I had the great pleasure this week to be a guest on the one hour radio program, Myth America. It was on WIOX radio, out of upstate New York. It is not archived to stream, but when I get a copy, I will share it here. I met host Leigh Melander on a forum years ago, The Art of Natural Dressage. The forum’s focus is the gentle art and science of classical dressage training, with a focus on the horse’s welfare and building real relationship between horse and human.

It became clear pretty quickly that we had a lot in common. She, too, had a varied path: performer, author, coach, as well as horsewoman (I’m torn about that term: I always prefer horseman as feminized titles kind of drive me insane, but this one is pretty common…. Hmmmm…). We had always wanted to meet in real life, and that her beautiful retreat center, Spillian, is close to where every summer I photograph the great Richard Thompson’s music camp, Frets and Refrains, seemed promising. But, we never managed to pull it off.

When she asked me to join her on her weekly radio program, I jumped at the chance for so many good reasons, though I was a little reticent, at first. I’ve not developed a rap on the mermaids, per se. I was not quite sure about filling an entire hour talking about them, but Leigh assured me it would be a great conversation, and that seemed very likely. She knows her stuff, with a doctorate in cultural mythology and psychology and is on the board of The Joseph Campbell Foundation. I know my work and, more or less, how and why I make it.  So, I reviewed what I have written about the mermaids and my art, and reminded myself that she had asked me on the program to talk about my work. I am a well spoken person. I should just open up and let it roll.

That’s exactly what we did. We talked about myth and horses; about the attention of the camera and feeling seen; the honor and joy of witnessing the arc of a story with my camera; about photographs as talismans; and, of course, about going back to the old, scary myths to find the inspiration for my mermaids. Starting out with the dead suitor in the tank pretty much set the tone for the series, after all.

We also talked about making a photo versus taking one. I told her that I am sure in my own blindness, that I do stumble off the path, but that I am much more focused on making a photo than taking one. Of course it is a very subjective mater, deciding what a situation offers a photographer in this matter. But, I have never been one to press the shutter during sensitive moments. I’ll never be a star photo journalist. Horse broke its leg on the steeplechase course? Nope, couldn’t take that picture. People in the throes of grief? Nope. Car accident? Negative.

Of course, the opportunity to make important photos of intense human experience is available in those moments. Many very important images have been made in just such circumstances. But, that is not my work. Those are not my images.

Why not? It’s complicated, as you might imagine. Firstly, I am a very sensitive person. It is a great gift, but like many traits which one might have in depth, it can also be a weakness. Looking at something as closely as I do when photographing means it will be deeply etched in my mind; it will be deeply affecting. To take in my subjects’ trauma, and grief, and loss is very taxing. It is unsustainable. To just take a shot without really looking would be disrespectful to both subject and to my role as a witness. It would not even be likely to make a strong image. Secondly, I feel that my role, like a doctor, is governed by the axiom, “First, do no harm”. To intrude into such searing moments is a grave thing, and it can have terrible effects on those already suffering the consequences of dramatic conditions. It is not that I think it should never, ever be done, but I know it is not my work.

I was faced with just such a moment this morning. I headed out for what is likely to be one of my last walks of the season down to the greenbelt. It’s finally getting summer hot in Austin, and it was 80 degrees by the time I headed out of the door at 9:30am. I always take my little Fuji on walks these days, getting to know it at my own pace and better every time I use it. I’m still not as fluid with it as I am with the Nikons, but we’re getting there, and the slower pace of using it suits a contemplative stroll in the woods.

As I progressed down the path, a man cautioned me, “There’s a dead animal on the path.” “It’s a dead dog,” chimed in his young daughter, mercifully seeming reasonably unfazed. I was not sure what I would find, but boy was I glad I’d had the warning. It was pretty grisly, with the hindquarter missing, amongst other injuries. I thought, “Should I photograph it? It surely has impact.” I decided no, it was not for me. This image would not serve me, and I could not serve it. To take it would have been sensationalist crap. I looked to see if I might get just a snap of the face for ID purposes if someone was looking but did not know to find their lost pet on this particular trail. No, it, too, was too awful. I tucked a mental image this clearly well cared for fluffy black dog with a brown collar in my mind. I could post an ad made of words or respond to any lost dog posters, should it be necessary. I turned back, “Am I sure? It’s real. It’s valid. No one needs help. No one is even here.” No, it was not for me, and I proceeded down the trail.

In just a little ways I came across a handsome, young, white man. His casual clothes and shaggy blonde hair gave him a hippyish vibe. But, his barely reined in emotion was palpable, and he carried a blanket with him. It was clear he was in acute dread when he asked, “The dog on the trail?” I told him it was just a little farther down the path, as he hustled by me. I heard him cry out wordlessly when he spotted her. And, again, I thought, when he got to her. And, then, my heart broke, “I’m sorry,” he wept. I decided to go back out and reach out to him. Our society is not too good with handling emotions, and I am actually a trained crisis responder.  I went slowly, allowing him some time. When I got to him I asked, “Do you want any help? Can cover her up for you, or would you like to be alone?” He thought a moment and told me he’d like to be alone. I gave him my heartfelt condolences and continued my walk.

When I got to a good sitting rock, I pondered all of this. And, I was so glad I did not stop to take that picture. How terrible it would have been to come upon some stranger taking a picture of your beloved pet, savaged by coyotes and laid out on the rocky path? I was glad I did not take one of him kneeling over his dog in his shock and grief. I could have. The Fuji is near silent, and the photo would have been gripping. But…. ewwww. Actually, I did not even think of it as I went back. Only after.

So, with my motivations examined and my behavior sympatico with them, some days it is good not to take the shot. We may all come to different formulas and conclusions, but I believe it is important to act from an examined head and heart. I’m glad Leigh and I had touched on this just a couple days ago. It was easier to stay true to myself with that ground recently surveyed. I’m not always great with gore. And, while sad, I still feel strong and grounded. I did the right thing for me. The examined life, yes: that’s the one for me. And, myth is one of the ways we examine our lives and out world. Thanks, Leigh.