Our Lyin' Eyes

“I can’t believe my eyes!”

Who knew?

That expression is literally true.

I’d complete this blog in rhyme,

if I had the talent...

and the time.

But I don’t.

So I won’t.

(End of bad poetry section.)

Our eyes deceive us all the time in large ways and small, even if our vision is 20-20, even when we are making a real effort to see clearly.

For a short video by two psychologists on this very subject, see here: http://viscog.beckman.illinois.edu/flashmovie/15.php

The phenomenon of "lyin' eyes" first became painfully evident to me around 35 years ago when I began studying photography, taking some classes at the School of Visual Arts in New York. It was frustrating, exasperating, discouraging, etc., to again and again discover what I thought had been a great shot ruined by something to which my eyes had been blind, that the camera “saw” with perfect clarity.

This was of course in the days before digital photography. There was no instant feedback. A captured imaged lay dormant inside the camera until film was developed and the negative printed. Hours, days, sometimes weeks, would pass before I would see the negatives, or proof sheets of the photos I had taken. So, much of my photography practice in those days consisted of learning to see as a camera “sees”, in order to improve my odds of producing photos that actually expressed what I wanted to show. I learned to visually translate colors to shades of gray, to account for the distortion of the various focal lengths of the lenses I used, and to focus precisely. Most importantly though, I practiced noticing what was actually framed in my viewfinder. I practiced being aware of what was there, rather than seeing only what I wanted to see.

My passion for my photography hobby cooled as other interests -- among them making a living and building a career -- consumed my time and energy. For many years I rarely picked up a camera, and when I did, I was not photographing mindfully, just taking “snapshots” on automatic. The camera was on “automatic”, too. When it comes to mindfulness, it is easy to get out of practice.

About six years ago, when I decided to take responsibility for trimming my horses‘ hooves myself under the guidance of a talented and experienced trimmer who lived half a country away, I had to get on intimate terms with a camera once more. The necessity of having to take accurate photographs of the horses' hooves brought home to me again the truth of the statement, “I can’t believe my eyes”.

When my horses were due for a trim, I would email photos to my teacher -- 3 very specific views of each hoof as well as a few “big picture” shots. With the photos in front of us, my teacher and I would get on the phone together to discuss the state of the hooves and what was going on with the horses and in their environment. I would get my trim instructions and go out to do the work within a day of our conversation. Immediately after trimming each horse, I would take another complete set of photos to send to my teacher for her feedback. We’d talk again, looking at the "after" photos together.

Then I’d make corrections. For a long time there were *always* corrections to be made to my trims.

It was a shock to look closely at the after-trim photos. A hoof that had appeared perfectly trimmed when I was holding it in my hands looking at it with my own eyes, was revealed by the camera to be in need of quite a bit of additional work. This was particularly true when it came to hoof balance. The camera showed me honestly when a bit of heel or toe needed to come off to balance the hoof -- my eyes lied. They automatically corrected the error so that I could see the balance that I wanted to see.

If our eyes can deceive us about the reality of a single hoof, held steady in our hand -- how much greater is the deception when we are looking at the whole horse, in motion, in an environment -- like a horse show or expo, for example -- where many things are happening all at once?

My friend Miek has provided us with an interesting illustration of how even well-intentioned people can look at something without seeing what is actually there.

Miek and her husband are both animal lovers. Their dogs and Miek’s horse are considered members of the family, and much effort is made to assure that the four-legged ones have healthy and happy lives. Last year, Miek attended an “Animal Event” accompanied by her husband. The photos below were taken by Miek at that event. (Thank you Miek, for letting me use them here.)

Miek wrote to me that the Animal Event is not a competition -- just a series of demonstrations for the enjoyment of the public. There are no prizes to be won, and there are lots of children watching. The horses and riders are there purely for the entertainment, and perhaps “education” of the audience.

One of the riders in these photos is an Olympic contestant on a high-ranking team, so we are not looking at untrained, unskilled horsemanship. Two other horses are ridden by students from a famous training center, a place where people who want to make a career of working with horses go to learn.

While she was photographing the horses, Miek noticed that her husband was paying close attention to the riders (particularly one good looking blond woman) and horses; he was entranced by the “whole shining picture”. After the event, when Miek showed her husband the photos she had taken, this kind-hearted, animal-loving man was stunned. Even though he was looking right at these horses, he simply did not see the expressions of tension and pain. He told Miek he felt as if he had seen a different demo than the one she photographed.

Look at the spectators visible in some of the pictures. Their expressions show rapt attention. How much of what is actually going on right before their eyes do they actually see?

What do you see in Miek’s photos?

“When we cause insane chaos, horses will not vocalize their opinions or protest by making sounds. Even when in terrible pain, a horse does not scream or whimper. That is why a human observer is perhaps not able to recognize a horse’s suffering –he cannot “hear” it. A horse remains mute, he does not “speak up” because he communicates on a totally different level.” ("Empowered Horses" by Imke Spilker)