When I was a kid, my dad used to play this game with me- he’d leave the room, change his shirt or switch his hat, come back in, and wait to see how long it took me to notice. (Spoiler: not long.) Soon after I mastered this game, we became addicted to the TV show Lie To Me, a show all about microexpressions and body language. Mix all that together, and I grew quite a knack for reading people and situations, even when words were unspoken.

I was nineteen when I turned my camera around and showed a friend the photo I had just taken of her. I had carefully posed her, cracked the perfect dorky joke, counted down “three… two…” and click. When she saw the photo, she said, “Wow… I look beautiful,” in a tone that carried both surprise and disbelief. I remember the mix of awe and frustration I felt. How could she not already know that? Maybe it was that observant heart my dad had trained in me, but I could see it

Jay Barr Kirkland

about me

so clearly: her beauty, her joy, her story. And in that moment, I knew this was what I was meant to do, help people see themselves the way I do. The crinkle of their nose when they laugh, how their future husband looks at them, and everything in between.

Before I was ever a photographer, I was a dancer.  I danced through college and my ballet teacher, Mrs. Walker, did not play about lines. She taught me to see how every movement connects, how posture tells a story, how the smallest shift can change the whole picture. Now, I see lines everywhere, in the way a veil moves through light, in the architecture of a venue, down to the way we tilt your head just a fuzz for the most stunning bridal portrait. It all shapes the way I shoot.

All these parts together, my dad showing me whether I should enter a conversation based on where people's feet are pointing, my dancer’s eye, and that early moment of revelation — made me the photographer who can anticipate a tear before it falls, make you feel confident and comfortable in front of the camera, and read the room like I’ve been part of your family dynamic for years.

You might be thinking, that’s great, but why does it matter?

Because you know what’s better than “just” pretty photos?
Photos that connect to a feeling of peace.

The kind of peace that comes from knowing you can fully trust the person documenting your day.
The kind of peace that lets you be present.
That’s what I capture: the calm within the celebration, the beauty that’s already yours, and the joy that will last long after your wedding day. 

I take on a limited number of weddings each year to serve every couple with the time, heart, and intention they deserve. If you’re dreaming of images that feel effortless, emotional, and artfully composed — the kind you’ll still feel in twenty years — I’d love to connect and hear your story.