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Photographer Nguyen Son Tung, born in 1974 and living in Lang Son, is known by the familiar name Tung Yao. He has spent six years living with the Dao community, dedicating his heart and soul to understanding and documenting the culture, customs, and rituals of one of the most distinctive ethnic minority groups in Vietnam.
Photographer Nguyen Son Tung
It all started with a wedding in the early morning mist.
I didn't initially intend to choose the highlands as the setting for my wedding photos. But a chance encounter with a wedding ceremony of the Dao Lo Gang people on Mau Son mountain changed everything. Since then, I've traveled to various villages to photograph weddings for young couples, not to create a story, but to tell the story of what already exists: beautiful, quiet, and rich in culture.
Everything began so naturally, without stage lights, without a pristine white wedding dress, just a vibrant red hand-embroidered gown, a brightly colored outfit... the echoing sound of the bamboo flute, laughter in the early morning mist. I stood silently watching the wedding unfold, forgetting to take pictures because I found it beautiful in a quiet and profound way, a beauty that slowly seeped into my mind like the thin mist that gently enveloped the mountains and forests that day.
After that moment, I realized: wedding photos are not just about capturing a moment; they can be a way to preserve culture. Each wedding outfit, each ceremony, each smile in a highland wedding carries a part of the ethnic identity. And so I started returning to the villages, not to "stage wedding photos," but to tell a love story in the mountains, through the most authentic experiences.
Taking wedding photos in the highlands isn't simply about "going and shooting," it's a real journey, both physically and mentally. There were remote villages I had to cross three mountain passes and walk several kilometers along dirt roads to reach. Often, I'd stay overnight in the village, share meals with the locals, and get acquainted with their way of life before even thinking about taking pictures.
Each photoshoot is a collaboration with the people and communities there. They showed me the best angles for shooting, the most important rituals, and even how to position the bride and groom to be both beautiful and traditional. I received a lot of help from acquaintances of the bride and groom, people from the same village, or even strangers in the village. Thanks to this, each photoshoot is no longer just a "wedding shoot," but an emotional journey, where everyone contributes to telling a genuine and heartwarming story.
Unplanned moments
There are moments that weren't part of any plan, yet they're what I'll remember forever, both in memory and in photographs. I remember an early morning in the Lo Gang Dao village, the sun just breaking through after a cold, rainy night. The Dao bride, wearing a hand-embroidered dress, held a bouquet of wildflowers hastily picked by the rice paddies. As we walked into the middle of the terraced fields, a thin layer of mist suddenly descended like a light white curtain. The bride and groom stood hand in hand in the mist, posing and speaking. I just raised my camera and snapped a picture. It was an incredibly beautiful moment, a blend of nature and the inner tranquility of two people in love.
Once, while we were taking photos, it suddenly started raining, and the whole crew took shelter in a small stilt house. The homeowner, an elderly Dao woman, looked at the bride, then gently took out a traditional headscarf and said, "Let me tie it so that the bride looks like a Dao girl getting married." The bride was moved to tears. In that moment, the photograph was not just art, but a part of a collective memory.
I've seen many wedding photos taken in studios, with polished concepts, perfect lighting, and careful styling. Those photos might be beautiful, but to me, that beauty is sometimes too clean, too perfect, to the point of lacking the breath of real life.
Personally, I don't "design" the story for the bride and groom; instead, I quietly follow, observe, feel, and record weddings that are rich in the culture, customs, and beliefs of each ethnic group in the highlands. I believe that wedding photos are not only for preserving the beauty of the couple, but also a part of the community's memory. A brocade dress embroidered by my mother's own hands, a wedding procession in a red-earth courtyard, the gaze of a grandmother standing by the fireplace... all have their own voice. And for me, it is these simple things that are the most worthy of preserving.
Wedding attire - Cultural posture of the Dao people
I wouldn't dare say I fully understand the wedding attire of the ethnic groups in the highlands, as each group has its own aesthetic system, a world of colors and symbols that is very profound. But I'm fortunate to have accompanied and documented weddings that are deeply rooted in the culture of the Dao people, especially the Lo Gang Dao in Lang Son. Every time I see a bride wearing a traditional wedding dress, I always feel that it's not just clothing, but a cultural expression. The elaborate layers of fabric, the meticulous hand embroidery, the headscarf, the red tassels, and the heavy silver jewelry around the neck… all create a whole that is both vibrant and solemn, as if carrying the very soul of the village.
Each Dao wedding dress (wedding outfit) I've documented is a traditional work of art, the culmination of a learning and teaching process passed down through generations. Dao women, such as mothers, grandmothers, and brides, often begin learning embroidery from a young age, sometimes spending a whole year sewing to complete a single elaborate wedding outfit.
The wedding attire of the Dao Lo Gang people typically consists of a four-panel long dress with a front slit, an embroidered bodice underneath, combined with silver stars, beads, a white belt with black patterns, and a silver chain hanging loosely at the hips. All these elements blend together, creating a beauty that is both elegant and radiant, close to nature and reflecting the local cultural identity.
The hand-embroidered motifs on the bodice, headscarf, and dress often depict birds, pine trees, and stars – symbols carrying wishes for good fortune, fertility, and a fulfilling life. Each stitch is meticulously woven, with bright colors while still maintaining the traditional spirit: red, black, white, and indigo. This combination makes the wedding dress more than just an outfit; it's a silent declaration of culture and belief.
Dao wedding ceremony - Where culture comes alive in every ritual.
In the traditional wedding of the Dao Lo Gang people in Mau Son, the rituals are preserved in their original form, unfolding step by step like a vibrant cultural chronicle. For me, each ritual is not just a ceremony but a story, a thread connecting the past, present, and future.
I was fortunate enough to witness traditional Dao weddings, where marriage is not just a matter between two people, but a festival for the village, family, and ancestors. Each ritual is not only symbolic but also an expression of community bonding, from the engagement to the official wedding ceremony. Both families participate directly: mothers embroider dresses, fathers carry the wedding gifts, and elders play the flute to welcome the bride. The entire village immerses itself in the festive atmosphere with the sounds of flutes, laughter, and the resounding echoes of the pí lè flute as the wedding takes place at night. The community's role is not just to witness, but to be an integral part of the ceremony. They offer blessings, share meals, and even help set up natural photo frames with the sunrise or the shimmering firelight at night. The wedding is like a familiar panoramic painting, steeped in culture and overflowing with human warmth.
At Dao Thanh Y's wedding, the ritual of tying the red thread once sent shivers down my spine: the groom's family had to perform singing, solve riddles, or present gifts so that the shaman could gradually untie the red thread at the gate before allowing them in – a moment both lively and deeply culturally significant. When the bride stepped over the red thread and the bowl of fire, removed her veil, and was offered a cup of wine by the shaman, it was a moment when the ancestors witnessed the union, their bond sealed by belief, faith, and blessings for a lasting marriage.
Today, the public not only wants beautiful wedding photos but also a unique story. The highlands fully fulfill this desire with their pristine beauty, cultural soul, and authenticity that cannot be replicated at resorts or beaches. Wedding photos taken in the villages serve as a bridge connecting personal love with cultural roots.
Modernity, if any, comes from my perspective, my use of light, framing, composition, and visual rhythm. I place cultural symbols within a broader context, for example, a bride in a red dress crossing a misty bamboo bridge, or a groom wearing a traditional headscarf sitting by a fireplace, the flickering light illuminating his face. These perspectives have a cinematic quality, a contemporary feel, but without losing their local character.
I believe that, if authenticity is maintained, then traditional and modern elements are not contradictory. Tradition is the soul, modernity is the storytelling. When combined harmoniously, wedding photos become a symphony rich in cultural depth, personal emotion, and lasting value. Young people today reconnect with their roots by wearing traditional clothing and preserving traditional rituals not for staging, but out of respect and love for those cultural values.
Wedding photos are not just memories, but also cultural preservation – safeguarding hand-embroidered costumes, ancient rituals, affectionate gazes, and the smoke from the kitchen fires at sunset. Each photo shoot I do in the highlands is a small part of preserving those memories. Because embroidered dresses will fade, wooden houses will be replaced with corrugated iron roofs, and the sound of the flute will gradually fade away… But if the photos are taken correctly, they will forever be vivid evidence. I don't just photograph people, but also memories, so that in the future, when children open their parents' wedding albums, they will realize: "We once had such a beautiful culture."
