What Defines a Photographer in Southeast Michigan?

 Photography for Families, Brands, and Real People

They always ask, “So… what kind of photos do you take?” As if there’s a neat, tidy label I can slap on like a name tag: Hello, I’m Brian. I shoot smiles and sunsets, please form a line.

But here’s the thing—being a photographer in Southeast Michigan isn’t about one kind of photo. It’s about chasing the unexpected in the middle of the familiar. It’s about being half storyteller, half therapist, and occasionally a circus ringmaster when the toddlers outnumber the adults.

It’s waking up before sunrise to catch fog rolling over a Novi field like it’s trying to sneak past unnoticed. It’s ducking into abandoned buildings near Detroit just to find that perfect shaft of light slicing through dust like a spotlight for ghosts. It’s standing in the freezing cold for forty minutes because the sky might turn pink, and if it does, you’ll want proof.

You learn to read light the way other people read traffic signals. You learn that smiles can lie, but nervous laughter? That can be gold.

A photographer isn’t someone with a fancy camera. A photographer is the person who knows when not to click the shutter. Who sees a tear on a bride’s cheek and waits for the wind to shift the veil just right. Who tells a brand-new dad in downtown Plymouth, “Don’t pose, just hold her. Yep. Like that. Perfect.” And who doesn’t flinch when the kid suddenly sneezes directly on their lens.

It’s crawling through wet grass to get eye-level with a toddler who won’t sit still, and saying, “Let’s race,” because the photo you want isn’t a portrait—it’s motion, joy, story. And sometimes, it’s knowing the photo you missed is just as important as the one you caught. The click after the hug. The glance before the kiss. The moment when someone forgets you’re even there. And yes, sometimes it's marketing shoots and doing headshots.

What people in Metro Detroit don’t always realize is that they’re surrounded by stories. It’s in the way a grandma’s hands still move like she’s holding a rolling pin, even when she’s telling you about how she met Grandpa. It’s in the chipped paint of a diner booth where someone first said I love you in 1975 and meant it so hard the air still remembers.

The definition of a photographer? It’s someone who notices. Not just light or shadows—but people. A good photographer makes you feel seen. A great one helps you see yourself a little differently, too.

So, when someone in Southeast Michigan asks, “Are you a wedding photographer? A portrait guy? Do you do senior photos or branding sessions or just art stuff?” I usually smile and say: “I’m a photographer. What do you need to see?”

Because the camera’s just a tool. The eye? The heart? The patience? That’s the real gear.

And hey—if you’re lucky, it all comes together. That is what defines a photographer.