I've always wanted to sit down and just let Karapet "Karo" Sahakyan talk about his craft, his experiences, and his worldviews. You see, people like Karo often seem like adrenaline junkies who chase intensity, drawn to the edges of the world for the thrill. But that impression doesn't last very long.
 

In reality, Karo is a photographer who is very layered, introspective, and guided by his own philosophy on human life, purpose, and responsibility.
 

In this conversation, we dig into how mountains shape the mind, how conflict comes into play, and how the human, regardless of its perfections and imperfections, remains the focal point of Karo's career. And, most important of all, why all novice photographers need to invest in a cheap camera, and more expensive boots. It was a pleasure hearing Karo talk about his approach instead of letting the lens do the work.
 

1. You've spent 19 years in Armenia after leaving Greece; at what point did this stop feeling like a "return" and start feeling like your baseline reality?
 

A week after returning to Armenia, I went straight into military service. There wasn't much time to process what was going on. A week earlier I was chilling at the beach [in Greece], then I ended up in the mountains of Armenia as a soldier. [Chuckles] I wouldn't say there were too many issues with adjusting and feeling like a native, considering the fact I've always been in the presence of my Armenian family. I did lose touch a little bit, considering that I attended Greek schools and university. But it wasn't that hard to "enter the climate" of Armenia, so to speak.
 

2. You photograph places most people actively avoid. What is the motivation behind this? What are you trying to document?
 

Let me approach this question from a distance. Narek jan, I've always taken photos of subjects that I myself am interested in. I've never thought about taking photos for others. My career as a photographer started in the mountains. The journey was similar; I'd go to places where not many people went, and I discovered what was beyond the mountains. I wanted to see all of that with my own eyes.
 

Over the years, I'd be wrong to say that I lost motivation in photographing mountains and nature. Instead, human stories began to appeal to me. It's my personal conviction that if any one of us tries to help another human being in any way, doesn't matter what, then our mission as a human being on this planet has somewhat succeeded. This is the mindset behind what I do, amplifying the stories of the people involved in conflict.
 

There are many people who go to these zones with their smartphones, take photos, and share them. But it's not the same. You can't compare their audience with the audience that I have. I can use that, my approach, and my connections, to shine the spotlight on these zones and the people who live in them.
 

These difficult situations, not necessarily just war zones, create friendships and brotherhoods that can only be created in that context.


 

3. In conflict zones, there's always a line between witnessing and intruding. Have you ever felt like putting the camera down was the more honest act?
 

Let me put it this way: no photo is worth a human life. This is non-negotiable. Human life, and any life in general, is valued above all else. With that aside, let's talk about conflict zones. When you visit these locations where people have reached their breaking point, they somehow trust you. There are times when you disappoint yourself as a photographer. You begin to question yourself. "This person trusted me; how could I not do anything for them?" And there are times when you actually do something for them. These are very conflicting moments for photographers or people reporting on these locations.
 

As for putting the camera down: I think that everything should be photographed, but not everything should be published. But it should definitely be photographed, because it's part of our human history. They used to preserve it on paper scrolls, now we take photos and videos.
 

4. When you share your mountain photography, you call them "temples." Why is this?
 

There's a famous saying that you discover yourself, both your demons and angels, in hardship. In my case, mountains were the catalyst for my self-discovery. You know, Christians, Muslims, or people of any faith, tend to visit temples to talk to their gods - and connect with themselves. I did this in the mountains. As such, they are my temples - where I converse with my inner demons and angels.
 

For me, mountains are nameless. We refer to them by names, but they don't really have names. For example, Ararat had a different name 500,000 ago. Or perhaps the people who lived here at the time, when there was not yet a nation, didn't have a name for it at all because they didn't build that mountain. And this is about all mountains, not just Ararat. I consider them temples of the earth.
 

Let's not forget that for all of human history, we've aspired to go higher. To elevate. Look at the tower of Babylon, or the Inca temples. There's a sort of magic connected to the sky and the ambition to conquer it. Our ancestors have always tried to reach for it, thinking that there is something or someone there to connect with. For me, mountains are also these focal points.
 

They teach me to be humble. I can talk big, but when I ascend a mountain, it doesn't matter what elevation, it will humble me. I'll brag and say "I'll be at the top in 40 minutes," but it'll smack me in the face and say "Stay in your place. I'll decide whether you can ascend me today or not."
 

5. How has living in Armenia shaped the way you see conflict elsewhere? Do you feel closer to it, or more distant from it?
 

When you're photographing issues and conflict elsewhere, it's somehow easier because you get to leave that place. But it's more complex when all of that is happening in your home country. There are a lot of self-conflicting moments for photojournalists or documentarians in these situations, because there are ethics involved and such. You start to really think about how these issues should be exhibited. It's a tough spot to be in.
 

For example, when I was photographing different riots in Greece where the government would try to break things off using force and police dogs, it was very, very difficult. But still, I didn't let it get too close to my heart.
 

When I shot similar events in Armenia, for example the Electric Yerevan protests, it hit differently. Because you're in your country and you're trying to understand why all of this is happening to you and perhaps people you know personally.


 

6. You played a major role as a photographer during the COVID-19 pandemic in Armenia, which we didn't really handle as best as we could. Tell us about your role as a photographer, what motivated you to go into those quarantine areas, and your overall experience.
 

This might sound off-putting, but the truth is that for me, human lives far outweigh land and soil. Land and soil are infinite on this planet. But lives? No. They are what matter most, along with the experiences they go through and how can I or my colleagues help them by either getting them out of certain situations, or amplifying their voices when needed.
 

To be honest, I was also skeptical at the early stages of the COVID-19 outbreak. This very skepticism made me decide to visit the hospitals and see what was actually happening. And what I saw, made me understand that that was the reality and people were dying.
 

Many said COVID-19 was fabricated and such. OK, fine. But how could you explain all those deaths? Why weren't they occurring at such rapid rates before COVID-19 and tripled right after? People were dying on a daily basis, and I was convinced that the virus was real. Whether it was man-made or natural didn't matter.
 

Granted that fear is always there. But when you realize that you actually have the chance to make things, you try to control your fears and, mixed with your years of knowledge and experience, to do what you do to the best of your abilities.
 

7. I feel like there's a certain solitude in both mountains and conflict zones. Is there a parallel of isolation that plays into this?
 

I wouldn't say so, Narek jan. In mountains, the aura - both physically and mentally - is very spiritual. It's completely different in conflict zones. When documenting pain and anguish, the experience is very physical. You don't have the time or the luxury of thinking about greater-than-life things. It's completely based in reality. Even a small distraction can amount to a bad situation for both yourself and those around you. Every step you take needs to be calculated.
 

8. Do you ever look back at your own photos and feel like they were taken by a different version of you?
 

As mentioned before, the subjects of my photography, regardless of who and what they are, need to be interesting to myself. To this day, the thing that appeals to me the most is human stories. The core remains human, because we're the dominant species on this planet. Regardless of whatever evolution I have gone through, my approach to photography and my subject of choice have remained the same.
 

9. If someone looked at your body of work without context, what do you think they'd misunderstand about you?
 

This is a tough one…I think they might think that both myself and my life are wrapped in chaos. Because I have everything in my portfolio; music, people, animals, mountains, war…Again, I don't have a specific direction.
 

I take photos of whatever interests me, and a lot of things interest me. Of course, we're not talking about specific assignments where I have to take certain photos as tasked. We're talking about my own portfolio. I guess my people might look at it and think I'm bipolar or have multiple personalities! [Chuckles]
 

10. Is there a photo that you didn't take, which still stays with you?
 

Oh, there are so many…
 

The right thing to say would be more along the lines of "I wish I took another photo" instead of "I wish I didn't take a photo." For example, I recently reposted a photo I took of some kids in a Lebanese refugee camp. It brought up a lot of vivid memories. 6 years have passed since then, and I'm really eager to know how they're doing. Did they succeed? What happened to them? I always think about this, especially when I dig into my archives.
 

10. To wrap things up, give us some advice for novice photographers.
 

Travel. I advise them to travel. They don't have to reach all the way to Latin America, or somewhere far. They can travel in their neighborhoods, in their own country. You gain so much knowledge just by traveling. And a cliche advice: instead of spending a fortune on buying an expensive camera, it's better to buy a modest one and instead invest the funding on travels. Oh, also, buy a decent pair of boots!

Interview conducted by Nareg Abedi Masihi