julie lives here.

When I arrived home last night, I had an email from a young San Francisco photographer waiting for me. His name is Michael Mullady and he’s in Haiti right now. He’s been there for some time.

I’ve never met Michael in person. I discovered his work the way a lot of us find what we know these days, via the internet. A link to a link to a link led me to him some time ago so he’s been in my awareness for a while. His photo story, “Children of Lead,” was a piece I could not get out of  my mind and stayed with me for several months. So when it came time to look for more people to interview for CALIBER, I immediately thought of him. (If you didn’t know, Thursdays on CALIBER we run a series called “Through Their Lens” and we’ve had some great interviews posted there.)

When I sent Michael an email, I wasn’t sure if he’d get back to me. It’s such a random thing… getting an email from someone you don’t know, and who knows if people will want to reciprocate. He wrote back, told me he was in Haiti and had limited access to the internet, but that he’d be happy to be interviewed for the site. I sent him some questions, and the knowledge that he’s been in Haiti photographing the aftermath of the earthquake was hanging over every question I wrote. I’m not a trained journalist and when I make up questions for my subjects, I just ask them the things I want to know.

This email from Michael, with his answers to my questions, was like getting a message in a bottle. The condensed feeling, the emotion of what he’s seeing and trying to process, came through more than the normal email you’re used to receiving. The words fairly jumped out of the screen at me. And the photo he sent.

The photo he sent.

I was acutely aware of the tremendous number of sad, important, striking images we are subjected to daily. The photo he sent made me realize that behind every photo, there is a person witnessing what we are seeing a 2D fragment of, and that person is live, at the scene, present. Experiencing all that feeling that goes with the photo.

I know it must sound incredibly stupid to become aware of that, having taken tens of thousands of photos myself, but it really just dawned on me how the act of taking a photo and being a witness is so incredibly important. I know I get some of that feeling when I work with the homeless and low-income mothers I’ve encountered. There’s something more impactful in seeing a photograph that someone you have a connection to, someone you know has taken. You inherit some of their feelings in the transference.

Last night I dreamed of tragedy and tears and Haiti. I hadn’t done that until now.

I will post Michael’s interview and photo on CALIBER tomorrow morning (I’m not waiting until Thursday this time).  I hope you will take a look. Michael is someone you’ll want to know, too.

Photo from Silvi Alcivar’s Poetry Store, tiny found papers waiting for poems to be written on them. Taken yesterday at Madrone on Divisadero.