If you've spent any time in Park City, you know the White Barn. It sits just off the highway at McPolin Farm, quiet and iconic, the kind of place that stops you mid-scroll when it shows up in someone's feed. Photographers flock to it at golden hour. Families pose in front of it. It is, without question, one of the most beloved landmarks in this valley.
But my connection to the White Barn isn't the one you might expect.
I'm Not That Kind of Photographer
I don't show up with a camera and a tripod at sunrise to capture the barn in perfect light — though I have nothing but respect for the artists who do. My work lives somewhere else entirely: in composites and storytelling, in the magical and the made-up, in images that feel more like illustrations from a storybook than photographs from a session.
So when the White Barn shows up in my work, it shows up differently.
I Spy Park City: When the White Barn Became a Game
During Covid, like so many of us, I was looking for ways to stay connected to the community I love. I started a little project called I Spy Park City — a series where I'd create magical, whimsical worlds and hide something locally recognizable inside them. Locals would scroll through, spot the clue, and guess the location. It was joyful and a little silly and exactly what we all needed at the time.
One of those pieces featured an old vintage bathtub — the kind that tells a story all on its own — that lives at the White Barn property. I tucked it into one of my composites, surrounded by the kind of dreamlike scenery I love to create, and watched people light up when they recognized it.
That tub became more than a prop. It became a bridge between my imaginary worlds and the real, beautiful place we all call home.
The Portrait That Started at the White Barn BBQ
A while later, I was at the White Barn BBQ — the annual event where you can tour the farmhouse and the whole community shows up. I started talking with a couple, grandparents whose eyes lit up when they described their family.
They had grandchildren scattered across busy lives, different schedules, the kind of logistics that make a traditional "everyone together at the same time" portrait feel practically impossible. But they had a dream: all their grandchildren, together, in one image.
'I know it sounds crazy,' one of them said. I smiled. Crazy is kind of my specialty.
That conversation became The Mitchell Grandchildren — one of my favorite pieces in my Storytellers collection. Rather than attempting the impossible task of wrangling everyone into the same physical space, I created a scene: the grandchildren gathered together on their grandparents' own farm, in a world that felt real and warm and true to who they are, even if it couldn't have been captured with a single click of a shutter.
It's the kind of portrait that doesn't just show what a family looks like. It captures each child in their element — the reader, the runner, the adventurer, the little one just finding their way.
See The Mitchell Grandchildren and more Storyteller pieces here.
What the White Barn Taught Me
I think the reason the White Barn resonates so deeply — with photographers, with families, with anyone who drives past it on a snowy morning — is that it carries a sense of permanence in a world that moves fast. It says: this place has history. This moment matters.
That's what I try to do with every image I create. Not just capture a moment, but make it feel like it was always meant to exist.
If you have a story you've been wanting to tell — a family scattered across time zones, grandchildren who are never all in the same place, a chapter of your life that deserves to be more than a snapshot — I'd love to hear it.
That's where my work begins.