VIEWFINDER

A Fresh Eye and a Refreshed Heart

I'VE SEEN IT BEFORE-the camera's ability to act as a portal into new and unexplored worlds. As technologically complex as cameras have become, there is still a childlike aspect to exploring the world through a viewfinder. Not only to be transported, but to immediately share a vision without barriers. I've never seen it more clearly than on one memorable photography workshop in Monument Valley, just weeks after the terrible incident that we've all come to know as "9/11." Sponsored by Friends of Arizona Highways, the photography trip had been scheduled for more than a year. The organizers decided to go ahead after that awful day, although some people had cancelled from fear of flying. However, these same horrible circumstances also created an opening for Ethelyn Smyley, an endoscopy nurse working at St. Vincent's Hospital in New York City, some 2 miles from "ground zero." I was amazed to hear that she had cared for victims in both attacks on the World Trade Center, and now she was here to immerse herself in the land and culture of the Navajo people.

From the start, she seemed distant and reserved, clearly still subdued and preoccupied by what she'd seen and felt. Moreover, this was her first-ever photo workshop. She and her husband had fallen in love with the Southwest years earlier, but when it came to photography, she was tentative and uncertain. Still, she hoped this escape to the Southwest and the long views of Monument Valley, free from skyscrapers and jetliners, would restore her. Now widowed, but hoping the landscape would seem the same as it had when she first saw it with her husband, she'd put her name on a waiting list for the October 3 trip. She arrived in Phoenix armed with two of the most basic "point-and-shoot" cameras. But what she lacked in gear and expertise, she made up in pure desire to be in this place.

Day one of the workshop entailed a lot of driving time culminating in a sunset from a Monument Valley overlook. The next morning started with the rousting of the troops at oh-dark-thirty for a predawn shoot from the same spot. After that, we dropped down into Dinétah, "the land of the Navajo," between the four sacred mountains that mark the boundaries of Navajoland. All through those magical hours of first light, everyone shot feverishly. By 9 A.M., all the good light was gone, and we had earned a trip back to the hotel to enjoy a big breakfast. But on this morning, I chose to make one last stop at John Ford Point. As I was working my way down the line of hungry photographers, a young Navajo gentleman strolled up, asking in a friendly way about our group.

"Where are you from?" he asked politely.

"The tour started in Phoenix," I replied, "but we have folks from all over the country."

"Anyone here from New York City?" he inquired softly.

I pointed to Ethelyn. "She came in yesterday," I noted.

"Do you think I could speak with her?" he asked.

I wondered at that, but nodded and went over to ask her permission. She assented, puzzled. I stood back, watching as they wandered off in the midmorning sun and stood talking quietly with each another.

Ten minutes later, Ethelyn returned to our four-wheel-drive rig. She seemed a changed person. Before, a mist clung to her. Now, she seemed to glimmer. She carried herself more erectly, a weight lifted.

At the time, I was content to have witnessed the transformation. It was a shared private moment between them, yet I thought of it often. But in trying to write this column, I had to find out what transpired.

So I called her.

She explained that the young Navajo man told her that many family members gathered around a single television to follow the events unfolding on September 11. He said everyone he knew on the reservation was deeply sorrowful and concerned for the people of New York. He added that he was amazed that after all that had happened, she could still travel this great distance to visit his people. He spoke simply and honestly, out of deep and tender compassion, and in a matter of minutes, Ethelyn realized she wasn't alone.

In some way for her, the photo floodgates burst open on that trip to Monument Valley. When she got home, she exchanged her original point-and-shoots for a SLR (single-lens reflex) and, more recently, a digital camera with interchangeable lenses. She joined a camera club, and now loves photographing at the New York Botanical Garden. The only organized trips she takes these days are photo-oriented workshops, and her once-bare metal kitchen cabinets now display her photographs especially her printed reminders of the panoramic West.

"That Monument Valley trip was a stepping-off place. Since the death of my husband, I had been kind of homebound. Now I look forward to making photos wherever I am. And to share her rejuvenated vision-without barriers. Al