Hi, I’m Whitney Schey.

Although, if you know me through photography, you probably know me as Whitney Darling — my camera-girly alias that’s been around since I first started photographing weddings in 2009.

I was born in Newport Beach and now live in Huntington Beach with my husband, our four daughters and two sons. My husband is a local pastor, the wisest man I’ve ever known, and thank God because life around here is generally loud, busy, and never particularly boring.

My husband describes me as footloose and fancy free, which is probably the most accurate description anyone has ever come up with.

I’m a little whimsical. Delightfully Type B. I make more U-turns than I’d like to admit and better at following a feeling than following a spreadsheet. By the grace of God, I’ve also been given a pretty strong ability to stay present.

I’ve always been endlessly curious in people and much more interested in stories than things. Current rotation for good times include: bike rides along the riverbed, ordering an unreasonable amount of food so everyone can enjoy family-style, funky and offbeat styling, pranking people never gets old, and truly will almost never turn down a good dare, which probably tells you a decent amount about me.

I love people who are vulnerable. And man, I truly appreciate good listeners. I admire people who are deeply, almost weirdly, enthusiastic about something. People who will happily tell you why they love it and somehow make you care about it too. Even if I have no idea what they’re talking about. Like, those are my people.

I’m also deeply obsessed with old homes, gardens, architecture, and the South. I live a mile from the beach and somehow consider myself much more of a lake girly. Give me Tennessee, Charleston, giant swaying trees, rolling green hills, an old house and a few goats and I’m pretty much ready to pack the car.

I also irrationally hate the color purple.

I have no good explanation for this.

I just do.

And then there’s photography.

I’ve had a camera in my hands for as long as I can remember, and somewhere along the way it became a business. But honestly, photographing people has never really felt like work to me. I care deeply about making photographs with guts and glory, and I’ll happily grind for the ones that have it.

It kind of feels like an extension of everything that I already am, even without the camera.

I don’t have to think too hard about it. I notice things. I notice people. The crooked smile that shows up right before someone really starts laughing. The way someone leans into the person they love without even realizing they’re doing it.

Those are the things I’m looking for. The little tells. The stuff you couldn’t recreate if you tried. I notice when someone is trying too hard and when they finally let go. I notice the light falling across an old front porch or the way a dress moves when someone is walking.

It just comes naturally to me.

And I think that's why I’ve never been terribly interested in the perfectly posed family photo where everyone is standing in a neat little row, smiling directly at me. Honestly, that sounds exhausting and I don’t want it.

And please, for the love of all things good, don't spend your session yelling at your kids to smile.

Let them be weird. Let them run off. Let them ignore me. Let them be four. I can handle the kids. I've got six of my own.

I’ll give you direction when you need it, but mostly I want you to relax enough to forget I'm there. To be present and the best version of you— unhurried and attentive to all of the good you’ve been given.

Because the photographs I love most aren't necessarily the prettiest ones.

They're the ones that answer Where did the time go?

The missing front tooth. The way your baby reaches for your face. Your husband's hand on your lower back. The kitchen covered in crumbs, and the dog at your feet.

The things that feel so ordinary while you're living them and somehow become the things you would give anything to have back.

I want to photograph all of that.

Not just what your family looked like.

What your family felt like, let me hold that for you.