Peony in Stillness

May 23, 2012 by 7 Comments
Abstract Peony

Peony © 2012 Bo Mackison

The need to listen carefully creates its own stillness. ~ Toni Packer

Quiet. Solitude. Stillness.

When I am out in my garden with my camera, I wait for stillness, for the wind to quiet enough so that my photograph, or at least the portion of the photograph that I want in focus, is in focus.

On a calm day, it is easy to take photographs outside. But on a breezy day, I decide if I want to add some extra work into the photography equation. From which direction is the wind blowing? Is it gusty? Can I block the wind with a building or a fence or the clear acrylic panels I built into a wind shield?

Some of the time, I choose to out wait the wind if it isn’t blowing steadily. And while standing or kneeling or even lying on the grass, motionless, that is when I begin to hear all of the sounds of minutiae. (Can I use the word minutiae in that way? . . . Well, I just did.)

First, I notice how incredibly loud the wind is, especially when I want it to die down so the swaying peony will stop its dance and hold still so I can take its portrait. But wind can be really loud. And of course all of the bushes and leafy branches are twirling about. Even the grasses I am resting upon are brushing against each other and sound like the swishing on a snare drum. Then I start to listen closely – do I hear the wind itself or only that which is tossed about by the wind’s movement?

And while I am listening so carefully, I notice all the other noises that I prefer to consciously block. The low hum of a neighbor’s lawn mower, a car engine revving as it passes on a side street, the loud thrumming of a descending airplane heading to a nearby airstrip.

Suddenly I am thankful for the winds’ blustery sounds, glad that its whooshes and whispers let me focus on the sounds in nature.

Eventually I get my photographs, one way or another, or change my plans. There is never a dearth of subjects for me and my camera.

———————

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. She has discovered that when carrying a camera outdoors, she discovers much that hasn’t a lot to do with photography.

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A View of the World

May 22, 2012 by 14 Comments
Thistle

Thistle © 2012 Bo Mackison

The faster one goes, the more strain there is on the senses, the more they fail to take in, the more confusion they must tolerate or gloss over — and the longer it takes to bring the mind to a stop in the presence of anything. ~ Wendell Berry

Not so long ago I had a reaction to a medication. Instead of making me drowsy, as had been predicted, the chemicals from the medication flowed throughout my body and made it utterly impossible for me to quiet myself. The reaction – medically termed akathisia – makes it impossible to quiet oneself both inside and outside.

My body had to move. I paced. When I sat, my leg jumped about. You’ve heard the term “crawling out of your skin”? That was exactly what I wanted to do. My insides seemed intent on crawling to the outside. Yes, I called the pharmacist. Then I called the doctor on call. And within a few hours, I had a second medication that was supposed to diminish the side effects of the first. Unfortunately it didn’t take effect immediately.

However, there was a big change. I now knew what was happening, and I had been assured that my frantically moving body would return to normal. I just had to hang on and tolerate the ride until everything returned to normal.

Wow — easier to say than to do.

After another hour of pacing and near panic, I finally hit upon a solution. My body, and therefore my mind, too, were racing along and I couldn’t keep up. I had to  s-l-o-w-t-h-i-n-g-s-d-o-w-n. Yes. Slow. Things. Down.

And then I discovered a work-around. I went outside and took gulping breaths of sweet May air. Then I slowly paced myself so I was breathing deeply, slowly. And finally, I noticed that I was standing barefoot in thick, not-recently-mowed grass. Deep tufts of grass. I stood there. I concentrated on my feet coming into contact with the black earth. And there I stayed.

For nearly an hour, I stood and breathed. And realized this utterly amazing thing. I was standing on the earth, the planet Earth. And so was every other person on this huge earth – in some way or other. All seven billion plus of us – all connected to the earth. So not all of us earthlings were in solid contact, as I was, but all were still connected. No one was going to fling away from Mother Earth, suddenly unleashed by her gravitational hold.

Isn’t that an amazing thing? Wherever you are, anywhere, always, we are attached to the earth or near it.  We can always reach down and touch that huge planet rolling through space. You imagine a photo of the earth from a satellite or NASA mission, and see the swirling earth planet, and then realize you can TOUCH it. With your feet. With your hands. How awesome is that!

That is how I managed to calm my body. I touched the earth. I repeated that I was okay, that I was connected to everyone and everything by the mere presence of all of us together on this huge traveling earth in the unimaginably huge universe. I concentrated on feeling a part of the whole.

Gradually, the feeling of connection took over, and I stopped hurtling through the barrage of out of control feelings and movements. I slowed down, way down. I re-connected to all. And there I stood. The side effects lessened and I felt okay again.

I also learned a valuable lesson. I was able to manage the out of control feelings and connect to the present moment by connecting to the physical Earth, by accepting life as it was at that moment, and by slowing myself down.

Wow, right?

————–

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Sometimes she puts down her camera and just stands in the grass.

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April’s Photo-Heart Connection Photo – An Unusual Choice

May 4, 2012 by 19 Comments
Burlington Northern Train Cars Dwarfed by Kansas Grain Elevators

Burlington Northern © 2012 Bo Mackison

This photograph is about as different from my usual photographs as it can be, but in going through my photo catalogs from April, this is the one I kept returning to. I found myself studying its lines, its color, the subject matter, perhaps a hidden meaning, trying to decipher why this particular photograph caught my attention, and my heart, and so qualified as April’s photo-heart connection selection.

(Kat Sloma from Kat Eye Studio encourages photographers to pick a photo once a month for sharing — a photo taken in the prior month that best makes a photo-heart connection.)

Now to work my way through the feelings/thoughts attached to this photo:

  • The subject matter is less typical for me than many other genres. I shoot macro-botanicals with passion and abandon; I am ever fond of architectural photos; I’ll drive miles to explore a landscape – particularly those in the wilderness, in National Parks, often with no sign of human activity; and yet here is a rural scene, a scene that is agricultural in theme.
  • I take 95% of my photographs with my Canon DSLR and then spend extra time in post-processing. I am a tinkerer of the post-processing process. I love to use software to create new ways of seeing a routine subject. I will consider many options regarding a small aspect of a photograph, and then go on to another small aspect, and another, and another. When I photograph with my DSLR, I love to take my time, study possibilities, set up my tripod and try lots of options before going on to the next subject. I shot this photo with my iPhone using a Hipstamatic app preset. Sherpa and I were on the long drive home, and we stopped briefly on a country road for a truck to make a left turn. I opened the car window, grabbed my phone, and took a single photo before the car began to move.
  • I like bright colors and focused, close-up details. And my love for the colors associated with the US Southwest has deepened since I began living in Arizona part of the year. I see more color in my photographs – the bright cerulean skies, the turquoise and orange buildings, colors that make a strong statement. But in this photo, the colors are muted. There are a few patches of a rusty color and the remainder is in soft greens, whites, browns.
  • I love the play of light and shadow in photographs, and this photograph hasn’t much light nor shadow. It was taken mid day under a cloudy sky, not typically a good time for photography.

So why this photograph?

  • Well, I am attracted to the composition. It feels satisfying to me, the blocks of different colors, three almost equal rectangular spaces, plus the darker colors as contrast. I do not often take symmetrical photographs, and honestly, I would probably not have composed this photograph as it is if I had been taking a more deliberate photo. But the symmetry provided by the grain elevators, and the strong horizontal and vertical lines seem to emphasize the subject of farm work and transportation in the country’s Midwest.
  • I like that the train car is marked with the logo of the Burlington Northern line. I grew up in the Midwest not far from Burlington, Iowa – the train company’s namesake. And several of my relatives – a grandfather and two uncles — worked for the Burlington Northern. I remember bits of their stories, I sometimes saw them return home from night shift duty with coal stained coveralls, and I associated the smell of their smoky clothes with a night of hard work.

So, an atypical photograph can be a favorite. A photograph with the vaguest memories of family can add a strong sense of human connection to a seemingly straightforward scene. And perhaps there is special thrill about a photograph taken on the run, the knowledge that taking a photograph isn’t only about f-stops and sharp focus and the rules.

Maybe it is also the appreciation of timing, good instincts, and a little luck!

————————

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. After three months in the Southwest, Bo is back home in the Midwest. And just in time — her first art show of the summer season is tomorrow — Madison’s Audubon Art Fair at Warner Park on Madison’s east side. Seeded Earth Studio’s booth will be inside in the glassed-in annex. Hours are 9:30 am to 4:30 pm.

 

Filed Under: Photography, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Trees are Sanctuaries

March 27, 2012 by 6 Comments
Looking at the Past

Trees are Sanctuaries © 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. ~ Herman Hesse

Trees Are Sanctuaries

1806, The People Build the Church

They make the brick, kiln the lime, raise the walls, lay the roof,
paint murals and sacristy ornamentation, build niches for the statues of the Saints.
They clear the land, build the fences, plant corn and wheat,
and from the priests’ cache of pods and seeds, they plant and then tend
fruit orchards, nut trees, and olive trees.
They learn the ways of the missionaries,
they marry, raise children, care for their sick, weep for their dying, bury their dead.

1827, Weary, Ill, and Wary of Raiding Enemies

Many of the People wrap the statuary in leathery strips of yucca,
the bundled saints cradled like newborn babes
protected from summer’s heat, shifting winds, monsoon thunderstorms,
from damage to their wooden limbs or chipped painted robes or eyes of porcelain marbles.
They walk north, leave the Tumacacori Mountains,
settle in another valley with another priest and another church.

1848, Tumacacori Mission, Deserted in the Desert.

No missionary priest leads his people, crucifix in hand,
his carved cross held high, a silhouette in the blue bowl of sky.
No one gives signal to the last few of the Desert People
who now abandon their homes, possessions, crops;
abandon their church, stacked bricks of adobe, and
precious, the limestone wash, white like angels’ wings;
now the church is an apparition towering amidst the desert grasses, agave, mesquite,
standing in the foreground of the mountains.

2012, A View through the Window

Open to the cool desert nights,
no roof for protection, no doors.
Only the ruins remain,  maintained as ruins.
But the window opening frames the cottonwoods, green and tall,
lining the Santa Cruz River, growing.
They hold my fascination. When I walk to the river,
they form the arched roof over my head,
provide a spongy carpet of decaying leaves under my feet.
Wisps of white cottony fluff, seeds for the future, drift on the southwest breeze.

The trees are the sanctuaries.

——————–

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC, living and photographing in southern Arizona. There are also days Bo wanders through Mission ruins, thinks of days long past, and writes poetry.

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Reflections on Colors and Shapes

March 12, 2012 by 16 Comments
Reflections in Two Windows

Reflections in Two Window - Spring © 2012

I found I could say things with colors and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way — things I had no words for. ~ Georgia O’Keeffe

Two windows — one with a gauzy white curtain, and the other, small, squared off, sealed off with rough laid blocks. Yet the casement is painted in happy colors, bright pink, deep blue. Hand-painted curlicues, curly Cs with a freshness,  a surety, a promise of decorations and celebrations.  Even life is represented in the greens of the aloe and the tree branches, dense with life sustaining yellow buds.

An open window, a closed window, bright colors, artistic flair, living things, the burst of spring. Life is full.

—————–

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC, living and photographing in southern Arizona. She visited Tombstone a few days ago, town of Western lore, cowboys, and gunfights, and this is what she photographed. Details.

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