Stu Jenks: Fezziwig Photography, Music, and Writing

"75 Simpson Street" (c) 2007

"75 Simpson Street, Barrio Viejo, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

"Roller Derby Needle Point" (c) 2007

"DUMB SHIT: Roller Derby Needle Point" (c) Sami Automatic(?) and Stu Jenks 2007

"...Running for Mayor..."

"There's a lot of people running for Mayor of Dick City" - Mike C., Raleigh, N.C.

"Otero Goddess" (c) 2007

"Otero Goddess" (c) Stu Jenks 2007

"Rialto Swash" by Natasa Radovic (c) 2007

"Rialto Swash" by Natasa Radovic (c) 2007

[An amazing nocturnal image by my friend Natasa. And for the photo geeks out there, this is taken with her Hassleblad, using film, not digital. Natash lives, teaches, works, eats, loves and sleeps in Venice, Italy.]

"Stu's Fun Facts: The Bisbee Mona Lisa" (c) 2007

“Mona Lisa, Bisbee, Arizona” © 2007 Stu Jenks

       [Writing teachers tell me to show not tell. Sorry. I feel the need to rant. This is a blog after all. So. Welcome to perhaps the first of Stu's Fun Facts. OK, not really facts. My opinions based on selected data that validates my point of view.]

       Fun Fact #1: “We’ll wait until there is more blood in the water, then we’ll step on their necks,” said a real estate developer friend to me recently. No sense of irony was in his voice, no emotion, very matter of fact. And he's not a bad guy.

       Fun Fact #2: Per the current conventional wisdom in the Psychotherapy Field, you don’t give Antisocial Personalities and Sociopaths treatment or therapy. That just gives them more tools to hurt people, and they also tend to fuck up a good group therapy dynamic. The only therapeutic regime that is recommended is to get them involved in small business and entrepreneurship. Seriously. There, they can be hurtful and cutthroat without actually cutting real throats. Plus they are applauded for their business acumen, thus feeding their huge egos.

       Fun Fact #3: Blood in the water is a good thing in American Business today. Probably always has been to a certain degree, but now it’s apparently the rule of thumb, not just what that bastard downtown did last week. Whatever happened to making a good product, providing a good service and getting a fair profit in return? Now, it’s buy as low as you can, sell as high as you can, and make as much profit as possible, screwing the people at both ends and the consumer in the middle. You’re considered a fool if you do otherwise.

       Fun Fact #4: So why does The World, Old, New and Third, hate us? Ain't because of our freedom or maybe it is, our model of a Free Ecomony. American Business has financially fucked and exploited most of the world since the end of World War Two. Buy their oil, their diamonds, their rugs, their trinkets for chicken feed; sell it in Americans for more than it’s worth. Ain’t unfettered Capitalism grand?
      
       Fun Fact #5: Old Southern Expression: You can’t worship both Money and God.

       Fun Fact #6: A good third to a half of all successful Modern and Contemporary Artists in America (and I mean those where it LOOKS like they are solely financially supporting themselves on their Art) have ‘mysterious sources of income’, namely trust funds, rich spouses or family, hidden investments, etc. They don't keep the wolves away only from the sale of their art, or from doing Have-Mouths-Will-Travel. Funny though. They never tell you this, nor admit to other income. They seem to have a need to impress upon you, that their Nightmare On A Wall that’s hanging in a gallery somewhere, really did sell for big bucks. Most artists in America have day jobs, or boring jobs, or teaching jobs, or design jobs, that support their passion for creating good Art and good Music. Me? I’ve had a day job for almost ten years now, that has allowed me to get 20 grand into debt, while I've tried making a ‘career’ i.e. Make money, or at least break even in the world of Art and Music. I’ve made some good work, gotten some good notices, met some wonderful people, and sold a few tunes and images, but I still have only a hundred bucks in my checking account until payday. And I'm still trying to get that book published. But I keep telling myself that it ain't about the money, but sometimes when I'm broke, it sure feels like it.

        Fun Fact #7: Romantic Love is a a Big Feeling with a Big Surrender with the added punch of Big Desire. Ownership is not part of the deal, even though many fuck it up by holding on too tight. It’s about Sex and Trust, a faith that you won’t hurt me too much. Not, not hurt me at all. Just not too much. Sounds easy, but it’s gotten harder as I’ve gotten older. I was more willing to jump hand-in-hand off the Cliff of Love with someone I barely knew, or kinda knew, or knew real well, back in my Twenties and Thirties. Now I'm 52. The heart has only so much tissue that can scar without it starting to get hard. But I still pull at my heart, stretching it as much as it’ll go, adding God's linament of Forgiveness to it, and love and trust as best I can. It's a good thing.

       Fun Fact #8: The Internet gurus may be right. YouTube videos and MySpace garage bands may be killing Art and Music. Then again, it wasn’t that long ago that a hundred Art aficionados and critics to New York and London were telling us what was Good Art and what was Bad music. The Web will either kill or free Art. Jury's still out.

       Fun Fact #9: And the bottom line is? It isn’t about the bottom line. It's not about the money. (Even though there is another old Southern Expression that says, that Money Makes Unhappiness Easier.) I know a good number of rich people, whose husbands, wives or children are distant and that they never believe they have enough. But I also know a good number of wealthy people who use their money for good, know that have more than enough, and have the love and respect of their neighbors, family and friends. And I can say the same of the poor too. I have a bipolor recovering drug addict friend, who live on SSI, but takes a good portion of that money so he can race his Hornet car on the dirt track by the dump every Saturday night. Now, granted, I do wish I had more money. Right now, it’s more hand to mouth than I like and I have no savings to speak off.  But I do have friends who love and care for me and I them, and occasionally I have a girlfriend who knows how to touch and kiss and listen and do that funny hip thing. I have a nice little Art studio, a cute little apartment, and food in the fridge. I have ears to hear to problems of my friends, lips to speak the truth when it is called for, and some level of compassion for even those I don't like very much. I have a 19-year-old truck that rattle and squeaks like a son of a bitch, but I ain’t taking the bus anywhere. And that old Pathfinder will take me to Owl's Head whenever I like. I'm a rich man, even if I have maxxed out a number of my credit cards.

       Fun Fact #10: The Beatles and The Christ were right. Love is the answer. To everything.

"The Championship Bout" (c) 2007

"Tucson Roller Derby's Championship Bout: Furious Truckstop Waitresses vs. Vice Squad; 9/15/07; Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

[All Photos by Stu Jenks except the below image of The Furious Truckstop Waitresses which was taken by Cathy Spann]

"The Ghosts of Roller Derbys Past" (c) 2007

“The Ghosts of Roller Derby’s Past”:
[Impressions from Tucson Roller Derby’s 2007 Championship Night] (c) Stu Jenks 2007

       Standing on the scaffolding, taking ghost shots. Took a couple minutes to get the exposure right (Four seconds too long, 1/8 of a second too short, ½ to one second just right). Looking later at a serendipitous flash shot and very happy that Dirty Teri was highlighted. Like the Five Ghost shot a lot too.

        Happy that Cathy showed up when she did, to back me up on the impromptu group shot of all of the folk involved in TRD. Happy I had a tripod with me too.

        Getting hit by a helmet. Big Fun. Truly. An Iron Curtain player on her way to the penalty box, near the end of the bout, threw her helmet. I was crouched by the announcers’ table. She was throwing it at the penalty box. I was in between. I softly batted it away and continue to take shots. Very cool.

       

Miscommunication on my part and a misunderstanding by someone else, outside of the rink, outside of the game. Really sucked. Nuff said.

        Shooting in RAW Digital Negative, knowing that working the images would be some much easier in the coming days.

       Feeling comfortable inside of the rink, inside of the circle. Getting more shots than not. Inside the circle is a great place to be, for shooting these Human Nascars.

       

Shooting pick-ups shots of non-players that I missed the week before. Got a nice shot of the EMT’s stethoscope and an image of the strong smile on a Security man’s face.

       

Knowing that when I was shooting the Derby Brats buttons, that I looked funny, my camera sitting at table level for a long time, me, not moving for about a minute, like a Irish Setter pointing at a bird. Wish someone had taken a shot of me taking that picture.

      

Finding a great new spot to shot from. Right in front of the announcers’ table, just to the left of the penalty box. Got a number of great shots of the tired/angry/passionate Derby Girls in trouble. Also got hit by a helmet there too (See above)

       

A drag not to be able to openly root for The Waitresses in the championship. It’s great to shoot photos of the Derby but it’s work nonetheless. I really miss not being able to yell “Flooooooooooooo” at the top of my lungs. Next year.

       

Knowing that FTW was having a hell of a run in the second period, but only from the screams of the crowd, the volume of the announcers, and of seeing FTW jammers' Flo, Peaches and Betty in the lead a lot. I was in the center of the rink, shooting, thinking, ‘I haven’t seen Penny Tencherry as a lead jammer for a while.’ (Vice skated hard in the third period but was never able to make up the deficit. Final Score: Furious Truckstop Waitresses, 99; Vice Squad, 76.)

      

  Getting a good shot of Annie cheering on the Waitresses. She’s the woman with the multicolored hair and the long arms near Turn One, screaming her head off.

       

Seeing a retiring Knuckles Sandovich cry at the end of her career, and watching Iron Curtain’s captain Bolshe Vixen hug a child after her bout. Barbicide kissing her son after her bout was a delightful sight as well.

    

 

Seeing Deadlock Doe collapse into her Eeka's and Ruby's arms after winning the championship. Actually got a OK shot of FTW celebrating the victory too, using the old technique of ‘Hold the camera over your head, focus as best you can, and pray to God to get something’. (Doe, a Captain of the Furious Truckshop Waitresses skated every minute of the bout. No breaks, except when she was in the penalty box. A Herculean feat.)

       

And finally, seeing Sassy Sue’s huge smile as she received her Championship Trophy. Sweet.

 

      

[Addendum: For those of you who are in the TRD group photo, or if you are related to one of those good people by blood, marriage or relationship, feel free and contact me at stujenks@gmail.com for a print(s) of your choice. They are free to the Roller Girls and Boys and to those close to them. They are nice prints, Fine Art Archival Inkjet prints that will last 100 years. If you are not intimately related to Tucson Roller Derby but would like a print of this bout or any other bout, those 8 x 10 prints are $10 plus shipping and handling. Finally, I'll be part of the Tucson Open Studio Tour this November. Large 13 x 19 inch Fine Art prints will be for sale at my studio for $90. Or just drop by and take a gander at them. I won't have my whole TRD portfolio printed up large, but I'll have some of my greatest hits there for sure. And needless to say, I'll print up any and all images, big and small, if you want to buy one. But bottom line is, if you are part of TRD, there is an 8 x 10 with your name on it.]

"Owl's Mouth" (c) 2007

"Owls' Mouth, Arizona" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

        Need to be at Roller Derby in a bit. I can’t be late but I couldn’t put off the desert any longer. I figure I have an hour to play before I need to put it in four-wheel drive and make my way back to Tucson. I've never come out here under a time restriction, but I have to today. Been far too long since I’ve been to Owl’s Head.
        Really glad this is the last TRD bout of the year. The Saddletramps are going to Austin in a couple of weeks for the Nationals, but I’m not. Ain't got the time nor the money to go. There may be a bout in Phoenix that I'll shoot at some point. I’m just a little burnt on Tucson Roller Derby right now.
       Like the old Sienfeld joke, it’s not that there’s anything wrong with Tucson Roller Derby. The people are great, the action is hot, and the energy is high. It’s just not my ‘Sangha’, my group, my community. But do I really have a group? Not really. I’m part of the Recovery Community and part of the Downtown Arts Community, but if I’m honest, I really like to be alone, to do things by myself. Don’t get me wrong. I love and need people, and I always long for the touch of a kind, beautiful woman. But nothing feeds me like a solitary hike in the desert or a hard one-man pitch up a mountain or an easy stroll by a river, by myself.
        I’ve often complained, that visual artists are hard to build community with, for they are so solitary. Pot calling the kettle black. Ain’t no difference between spending ten hours alone in a studio sculpting in clay, or spending an afternoon moving rocks into a circle in the desert, or dancing for hours between trees, swinging Christmas lights under a Full Moon. Mr. Stu plays better by himself than he does with others. It's just the way it is.
        The circle looks good. Not a great piece but a nice re-commitment to my spiritual and artistic path (and my Art is an expression of my spiritual and emotional self, as well as a demonstration that they did teach me good design in Art School at Chapel Hill.) The Stone circle is more important than the Roller Derby rink, and I love being inside of the Roller Derby rink. The Circle and the Spiral have kept me reasonably sane for years. Why stop now.
       I take a couple images from a couple of angles of the new little Circle. I look toward Owl’s Head and smile. I close my eyes. I breathe deep. Storm’s coming from the North. I want to stay and watch it move through, but I have to get to Bladeworld. My smile fades but only a little. I’ll be back soon, or somewhere just as nice, in a week or so. And it is the championship tonight. Hope FTW wins. Hope I get a few killer shots.
       I step into the Circle and say my Four Direction prayer. To the sky and the earth and all there is. Ok, God, let’s do it.
        I gingerly step out of the circle, grab my camera bag, and begin to descend the hill that is Owl’s Mouth.

"The Passion of The Refs: The Semifinals of Tucson Roller Derby" (c) 2007

“The Passion of The Refs: The Semifinals of Tucson Roller Derby” © September 2007 Stu Jenks

       Odd thing being a photographer for TRD. I often have the best seat in the house, but, at the same time, since I’m working, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know which team is ahead or behind, or what the pack is doing. (I do know who the lead jammers are though and I do keep an eye on the pivots.) I’m basically a brain/soul/body/spirit connected to an eyeball, connected to a lens, connected to a little computer. I’m constantly looking for The Image: The jammer out in front of the pack; the clash between jammer and pivot and the other blockers; the small details that others in the crowd can’t see due to their lack of proximity. The announcers’ play-by-play and banter is just a drone in the background. I’m basically perpetually looking for The Shot. It’s what photogs do, I’m afraid. A blessing and a curse. One big eyeball.
       Luckily though, last Saturday, I was able to disengage from my eternal quest for The Shot and enjoy the bouts between Iron Curtain and The Furious Truckstop Waitresses and between Vice Squad and The Copper Queens. I mostly attribute this to my plan before I got there, of shifting of my focus away from the skaters at times, and more toward the refs, the timers and the scorekeepers. I shot the referees primarily because I knew I would have close access to them and they all have wonderful faces too. (Too close to the officials at one point. Sorry again, Johnny Crash, for getting in the way that one time. I am teachable if nothing else.) Again, I shot the game action like I had at other times, but how many more shots of Flo or Penny do we really need, leading a jam? So, on Saturday night, I shot those other hard-working men and women of The Derby, who, if it weren’t for them, it would just be athletic women in nice clothes, skating counter-clockwise.
       I was particularly struck by the passion of the refs to get it right. It’s a lot of work to record the points, to call the minor and major penalties, to keep order in the structured chaos. Also, the intensity in the eyes of the scorekeepers was striking as well. I’m guessing the light in their eyes is no different than those who keep score in Division One College Basketball or in NFL Football, for the expectation of absolute accuracy is the same: They need to get it right. Every time.
       So all hail to the Refs, the Scorekeepers, the Merch People, the Timekeepers, The Announcers, the Security People, the EMTs, the Derby Widowers, and the dozens of other unsung (or less sung) heroes of The Roller Derby. I know the women really appreciate you all, as do I and many others.
       And maybe next time, I’ll get a better shot of a dedicated Security Person, rather than a soft-focus image of them in the background. And hopefully I’ll get an image of an EMT at the ready, one of these days. And more shots of the Derby Widowers.
       I did get a nice shot of a big man in a pink boa, though.
       Gongala, Gongala. So I got that going for me.

       [Addendum: FTW and Vice advanced to the Finals. FTW beat Iron Curtain 113 to 82 (but it was closer than that), and Vice defeated The Copper Queens, 112 to 92, again, a closer match than the score reflects.]


       Other favorite moments from TRD’s Semi-Finals:

       1)      Sneaking up on the man with the pink boa, my attempt to be ninja-like, an invisible grasshopper, getting close enough to capture a candid image of this man.
       2)      Cheap Ore slamming into the Announcers’ Table, in the final seconds of her bout against Vice, and her then springing to her feet, smile on her face, dusting herself off, and being hugged by players and fans alike.
       3)      Chatting with Ruby Hellcat, at a break about this and that (I won’t tell), but once again, struck by how much shorter and more vulnerable Roller Derby Girls are, without their skates on. On go the wheels, and all of these women seem to become ten feet tall and bulletproof.
       4)      Noticing for the first time, that the ref, Strictly Bizniz, has a sticker of Mr. Natural on his helmet. I smiled as I took the shot.
       5)      And finally, being struck, over and over again, by the high level of professionalism by everyone involved. And I’m not being pollyanna-ish here. There is an dark underbelly, conflicts, stresses, sadnesses, disappointments, like with all things. But I just feel fortunate and grateful to be able to help as I can.
       As I was picking up some negs at Photographic Works today, talking about the bouts to the staff there, I said the below, and it ain't the first time I've said it to someone.

       "Roller Derby is one of the last pure sports. Played for the love of the game."

       Championship is this Saturday. Hope to see you there.

[Images from top to bottom: Pink, the New Black; Seven Refs; 1.17 seconds; Octet of Refs; Kali and Doe Pivots; The Doe and Flo Show; Flo on Turn Four; Bolshe and Doe; Ruby's Gaze; Downtown Dave and Che; Kay Boom and the Boy Scorers; The Two Scorers; The Scorekeepers' Eyes; Eeka's Wheels; Great Barrier Ref; Penalty Girl; Johnny Crash; Mr. Natural; Good Sports; Pink and Mista Miner; The Back Stretch; Ferocious, Kay, and Sami; Polly Graf; Polly, Carrie, and Kay Boom; Cheap Ore's Profile; Copper Blur; Penny Again; Cheap Ore in the End; & The Pink Boa. Prints available upon request, at a good price.]

"The Death of Stonewall J. Howell, Tombstone, Arizona" (c) 2007

“The Death of Stonewall J. Howell, Tombstone, Arizona” (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

       Stony walked out of the whorehouse dissatisfied. He knew he would be, but he went anyway. Tomorrow is his 26th birthday, and it’s been a good week at his claim. Good six months actually. Anyway, he felt like giving himself a present and that present was Crystal. But while he was thrusting into her from behind, watching her breasts sway, he had a passing thought of Henrietta back home. He came quickly, gave Crystal a kiss on the cheek and paid her double her usual rate. Seemed rude that he had thought of Henrietta when he was inside of Crystal. Crystal smiled and kissed him on the neck and told him to come back any time.
       He’d left Henri a year ago in the Valley of Virginia. She still lives with her widowed mother on those fifty-two acres that they pretend to be a farm. Singing in the church choir every Sunday, she said in her letters. Wishing he would call for her, to board that train to Tucson, she wrote twice already. It just wasn’t time yet.
       Henri turns every man’s head on the Saumsville Road when she takes the wagon to town. The prettiest girl in the county. Top three at least. Bright smile and full lips, long blond hair the color of straw, cheeks like red apples, a body thin yet strong like a rail fence. The night before he left for Arizona he promised her that if he struck it rich, he’d send for her. They kissed each other long and hard on her front porch, their hands all over each other’s bodies, as if by touching everything, they would forget nothing. He’s made some good money now, but it hasn’t built a house yet. He needs to have a house for her to come to. He needs also to hire someone to help him start that house, soon at that.
       The muddy street is filled with cowboys and miners, going from hotel to saloon, spending their week’s earnings on whores, poker and whiskey. The Full Moon is almost directly overheard. He stops in the street and looks up at the Moon, thinking about Henri and thinking that all he really wants right now is a hot bath. He turns and as he’s walking across the street toward the Chinese bathhouse, he hears his name called.
        “Stony! Hey, Stony!”
        He turns. It’s Merle Johnson. The luckiest, stupidest, funniest man in town. He’s also his best friend.
        “Hey, Merle. How are you doing, this evening?”
        “Mighty fine. Hey, are you going to the The Grand to play poker tonight?” Merle seems a bit agitated.
        “I wasn’t planning on it,” says Stony.
       Merle looks a little disappointed, then bites his lower lip. He does that when he’s thinking hard. What’s the big deal? He usually only goes to The Grand a couple times a week, not every night.
        “Can I find someway to persuade you to come play poker with me tonight?” Merle asks.
        “Merle, what going on?”
        “Hell, Stony. Just come over to The Grand Hotel tonight.”
       “Just tell me what the fuck is going on. I need to get a bath and then I was thinking of turning in. Unless you got something special planned, I think I’ll pass.”
        Merle bit his lower lip again, then smiled to himself and shook his head.
       “Just like you, Stony, to spoil the fucking surprise. A bunch of us are waiting for you over there. Tomorrow is your fucking birthday, as if you don’t know, and we thought we’d throw you a little surprise party at Midnight. Both Bobbys are there, young Bobby Christiansen and old Bobby Lopez! Mexican Bobby came all the way from Fronteras, Stony, to celebrate your goddamn birthday.”
        “Bobby Lopez is here in Tombstone?”
       “Do I fucking lisp? Yes, Bobby Lopez is here. And Charlie McLean left his claim in Charleston for the night, to raise a drink to you, too.”
        Stony’s mouth dropped open.
        “Charlie came to town?” Charlie rarely comes to town. Only when he is down to his last pound of flour and his last jug of shine.
        “Yes, yes, yes, you dumb cocksucker. Charlie’s here and Harry Wood has even closed up shop at the newspaper to see your birthday come in, and he’s brought Millie Benjamin with him too. And Karl Eisenfelder and his wife are there as well. God damn it, Stony! I’ve been waiting a fucking hour for you to come out of Madame Clarice’s.”
       Merle now looked puzzled, biting his lip again.
       “I suppose we could invite Crystal, couldn’t we? She is a whore but she’s a good woman, and I know you like her,” said Merle.
       Stony stood dead still in the middle of the thoroughfare. He look at the bathhouse. He looked at the whorehouse. He looked down the street toward The Grand Hotel. Bobby Lopez was on the front stoop of the hotel, his arms crossed, his sombrero silhouetted against the golden light coming from the hotel. Stony felt his eyes mist up. He smiled. I’ll be God damned. Bobby’s here.
        He started to walk toward the hotel when he heard a clap of thunder. Little late in the year for a monsoon. Then he stopped walking. He felt short of breath, and oddly warm and wet. He grabbed Merle’s shoulder to steady himself. He then looked down and saw the large red hole that was his stomach. He collapsed in the mud.
        Next to the last thing he saw were the tears in Merle and Bobby’s eyes, as they look down at him in the muddy thoroughfare, the Full Moon above their heads.
        Then he saw a beautiful ball of purple light being born out of the Moon. The purple ball seemed to come down Fremont Street and surround him, engulf him in its light. He no longer saw Merle or Bobby’s faces. He no longer saw anything or anyone. He just felt fine. Fine for the first time in a long time. Then, suddenly, he was above Tombstone and flying in the night sky, heading fast and true, due East, toward the Valley of Virginia.

"Un Dios Feliz" (c) 2007

"Un Dios Feliz" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

[For once, I'm going to keep my thoughts to myself, so you can have your own relationship with this image. Project away. It's a good thing. It's what you're supposed to do with Art. Bring yourself to the work, and hell be damned, what the Artist had in mind. Really.]

"The HOCO Festival: 2007"

"HOCO Festival, Hotel Congress, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

[Images from top to bottom: Mike Semple of Secretary Bird; Broken Horse; Al Perry and Dave Roads; Andrew Gerfers for Secretary Bird; The Friends of Dean Martinez; & Howe Gelb.]