Fezziwig Press & Photography by Stu Jenks

"Twelfth Night: 2009"

Happy Epiphany, Twelfth Night, y'all.

These two pictures were taken near my bedroom window with the PhotoBooth attachment atop my new/old MacBook Pro. So weird. You don't even need a camera to take a arty photograph anymore. The computer does it for you. No matter. It is what it is. And you are reading a post by an old guy photog, who took a fifty-year-old Kodak Brownie, loaded with black-and-white film made in Croatia, to the top of high desert fault, on New Year's Day. I'll get the negs back tomorrow.

And may the Wise Guys show up at your door tonight, with money, incense and perfume. And a big piece of double chocolate cake.

"Big Horns near Dripping Springs, Arizona"

 

“Big Horns at Cindy’s Fault, near Dripping Springs, Arizona” © 2009 Stu Jenks

It’s a joke in her family. “It’s Cindy’s Fault. She did it,” they would laugh as they drove up the hill to their cabin in the White Mountains (even though I winced a little, when I first heard her tell the story, knowing the subtle shaming that nuclear families can do.) It did look pretty in her photo though, so on New Year’s Day, I went looking for Cindy’s Fault.

To my wondrous surprise, as I neared the top after a brief but strenuous bushwhack, I saw a family of Big Horn Sheep, one ram and two ewes. I quietly pulled out the 70 by 200 and shot them through the tall Ocotillos. I walked quietly closer to them. I took at least twenty images and then made my way to the top of the western fault. I shot the eastern fault (the true Cindy’s Fault) and then popped a few images toward the south. Lastly, I shot a few trees deep in the canyon. Then I realized the Big Horns had gotten used to me. (They were only couple hundred feet below me, continuing to feed on the grasses and scrubs of the plateau.) I walked back toward them and this time, I crept to within thirty feet or so. The ewes raised their heads from grazing once or twice and the ram stood guard over his brood, but mostly they relaxed around me. Not only did they get back to their routine of grazing, but I saw something in their eyes. Their eyes had softened.

And then I relearned a lesson: They know me now. They know I’m not going to hurt them. They trust me a little. Their eyes relaxed and their faces opened up to me. Just like when I’ve shot those portraits of the Tucson Roller Derby Girls last year at Old Trail Town. They know me. They know I’m not going to exploit them. They trust me a little.

Sheep. Humans. We are all mammals. And most mammals need to feel safe in order to open up and be vulnerable to the camera, or to each other.

And I swear, at one point, that ram knew what I was doing and struck a majestic pose.

I finished with the camera, laid it on my lap and then simply watched their grazing for a good long while. I then blew them a kiss and made my way back to my truck, at the bottom of the hill.

 

 

 

 
 

Christmas Haiku #23

"Christmas Haiku #23" (c) 2008 Stu Jenks

Female Winter Rain:
Owl's Head Saguaro drinks deep,
Singing with the wind.

Solstice Haiku #1

"Solstice Haiku #1" (c) Winter Solstice, 2008 Stu Jenks

Deer with the Giants:
Sequoias holding the sky.
A Bear over there.

[Went up to Solstice Rock this afternoon and said my yearly Solstice prayer. Every year is different. Today I prayed that all of us would "Be Happy With What We Have." Said it for myself, as much as for everyone else. Others find gratitude easily. Me? I tend to make it hard.]

"The Obama Ball"

"My Barack Obama Christmas Ornament, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007, 2008 Stu Jenks

     In October of 2007, I bought this “Obama for President” Christmas Ornament off of his campaign website. Gave him some money too. I kept it in a box under my bed and didn’t open it until just a few weeks ago.
    It seemed premature for me to open it and display it for Xmas 2007. Didn’t want to jinx anything. And the Dream seems quite improbable back then, in the Fall of ’07. But wouldn’t it be something if he did win, I thought back then.
    Well, America is awakening from The Long Nightmare of George Bush and the Dream has come true. Like Santa leaving a Flexible Flyer under the tree.
    So, this ball now hangs on an ancient weathervane that sits near my bedroom window.
    Christmas came weeks early for me this year.
    Barack isn’t Jesus or Buddha or The Dalai Lama. He is but a politician after all. Yet Barack is a kind-hearted civil servant who truly wants to help heal our country and to make the world a better place. Plus he’s brilliant, articulate, has a great wife, and the first Cool President we’ve had since JFK.
    So Godspeed, President-Elect Obama. May the healing begin. And keep bringin' the Cool.

"Memorial Day for a Spruce Tree" (c) 2008

"Memorial Day for a Spruce Tree" (c) 2008 Stu Jenks

[See Chapter Four in the serialized "Hoop Dancing" web-book on this blog. Hopefully, it'll become a hold-in-your-hands-book in 2010]

"Black Santa" (c) 2007, 2008

"Black Santa, Peyton Street, Alexandria, Virginia" (c) 2007, 2008 Stu Jenks

[My mother Mary's father built a house on Peyton, a modest two-story with a garret. Mom lived in the attic as a child. The neighborhood has gone from good to bad to good again in the past 70 years. The old Saum place is just up the street from Black Santa. I covet Black Santa. Thank you, Jesus, (or Canon), for making digital imagery so I can take a piece of Black Santa home with me. But alas this JPEG is flat. Black Santa, in reality, is round, three-dimensional and jolly. And he glows in the dark.]

"For The Love of Wally" (c) 2007, 2008

"For The Love of Wally" (c) 2007, 2008 Stu Jenks

[Another Time Travel shot, this one in memory of William Wallace Gordon, cat.]

"Poi Above" (c) 2007, 2008

"Poi Above: Flam Chen in Bisbee, Arizona on New Year's Eve" (c) 2007, 2008 Flam Chen & Stu Jenks

["Mothra, O Mothra. If we were to call for help, with your mother's might, over time, answer our prayers"]

"Solstice Rock, Arizona" (c) 1998

"Solstice Rock, Arizona" (c) 1998 Stu Jenks


    December 21st , 1998; The day of the Winter Solstice.

    I’ve just past Windy Point and it’s beginning to snow. Oh boy oh boy. I’m leaning a little forward in my seat in my old King Cab, looking out the windshield at the flurries, as I continue to climb the winding two land road up Mt. Lemmon. My heart rate has increased just a bit. I can feel it. I light a smoke.
    My truck is not good in snow. No weight in the back. A 2 x 4. Just a couple years ago, when I was coming up here to pray at Solstice Rock, I had to turn around for I was slipping and sliding so much. I ended up praying north of Prison Camp instead. But today, it’s just starting to snow, not much on the road yet and if it does snow a lot while I’m up here, I pretty sure I can get down. Pretty sure. And I’ve only got another few miles to go to Solstice Rock, anyway. I can hopefully make it.
    After a couple of miles, I reach the pull-off near Solstice Rock. It’s snowing quite a bit here. Less than an inch on the ground now, but it is sticking and it ain’t melting. I park the truck, pointing it downhill toward Tucson and pull the hand brake. Screw it. I’m going. It’s powder so I’m probably OK.
    I put on my Boo Boo hat that Annie made for me last Christmas, slip on my old gloves, and put on my blue polar fleece jacket. Got on good boots and good socks. And lastly, I wrap my old tan wool scarf around my neck and tuck it into my coat. A scarf that my sister knitted 30 years ago. Not knitted for me, but I ended up with it anyway. My favorite scarf. I lock the pickup and walk across the road to the little trail that lead up to Solstice Rock.
    Just a short walk up to the Rock. Not too slick and delightfully cold. Within minutes, I’m standing on a ledge made of flat granite slabs and large granite boulders that I call Solstice Rock. No one else calls it that. Just me. A grand view to the east, the Rincons Mountains off at the distance, a thousand foot drop right below my feet. Snow is coming down heavier now. Best back up a bit from the edge. Think I’ll go to my praying place now.
    I’ve been coming here since 1988 on the day or night of the Winter Solstice to pray. I pray other days, quite often actually, but this is the place I come to pray big prayers. I take a deep breath. I close my eyes, then open them. What to pray for this year? I empty my mind. Something short, simple, true. Light. Yes, Light.
    I begin locally. I speak out loud. No Americans around to think I’m crazy for talking to myself. Actually. I’m talking to God. Ok, Stu, empty your mind again. Light. Light.
    “God, it’s me again. Not that you don’t hear from me often, but I’m up here on Solstice Rock to do my Solstice prayers, like I try to do every year. God, I call on Light. Bring back the Light. To Annie, bring her Light. To Michael, bring him Light. To John and Beth, bring them Light. To Mary Ann, bring her light. To Lisa, bring her Light. To Mike, bring him Light. To James and Julia, bring them Light. To Len and Virginia, bring them Light. To Jeff, bring him Light. To Linda, bring her light. To Dirk, bring him light. To Karen and Steve, bring them Light....”
    I pray for God to bring Light to all of my friends and acquaintances I can think of and a couple of people that used to be friends. Then I expand the circle to include strangers. Every one in Tucson.
    “God, Bring Light to all those who are struggling to recover from addiction. To all of the poor, bring them Light. To the rich too, bring them light. To all who suffer, bring them Light. To all those in the Tucson Valley, bring them Light.”
    I turn to the face northwest toward Prescott.
    “To Byron and Shawn, bring them Light. To all in Arizona, bring them Light.”
    My voice begins to rise, stronger, louder.
    “To all in the West, bring them Light”
    My arms spontaneously open by my side. I face to the east.
    “To Mary and Stuart and Pamela, bring them Light. To all I know and don’t know in North Carolina, bring them Light. To all in Virginia and all up and down the East Coast, bring them Light. To all of America, bring them Light.”
    My arms now fully extended. My voice now loud. The snow’s coming down hard.
    “To all who are suffering in the world, Bring them Light. To the people in Europe, bring them Light. To all in Asia, Africa, South America, The Whole World, bring them Light. God, Please. Bring them Light, bring them Light, bring us all Light.”
    Tears are flowing down my cheeks. I cry every year.
    “Bring them Light”
    My voice gets quieter.
    “Bring me Light, God.”
    Almost a whisper now
    “Please God, Bring us all Light”
    The snow is really coming down. I tilt back my head and watch the flakes come down.         
    They hit my glasses. I don’t care. I watch them for a few seconds and then adjust for the slight wind. And then, I catch a snow flake on my tongue.