks, while I was ironing, right before bed, picking up a concept and then practising it the next day. It began with seeing the world around me as a collection of light and dark shapes, learning how each setting affected the final image, and ended up with me taking my camera on street photography walks around Sheffield during my lunch, making an interesting photograph out of whatever was in front of me.

Wedding photographer in a green cap and backpack crouching in a narrow street in Manchester, holding a camera up to take a photo, seen from over his shoulder.

It was on one of those walks, in Sheffield Market, that I met a florist called Karon (Meadows and Mulberry Weddings). I'd been photographing whatever the market was doing that lunchtime, her flower stall included. She said I should look into weddings. I hadn't really considered it. What I'd seen of wedding photography was soft and staged, lit to look romantic and effortless, and none of it looked like anything I'd choose to point a camera at. It's not a criticism, it's just not the shape my eye had ever gone looking for. It turns out a fair few couples feel the same way about their own wedding photos.

A street photograph of person walking alone into a lit underpass at night in Sheffield, beneath a large concrete building lit in blue.

What it’s made me

Street photography taught me to read a space before anything happens in it, who's about to move, where the light's about to fall. Watching for a moment, and reading a space to know what may be coming next. That's most of a wedding for me.

I'm also an introvert, and a natural watcher rather than a performer, which is probably why I understand exactly what it's like to stand somewhere with nothing to do but be looked at. I only feel comfortable in front of people when I've got a job to do. Most couples find themselves without one during portraits, so I try to give them one, however small, rather than just leaving them to stand there.

A man in a suit and striped tie sitting on an orange space hopper on a lawn at wedding at Hackness Grange, with a rugby ball on the grass and a "No ball games" sign behind him.
Bride and groom laughing and holding hands as they walk down a narrow lane between old stone buildings at The Venue in Halifax, the groom carrying her bouquet.
Couple laughing and huddled together under a clear striped umbrella on a rainy street in Manchester's Northern Quarter, with potted plants blurred in the foreground.

Watching is only half of it. The other half is where I'm standing when the moment arrives. I still see a space the way I learned to in those first months, as shapes of light and dark, and wait for someone to step into the right one. Wes Anderson's films have always been an inspiration there, precise, symmetrical, considered, frames that hold a lot without anyone needing to perform for them. So when a doorway frames someone perfectly, or a line of guests falls into symmetry on its own, it's rarely by accident.

I don't leave the rest to chance either. The planning starts well before the day, the timeline, the running order, working out who's doing what and when with the venue and the other suppliers, so nothing's left to luck on the one day it actually matters. The same care carries through afterwards. One copy of every memory card stays in the camera, in my bag, and the other's in my pocket, never off my person until it's safely backed up, even when I pick up the pizza on the drive home. That's the only version of "I'll handle the photos" I actually believe in.


“Thank you so much! It was so nice sitting together and getting to remember the whole day again. You were literally everywhere at all times and I can't thank you enough for capturing it all for us.”

Bride in a flower headpiece and a dress laced with red ribbon chatting with guests outside the arched wooden doorway of The Mowbray, a red brick building with "1889" carved above the entrance.
— Sara & David The Mowbray, Sheffield, 2025

The rest of the time

A white Land Rover in the Lake District with a tent open on its roof and a ladder leaning against its side, lit from inside, parked on open grassland at dusk under a cloudy sky.

I'm Yorkshire born, from a small village just outside Barnsley, and I've never really lost the habit of saying what I mean.

Home is near Sheffield, with Shaun, two kids and two cats, one of whom has a habit of wandering into video calls, so if we speak before your wedding there's a fair chance you'll meet her.

Most of our spare time goes on fixing up the house or getting outdoors. Last winter we bought a sixteen-year-old Land Rover Defender, and we're slowly turning it into a camper. No mistakes so far, unless you count buying it. It's taken us to the Peak District, the Lakes and Scotland more than anywhere else lately.

If your wedding is further afield, Shaun will often come along and we'll make a weekend of it, usually ending with a wander round the antiques shops. He looks at the furniture. I drift towards old cameras, second-hand books and anything to do with aviation.


Questions

Anything else? Just ask


Ready to have a chat about your wedding plans? Check out my packages and pricing →