ABOUT
I'm Emily Bridgman, an artist and observer, drawn to the quiet in-between moments. My work lives at the intersection of refined portraiture and honest, unscripted storytelling. I've been asked by so many people "what do you like to photograph?" and my response is never anything tangible. Instead I find myself listing what I'm feeling. The atmosphere, the light, the sounds.
I believe photographs should not only reflect the beauty that surrounds us, but the depth and humanity within us.
What matters most to me is connection. Building genuine relationships. Earning the trust it takes to step close and see people as they truly are. My approach is equal parts intentional and intuitive, offering gentle guidance where needed, while allowing space for presence, for emotion, for you to simply be.
I’m based in the warm light of Arizona, but I will always follow your story wherever it unfolds. My life is deeply anchored by my family and my faith. I consider this work a calling, a way to reflect back the wonder of how we were created, and to honor the sacredness of love in all its forms.
It is never lost on me what a privilege it is to witness your most meaningful moments.
I am truly honored to tell your story.
"I think you have to be true to your own passion and your own sense of what excites you as a storyteller." – C.N
It's easy to get swept up by the spectacle of the wedding world, but a recent wedding reminded me that the richest moments aren’t always the most grand. They’re the ones steeped in human connection. And this wedding changed the way I approach my work.
It was a hot June day in Salt Lake City, the kind where the breeze feels like opening a preheated oven. I started my morning with a coffee and a yap sesh with an old friend, then made my way to the wedding, unknowingly stepping into a number of moments that would stay with me long after.
I remember arriving at the chateau where the bride was getting ready. Opening the front doors to a beautiful landing and grand staircase felt like stepping into a scene from Home Alone—family, cousins, nieces and nephews running all over the place, completely unaware of the person who just walked through the door. The bride had chosen to have all seven of her nieces as flower girls, so in every direction there were streaks of bows, ribbons, lace, and the unmistakable sound of giggling.
When the bride saw her groom for the first time, I immediately noticed the excitement welling up in her eyes. They embraced and started gabbing about the beautiful space and the lively energy of the home. She’s the kind of bride who laughs with her whole body, and he’s the kind of groom who notices when her hands get cold and reaches for them instinctively. In that moment, chaos reigned all around us, but not for them. It was like they were the only two in the room.
I’ve been to weddings with hundreds of guests, loud families, and even one where something literally caught fire (yes!! a story for another time). But rarely have I seen a couple so unaffected by the chaos around them. They didn’t perform their love; they simply lived in it. And that subtlety is what stayed with me.
I remember listening to the wind travel through the trees during the ceremony, as if playing a symphony just for them. It was intimate, emotional, and belly laughs erupted when the bride snorted into the microphone at her own joke. As the ceremony came to a close, the mood shifted. The guests had drifted indoors. The music had faded. And the playfulness gave way to something more internal, as if the two of them instinctively knew to slow down and take it in.
In her hand, a note, creased and worn from being opened too many times, held his vows—handwritten months ago (or so he claimed) in the quiet of their home. He watched her from a distance, not with urgency, but with a stillness that said, I’ve known you forever. In that hushed pause between ceremony and celebration, something seemed to settle into place. And this. This was what it was all for.
I work with couples who see beauty in the quiet, meaning in the details, and depth in every fleeting glance. For them, a wedding isn’t about the grandeur. It’s about significance. And their photographs must reflect that: not posed, but present. Not trendy, but timeless. More than memories, they become visual heirlooms, passed down through generations as a testament to something enduring and rare.
Because in the end, it’s not about capturing how it looked. It’s about preserving how it felt.
That’s the story I’m here to tell. And if you’ve read this far, perhaps it’s yours too.
my favorite poem
She smelled of books and stories,
Of all the worlds she'd lived withing,
As though the ink had left the pages,
To find a new home in her skin,
She didn't quite belong here,
Lived a life within her head,
Like she'd slipped out from the covers,
Of a paperback instead,
And you'd see it in her eyes,
That they were deeper than a well,
She was a whole library of stories,
That we'd beg of her to tell,
When she spoke the world would listen,
To the adventures of her mind,
For if there's such thing as magic,
Then it was something she could find,
And her heart had looked much further,
Than her heart had ever seen,
She'd walked on words to places,
Her two feet had never been,
It's years now since she's moved,
And we all failed to keep in touch,
So her memory's all faded,
Like a book you've read to much,
But if she hoped to leave us ink-stained,
She should know she did succeed,
For even now we all still look for her,
In every book we read.
friends & family
hobbies
my husband <3
travel
