On the Wild River: Why I Paint Weddings

On the weekends, when I'm not painting at a wedding, we escape to our quiet place on the Alabama river.
It’s peaceful there — no traffic, no schedule, just the soft rustle of the trees and the call of birds overhead. Mornings drift in slowly, with mist rising off the water and light filtering through the oaks. My husband John and I spend our time boating, fishing, watching turtles sunbathe on logs, or simply sitting still, listening to the wind in the grass. I bring my paints and brushes to capture what I see: wildflowers blooming where they please, tangled vines clinging to old branches, light dancing on the water.

My painting, "Alabama River Cliffs" based on our time on the river.

There’s something sacred about the way nature thrives without needing permission — how it insists on beauty even in the most overlooked places.
That’s also what draws me to paint weddings.
There’s a moment in every ceremony — sometimes during the vows, sometimes in a quiet glance — when a couple truly sees each other. In a room full of people, it’s as if time slows down, and their love becomes the only thing that matters.

Sara and Jayce's wedding painting, June 2025.

For much of my life, I longed for that feeling.
I didn’t always feel seen or heard. My early years were heavy, shaped by fear and shame and silence.
I often believed I had to be someone else — better, more perfect, more worthy — to matter at all.
But life, like nature, has a way of breaking through the hard ground.

John and I on our wedding day in 2009.

I met John, and we’ve been happily, joyfully married for over 15 years. Our little river place isn’t fancy, but it’s full of peace — a place where we’ve learned to slow down, love simply, and really see each other.

Victoria and Bailey's painting, September 2024.

When I stand behind my easel at a wedding, I bring all of that with me:
My deep appreciation for beauty, my gratitude for quiet love, and my belief that everyone deserves to be seen and celebrated for who they are — just as they are.

Photo by Creative Dust

Because love, at its best, is a little wild. A little unexpected. And endlessly worthy of being painted.

Love, 
Kitty