Bookmaking in the Sonoran Desert – Featuring Journey and Discovery

Flying Across the Sky

Flying Across the Sky © 2014 Bo Mackison

“Real travel is not about the highlights with which you dazzle your friends once you’re home. It’s about the loneliness, the solitude, the evenings spent by yourself, pining to be somewhere else. Those are the moments of true value. You feel half proud of them and half ashamed and you hold them to your heart.” ~ Tahir Shah

There was an afternoon when the desert floor was still and heat rose like fire.

I packed a bag with supplies and traveled to Madera Canyon, found an isolated site high in the Santa Rita Mountains, with the summit of Mt Wrightson in view, and there I spread out paper and magazines, scissors and glue. And readied to create.

I typically work quickly, intuitively.

But on this April afternoon I had a dear companion with me, and she is more meticulous, more exact in her creative pursuits. And so I slowed my pace and we worked companionably together.

My tiny accordion book, set into a pair of four-inch square canvas boards, started out simple. As I worked the layers became more complicated. I hid parts I wanted to let disappear into the past, and added features I wanted to remember.

The little book eventually told a part of my story, my Arizona-Wisconsin dichotomy.

I explored my desire to be in two places at the same time – to remain in the desert where I feel a deep, soul connection,  yet also to be with my loved ones in Wisconsin.

Impossible in life, but not impossible in my art.

Book Making in the Sonoran Desert - Flying Across the Sky

Flying Across the Sky © 2014 Bo Mackison

“…flying is like throwing your soul into the heavens and racing to catch it as it falls.” ~ Linda Howard

Dichotomy

Flying. I request a next-to-the-window seat. Always.
So I can stare into the sky, lose myself in thick cloud cover, or watch the country far below,
farmland platted in tiny squares, river snakes,
mountains rise from plains, sunlight slides across the face of the earth, then disappears.

I watch cities and towns morph into dots of lights.
Each time I board a plane, it’s as if I toss my soul towards the heavens,
then breathe with calm intention ’til I reconnect with land
and my soul again searches for desert red. And settles.

Book Making in the Sonoran Desert - Flying Across the Sky

Tree Cholla, Snowy Saguaro, Monument Valley © 2014 Bo Mackison

“Over the years, one comes to measure a place, too, not just for the beauty it may give, the balminess of its breezes, the insouciance and relaxation it encourages, the sublime pleasures it offers, but for what it teaches. The way in which it alters our perception of the human. It is not so much that you want to return to indifferent or difficult places, but that you want to not forget.” ~ Barry Lopez

There are no guarantees.
I’ll readily admit, I came to the desert Southwest for its healing sunshine,
sunlight that could flip a switch in my brain, drench it in
neurotransmitters to make smiling easier than weeping.

I continue to come for that boost, and yes, tree cholla with
golden auras gleaming in the waning sun are also beyond breathtaking.
Reflecting sunlight burrows deep into my being.

Saguaro with a freakish coat of snow are equally mystical.
Desert mountains – green with riparian water, yellow in a blaze of autumn sycamore leaves,
or black in the desert night – they are all magical.

Book Making in the Sonoran Desert - Flying Across the Sky

Calming, Influence, Aspen Smile © 2014 Bo Mackison

“To be at peace, does not mean that you are amiss of every storm, it only means that you can find a calm within the storm.”
~ Tania Elizabeth

I talk to trees. The connection is energy,
I rest my hands upon their bark, lay my cheek against their rough grain.

I have leaned the art of calming under the influence of this land –
sky islands stretch – from Lower Sonoran Desert habitat dotted with saguaros
to near alpine conditions, bald rock dotted with firs.
Akin to traveling from Northern Mexico to southern Canada.

But always. Always.
I yearn to return to the desert floor, to the spaciousness and solitude that warm my spirit.

Book Making in the Sonoran Desert - Flying Across the Sky

Map, Yellow Car, Arizona Plates © 2014 Bo Mackison

“A map does not just chart, it unlocks and formulates meaning; it forms bridges between here and there, between disparate ideas that we did not know were previously connected.” ~ Reif Larsen

Moments measure time; maps measure travel.
As desert spring blasts its way into desert summer,
my time to leave the desert approaches.
Each moment becomes more precious as I cross off the remaining days.

I spread maps upon my desk and ponder routes,
choose the blue roads, the dotted roads, roads that may or may not be passable.
I’ll take that risk. Travel the small towns and villages,
stay in court motels, feast at diners with the locals.

It is my way of easing into my return.

Book Making in the Sonoran Desert - Flying Across the Sky

Journey, the Journal © 2014 Bo Mackison

“…where paths that have an affinity for each other intersect, the whole world looks like home, for a time.” ~ Hermann Hesse

The journey, I anticipate it even as I mourn my leaving.
Anticipation and loss held simultaneously.
I’ll hold the days of travel in my memory, scribble in my journal as the miles accumulate.
Nearly illegible, though, since I keep my focus on the road as I scrawl my notes.

These are brief notes, triggers for later transcription –
a name of a town, the population, a hand painted sign that tells a story.

The washes and dry river beds I cross.
Dead Wash. Red Wash. Car Wash. Dirty Laundry River.
Humor abounds in geographical monikers.

Washes gradually turn into meandering creeks,
then into singing streams and raging rivers.

As I travel, mapping the earth,
it is joyful, yet bittersweet.
Palpable. My heart pounds with the unexpected sights.

I am exultant and saddened, hesitant and expectant.
I want to slow and speed time concurrently.
There is much to practice, this being in the moment of traveling.

That is my journey.

Barriers – A Series

These twelve photographs are from my portfolio “Barriers”. I explore the journey of claiming my story and sharing my healing process, using my photography as a stepping off platform. I have posted each photograph with my story compiled from journals, letters, and personal conversations during the past two weeks. This is the series in completion.

I.

23 Lizard in Bisbee Arizona

Threatened © 2011 Bo Mackison

Let go of the need for perfection – perfection bought at a high cost.
Embrace imperfection, acknowledge mistakes, claim the lessons they provide. Embrace change.   ~ Bo Mackison

II.

Barbed Wire

Barbed Wire © 2012 Bo Mackison

Your life with its immensity and fear . . . now bounded, now immeasurable, it is alternately stone in you and star.
~
Rainer Maria Rilke, from Evening

III.

Warehouse in Winter

Boarded Window © 2011 Bo Mackison

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude
in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”  ~ Viktor E Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

IV.

Barrio Brewery

Barrio Window © 2012 Bo Mackison

“We can spend our whole lives escaping from the monsters of our minds.”
~ Pema Chödrön When Things Fall Apart: Heartfelt Advice for Hard Times

V.

Bathed in Bright Lights

Bathed in Bright Lights © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.”
~ Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heartfelt Advice for Hard Times

VI.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth, and that is not speaking it.” ~ Naomi Wolf

VII.

Bisbee Arizona

Art Lives © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Art is not a part of life, it is not an addition to life, it is the essence of those pieces of us that make us fulfilled.
That give us hope. That give us dreams and provide the world a view very different than what it would have been without us.”  ~ Hasan Davis

VIII.

Riot Art © 2011 Bo Mackison

Riot Art © 2011 Bo Mackison

Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable,
there we also stand already quite near its transformation.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

IX.

Fire Escapes

A Means of Escape © 2010 Bo Mackison

Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fall. ~ Confucius

 X.

Defaced Wall II

Beyond, The World © 2012 Bo Mackison

Trees are sanctuaries.  Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth.  They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. ~ Hermann Hesse

XI.

Looking Upwards

Looking Upwards © 2011 Bo Mackison

So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloudshadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any miseries, or any depressions? For after all, you do not know what work these conditions are doing inside you.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

XII.

Southwest at the End of the Medical Records Tunnel

Sunny Days at the End of the Medical Records Tunnel © 2012 Bo Mackison

“The portal of healing and creativity always takes us into the realm of the spirit.”  ~ Angeles Arrien

—————–

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  “Barriers” – a twelve part series exploring photography, possibilities, and the healing process.

 



Beyond, The World – Barrier # 9

Defaced Wall II

Beyond, The World © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.” ~ Hermann Hesse

(This post is the ninth in a series of my story of art and healing. See the introduction and complete series at My Healing Journey.)

When I embarked on what is now my photography business, I discovered a way to make my life meaningful. Initially, photography gave me a reason for getting up in the morning, getting out of the house, looking at my world, and finally creating something that I loved and was proud of. The healing process of creative photography. It was several years later when I discovered how to work with my photographs on a deeper level.

When I photographed this wall, I was shooting an old mission and its grounds. I came upon this wall, discovered its defaced surface, then framed a shot so I could focus on the wall and the grove of trees in the distance. Months later, as I was going through photo catalogs on my computer, I saw this particular photo and it took on a new meaning.

For me, certain photographs are like other people’s dreams. They provide symbols, metaphors, and hints of meaning. They are open for interpretation, not on a literal base, but intuitively.

In this photo, I visualized the wall as a barrier in my life. The wall prevented me from entering a lovely grove of trees, a place I longed to visit for sustenance and revival. Beyond the wall, the world opened into a sacred space of color and life, a place where nature could heal and provide strength for body, mind and spirit. I wanted to be in that grove of trees.

I visualized different scenarios in response to my quest. How could I reach that sacred space? How could I get over the wall?

  • I could scrounge for scrub wood and strong grasses, build a make-shift ladder, and climb up and over the wall.
  • I could walk along the wall until I came upon a gate or doorway, a portal into the world of greens and blues.
  • Or…I could I look at the height and thickness of the wall, and walk away, accepting defeat before I even began.

The process of visualizing my options provided much food for thought.

I now have created a set of Desert Wisdom Cards, 24 cards in all, each with a photograph and a word. I use the cards during my morning practice, focusing on the photograph and using it for inspiration and speaking to my muse. I also use the photo and the cards as prompts for journal writing, or a springboard for an art or nature project.

I discovered in the process a vehicle that provided not only a way for me to use my art for healing, but a system that also promoted problem solving and goal setting. These cards provide me with a framework in which to consider choices, make plans, and instigate changes in my life — the self discovery and healing process of in-depth creative photography.

Next: Gazing Upwards

Putting Out Fires – Barrier Series # 8

Fire Escapes

Fire Escapes © 2012 Bo Mackison

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fall.” ~ Confucius

(This post is the eighth in a series of my story, an intimate exploration of art and healing.)

So the greatest glory is not in never failing, it is in rising again — a hard lesson to learn, when time after time, I make the same mistakes. (It took me a long time to learn that the only real mistake in making a mistake is denying that you made it.)

A little voice in my head often tempted me:

“Oh, go ahead. You are doing great. You don’t need to go to bed this early, you’ll miss out on the fun. You don’t need to watch what you eat – it’s the holiday season, enjoy all those treats. You don’t need that tiny pill any more – nah, don’t check with your doc. And just maybe you don’t need to see that therapist any longer. Nah, you’re doing fine.”

Now I’m in a better state of mind, I nix those crazy ideas immediately. Those ideas are crazy ideas. They send out a red alert for me. Only a few years ago, I often fell into the trap. I’d believe them. I’d eat unhealthy foods or I’d stop eating altogether. I wouldn’t listen to the signals my body was sending, all those SOS alerts. Eventually I would crash and wonder why.

“Every day, think as you wake up today I am fortunate to be alive.
I have a precious human life, I am not going to waste it.” ~ Dalai Lama

One of the ways I’ve learned to not waste even one precious day is to follow a regimen of extreme self-care. Taking care of my body, my mind and my spirit is my first priority. Like the attendant who reminds all flight passengers to first put on their oxygen mask, I take care of myself so I am in a position to do my work, create art, help others.

Some days are easier than others. But each day is a gift, and every morning is an opportunity to consider how fortunate it is to be alive.

A Riot of Art – Barrier Series # 7

 

Riot Art © 2011 Bo Mackison

Riot of Art © 2011 Bo Mackison

“What art offers is a space — a certain breathing room for the spirit. ~ John Updike

This post is the seventh in a series of my story, an intimate exploration of art and healing. See the introduction and complete series at My Healing Journey

Once I earned the privilege, I worked in the art room every day, often twice a day. The art I created was not beautiful, not worthy of hanging over anyone’s couch. It was dark, often difficult to look at, always meaningful. The art I created helped me deal with the emotions bubbling to my surface so that I did not have to  explain in words. Too raw for words, the art spoke for me – through my paintings, sculpture, and mixed media work.

“Where something becomes extremely difficult and unbearable,
there we also stand already quite near its transformation.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

I was immediately attracted to the woodworking room, a small room divided from the open studio area which was often crowded with other patients working on art or craft projects.

There was a center work table, tools hung from pegs and hooks on the wall, there were bins of building materials. I had no specific goal in mind when I began, but I felt driven to create. El, in her wisdom, always stayed near while I worked here. She’d pull a stool into the corner, and perch there with a pile of her never finished paperwork balanced on a lap board. She both ignored me and kept watch. She answered questions and found supplies I wanted, but otherwise I was on my own.

While many of the clients chose to work on projects they could gift to friends and relatives, diversional projects which fulfilled a need, I chose to let my spirit speak through my hands.

My first project was a sculpture of many layers, and its creation, done over a couple of weeks, was a turning point in my recovery.

I began with several pieces of wood, a saw, a hammer and nails. With great intensity, I cut wood into many lengths. The sawing stage was short-lived. I was anxious to get the hammer in my hands. When I began hammering nails into the pieces of wood, the creation took on a life of its own.

I hammered hundreds of nails into five or six pieces of wood. I made a base, then angled pieces of wood to form a teepee like construction. I pounded some of the nails so many times, only the nail head was visible surrounded by hundreds of hammer-head imprints. Nails protruded from the edges. Nails bent; they were pounded into the wood lengthwise. Nothing was wrong. There were no rules, except those for safety’s sake. Never one who liked to follow rules, I understood the sanctity of the safety rules. I wore safety goggles and aprons. I understood that the misuse of tools or equipment were grounds for dismissal from the workroom. I honored the space, the rules, the tools. I learned to manage my emotions within a set of boundaries.  And I kept creating.

“Let everything happen to you, beauty and terror.
Just keep going, no feeling is final.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

After the hammering and nails stage, I moved into the plaster of Paris stage. The plaster was my sculpting material. I mixed bowls full of the thick white pasty stuff. Then I applied it to my wood structure. Layers and layers of white in globs and streaks. There was nothing delicate or considered in its application. Just the urge to hide the wood and the nails under a volcanic-shaped mass of white.

I added small human figures which I fashioned from bits of clay. I pushed the figures deep into the sculpture. I rolled clay into snakes with open mouths. I pushed them deep into the sculpture.  El continued to quietly observe from the sidelines. Occasionally another patient would use the tools for a leather project, but for the most part I worked alone and in silence.

The sculpture of wood and nails and plaster became the container for my anger, my pain, my wounded self. I asked El if there was paint. I wanted large quantities of black and red paint. El left the room, returned with two 16 ounce bottles of tempera paint – one primary red, one black.

Using a brush more suited for house painting, I slashed streaks of red and black over the white. I again worked in many layers. Paint over paint over paint. I worked in a quiet, self-directed, controlled frenzy. A controlled frenzy, you ask? That is what it was. I could not stop. I did not act out in rage or anger or despair, although those emotions were present within me. But I could not stop. I had to make this wood-nail-plaster-clay figure-paint structure.

For several days after I had finished the painting, I went in the woodworking room and sat with it. Examined it. El eventually handed me a notebook and a few markers – red and black – and asked if I wanted to write a few words. Thirty pages later, I stopped.

We are product of our past but we don’t have to be prisoners of it. ~ Rick Warren

“I’d like to destroy it, that pile of stuff,” I said to El.

“How would you do that?” she asked.

I knew that the act of destroying my art required a safety plan. There were limits and boundaries, there were rules for safety, and there were the other patients to consider.

“What if I did it when there aren’t people around? It might be frightening, the noise and all. I’d put a big piece of plastic on the table so there isn’t much mess. And wear the safety goggles and my apron.” I answered. “I want to take the hammer and smash it.”

El nodded her permission. “I’ll get what you need. You could do it Saturday afternoon, after the department closes for the weekend.”

And that is what we did. I spent several hours on a Saturday afternoon in a cold January destroying my sculpture symbolizing man’s inhumanity towards others. I hammered it into a pile of dust and mangled wood and bent nails. When I was finally weary of the hammering, I hung the tool on its hook and smiled. A very small smile. Then I sobbed and sobbed.

El sat me down, lightly put her arm around my shoulder and sat with me. We sat for a long time.

Finally I stopped crying, found tissues, and cleaned up a bit.

El looked out the window “It’s beginning to snow. Let’s get our coats and go for a walk.”

We walked around the hospital grounds. The new snow-covered the grayed snow in piles on the parking lot. The air was cold and fresh and very clean. I gulped huge breaths.

Art heals. Not overnight. Not in a week. But art, practiced over a lifetime, offers the spirit a path towards healing.

Next: Putting Out Fires