Watching Lake Mendota © 2011 Bo Mackison
Your work is to discover your world and then with all your heart give yourself to it. ~ Buddha
Three Tops at a Mic
October 24, 2011 by 6 Comments
Three Tops at a Mic © 2011 Bo Mackison
I am imagination. I can see what the eyes cannot see. I can hear what the ears cannot hear. I can feel what the heart cannot feel. ~ Peter Nivio Zarlenga
Ever get carried away with your imagination as you look at the most ordinary of scenes?
This photograph of the prairie as it is breaking apart and shedding its finery in preparation for winter is straightforward. A few coneflower seed heads plus a stem in focus in the foreground, and more seed heads — out of focus — in the background.
And suddenly I no longer see the dying autumn prairie:
I see the “Three Tops,” a premier singing group in Prairie Land, at their microphone. Singing their hearts out as their fanatic audience sways to their rhythmic beat. Many in the audience are singing in their seats, but a few of the “Three Tops” most ardent fans are squealing and dancing at the bottom of the stage.
Hmm . . . Ursula Le Guin wrote, “I doubt that the imagination can be suppressed. If you truly eradicated it in a child, he would grow up to be an eggplant.”
—————–
Bo Mackison is a photographer, owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. She walks the prairie, thankful she did not grow up to be an eggplant.
Cabbage Flowers
November 9, 2008 by 7 Comments
Decorative Cabbage © 2008 Bo Mackison
I don’t think a flower can be any prettier than this decorative cabbage. I love the contrast of the purples and greens. Yesterday was the last day of the Dane County Farmers’ Market on the Capitol Square. Happily, the market now moves inside so we can shop in comfort. I love my Saturday forays to the Square, but I’m not fond of getting my fingers frozen pinching the produce.
Of the People, By the People, For the People…
November 5, 2008 by 10 Comments
Wisconsin State Capitol at Midnight © 2008 Bo Mackison
…from the Gettysburg Address, Abraham Lincoln, and quoted by Obama during his victory speech at Grant Park on Election Night.
We celebrate a new day, a new era, and the election of the new President of the United States, Barack Obama.
Shrouded Cemetery
October 10, 2008 by 7 Comments
Roadside Cemetery © 2008
Cemeteries hold a certain fascination for me. On my travels around the state of Wisconsin and in other parts of the country, too, I often see small cemeteries on private lands. Simple family cemeteries filled with crumbling spires and solid squatty granite blocks. Some are decorated with plastic flowers in every hue and variety, some with teddy bears and pin-wheels, some plain – but not forgotten, I hope.
My favorite grave markers are the ones that incorporate a bench. Not that I will have a bench near my eventual resting place, but I do like the idea of having a place for others to rest a bit, think quiet thoughts, re-consider and make new plans, go on with living. While still taking out a few moments of life to remember and honor.
I’m the cemetery visitor in my immediate family. I think, though, that I am the last in a long line of grave site caretakers. My great-grandmother and both grandmothers with whom I grew up – they were all Sunday-morning-after-church-services visitors to the cemetery. I often accompanied them as I was the one with the young knees and strong arms. I could run along the gravel paths without fear of turning an ankle or falling. We often brought live plants that required digging holes, setting in, mounding, and watering. In Autumn, we brought rakes so that I could rake leaves off the long line of family plots. Even little clippers to trim the summer’s blades of grass that sprang up in the improper of places.
I still take my mother to the cemetery when I visit my hometown. We now decorate with artificial flowers that can be re-used every year. And we decorate seasonally – Christmas poinsettias, then red and white carnations for Valentine’s Day, followed in quick procession by spring flowers, Memorial Day in red, white and blue, summer flowers, Fourth of July, and finally fall flowers. In early December we start with Christmas again. And the seasons recycle, each set of flowers returns to the cemetery at just the right time.
I’d rather just wander around, look around, examine. But the flower tradition has been in place for a hundred years in my maternal family. I don’t live near the family site. Hundreds of miles away, actually. So I wonder what will happen when I no longer have living relatives to visit in my hometown.
