Thirty-One Thresholds – An Art Project to Discover Just What I Need!

December 1, 2014 by 7 Comments
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Art Works – Threshold © 2014 Bo Mackison

I am starting a new project. It is called Thirty-One Thresholds.

I’ve done similar projects before, turning to art for expression and healing often when I feel mired in a big black space.

I suspect most of us have those black periods sneak up on us at one time or another. It feels like falling into a very dark hole, and then realizing the way out isn’t visible. No matter how frantic the struggle to emerge, no matter the intelligent discourse, or the pleading, or the “just-pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps” conversations I would frequently have with myself back, I remained in the black hole. One particularly bad time was in 2007.

There were situational happenings in my life that made day-to-day living feel a bit a lot crazy-making. Yet, in my not-so-clear thinking, I was unable to extend myself the grace I needed to be kind to myself and to create a much-needed space for extreme self-care.

I tried to fight my way out of the hole, but that only exhausted and angered me, and frustrated the people who cared most. Eventually I asked for/received the help I needed from wise friends, family and health care providers. With plans and medications in order, glimmers of light appeared ever so slowly.

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Dark Hole © 2014 Bo Mackison

But the real, flood-light change had to come, not from without, but from within.

So in a rather haphazard attempt I latched onto a creative project that both held my attention and was within my temporary limited abilities. (I think that may be how much creative work is born – haphazardly and from great need).  I decided I would take a photograph each day for a year and post it on my recently created blog.

Looking back, this was actually a huge undertaking.  I was a novice with a DSLR camera, but it seemed doable. My only rule was to take a photograph and post it. Every day. For one year. I figured that in a year I would likely be in a totally different and great space.

It was a new to me idea then — I know 365 projects are common photo practices now, but I thought I was inventing…oh..the wheel or something equally unique!

There actually was no easy way. There were no Instagram apps or smart phones in those days, so my commitment required a string of details that challenged me repeatedly, each and every day — take a photograph, download, post-process, upload, write a few words, post to blog, sigh, deep breath. (This meant I also had to get my depressed being out of bed, dressed, etc., etc., etc…)

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Reaching Out © 2014 Bo Mackison

Persistence paid off. I posted 365 photos in 365 days.

I learned a helluva lot about photography, but I also learned that I could set a long-term goal way out of my comfort zone and succeed.

And it was in the doing that success was realized.

I felt better about myself. I developed new skills. I met new people. I engaged with living again. Eventually I established a small business, Seeded Earth Studio LLC, featuring my photography and more recently my book art.

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Reaching Towards the Threshold © 2014 Bo Mackison

Why am I writing about something that happened almost eight years ago?

Because, once again, I find myself wandering in this dark space. Or to be more exact, stuck in a black space that feels like a wet bed of concrete. I am this barely aware, heavy-booted wanderer trying to maneuver through a mucky, concrete maze.

Again there is struggle.

Again there are life situations which have disrupted my equilibrium – medical issues, family responsibilities. Again there are my particular (to me) crazy-making responses and one of my responses is to want to go fall back into that familiar black hole. Seasonal Affective Disorder has taken its toll despite all the compensatory aids in place. Depression sneaks in. And, as it has been for the last four years, my winter stay in sun drenched Arizona is not in the near future.

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The Creation – Threshold © 2014 Bo Mackison

I am not really wanting to spend a lot of my precious time in black holes this time around. And so I needed a plan.

As I have done many times in the last eight years, I enlisted my go-to heavy hitters as my assistants — my camera and a new project!

And by declaring my intentions and posting it on my blog, I exposed a certain amount of accountability.

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ART © 2014 Bo Mackison

The new project, entitled Thirty One Thresholds, is quite basic.

The project requires me, first, to leave my house — apparently one of my coping mechanisms is to turn into a hermit, not such a wise thing to do long-term…

Then I go somewhere in the Madison area, camera in hand, and cross over a threshold. 

It could be the threshold of doors of an art gallery or museum, a historical building, a library. Or on milder, sunny days I might venture through the threshold of gates to a park or garden, or the entrance to a local attraction…

And I truly believe, though I’m not sure what nuggets of wisdom I’ll discover as I cross these various thresholds, or exactly what it is I’m looking for…

I’m willing to believe I will find it (or it will find me) and it will be just what I need!

Filed Under: Art of Healing, Photography Tagged With: , , , ,

November’s Child

March 14, 2013 by 10 Comments
November's Child - Book Cover

November’s Child © 2013 Bo Mackison

We will tell you this: we are doing the impossible. We are teaching ourselves to be human.
When we are finished, the strands which connect us will be unbreakable;
already we are stronger than we have ever been.
~ Martha Courtot

In August of 2012, I began an online class offered by Abbey of the Arts. The class was a twelve week interactive class, Women on the Threshold: The Wild Heart of Longing. The course offered story, creative arts, and guidance to step into a place of unknowing, the threshold space where the old is released so that the new can be born. (This is now offered as a self-study course.)

I wrote the following last November, towards the end of the course:

I study the [above] quote first thing this morning, before the early morning’s darkness turns to light. I again read the words, “We are doing the impossible. We are teaching ourselves to be human.”

The sky lightens a bit more, and I feel a lightening in myself. Walking with others, though still alone on my path, I notice a strength that I long denied. I used to say, “I am not that strong. I am damaged. I am so alone.” It was my mantra.

It was also self-prophecy.

As I repeatedly told myself that I was weak, damaged, and lonely, I believed those words with an ever-deepening conviction. But change is possible. It happens as I journal, work on art and poetry, walk in the nearby woods. Collecting the stones and feathers and stories from this workshop, interacting in spirit and deep connection, I notice a gradual change in myself.

I watch the sky as it cycles into morning, and I repeat words of wisdom, the real truth. “I am strong, I am whole. I am not afraid.”

For too many years, I carried my life story in my heart. Instead of focusing on the positives, I let the negatives creep in and weary my soul, grieve in my heart. My story was my companion — not a happy companion or a healthy companion, but it was a familiar. I knew the story intimately. Some times I pushed the story away, only to find that it had crept back to take residence in dark crevices. It filled my empty spaces. I never could push away the story far enough.

Finally, instead of trying to eradicate the past, I embraced my story of long ago. I accepted what once was, the unchangeable past that is neither my present nor my future. I stopped pushing it away and instead focused on my present, while the past lingered around the perimeter. Gradually my story lost much of its allure and power, its grip on me.

I decided to face the past to see if there were lessons to be learned before I could release it, and began an art project. I stopped making excuses. I worked on the release of anger and hatred, I considered old habits and re-shaped them. I am not allowing them to interfere with present-day living. Not perfect, but better, so much better!

My art project took wings. It was a photography project involving vintage childhood toys from the 1950s. I brought home antique shop and flea market finds. I stashed them in corners of my studio – a yellow dress, perfect for a kindergartener’s first day of school, starched and pressed; two tiny red school chairs; and a twin of my first camera, a Brownie camera, which was a present from a beloved grandmother. My last purchase was a lime-green tricycle, much pre-loved.

As I worked on the project, I remembered me as a small girl. I clearly saw this child riding on her cherished trike, allowed to pedal around and around the block, finding freedom in the experience of traveling that short distance on her own, pumping the pedals until her fear and loneliness lessened and she could be in her body once more.

These vintage items, this collection, is rather like a collection of stones and feathers and shells. As I live with these tiny reminders of childhood, I find my heart softening. Memories of a kind smile or a warm hug resurface. I re-connect with a small child’s determination and resiliency.

Crossing thresholds, listening and absorbing so much wisdom, breaking out of routine, beginning this very personal creative project — so many wonders, so many miracles!

The project is now completed. There are two books. The first one, in the above photograph, is a book I created and ordered from Moleskine + MILK. The second is an abbreviated version which I made after taking a workshop on hand crafted book structures. The second book was in an exhibit of artist books at the Tucson Festival of Books this past weekend, and was selected to be in an exhibit at the Tucson Main Library during the month of April.

As the above excerpt from the poem states, “We are doing the impossible. We are teaching ourselves to be human.”

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  She finds healing in the creative art process. Photographs and an excerpt from the second book will be in the next post.

Filed Under: Art of Healing, Book Arts Tagged With: , , , ,

5th Annual Photo Alphabet – Part V

December 30, 2012 by 9 Comments

R is for Ritual and Routine.

Early Morning Coffee in the Desert

Early Morning Coffee in the Desert © 2011 Bo Mackison

I have an unusual ritual in the Sonoran Desert. Some might think of it more as a routine – brewing the early morning coffee – but when I brew my first cup of coffee after a night of desert camping, it truly is elevated to the level of ritual.

The assembly of the tiny backpacker stove. The measuring of water from my water supply. The finding of the matches — which usually provides a modicum of panic. The boiling of the water. The measuring of the coffee grounds, safely stored in the bottom of my coffee cup/coffee press. The boiling water poured into the coffee press, the cup tightly closed, plunging the press, waiting the ten minutes for the coffee to brew. And finally sipping that first early morning coffee.

If any one is wondering why I might need coffee while camping in the desert, keep in mind early morning in the winter desert is usually 30˚ to 40˚F, often even colder. That first cup of coffee is like a bit of heaven. Routine, yes. And ritual.

S is for Shadows and Self-portrait.

Shadow Photographer

Shadow Photographer © 2012 Bo Mackison

I have a fascination with taking photos of shadows. They might be photos of leaf shadows on a wall, a repetitive fence shadow on a sidewalk, an intricate wrought iron table and chairs casting an abstract shadow on a patio. I constantly look for shadows to photograph.

And sometimes I photograph self-portrait shadows.

I like these self portraits in shadow. Sometimes I am long and stretched out, as in the above photo taken late in the day. Sometimes there is just a head shot, my hat on my head, protection from the desert sun, hiking stick leaning against me, as I balance and set up the shot.

I always have my camera up to my face. I may be alone or with a companion. I like to study these portrait shadows.

They tell me a bit about the photographer I was at that moment in time. By the clues in the photos I can decipher where I was, who I was with, the time of the year or the time of the day. I may even be able to tell my mood by the way I carry my body. I may remember a conversation I had with a person in passing or a particular event that happened that day.

Another way I capture bits of my life as reminders. Like words on a page of a diary or journal, a photo holds that space for me.

T is for Thresholds and Transitions.

Window, Bench and Door in White

Window, Bench and Door in White © 2010 Bo Mackison

Transitions. I think that very word, and a lump forms in my throat, an ache develops in my chest. No matter what type of transition I face, it takes me awhile to focus and gather my equilibrium before I carry on. The transition can be one I dread or one I look forward to — no matter. The very act of crossing a new threshold, or a threshold I am re-crossing, causes me to stop in my tracks.

I’ve discovered that I can approach transitions in different ways. And that is okay!

I may choose to move towards a threshold, decide I am not quite prepared.. OK. I can sit down — that bench is handy — and pause while I consider my next step.

Maybe I approach the threshold and find I need more time to study the new, do a bit more research or soul-searching. Maybe a look through a window, visualizing the next step is helpful. OK.

Or maybe I am ready. I have considered my options, I know that the next step needs to be taken, or I am simply ready. OK. I open the door and walk through, across the threshold.

This photo is a pretty good summary of me working my way through life, whatever it takes at that moment. Approaching transitions in different ways.

U is for the Universe.

Three Self Portraits

Exploring the Universe © 2011 Bo Mackison

The Universe — worlds upon world upon worlds. Bright and shiny — new places to explore.

In each shiny ball representing part of the universe, there is a tiny self-portrait of me, both looking in and looking out.

V is for Vision.

Double Vision

Double Vision © 2011 Bo Mackison

I like this photo – the one I call Double Vision – because the branch in the foreground still has berries and a leaf hanging on it, the branch slightly behind it is bare. It’s a double branch. But there is more. Look into the background, extend my vision deeper into the landscape and I notice the snow-covered river – the river a conduit for travel.

Will it be an easy trip, perhaps on a flowing river in the early summer on a small skiff with a companion? Or will the trip take place during a drought, the water is low, my boat keep getting snagged. I must keep getting into the water to dislodge it, push it along, even portage it? Perhaps the journey is a cold, lonely trek in the winter, traveling alone on skates or ice cleats, or along the side of the frozen river, pushing through the deep snow?

I look at this photograph and I see the past captured — dried fruits and leaves. And it foretells possible vignettes of the future in metaphor — travel on the river. But all the while, it capturing a moment in the present.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. The 5th Annual Photo Alphabet ends with  Wonder thru Zen!

Filed Under: Art of Healing, Photography, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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