Lessons from Desert Flowers

Rock Gilia

Rock Gilia © 2012 Bo Mackison

       The desert’s beauty suggests patience and struggle and endurance. Even in the brightest colors of its brief spring flowers, there is something austere. ~ from The Desert Year by Joseph Wood Krutch

Most of the desert flowers are mere specks on the ground. If there are dozens of them, the color is fairly noticeable, but if there are only two or three quarter-inch blossoms sprawling against a bit of green leaf and a lot of gravelly desert floor, it takes some careful observations to see those pretty little things. Of course, in the desert, the smaller, the better chance at survival. A flower, or leaf on a shrub for that matter, that is minute requires considerably less moisture for survival than a flower or leaf a hundred times that size. Adaptation of the species, as we know it.

Blooming Aloe

Blooming Aloe © 2012 Bo Mackison

Notice how present a flower is, how it has surrendered to life. ~ Eckhart Tolle

Of course, the cacti and the succulents found in the desert have a totally different way to guarantee a flowering season, necessary for the continuation of the species. (No flowers, no seeds. No seed, no new flower).

This aloe is a succulent and has adaptive measures for desert survival. Succulents (and cacti, too) have the ability to suck up water when it does rain and then store it in large quantities. These plants send shallow roots in a wide circumference around the plant, and so the root absorbs the water before it evaporates. And when a succulent, like this bright-orange, flowering aloe, traps water in its system, its waxy surface helps keep the water in the plant and reduces water lost to evaporation.

We humans could learn much by consulting with nature and her ways:

  • Assess our weaknesses and strengths – bolster our weaknesses and play to our strengths.
  • Be resourceful and use our resources wisely. Do not use more natural resources than we need. Consider needs vs. wants.
  • Share your beauty, whether it be small and hidden, delicate and ethereal, or bright and showy.

 

Wilderness is not a Luxury

Desert Globe Mallow

Desert Globe Mallow © 2012 Bo Mackison

Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of human spirit. ~ Edward Abbey

The desert expands and seeps into my vision,
the floor is ocean, odd twisted creatures,
and the cactus-corals are prescient.

When the ocean — tiding by lunar pull — disappears
the desert returns, a remnant of ancient ocean,
fossil, a testimonial embedded in rock,
geologic band of aquatic life remembered only in stone.

I too will be remembered only in stone.

When I swim too far from the shore of this desert,
stray into the repeating saguaro-ocotillo wilderness,
I stop, afraid to cross the sand arroyo

Descend into this dry bed,
and reach the blooming oranges and yellows that thrive on the edges.
I take my chances, there are times I cannot manage.

Waiting,
shadows are longest when the sun heaves herself
onto the desert floor and again when she
slips off the desert and drops from the horizon.

Even the longest shadows disappear in the
blotting dark of night,
dark skies are coming — no
they are here.

This cold monument to the dark,
desert monolith, see the shooting star emerge from clouds,
momentary, streak of light, I blink and it is gone.
Or was it even there?

I rub creosote leaves between my index finger and thumb,
smell the pungent aroma of preservative,
lie down to rest upon the packing quilt, a U Haul relic,
and wait for the desert to spit her rain.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC, living and photographing in southern Arizona.

Leap Days

Jumping Cholla

"Leaping" Cholla © 2009 Bo Mackison

This cholla is more commonly known as a jumping cholla, but I am taking liberties today since it is Leap Day, and conferring the title of “Leaping Cholla” on these attractive cacti. These cacti are known for attaching small sections of themselves to anything that brushes near them — hence the name jumping, or leaping, cholla. (It’s a great way for the plants to distribute their seeds.)

I decided to see how many Leap Days I could either remember or make a good attempt at a reconstruction of probable events. Leap Day really should be a more celebratory day — we are each given an extra 24 hours, in our Western way of thinking.  Are you doing something to mark the occasion of February 29th?

The run-down of Bo’s Leap Days, including her plans for celebrating Leap Day 2012 with a special “in the Southwest” dinner for one.

LEAP DAYS

1956  Leap Day is on a Wednesday. U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower announces to the nation that he is running for a second term. It was my first Leap Day, but I have no recall of that year. Pre-memory, I think.

1960  Leap Day is the 60th day of the year in 1960. Of course, all Leap Days are the 60th day of the year.  Family Circus makes its debut. First grade. I had the BEST teacher, ever, so surely we did something exciting to celebrate Leap Day. Why isn’t Leap Day a holiday, anyway?

1964  Saturday. Fifth grade. Too young to babysit, so most likely I spent Leap Evening watching Lawrence Welk with my grandparents. A typical Saturday evening in fifth grade.

1968  Freshman year in high school. We had an “art”sale during the lunch periods  – profits going to our sister school in Nicaragua. We sold out of giant tissue paper flowers, posters decorated with “Little Prince” quotes, beaded necklaces, and ceramic pots.

1972  Freshman year in college. Led Zeppelin had a concert that evening in Brisbane Australia. Tickets cost $5.20. Sold out. I’m sure I would have loved to attend if given the opportunity!

1976  I was a few months into my first professional job after graduating from college. Leap Day was also minus 103 days until our wedding day. A significant year in my life, for sure.

1980  Sherpa and I had been in our first house — in Milwaukee Wisconsin — for two months on this Leap Day.

1984  No doubt a busy day. All days in 1984 were busy days. Probably busy chasing kiddies. Well, chasing an almost three-year old. Our second child was only two weeks old so he wasn’t too active — yet. We still were in our house in Milwaukee, but planning a move to New Berlin, Wisconsin.

1988  Another Leap Day preoccupied with children. Six year old, four-year old, and a baby soon to be born. This was our first Leap Day living in Madison.

1992  Our two older children (5th grade, 2nd grade) had a Leap Day School Fair to celebrate Leap Day. Parents were in attendance with pockets full of quarters. Three year old also knew how to ask for quarters. I think we won several gold-fish at the gold-fish pond.

1996  Perhaps I blanked out for a decade or so…

2000  Hmmm…. the millennium Leap Day?

2004  The days are getting clearer. Kissed by a prince, perhaps?

2008  By this Leap Day, I’d been taking photos with a digital camera for a few months. I was doing a 365 photo challenge. Here’s proof that I posted on my photo blog on Leap Day, 2008.

2012  I know one thing I won’t be doing today — I will not celebrate Leap Day leaping in the desert. Not going to trust those leaping cholla! Think I’ll celebrate with a Margarita and some spicy enchiladas? Yes!

How are you marking this once-every-four-year day?

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Bo is appreciating these extra minutes of this extra day as she celebrates Leap Day in Tucson.

 

 

Self Portrait of an Artist

Three Self Portraits

Self Portraits © 2012 Bo Mackison

Be faithful to that which exists within yourself. ~ Andre Gide

PART III – ART SHOW

I slept fitfully the night before the art festival’s opening. Perhaps subconsciously I was afraid I would oversleep and be late for my show. Not a chance! At 2 am, I finally got up and wrote a list of everything I needed to take to Tubac with me. Only then did I sleep until the alarm startled me awake.

I did a hurry-up-get-ready, packed the car, and headed east. It was a cloudy morning, unusually cloudy for southern Arizona, and the new day’s light was slowly filling the valley.

I looked towards the Santa Rita mountain range in the east and the clouds broke ever so slightly. I saw a bright rim of red break through and settle above the peak of Mount Wrightson. A flash of beauty. As quickly as the color appeared, it disappeared. It was a lovely good morning salute from the sun and a good omen for the day!

Getting the booth readied for first day of the show was quite exhilarating. Other artists bustled about, opening their tents, arranging their art while greeting other artists, friends, old acquaintances. Both of my neighbors arrived and we chatted about the day as we readied our booths.

I hung my art on the panels. Each finished photograph brought a smile to my face. Out of the thousands of photographs I’ve taken, here were the eighteen finished pieces I had chosen and readied to hang on my temporary gallery wall. Primary colored macro botanicals from the Midwest filled one side of the booth; bright desert flowers and cacti filled the other side.

Seeded Earth Studio was a gallery of bold color and textures, a gallery filled with nature’s promise and beauty.

I finally finished with the pre-show organizing, and stepped into the street. I watched the other artists for a few moments and I didn’t try to contain my excitement. It was a wonderful sight. With only a few minutes left before the opening of this five-day show, I could see artists wearing their different cloaks, some with expectancy and hopefulness, some showing pride in their work. Others looked at the sky as the sun broke through the clouds and lit up the town, and smiled, grateful for the beginning of a beautiful day in the desert. A sense of camaraderie was in the air.

I was in their midst. I stood in my art booth, mindful that I was a part of the whole. I had done the work, I was ready to begin the day.

It was a glorious feeling.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. She is discovering that every day provides opportunities to learn new and amazing things. And she is discovering that as she learns to do amazing things, the world becomes a glorious place.

Crossing the Bridge

Bridge to the Art Festival
Bridge to the Art Festival © 2012 Bo Mackison

 It takes courage to grow up and be who you really are.  ~ e e cummings

When I study this photograph, I see a long bridge, laced with a repetitive pattern of lights and shadows. The bridge looks very solid, very safe. At the end of the bridge is marvelous sculptural art from the K. Newby Gallery – kinetic, metallic, engaging. And beyond the spinning sculptures are rows and rows of white tents, set up for the Tubac Festival of the Arts, (Though you can barely see it, my booth for Seeded Earth Photography is the second on the left – only a few steps from the bridge.)

I wish I were a great metaphorical writer because the metaphors that come to mind when I look at this photograph are amazing. Crossing a bridge – a sturdy bridge. Crossing over from one life experience to another. The repeating light and shadowy spaces. Life replicates the contrasts — sometimes life is light and the way is well-lit on a smooth path, sometimes life is shadowy and the way is difficult. But continue on the path, and you will find beautiful art, the kinetic art, moving and glistening in the sunlight. And then finally, not distracted by the larger than life sculptures, not comparing my art to others’ art nor finding it lacking, I reach the art festival. And there is my booth, standing in a row of artists’ booth, fitting in, one with the whole.

So continuing with the art fair experience from the last blog post…

ART SHOW — PART II

Sherpa definitely could not come for the set up nor the opening days of the art festival. I had never set up alone, but I knew the mechanicst. I knew how to put the tent together, rather like a ten foot high metal and plastic Tinker Toy model, and set up the inside panels on which I hung my art. Since I always hung my photographs, that part was easy. I decided that I would do the show solo.

I carefully planned how many trips it would take me to get to Tubac, a 20 minute car trip from my home.  If I could take the tent, the floor rug, the panels, and the bins of art in two loads, I could make one trip on Tuesday and finish on Wednesday before the show began.

On Monday evening, I loaded the car with the rug, tent and as many Pro-Panels as would fit. I added two bins of art in the passenger side seat. On Tuesday I drove to Tubac. Check in and booth assignment was at 2:00 pm. I arrived at noon, and got in line. Happily, artists are a super friendly bunch, and so there was lively chatter, lots of stories and talk of traveling across the country doing art shows. Time passed, and soon I had my booth assignment.

First I started with the tent. Fortunately, the artist next to me helped me at two crucial points and in an hour the tent was standing. I added weights and ties to the tent for stability, and set up the pieces of Pro-Panel I had with me.

By this time it was nearly 5 in the evening, an hour til dark, and I realized that the remaining panels would fill most of the car. I would have to go get the panels and return in the dark or I would never be ready for the Wednesday morning opening.

I had my camping lantern and the light of the full moon. How beautiful. I was one of only a few artists still setting up, and the silence was strikingly quiet. The moon lit up the sky, the village streets, and the outside of my tent. The tiny lantern cast a soft glow inside my tent. It was a gorgeous night. I felt a sense of well-being and confidence. I felt a sense of peace and awe alone with the beauty of the night.

“By the light, of the silvery moon….”

When I finished, I headed home, with a sense of a new-found confidence and self-awareness.

Tomorrow’s post continues with Part III.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Bo is discovering that every day provides opportunities to learn new and amazing things.