She kept looking at the wall.

The photos were everywhere, smiling faces, carefully framed, hung in a place of importance. They seemed to say: our kids are everything, and we know it.

But as she stared at those portraits, her heart sank. Because she couldn't help wondering, why weren't her own pictures ever displayed like that? Why didn't she feel that important in her own home? What made her friends so cherished, and not her?

She never asked. She just felt sad, confused, and smaller than she should have. And she made herself a quiet, fierce little promise: when I become a mother, my children's faces will be on the walls. They will never wonder.

That little girl was me.

And every single portrait I create carries that promise with it.

Because I know what it feels like to walk past a wall and not see yourself on it. And I know what it means to a child, even one who can't quite put it into words yet — to look up and see their own face displayed like art. Like they matter. Like they are, without question, the most important thing in the room.

That's not just photography. That's a message that lives on your walls every single day.

 So. Hi. I'm Courtney, and now you know the important part.

I'm a Certified Professional Photographer and Master Photographer based in Pullman, WA, which is a fancy way of saying I've spent years obsessing over light, posing, and making people look so good they do a double take at their own images.

Some people call it a photography session. I call it dinner and a show, minus the breadsticks, plus Starbucks. From the moment you book to the moment your artwork goes up on your wall, every single detail is handled. I think of it as the photographer's version of a full production, and I love every second of it.

I compete in photography competitions because apparently I need more things to be passionate about, but honestly, getting to create what's in my artist's mind and then be judged for it? That fuels something in me I can't explain. Pretty sure every creative has some form of ADHD. We call it inspiration.

I'm also a breast cancer survivor. Which means I understand, in a very personal, very real way, what it means to want to be seen while you're here. To not put it off. To stop waiting until everything is perfect before you show up for the people you love.

I wrote that last part for you, by the way. Not just for me.

When I'm not behind a camera I'm in the middle of writing a children's chapter book series — Ellie's Adventures in Archaeology — and actively looking for a literary agent. So if you happen to know one, no pressure, just saying. 😄

I love Jesus, rain and thunder, and the sound of waves crashing. My perfect day involves sun warming my skin, waves in the distance, children laughing, and absolutely nowhere to be, ideally with a nap somewhere in the middle. I camp, I fish, and I apparently have a thing for medical dramas, which my husband suspects is because I've seen the inside of an OR more times than any one person reasonably should. Pretty sure I could scrub in at this point. Stat.

I'm a mom to a son with ADHD, which means my husband is living with two of us, and that man deserves a medal and approximately one full hour of complete silence. We're working on it.

And listen, I am personally acquainted with back fat and we have a complicated relationship. I used to think I needed to wait until I felt ready. Until I felt smaller, more polished, more put together. Then I became a breast cancer survivor and I stopped waiting for a lot of things. When you show up to your session feeling less than perfect, I want you to know: me too. I see you. And I'm still going to make you look absolutely incredible.

Here's what I know for sure.

You are going to walk past these portraits every single day. I want you to feel something every time you do, proud, grateful, maybe just a little smug that your walls look that good.

And your kids? They're going to grow up knowing exactly where they stand. Not because you told them. Because you showed them.

That wall doesn't lie.

Let's make it say something worth hearing.

If you've actually read this far you're either incredibly thorough, or bored out of your mind with nothing better to do. Either way, I'm impressed. And honestly? I'd love to hear your story too. Maybe over coffee. I'll bring the Starbucks.