I quit my job: the story of why I chose to be a construction photographer

I got my first camera in 2016, and during that time I was working for a contractor. They were a small business, 3rd generation family run, and they did the most fascinating work; all high industrial, specialized construction in everything from wastewater treatment to hydroelectric facilities. I spent about a decade at this company, getting to see the inner workings of the places that almost no one gets to see; 100-year-old powerhouses, the underside Snoqualmie Falls, and watching the hair rise up on my arms in the 500kV Switchyard at Grand Coulee Dam. Just like at most small companies I wore a lot of hats; everything from project management to safety management, but what I liked most about this job was being on site. But something happened when I started bringing my camera onto the job site. My daily grind began to give way and my eyes began to open to a new passion, which was using my camera to tell the story of these projects.

(Inner workings of 100+year-old electrical equipment at Shoshone Falls Powerhouse, Twin Falls, ID) Copyright Katie Morton Photography 2023

The more I shot, the more I began seeing a pattern in the format and application of construction photography; I started to see what I believed was a missed opportunity for that company and for other companies as well. I noticed it the most when I was tasked with building the website for that contractor, as well as when reviewing project write-ups for our proposals. I noticed it when drafting our portfolio and choosing which current projects to showcase, and how to feature our company media news, DEI, and press releases. Pretty soon I started to notice it with the prime contractors and owners we were working for as well (typically when I went onto their websites to steal all their graphic design and layout ideas - Hey, there is no fairer form of flattery than imitation, and I was working with the web design experience I had at the time, which was basically none).

So the pattern went like this: I would hop onto a contractor website, and right off the bat I would see beautiful final finished photos or artist renderings of these finished projects (hopefully licensed from the photographer that was hired by the architect), and then a concise and generally boring blurb derived from the project specs describing said photo. Now, I have a keen passion for construction as well as photography, but oddly enough I didn’t feel engaged by this presentation. I found myself wanting more – something almost editorial. Then it dawned on me; as much as I enjoy architectural photography (and it absolutely has its place in construction), I didn’t know that was truly encapsulating what we all know any hard-working contractor is actually selling.

So, what is every hard-working contractor selling? Their brand of course - The unique qualities that make their company distinctive among all others. But aside from a flashy logo and neat project time lapse on their front page - these websites were missing something, a big ‘something’.

This ‘something’ was all the most interesting and compelling photos and details about their work! It was descriptions of the challenges faced, the feasibilities addressed, the who, the how, and the why these projects were so impactful. These ‘somethings’ were the: ‘this is why you should pick us to do the job’ photos. It was photos of their team members and tradesmen – working alongside one another to get the job done. It was the ingenuity, knowledge, creativity, capability, and experience of the old and new guard collectively. It was their stories and the lasting impact of the work they are doing. They were missing their history as it unfolded in real-time as they made their mark on this world - figuratively and literally; they were missing their legacy. These ‘somethings’ were nowhere to be found.

(an employee for MICHELS Foundations stands by as the earth is transformed to make way for a new highrise in downtown Seattle) Copyright Katie Morton Photography 2023

So as I am realizing this, I think to myself: "If only I could find a way to wrap up all of this into one powerhouse product and help these companies capture all of this for the world to see.” The answer was staring me in the face, but in order to be successful, I knew I needed to give it everything I had. So, I did what any crazy person would do in a rough economy: I quit my job and formed my own company as a construction photographer. Fast-forward a year and a half later, I am a certified Washington State vendor, just as well I am registered both Federally and in Washington State as a WBE (women's business enterprise), SBE (Small Business Enterprise), SCS (Small Contractor Supplier for King County), and I am awaiting confirmation of my DBE (Disadvantaged Business Enterprise). In addition, I have amassed a broad range of fantastic clients in a variety of mediums and just secured my first government contract as a sole proprietor.

So now we get to the fun part!

As you may have already noticed I am a passionate person, but I believe that passion is only effective and productive when it is applied toward shared values with my clients, especially if we are going to try and capture the legacy of a company. In my experience, some of the most effective values I look for are authenticity, efficiency, and resourcefulness from the top down – more specifically: giving the right people the right tools and trusting them to get the job done.

When I have these values in place with my clients – we are truly able to put their photos to work for their brand, by capturing the unique qualities that make the company stand out. Most importantly, we are better able to define their legacy and the lasting impact their company is having on their surrounding communities.

Here is the best part, which is where we tie the lasting value of effective construction photography from myself as the photographer to the contractor, to the owner, and finally to the end user:

The values being implemented here aren’t just important to me and my clients, they are important to the entities supplying their contracts and the Municipal, State, and Federal funding for said contracts as well. I know full well based on my experience working in government contracts for a contractor as well as a sole proprietor, that more than ever we are seeing government contracts released with increased requirements for meeting goals in DEI (Diversity, Equality, & Inclusion) utilization, as well as media & community outreach plans. Understanding creative and effective ways to meet these goals is where I come in – I want to be a key resource to help contractors of all sizes meet these requirements, and, get a huge band for their buck.

(We drive by these places every single day, taking for granted what it takes to keep the lights on. Massive transformers at a downtown substation hum under typical Seattle skies) Copyright Katie Morton Photography 2023

Now just imagine that you have access to an experienced construction photographer with not only a comprehensive knowledge of the industry, but a passion for the work that you do specifically – and this photographer gets to apply their knowledge and passion to their work, keeping a mindful approach to some of your strongest core values: like safety and compliance, DEI(diversity, equity & inclusion), and a strong and capable public-facing image. From the owner to the end user - through photography, we can deliver them a compounding legacy that they can be proud of; a story of their project that is worthy of a thousand words. And in doing so, we can secure a more poignant recapitulation of the merit of the work you have done for them.

I am that photographer - and I want to be the one to capture the significance of the work that you’re doing through exceptional construction storytelling.

I have the privilege of working with some exceptional contractors and government entities right now, but I am always looking for my next biggest challenge and I could be your new secret weapon in the field. Knowing where to start is everything, so let’s keep it simple: we start by putting myself in touch with a variety of different roles and responsibilities within your company which could be DEI, communications, community investment, project management, ownership, or digital assets. From here, we forge a relationship and understanding of your company’s media priorities and begin to implement some ideas to get these priorities met. I can’t wait to tell the story of your company through photography.

Walls are formed. Copyright Katie Morton Photography 2023

Miracles and Brute Strength

This week I had the pleasure of taking photos for a new client, and I think I may have shot some of my best work to date. Let me start by saying that it took a year to cultivate a relationship with this client before I was able to finally get out onto the job site, and it was worth every second. I have a vision for my business, and that vision is very simplistic, but most importantly, I believe it is impactful. I believe there is a very large piece of the puzzle missing when it comes to photography in construction. There is an image that has been circulating in my mind like crazy this week – see below:

Walk into almost any major contractor's office and you might see this photo hanging in their hallways. The Lunch Atop A Skyscraper wall mural features the classic photograph taken by Charles C. Ebbets during the construction of the Rockefeller Center in 1932. You can learn more about the photographer who took this photo here (https://ebbetsphoto-graphics.com/page/about-the-artist/#/page/about-the-artist/) which I greatly encourage, as this man has become truly a hero of mine.

Now what makes this photo so impactful? Well, just look at it! There are a lot of answers to that question but I am going to speak on why this photo is so impactful to me specifically right now. Every single day we pass buildings, bridges, skyscrapers, wastewater treatment facilities, pump stations, dams, freeways, you name it – and every day we (myself included) take for granted one very simple concept that glows at my core fueling my passion for construction photography; In the age of technology, it is no accident that we take this one concept for granted, but it is important to remember that although our technological advances continue to provide society with endless ways to conceptualize a vision, at the end of the day it is people that physically making that vision come to life; plain and simple. I built a bar in my house during COVID as a way to occupy my mind and satiate my affinity for fine spirits. This tiny little DIY’ers dream was a great way to safely dabble in the joys of putting my hands to work, but it holds no candle to what I see people in the field doing every single day to build this world for us, literally from the ground up.

I like to play a little gratitude game with myself when I enter a new building or structure, and it goes like this: I like to look down at my own well-manicured hands, and imagine what would it take for those hands to make that structure come to life? What knowledge and skills would I need to possess let alone brute strength to set the walls around me? The list of needs would collapse into a supernova of infinite visionaries, project managers, engineers, equipment operators, roofers, iron workers, carpenters, electricians, landscape architects – endless compounded levels of knowledge, experience, blood, sweat, tears, and the like. I can’t even put IKEA furniture together as a team with my husband; how thousands of people from every walk of expertise come together to make a construction project realized is truly miraculous when you think about it. It is miracles and brute strength working in tandem that bring these places to life – the places that make our everyday life one seamless succession of functions from turning the lights on at your home to opening the roof at T-Mobile Park. I am in continuous awe of [as the article I linked earlier so adequately put it] “ordinary men caught up in extraordinary circumstances”. It is this kind of photo that tells the story of how we got to the 31st floor of a building, and it’s this kind of photo that forges an emotional connection with not only the client but the end user. There is an entire section of the auto industry dedicated to customer satisfaction and confidence AFTER a customer has already purchased a vehicle – they assign a dollar value to this sector. Construction projects are no different – lasting impressions matter – how we feel about a project holds value.

I have always been a passionate person, and harnessing that passion is what I believe will make me successful, and in turn, provide my clients with a product that exceeds their expectations. I have seen this value realized when my client and I share the same vision and the same goals. Circling back to my opening sentiment, I had the opportunity to shoot under such circumstances this week when my client took faith in me, and set me free on the job - and in turn, I think I may have shot the best work of my career so far.

This client and I had several meetings before I ever set foot on the job. We discussed expectations and goals, but most importantly we discussed vision. Their project is a new high school in an underserved area of the Pacific Northwest. They understood the impact of this project and it was absolutely clear that their marketing department understood (and took very seriously) the impact of their assignment, which was to capture how this particular project was going to change the lives of the end user; the citizens of the surrounding area. They wanted to tell the story of this project, from the ground up. They wanted to capture the life of this building from inception to handing over the keys – a building “baby book”. A building this important needs to have a life of its own; when something has a story – it holds history. So often in the Pacific Northwest, we are torn between upholding the traditions of our well-lived in structures and the idyllic function of gentrification. This school can’t be just a building – it needs to have a life of its own, a story, something that can be handed off to the citizens of this area so they can care for it, be proud of it, and be proud of the people that worked so hard to build it for them. The photos I took this week reminded me of the photos that Charles Clyde Ebbets took during his contract at Rockefeller [please know that in no way am I comparing myself to CCE, come on now]; he knew the assignment, he took it very seriously, and the images he captured tell a story that has had an endless impact on American culture and the way we view and value the construction industry. All because my client and I shared the same vision, I was given the space and time to fully immerse myself on this job site and let the camera truly become an extension of the structure that was coming to life around it.

When you work in the industry, there is no shortage of internal and external circulation construction publications. There is always a good smattering of equipment and tool advertisements, a safety article or two, and maybe one or two featured projects. As cool as these articles are to read, they only seem to be shared within the social vacuum of contractors. As much as I am in the construction industry, I am also a tax-paying citizen and end user. Every time I receive a voters packet I always see the usual ballot items for increased levies for countless public works projects. Having insight into what these kinds of projects take to get the job done, I am always curious what my fellow civilians outside the industry might think. No one likes paying taxes, but we all love nice things in our community. In fact, nothing brings a community together more than the shared frustration of a run-down community facility or roadway that never seems to get repaired.

The point being is this; these dollars go out to bid and contractors pick up the work and then the thing gets built – but is anyone telling the story? When a roadway in my area closes for repair and disrupts my daily life it’s a grind for me as it is for my neighbors. I have to wonder if having the slightest insight into the story would allow me a better chance for understanding, and grace, and perhaps some relief from the daily frustrations I so ironically devote to the teams of people working their asses off to make this world function better for me. I pass these jobs, and see the contractor names and logos plastered on their job shacks and heavy equipment and get curious about what they must be doing that is so important they have to close the freeway on a busy Saturday when 2 Seattle sports teams and a concert are playing downtown. So I do what any normal person would do – I google them. And when I go to their websites, I see absolutely nothing about this job. I see nothing providing me insight, or satiating my curiosities for the work they are doing and where my tax dollars are being spent. I started to feel like a kid who was being left out of a very important conversation my parents were having in the other room about my future, and frustratingly never asked me to participate. What if the story read differently – what if I googled so-and-so contractor and in their “Featured - Projects” section was a living diary of the faces of the people bringing this project to life, with sweat on their brow and mud on their boots? Would that spark something in me? Would gaining some understanding and visually engaging with the photos of the people building this project change the way I felt about it? Knowledge is power so I like to think it would – just as the Lunch Atop The Skyscraper photo sparks a deeper respect and understanding for the industry – so should this.

By the way, here is Charles C. Ebbets taking the famous Lunch Atop The Skyscraper photo. What a badass.

I played in my club championship this past weekend...

I play in a lot of tournaments, but, nothing prepared me for what I learned playing in our Club Championship this last weekend…

I’m not going to do the “good writer” thing and bury the lead, making you read the entirety of this thing to find out what you already want to know, which is:

How did I do?

If you’re anything like me and always look for that: “Jump to Recipe” button when you’re on the internet trying to figure out how to make cheesecake or kung pow chicken or whatever, I’ll save you the click. Here is “How I did”: I’m not going to lie, I did pretty well. I went season low on the first day with 2 birdies and shot a 40 on the back 9. Played steady eddy on the second day with 2 back-to-back birdies which was a first for me. I took 3rd in gross and 1st in low net. Let’s just say this all felt highly out of character as a course 16 handicap, and this was not for lack of any stiff competition.

Now that you know “How I did”, I want to get into the "how I did", because the "how" is the entire reason I wanted to write about this experience, is because based on the results, the how I did kind of happened…on accident.

My golf buddy and I are best friends on and off the course. We both started playing about the same time roughly 6 years ago, and thus our golf journeys have ebbed and flowed and crossed paths in a kind of “dance” if you will. It has been interesting to see how we both have approached each aspect of the game over the years; noting how we differ or share the same goals, processes, and results. At this phase in our journeys, we have both more or less settled into our own respective rhythms of golf pedagogy. She, being a dancer by nature is process-driven: meticulous and deliberate with every shot she commits to. She wants to learn how to do things the ‘right’ way. I have seen her change her swing more times than Jennifer Lopez has changed husbands, but at the end of the day, and when she connects well with the ball it is truly supernatural. She, unlike me, likes to bring this exercise to the course, even if it doesn’t fit into her current physical vernacular; she is down for the grind during her round. I on the other hand have become more results-driven, a little more compartmentalized in a way. Having played a plethora of sports and being mindful of the importance of having a strong mental game as well as a physical one. So that being said, I try to leave my 'practice' at the range or at the putting green. I have learned that personally, my best chance for a good round of golf happens when I ‘leave the grind behind’™ when approaching the first tee.

So that being said, let’s get into what all of that has to do with how I played in the Club Championship. “How” being the operative word…

The Club Championship is a different kind of tournament. It's a special time when the energy is different, and it is the ideal opportunity to establish yourself among the best and most respected players at the club, ‘performance’ dependent of course. Now golf is a “gentleman’s game”, and what that means to me, is that the term ‘performance’ extends beyond the scorecard, and is additionally representative of a player's attitude, conduct, and overall consideration for the game, it's heritage, and other players. Just take a look at how some of the LIV tour players have been treated around the greens during the PGA majors – in golf, a respected ‘performance’ is about more than just ball striking. I have seen how the way that a golfer represents themselves on and off the course can absolutely affect their game as well as those around them. That being said, I try to keep it simple: what you see is what you get with me. And the “me” is a lady. Yes, a swearing, drinking, and at times highly un-couth lady(#knowyouraudience), however, when it comes to the comfort and respect of those around me – there is no guesswork, my intentions are honorable. I take pride in my ‘performance’ all around, and unless you give me a reason to otherwise socially divert, you have my respect and the benefit of the doubt.

With this definition of ‘performance’ in mind, I greatly respect the high-'performing’ golfers at my club. I try to honor what they have accomplished. I watch how they conduct themselves, and I pay attention to how they treat others, and how others treat them. When positive, I try to learn from and by their example. As a results-driven person, I do this by practicing what I preach and put these values in motion every day. So, what does this have to do with how I played in the Club Championship? Well, as it turns out - a lot.

The most important relationship one can have on and off the course is with ones-self. This is of course easier said than done. As I’m sure most of you can relate, there is nothing quite like having the round of your life, and as you stand over your next shot, something in the back of your head screams: “Hey don’t blast this one out of bounds, lol”. Peace out, ball – Sayonara low round - Hello burying my sorrows on the 19th hole. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to actively notice when that little voice pipes up, and say to it: “Listen here you little fucker: I hear you, and I acknowledge that you’re scared, but right now I need to hit this shot”. And then, in turn, go forth, fully commit to, and hit that next shot. Why is this so difficult!? When I step back and think about it from 10,000 ft, this is actually pretty simple. All that little voice is saying, is that there is a part of you that is scared because if you are not able to execute it this shot, that you will feel silly and stupid and thus out of control. So what better way to feel back in control than to sabotage the shot – hey, at least if we commit to sabotaging it, we can feel like we were in control of the result right? Well, if that’s the only thing holding me back from hitting the shot, then that’s pretty dumb. The truth is that the only way I’m going to contently walk away from any shot, executed well or not, is if I fully committed to it. Even if I do end up blasting it out of bounds, at least I don’t have to walk away wondering “what if I actually tried to stay in it – what might have happened?” As a 16 handicap, it didn’t feel right to set a goal of winning this thing, so I decided to set more of an intention, rather than a goal.

The intention I committed to was this:

For better or for worse, I am going to stay “on my own team”, for two rounds. I am going to authorize myself to fully commit to every single shot. I am going allow myself to care, and I will not allow myself to be made to feel silly for caring. I’m going to leave it all out there and see how far it takes me. I’m going to commit to “staying in my body, and out of my head”. I’m going to commit to smiling and breathing through every shot. I’m going enjoy my own company, and I am going to show up for myself, 100%, regardless of the result.

And that’s just what I did.

Let me tell you something, I have never felt more grounded on the course in an otherwise high-pressure situation, ever. My lower body felt sturdy and still, my hands felt soft, my core felt strong, and my posture felt tall. As the two days progressed, those little voices in the back of my head got more quiet, and faded further into the background. I didn’t ignore the voices, but instead let my inner Ted Lasso take over: I proverbially patted them on the head, and I let my belief in the next shot be bigger and louder than the voices. My intention became a living breathing part of me, taking the reins of decision-making away from my self-preservation. It filled the nooks and crannies of my brain that lie in wait, ready to be filled with the all too familiar doubt, or fear, or excuses. My intention was like a warm crystalized fog that left no mental space for anything other than itself.

So, does this mean I executed every single shot the way I wanted to? Absolutely not, however, the bad shots were exceedingly easier to digest. It was the difference between slicing your drive and wanting to throw your driver onto the adjacent green and quit golf forever(hey, we all be feeling passionate from time to time), versus, a fleeting whisp of: “well that sucks, but on to the next”. In turn, the bad shot did not go on to poison the shots directly following suit. Because I fully committed to the shot, I have no regrets for lack of trying, and there was no room left for self-punishment and sabotage. I didn’t walk away from that bad shot getting stuck in the typical feedback loop of the “what’s” and “why’s” of a shot that didn’t make the cut. There was no pit of emptiness after the bad shot, or that feeling of a “missed opportunity” simply because I had filled that void with my intention before I even set up to the ball.

During play I didn’t look at the leaderboard a single time; I genuinely had no interest in how I was measuring up to the field, I just wanted to measure up to myself. But no one is perfect, so in those rare moments when I did feel myself veering from my intention, I tried to recenter myself by exercising gratitude: When I had a free moment, I looked up and reminded myself of how lucky I was to even have had the opportunity to play. When I set up to a drive, I exhaled, I believed, and I hit the ball. When I stood over a putt, I held the finish of that stroke until I heard the ball drop – full commitment. I never once felt silly, or out of control, or disappointed. I never felt threatened, or afraid, off-put, or deterred by my intention. I finished my final round more proud, exhilarated, and personally interconnected than I ever have in golf. This performance felt fully representative of the golfer and person I want to be all the time; betting on myself and reaping the social and emotional payouts with my fellow man. So, the results-driven person in me received the most fascinating and fulfilling results I could have ever hoped for, well beyond any baseline of expectations I could have set (and honestly didn’t). All by setting an intention. This isn’t a feeling I will have to chase because the process can be recreated – time, and time again. These results spoke for themselves, long before I finished this competition, and the results-driven person in me found a way to marry process and intention to create one fantastic and fully accessible result. I think I’ll be continuing to vet these results throughout the rest of the season, and into the next, and until who knows when.