Golden, British Columbia
I do hair. I photograph the northern lights.
Both are the same job.
Gilded Beauty & Co.
Braiding, head spa, bridal.
Gilded Skies
Aurora and mountain photography.
The same eye
The northern lights don’t appear because you’re in a hurry. They ask for patience — for standing somewhere cold, alone, long past the point where it seems reasonable, on the chance that the sky does something.
Hair asks the same thing, more quietly. Someone sits down in front of you and hands over more trust than they’d give most people in their life. You can’t rush what happens next. You can only pay attention closely enough to notice when it arrives.
I don’t separate those parts of who I am.
Nobody watches this alone
if they can help it.
That’s most of it, really. The sky is better with someone standing next to you. So is a difficult week, and a wedding morning, and an ordinary Tuesday in the middle of February.
You don’t need it.
None of this is necessary and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. You will get through a winter in Golden with unwashed hair and bare walls.
But it’s damn nice. That’s the honest pitch, and it’s the only one I’ve got.
Some of this is hair. Some of it is the sky.
I’ve stopped separating them.
