"When a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man" - Stanley Kubrick.
IIn photography, there are so many choices that we make consciously, though most times, we make them unconsciously. The edges of the frame are merely the start of the process of "choosing," or so we can argue. Some people claim they can attain a certain level of "objectivity" in photography; others may declare they are helplessly "subjective" when clicking the shutter. But these mental postures indeed ignore the countless instinctive impulses, or aggregates, that determine those decisions or non-decisions. It's easy to see how most everyday choices become illusions: we believe we can choose but are unaware we cannot. True, the chicken and egg hierarchical conundrum in objective/subjective rational behavior -let alone "artistic" or "intuitive"- may remain unsolved for now. However, one can choose not to cease to be a man, as Stanley suggests, by the effort to remain conscious of the elusive influences that are present at the moment of "choosing." This implies simply acknowledging, as much as we can, the reasons or not reasons (rationale v. irrational-e) of why and how, when, and what we choose.
As impossible as this might seem, it remains a horizon to aspire to: at every moment and especially just before releasing the shutter. For when feelings, thoughts, or instincts take over while holding the camera, if one isn't even aware of them, one ceases to be conscious about them: there is no choice within unconsciousness. In other words, unconsciousness equals non-existence.
For instance, if the wooden posts of the photo above represented each pressing of the shutter (and for simplicity purposes, one particular choice right before pressing it), the wire in between could represent all those subtle influences. We could close our eyes, hold on to the wire, and walk from one post to the next. And at the end of the field, we might look back and remember all those choices "we made" and the photographs "we took." The question is, for how long did we remain conscious of the wire that took us to the end of the field? Or of the steps we made with our feet and legs? Or the grip of the hands holding onto the wire? Even if it's just a split second, being cognizant makes us both objective and subjective simultaneously. And it becomes fulfilling when we humbly aspire to at least get closer to an ongoing, self-aware cognition; it becomes a purpose
To choose.