Fezziwig Press & Photography by Stu Jenks

The Indian Wars: Chapter Eleven: "There Are Killers There, Yosemite National Park, California"

"There Are Killers There,
Yosemite Valley, California"

© 2008 Stu Jenks

It's eighteen hundred and something. Some Miwok Indians escort a few white miners up the Merced River. They come to the edge of a magnificent valley. The Miwoks stop abruptly. This puzzles the White Men. A Miwok man points toward the valley and says in his language:

"There are killers there."

Others of his tribe repeats what he said. Yes, they are killers.

The head honcho white man smiles.

"Yosemite? Yosemite. So that's the name of this place. How do you spell that?"

The Miwoks don't know what the White Man just said, but it looks like he doesn't grasp that they are all risking their lives by enter this valley.

They enter it anyway.

Hence this is how Yosemite got its White Man’s name. Or a story something like this.

 

The killers that the Miwoks were referring to were a band of Piautes led by chief Tenaya. May not have been such a great guy, Tenaya, for the Mono Piaute Indians of his birth stoned him to death, when he relocated back to his home near Mono Lake after the Mariposa Wars. Seems he stole some horses from his hosts and they didn't care for that too much.

Later, more confusion reined over who were the original inhabitants of Yosemite, when the Miwoks settled into the valley. They were given government housing, not out of pity or as part of the reservation system, but because the Indians made up a large portion of the workforce that was part of the new U.S. Park Service. The Miwoks came to help care for Yosemite and they got paid too. Many Indians still live and work for the government inside the Park, to this day. The government thought the Miwoks had lived there since forever. But the best guess is it was the Paiutes had lived in Yosemite Valley for centuries prior to the Gold Rush of ‘49. The Paiutes were a nomadic tribe, with a warrior culture. In contrast, the Miwoks of California were mostly non-nomadic, and much mellower and more peaceful in nature than their rivals to the east. And the Sierra Nevada Mountains were a natural barrier that keep the tribes apart. Mostly.

There are still some Paiutes and Miwoks in the area surrounding Yosemite National Park. Some have intermarried and generally everyone Native seems to get along. Mostly. Of course there are exceptions. But the Miwok reservations in California are small now, many with casinos that provide great income so they can send their kids to college. But what’s most striking to me, both in Yosemite and all throughout the Central Valley of California, is the general absence of Native People. The Miwoks had few warrior skills and were no match to the White Miners who came in the 1850's or any one else for that matter. And it makes sense that they would be a peaceful people. The land was rich with fish and game. There was plenty of land, plenty of water and it was a mild climate. It was Shangri-La. No need to fight. Let’s share.

So were they killed by the miners or the Paiutes coming from the east? Some were, of course, but that's not what killed most of the Indians, Miwok and Pauites alike, in California. What killed 90% of them was disease, Smallpox and other White childhood illnesses that the Indians had no natural defenses against. The Whites didn't shoot them. They simply coughed on them, and killed them just the same.

 

Muir Trail. 5 a.m. Still dark. The Full Moon set an hour ago

A Stu Fun Fact: If you want to be alone on a trail in the second most visited National Park in the system, go in the off-season and get up early.

I camped last night in a small city known as The Upper Pines Campground. Why do so many people have to bring their whole house with them when they camp in the wilderness? Does it scare them that much, that they have to bring familiar touchstones of home to combat their urban anxiety? But I got lucky. All the nuclear-powered Coleman Lanterns were either shaded from me by the mammoth fifth-wheels or they were far away. And all the screaming kids were inside by the time I arrived.

I had a dinner of salt and vinegar potato chips and a couple of Clif Bars purchased at a nearby store in Curry Camp. While walking to the store under the full moon, I noticed Yosemite Falls glistening in the moonlight, a grassy meadow spreading between me and the distant cliffs. I saw a nice hoop dance in my mind's eye, but decided on sleep instead. Sure glad I did, for I bet you I wouldn’t be on this trail now if I had shot last night.

All I have with me this morning are some warm clothes, a bottle of water and my Canon backpack that holds the digital with its 70 to 200 mm lens. (The lens has two names. "Cathy Jean" or "My Big White Penis". Depends on my mood.) Being a desert rat, the glorious roar of the Merced River's rapids to my right is enough to heal many a psychic wound. The endorphins that will come from hiking and the pics that will come from the heights will just be bonus points. The real prize is that sound, that space, this place. Just like a two dimensional image can't capture the three dimensional valley called Yosemite, a sound recording can't capture the roar of this river, unless, of course, it's played through monster speakers. But even then, you wouldn't have the musky river smell, nor the humidity of the spray, nor this moment in Time.

I love to shoot nature. I love to record its sounds too, but it never really 'captures' it, nor do I try for that. I work at making something new and universal from these raw materials, and try not get in my own way too much or in God’s way for that matter.

I take a break from hiking and call Craig in the Bay Area. I think I woke him up.

"Hey Craig, it's Stu, calling you from the Muir Trail"

"Hey Bro."

"Amazingly I'm getting cell phone bars in fucking Yosemite. Anyway, you going to be able to come?"

"Sorry, man. I got an appointment I can't miss but I sure wish I could come see you and Yosemite."

"That's OK, Craig. Cathy couldn't make it either, but it's nice of you two to want to come and share this with me. Just the thought of coming is very nice."

"Hey, by the way," I say, "I figured out what Yosemite’s about."

"What's that?"

"Yosemite is about Granite. Lots and lots of Granite. In a very big way."

We both laugh.

I can see why Ansel Adams plowed this field so thoroughly. The gray tones on the granite walls, even in the predawn light are exquisite. Such a range of tone, from snow gray to deep black and all the shades in-between. And a large format camera with black and white film would eat these tones for lunch. I'll see what I can get with the 70/200. I feel a little sad though, for the ghost of Ansel, and for the spirits of the Miwoks and Piautes. Yosemite Valley isn't wilderness anymore. Other parts of the park are but not The Valley. And living and growing up here, and dying and growing old here, as Native People did for a millenium, must have been the North American Indian equivalent of living on a South Sea island, with banana trees everywhere and all the fish you can eat. And poor Ansel probably would get lost on the valley floor now, with its one way roads, its huge cafeteria, its long rows of two story apartments and its tourists who carry their houses on their backs. Least the Granite hasn't changed that much, I suppose.

I was wrong back in Coalmine Canyon. Just because I've never been someplace before, doesn't mean I won't see how the place has changed over time. A blind man can see it here in Yosemite.

Higher and higher I climb. Not an easy trail but not that hard either, made even sweeter by the complete lack of humans. (They are all asleep below.) Miles pass. The light continues to grow. I take some silhouette images of trees. I shoot distant waterfalls and water close at hand. Will I make it to Half Dome's base? Probably not. I'm not driven to 'bag' that rock. It's not about the destination. It's about the walking, the seeing, the being. It always is, really. The Now, you know. There is only right here, right now, be it this magnificent trail or a dirty back alley in Tucson. The illusion is that there is ever a Somewhere Else.  And this isn't just blind Woo Woo I'm talking here. This is an experienced truth. This, I believe, is a central Truth in the world: That what we see, feel, taste, touch, hear, smell, walk, kiss, pray and breathe, exists only in the Present. Try kissing your girlfriend tomorrow, today. Can't be done.

I take some more images but not that many, for the picture-taking is starting to get in the way. It's as if the glass of the lens filters the deeper feelings. That happens sometimes

Up a couple more miles. Pray. Drink. See. Feel. Smell. Walk.

Dawn is here. Dawn is now. The gray tones come alive in my eyes.

My eyes. The best camera of all.

 

Inspiration Point. Late morning. A shitload of people. Couldn't get to Glacier Point. Snowed in. It is what it is. It's OK. Getting close to Noon now. It's a clusterfuck here but kind of a fun clusterfuck. Fun to see all these tourists taking pictures of each other with Yosemite Valley behind them. I take some shots of them taking pictures of each other. That’s fun too.

But it's kind of sad looking into the valley. I know there are no Indians except the few Miwoks who work for the Park Service. No campfire smoke rising in columns below me from native camps. There is less fish in the river, less game in the dells. Lots of people there though, some taking the obligatory shots of Yosemite Valley from this roadside pulloff, but a few do dwell and take it all in, here and there. Not all Americans are jerks. The Second Noble Truth.

I watch folks come and go. Among all the people around me I see a nice looking family of three. I have an idea.

"Excuse me,"  I say to a man who is a bit younger than I, " Would you take my picture?"

"Sure," he says, smiling.

I hand him Cathy Jean.

"This is quite a camera," he says.

"Yes it is," I say, "And thanks for doing this. I rarely get any pictures of me in such places as this."

He raises the Canon to his eye.

"How does it work?"

I quickly show him.

I stand, my back to Yosemite Valley.

"How's my hair?" I have camping hair. It's going every which a way.

"You look fine," says his wife with a tone in her voice that says, 'Don't be so vain.' Sorry, hon. Too late.

I cock my head slightly to one side.

I smile.

All in all, it's been a great morning. Good people, a great river, even greater Granite.

Click goes my Canon.

 

"An Argument Against Photography: Redux"

   
   

   

    [Note from August 24th, 2008:

    I took this post down a while ago because I was getting flamed by the trolls so fiercely. I don't have that thick of skin, but a good number of people have said how much they admired me for saying what was true today in Art, in Art Commerce and in Photography. So I'm putting it back up. What is also true now is I hired myself back as an artist. I've having a successful show at the Hotel Congress right now, (no sales yet, but a good number of nibbles) and I've been invited to be a part of a group show in my childhood home of Raleigh, North Carolina around the Holidays. So Life is good.    

    Bottom Line: I'm still in debt up to my eyeballs, but I have no kids, so if I drop dead tomorrow, it'll just be called a bad debt by the credit card companies. And now, except for pigment prints that I give to friends, I'm pricing myself what it's worth in the larger American marketplace. I will sell a lot less but I won't feel ripped off anymore, and that's a very good thing. And I'm grateful, as always, for eyes to see and Ones, Zeros and Negatives to record what I think and feel. Now, if we can just get that Black Man from Chicago and that White Guy from Delaware elected, I'll be a very happy man.

    Oh. And I don't hate rich people, but I do see that we have a class war going on here, in America and around the world. And the two sides are the poor, by birth or by circumstance, the hard-pedaling working class, the ever-shrinking middle class AND the good, generous, grateful, kind, rich people vs. the selfish, the hucksters, the opportunistic, the sleepwalkers, the entitled rich, the entitled of all economic strata, the power addicts, and those who follow the powerful, thinking that they will be wealthy someday, but in actuality, will just continue to be the busboys at the tables of the amoral affluent.]

    "An Argument Against Photography" © May 2008 Stu Jenks

    [The two images are from Bard, New Mexico, a 21st Century ghost-town, along Interstate 40]

    "When you come to a fork in the road, take it" - Yogi Berra.

    I'm done. Stick a fork in me. I'm toast. Fuck it.

    My dream of having a career as a financially viable Visual Artist ended at 4:45 on Sunday, May 11th, 2008, when I closed my studio door and left to hike up Tumamoc Hill. I had just spent two days in my studio trying to sell my Fine Art prints. I was my normal cordial self, telling stories about my images, polite to all. And I didn't sell one print the whole weekend (With the exception of selling a print that I had made a tentative arrangement to sell, to someone who already had the print in her possession. She brought a check. That doesn't count.) Not one fucking print. I was selling my prints for half of what the market value in Tucson will bear, for that's what we do at the Open Studio Tours. Sell stuff a bit cheaper, cash and carry, without gallery rep fees. Anyway, I was pissed. Am still angry and hurt but doing OK I suppose. Sometimes a bad thing ends up being a good thing, and vice versa. I was on the verge of buying a new long fast $1700 Canon lens but then realized that at some point I have to say to myself, 'Stu, this has failed. Stop throwing money down a shit hole.'
    So I'm done. I put in ten good years to make it as a Fine Art Photographer. I have failed. It is what it is.
    [And I'm not quitting simply because of one bad weekend. No. Below is my lengthy argument against continuing my journey at having an Art career. With a little history, and some fun and not-so-fun facts. But it's all true. No pulled punches. OK, a couple glancing blows to protect some people, but mostly full force. And don't expect correct grammar and tight writing here. It's not a vision statement or a story with arc. It's a rant.]
    I began this dream, this committed effort to have a career as a Fine Artist, in the 1996. Actually I got a BFA in Studio Art in 1979, but the hard-core push began in the late 1990's. Went back to school and learned how to print Black and White. Used the Toole Shed darkroom to print the prints. Had a plan. Here's what it was.
    I'd build a large portfolio. I'd get a rep or two or three. I'd find patrons to buy my work. I'd do the work. I'd take the images. I'd increase my resume with lots of juried shows. I'd make a photo book or two, if I could get an agent. I'd sell large and small Fine Art prints, for large and small amounts of money. I'd sell the limited use rights of my images to others, not through stock houses but through myself and art representatives. I hoped to make enough money to someday quit the day job. I'm talking about making net, between 20 and 30 thousand a year. Not a lot of coin but enough for me to live on and to make more flame spiral images. Enough to continue the Work. I figured I could probably do that, if I continued to work hard, find representation, made images that were original and Stu-like and get lucky along the way. I also figure I would have to risk some and go into a little bit of debt. And at the very least, I hoped to break even, if I couldn't make it a full time job.
    I began making the images. I built the portfolio, got a rep or two, had some patrons, increased the resume, sold quite a bit but not a lot, made a name for myself worldwide with my mysterious images of flame spirals and archetypal symbols.
    And went into more and more debt.
    In good years in the past ten years, I made $3000 to $5000 gross a year, in print sales, limited rights usage for CD covers, book covers, corporate logos, etc., but my expense were between $5000 and $8000 a year, in film, paper, ink, studio space, lab fees, framing, gas, lodging, new equipment, etc. Bottom Line: I was going into about $2000 to $3000 a year into debt on my credit cards.
    Now, I'm over $25,000 in debt to my plastic. A quarter of my income that I get from the day job, (as a licensed substance abuse counselor and treatment assessor,) goes toward the interest and the principle. And sales and user rights have diminished over the last three years. Last year I grossed $3523.15 in art business.   
    Also, I'm not a trust fund baby, a husband of someone who is supporting me, or a retired person with $500,000 in investments, where I live off the interest. I make $20,000 a year after taxes as a counselor.
    You may ask, 'Why don't you get a better paying job?'
    Answer: Because I really don't think it's a good idea. I've prayed about it a lot and the answer is always 'stay'. I'm a good counselor, a good treatment assessor, a good group facilitator and plus I have health insurance and benefits worth $6000 a year. Sure, my passion for the Field of Addictions has waned some since the late 1980's but it's hard to get a job that pays $30,000 plus gross in Tucson. We are a poor city. And I was trying to eventually get out of the field and work as a visual artist, you know.
    You may ask, 'Why don't you get a job as a photographer, shooting weddings or corporate stuff?'
    Answer: Because I'm not a photographer. I just use a camera to record and make images that are Fine Art to me. Images with some mystery, with some wonder, and sometimes with some edge. Printed on archival paper. Suitable for framing or to be sold for limited use to others. And by saying I'm not a photographer, I'm not being falsely modest. I shoot the occasional wedding for friends but I'm not very good at that (Even though they would tell you otherwise.) And if I were a professional wedding photographer, I would be an active alcoholic before the year was out. And I find straight photography quite boring. I don't want to shoot building facades, and smiling Captains of Industry for a living! Fuck that! And I don't read books about famous photographers, nor stand in awe of the Greats, be they artists or musicians or writers (OK, Dylan, and Cockburn, and Gabriel I listen to in awe.) I like my Arbus and my Adams, but I think Winogrand is overrated and Witkin is a creep. I don't use strobes or light bags, nor wish to ever learn. I could give a flying fuck about color temps. I just use the camera as a tool. If I could use a pencil and paper, I would use that.
    Which brings me to my argument against photography. Not only for me but for others as well perhaps.
    If you want to make a living being a photographer, forget it. OK, don't forget it but it's going to be a very difficult climb in this day and age. I know two pros, good guys, who make a living off of selling stock photos, and specialty weather images, and they're working hard, doing many other photo jobs around town but they are struggling, and they have over 50 years experience between them. I know another photographer in Los Angeles. Great guy. Great artist as both a Fine Art photographer and as a pro. Shot as a Unit Photographer for Television for a while, but couldn't get enough work to survive. He's now working as a line cook again and going back to school in his forties to get a teaching certificate to teach high school kids. I know another photographer who used to make good money shooting airplanes but that job moved away, and she has now gone back to school to learn graphic design, but is having a hell of a time finding work in that field too. And these are all hard working, very good people, who know how to play well with others.
    Oh, and about getting paid. It's gotten worse and worse, getting money from corporation and companies for commercial work and for art work. Most take the philosophy of ‘Buy Low-Sell High' into their negotiations with pro photographers, artists and graphics people. Now, many only hired young kids right out of school, for they know they are hungry and they can get them cheap. And pro photographers, artists and graphics people are now doing twice as much work as they used to do, for less and less money. It's a goddamn shame.
    Add to that the 21st Century’s overarching world trend toward people not wanting to pay for anything, anymore. We live in a Time of Entitlement. As Gillian Welch sang in her song “Everything Is Free” about people ripping off musicians, ‘Someone hit the big score/They figured it out/That we're gonna do it anyway/Even if doesn't pay.’ People steal music off of piers on the Internet, and don't pay for it. I've been ripped off by some musicians in South America who took some low res jpegs off my website and made albums covers from them. And they promised money but it never came. But that doesn't bother me that much. The price of doing business.
    What chaps my ass is no one wants to pay real money for my fine art giclee or my gelatin silver prints or my crystal archives, or for the use of my images for commercial ventures. (With some exception of course. I have had dealings with some good business people but they are few and far between.) They want it for cheap. I was selling 13 x 19 inch giclees, on good paper, at my studio this weekend for $110 (which includes tax, so that gross $100 for me. Net maybe $50 a print. Maybe.) Retail they sell for $200 to $350 (and they have in the past.) But people groaned at the price and it keeps getting worse, year after year.
    I can blame the economy but I don't think that alone is entirely the truth. These people are what I call Ritz Crackers, low class white people with a lot of money. They can afford it. Hell, a few people this weekend went out of their way to impress me on the future and past vacations to Europe. They got the cash. They liked the images. They just want it for free or cheap.
    So finally, here's my final argument against photography as a viable career. The last nail.
    Everyone has a camera now, and most people can take reasonable pictures. My elderly mother does OK with a disposable, for Christ’s sake. Everyone can take their jpegs (or ones they've pulled off the Web) and put them on their own desktop. And they are happy with that. Or corporate guys get their secretary to got out and take some pictures for them. Or they hire hungry kids. Or they low-ball me. Anyway. It's easy now. Your brother in law can shoot your wedding and they'll look pretty good.

    So those are my arguments against photography now. For me. Others may want to shoot calendars of cute animals or do porno for website, or shoot weddings and rip off brides, or take table scraps from The Man. Not me. No thank you.
    Oh, and a final thought. You may have seen someone who is making the kind of Art that I affectionately call 'Nightmares on a Wall.' (You know what I mean. Butt-ugly shit but it has an impressive rap behind it,) and that someone is apparently making a living off the Nightmares, or they are trying to convince you that they are making a living off it, and they don't have a full time teaching position, and I'll show you someone who has a mysterious source of income that they aren't talking about. Perhaps a well-healed husband or wife. Maybe a trust fund. Maybe a rich dad. (I know a mediocre stoner photographer whose Dad has budgeted a quarter of a million dollars for his career. $250,000. And if it weren't for a couple of talented graphic people color-correcting his transparencies, his stuff would look like complete shit. And he is publishing his third book now and is represented by one of the biggest Art agencies in New York.) Maybe an early retirement account. But they aren't making it off the Art. They are making it somewhere else. And I can count on one hand from that large group of artists, who fall into that category, who actually admit to having big money behind the scenes. The others' smugness disgusts me. Also, you'll find musicians, and writers who fall into this category as well. And some of these fucks say what I'm doing is a 'hobby', or that I shouldn't expect to make any money. God damn easy for them to say that. (And word to the wise: Don't call what I do a 'hobby' to my face. You may get punched if my blood sugar is low. Then again you won't have the chance now, for Elvis is leaving the building.)
    So friends and neighbors, and strangers on the Web, I'm done. I'm not going to spend good money after bad anymore. I'm not going to buy the great $1700 lens that I want. Makes no sense. I'll still shoot some, but not like I have in the past. I'll still make some prints but not very many now. I'll let my resume go stale and my portfolio grow old. What's in the box will be what I have to sell, except for custom orders of larger prints and those will be for sale for the full market value, taken from my fotoQuote program. No more screaming deals. I'll shoot some roller derby, but not as much. Maybe none at all. (Too much expense on ink and paper and time. It's a labor of love but I end up feeling resentful, for Tucson Roller Derby pays the musicians that play at halftime. Why not pay the photographers too? Doesn't matter now.) No more weddings. (Oh, wait a minute. I don't shoot weddings anyway.) No more cheap CD deals for musicians (One in particular that comes to mine is a player who jumps from artist to artist so he can get images for cheap. Then again, he stopped asking me for images a long time ago, when I started asking for what I was worth.) No more cold call book submissions to large and small publishing houses. If I do a book, I'll pay for it with my mother's inheritance after she dies which, given her manic narcissistic energy, won't be for another ten years or more.) No more hopes for making twenty grand a year. I'll keep the studio at BR 549 for I need someplace to store my stuff, and $188 a month for storage isn't a bad deal. Plus I can practice my mandolin and my synth there, at night.
    Which bring me to the music.
    I will continue to play music. I'm going to buy a new Apple laptop soon so I can record music again. (My old Apple hasn't enough RAM or speed to do what I need it to do anymore.) I will continue to learn and compose instrumental ambient pieces on the mandolin and the synthesizer, along with the odd song with lyrics about lost tribes and sad love. I will have no hope of having a career as a musician, but I will try and work at becoming a better player. I will hopefully play live more, by myself and with other people. I will play the mandolin and make my calluses thicker and harder. I will play the synthesizer and make the long sustains and releases longer and sweeter. I will continue to try and make a little mystery and beauty in the world, but it'll be audio not visual. Mostly.
    I'm not going to be like Marcel Duchamp and give up Art to play chess. But I'm going to give up the Art career so I can take my girlfriend out to a better restaurant and hopefully within ten years get out of this mountain of debt. (Oh wait. I don't have a girlfriend.)
    And I will play music. And sure, I'll take some pictures. I guess. I don't know. But I won't be spending a shit load of cash on ink, paper, gas, and new equipment to make some hoop dances in the desert that no one pays for. And please don't get me wrong. I have no sense of entitlement here. It's just that photography and what I've done in the past with a camera costs a lot of money. It's not like I'm doing pen and ink drawings. (Even though I bet there are big costs hidden to me in that as well, like high-end rag paper, expensive india ink, matting, framing, website costs and some such.) Photographically creating what I do just cost too much money now, and the huge plastic debt I've incurred has taken too much of a psychic toll on me. I'm beginning to feel sad about it. I'm sure I'll grieve it harder in a few days. But right not, along with the anger, I feel some relief. Like my old country doctor back in North Carolina used to say, "It's like hitting yourself over the head with a hammer. It feels so good when you stop."

    Yesterday, when I left the studio, I hiked up Tumamoc Hill, a beautiful little mountain minutes from my studio.
    I didn't take my camera with me.
    I took my mandolin instead.

Everything is Free
(Gillian Welch and David Rawlings)

Everything is free now,
That's what they say.
Everything I ever done,
Gotta give it away.
Someone hit the big score.
They figured it out,
That we're gonna do it anyway,
Even if doesn't pay.

I can get a tip jar,
Gas up the car,
And try to make a little change
Down at the bar.

Or I can get a straight job,
I've done it before.
I never minded working hard,
It's who I'm working for.

(Chorus)

Every day I wake up,
Hummin' a song.
But I don't need to run around,
I just stay home.

And sing a little love song,
My love, to myself.
If there's something that you want to hear,
You can sing it yourself.

undefined everything is free now,
That what I say.
No one's got to listen to
The words in my head.
Someone hit the big score,
And I figured it out,
That we're gonna do it anyway,
Even if doesn't pay.

    [Final thought: What I’m doing isn’t a Big Surrender where I ask God for direction and help as I plunge into the unknown. I’m giving up. I quit. But if a Cosmic Muffin, or a Good God, or a generous Rich Person puts $25,000 into my Paypal account so I can get out of debt, I’ll reconsider. However, I won’t be holding my breath.]

    [Note from the Next Day: Good Folk actually want to donate to my Paypal account. I'm very touched. My account name is stujenks@gmail.com. I have no words other than thank you. Thank you.]

PRESS RELEASE: "Nine Prayers: Photographs of Stu Jenks"

PRESS RELEASE:
"Nine Prayers: Photographs of Stu Jenks"

The Hotel Congress Lobby
311 E. Congress, Tucson, AZ
July 21st - September 13th, 2008

Artist's Reception: Wednesday, August 20th, 2008, 6 - 8 p.m.

 

        Beginning July 21st, Stu Jenks will be displaying what he calls "A small retrospective of large photographs" from the past eleven years. Each of the nine photographs has a personal prayer associated with it, be it the hopeful "I pray we have a good Christmas" to the humorous "I pray that bull doesn't get mad at me, once he finds out I don't have any food." Most of the images are printed using the revolutionary Roland D'Vinci pigment printer, which gives amazingly deep blacks and brilliantly vibrant colors.         
        Jenks' work ranges from mysterious nocturnal images of twinkling hoops and flaming spirals in desert and forested locales, to action photographs of the Tucson Roller Derby women and of the circus troupe Flam Chen. The show is being curated by David Aguirre of Dinnerware Artspace of Tucson.
        The exhibition will run through September 13th, and there will be an Artist's Reception on Wednesday, August 20th, from 6 to 8 p.m. at the Hotel Congress Lobby.

 

   

[As you can see, the show is up. It looks good, especially in the daylight hours. Head on by if you are in town, or simply enjoy this Ones-And-Zeros exhibition, if you are afar. And so many to thank, but here are just a few: Annie, Cathy, James, Terri, Charles, David, Paul, Nadia, Doe, Flo, Dana, Crane, Dirk, Dirk, Barb, Tana, John, John, Michael, Sterling, Ronn, Blake, Mary Anne, Dahna, Brenda, Peggy, Geoff, Cindy, Mark, Angela, Mike, Mike, Bo, Mary and Stuart.]

[All images, including the lobby installation photos, by Stu Jenks]

"I'm Not Suicidal..." (c) 2008

"I’m Not Suicidal..." © 2008 Stu Jenks

[Image: "Owl's Head From The Air" © 2008 Stu Jenks]

[I’ve gotten some interesting phone calls and e-mails over the last two days. So here are some clarifications to the “Argument Against Photography” post on the StuBlog from a couple days ago]

Stu’s Fun Facts:

1)    I'm not suicidal. I'm not ever that depressed. I'm just angry and sad. And grieving. Grieving the loss of a dream, a thought that I might actually be able make a bit of a career out of being an Fine Art Photographer. That without having MFA and a good teaching gig, I might be able to at least break even and not go into a shit load of debt making Fine Art Photography. I was wrong. I’m OK.

2)    All I did was fire myself from my own one-man art business. That's it.

3)    The photo at the top of the ‘Argument’ post was of an abandoned store in the ghost town of Bard, New Mexico. It isn't a photo of my studio after I'd gone bat-shit and trashed all my images. The kids are fine. I didn’t hurt them.

4)    When I spoke of the Art Fucks out there, I wasn't talking about the current gallery folk, who carry my work and my cards in Arizona (You know who you are.) You all are the good guys. I wasn't talking about those wonderful Art people on Congress Street or those great women in the Foothills who show my work (You know who you are.) I wasn't talking about my past art rep (You know who you are.) I wasn’t talking about the good corporate people who have bought the rights to my images and bought the artistic services for a fair price (You know who you are.) I wasn't talking about any of the very good people, rich, poor and in-between, who have bought images of mine throughout the years or any of the book publishers who have bought the use of my images for their publications for a fair price (You know who you are.) I wasn’t talking about the fire performers, visual artists, musicians and writers who have worked with me and who have traded for services, so to speak, creating a wonderful circle of generosity and love. (You know who you are.) None of you all are the Shameless Exploiters. The Art Fucks. You all were, and are, the Good Folk. The very Good Folk.

5)    I will still take pictures, just not with the same gusto or with the same commitment. I'll still have a camera in my truck, be it my Brownie or my Canon. I still will be working on my little Photo Books and posting them on my blog as I finish. I just quitting the Art Business. I’m not quitting making the Art. Can’t do that. (But to be honest, I’m tired and I need a break. Maybe a long break. Who knows. All we have is today, you know.)

6)    I will be still blogging. The Ones and Zeros are just too much fun and I like to write.

7)    I'll still be in some shows I suppose, but I just won't be spending a lot of money on framing work upfront, nor in persuing representation, nor in showing my work to new galleries and such. And I won’t be seeking admission to any juried shows at museums for a good long while.

8)    It's really about the Coin why I've fired myself. Oh, and yes, it is about some of the jerks out there. But mostly, it’s about the Coin. The Big Debt.

9)    And to the men and women I've done Fair Business with in the past, I'd be happy to do more honest ethical business with you. But the air has gone out of much of my balloon. And my ambition ain’t what it used to be. But I do and have appreciated working with you all. (God, I wish there were more of you out there.)

10)    I'm just getting out of the Game. I’ll still be shooting hoops in the backyard. I'm just not going to be at the playground, looking for pick up games.

11)    I'm really OK. Sad, angry, grieving, but OK.

12)    And I treasure my friendships and loves with all you Good Folk, here in Tucson, and in Atlanta, New York, Wisconsin, Arizona, California, North Carolina, London, The UK, New Mexico, Utah, and all those other places I can’t remember. I’m not leaving you all and I don’t think most of you all are leaving me. I’m just leaving the Game, while I still have some.
 

"Stu's New Mexican Fun Facts" (c) 2007

"Stu's New Mexican Fun Facts" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

[Images: "Doubting Thomas, St. Francis Cathedral, Santa Fe, New Mexico" & "Plastic Medicine Wheel, Carrizozo, New Mexico"]

1)        Went to Taos. Well, drove through Taos really. Stopped at The Pueblo briefly and paid money for admission and for each of my two cameras that I brought into the village. White people gawking at Red people. Was bizarre to say the least. Took a couple shots of the old graveyard and split. While driving out of Taos, I listened to National Public Radio. They were having their semi-annual fund-raising campaign. (Had actually been listening to the fund-raising on NPR for my whole trip, through Wyoming, Nebraska, South Dakota, Montana, and Colorado. Wyoming had the best music. Montana had the most pleasant DJs. Nebraska had the kindest voices. Made sense.) I noticed something different, here in Taos, from the other stations I heard thus far. Lots of dead air. Then giggling afterwards. Then people talking and they didn’t make much sense. Hmmm. I think they need to put down the spleef in Taos, or monitor their medication a bit more closely.

2)        Had a plan to see the Sante Fe Plaza and visit St. Francis Cathedral again. It had been twenty years since I was last in Sante Fe. Back in the day, you could see the Cathedral from a distance and get your bearing quite easily. Not now. Luxury hotels, taller or as tall as the church, surrounded the Plaza. I had to actually ask someone where the Cathedral was. Had a delightful time inside of St. Francis, though. I prayed, I shot, I just look around, I prayed some more. Hadn’t changed much in twenty years and still felt like the sanctuary that it is. I thought of sticking around for dinner in Santa Fe but I didn’t. I wasn’t wearing the right clothes for a nice meal there, nor did I feel like I belonged. Saw a huge smiling bronze pig out front of a fancy gallery. Grinning, from jowl to jowl. The North Carolinian in me just sees that as a silly way to spend money.

3)        Went to a 12 Step meeting in a bad part of Albuquerque, just at sunset. Good people, bad neighborhood. Felt like I’d been to church twice that day.   

4)        Spent the night in an anonymous motel in Socorro. Had good coffee the next morning at a café just off the town square. Every town in America has a café now, that has good coffee, fresh baked goods and a friendly staff. And they ain't Starbucks. Gives me hope for America.

5)        Drove by the Trinity Atomic Bomb Site. Again, didn’t really drive by it for I quickly realized I wasn’t supposed to be on that government road and hastily turned around, but it was just over that hill. Just being close still gave me the willies. The world changed forever over there, on July 16th, 1945 at 5:29 in the morning.            

6)        Midmorning, I went hiking into the Valley of Fire, a place of recent lava flows, only 1000 years old or so. Didn’t hike far. Just a ways in, played the mandolin for a while and took in the sharp blackness that is the Malpais. The wind blew cool and the acoustics were flat in a pleasant way.

7)        Just south of Carrizozo, I saw some amazing clouds that looked like huge jellyfish flying in the sky. I took their picture but it didn’t translate at all. Sometimes you just have to be there. While walking along the road looking at those clouds, I found an old hubcap among the sage. The paint had peeled away from much of it, yet the cheap chrome still adhered to the center of the plastic wheel. I took a picture, then picked up the hubcap. I saw an object I could make with this wheel and with a few bits of colorful cloth. I dusted it off and took it back to the truck. (It now leans against a leg of my small dining room table. All cleaned up and waiting for the time I tie some cotton to it, but right now I just like looking at it on the floor as I leave my kitchen. Maybe after the New Year, I’ll fiddle with it.)

"Devils Tower National Monument, Bear's Lodge, Wyoming" (c) 2007

"Devils Tower National Monument, Bear's Lodge, Wyoming" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

        Bing, bing, bing.....bing, bing. A musical hint I so badly want to send to friends back home via my cell phone, when I first saw this majestic peak in front of me yesterday. But alas, I haven't had cell phone coverage since Colorado.
        Hint: In a movie, I'm carving a mountain out of mashed potatoes. I'm Richard Dreyfuss. Where am I?

        25 years ago, I kept on driving on my way to the Pacific Ocean and didn't stop here. I regretted that for years. Today, I hadn't planned on stopping but I asked myself this simple question when I was a
couple of hours away. Question: When will I be within a hundred miles of Devils Tower again? Answer: Who the hell knows. I'm so glad I stopped. I haven't been disappointed in the least, in my twenty-four hours at this holy and funny spot.

        Stu's Fun Facts:

1)      Devils Tower was the United States' first National Monument (Yellowstone was the first National Park). Teddy Roosevelt made it a Monument in 1906, for he didn't want this unusual igneous intrusion to be harmed or abused.

2)      The Monument is quite tiny by National Park standards (Yellowstone and The Grand Canyon are huge in comparison.) Just the Tower, the land below it, and parts of the Belle Fourche River are inside of the Monument boundaries.

3)      Devils Tower rises 1267 feet above the surround land. Straight up.

4)      The Monument contains a very large Prairie Dog town. Sweet Jesus Christ, they are the funniest, most mesmerizing creatures I have ever seen in the Wild. I promised my friend Annie that I will take her there someday simply for the Prairie Dogs, (which she can get easy access to from the modest but beautiful campground that sits on the banks of the Belle Fourche.) Annie loves baby creatures, little wild
animals. This place would be a Mecca for her.

5)      Devils Tower is a holy peak for the surrounding tribes: Cheyenne, Lakota, Arapaho, Shoshone, Kiowa and others. Everyone of these tribes call the mountain, Bear's Lodge, or Bear's Tipi, or Bear's House or variations of that (even though one tribe does call it 'Penis Mountain".) But an ignorant arrogant smart-assed white guy showed up back in the day, and said that an Indian told him that the peak was
called "Bad God's Tower", so he called it "Devils Tower" and it stuck. No one, but him, had ever called it that before. The park system is thinking of changing the name to Bear's Lodge National Monument after being petitioned by the neighboring tribes. I'm on the tribe's side in this one. I don't think the French would like it too much of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris was called Black Magic Woman Church because a Nazi called it that in World War Two.

6)      Also, numerous Indians are a bit pissed off that so many people climb Devils Tower. A couple thousand people a year do. A compromise has been reached by the Park Service. Even though they can't mandated that no one climb during the month of June (A heavily ceremonial month for many of the tribes) they have asked that people not climb the Tower during that time and they have gotten 90% voluntary compliance. (Separation of Church and State prohibits the Service from doing anymore than asking.) High marks to those who agree to stay off the mountain at least one month a year. Brief aside: It did bamboozle me when I saw the lamps of flashlights of those bivouacking on the sheer
face of the Tower, the night I spent there. Brief flash of light in the dark at 1000 feet above the ground. Very bizarre.

7)      Some say that Sweet Medicine, the Cheyenne Hero, was buried at Bear's Lodge.

8)      The Crows come to Devils Tower to worship and fast. They built small stone "dream houses" as part of the vision quests, structures that are as long and as wide as a man. A worshiper would recline in his or her structure, head to the east as part of his vision quest (Crows I understand are matriarchal, so I bet women vision quest too.)

9)     I had a couple of pretty powerful experiences with the Tower and its tall Grasses, its moist Sage, and its very big Day and Night Sky. I'm going to keep mum about them, but I hope you enjoy the images I took.

10)     Lastly, odd as it might sound, the Prairie Dog town is worth the trip alone. Praying to God And To-All-There-Is, is all well and good, but laughing out loud at the antics of the Dogs is just as heaven-sent.

"Stu's Fun Facts: The Pusch Ridge Rant" (c) 2007

“Stu’s Fun Facts #2: The Pusch Ridge Rant” © 2007 Stu Jenks

       [Image: "Pusch Ridge and Meghan's Hill"]

       Fun Fact #1: To paraphrase Henry Rollins, sweeping generalizations are never accurate but they sure are fun. I was politely corrected or confronted or something like that, about my generalization that Writers tend to be a more laid-back group than say, Contemporary Visual Artists. Well, I was told and I heard clearly numerous examples of crazy-ass writers behaving badly and I stand corrected. People are people, artist are artists. It has to do with the man or the woman, not about what they make.

       Fun Fact #2: How about a generalization that Crafts People are more fun than Contemporary Artists? Can I get an amen there? OK, OK. I’ll stop.

       Fun Fact #3: To flesh out something from my last Fun Facts, (Is this how it’s going to go, you might think? Is Stu going to now start explaining what he meant in a previous blog entry? They must an Web word for it.), when I said that a good number of Contemporary Artists have ‘mysterious sources of income’ and they let on like they make it from their product, I wasn’t criticizing the Old Money or the New Money that lets them make their Art. Frankly, I hope I get some family money someday myself (if there is any left). What I get pissed about is their unwillingness to be upfront about it, that I’ve never heard this once from these any of these folk that I know: “Boy, I sure am grateful my father left me all that money’, or “Thank God my wife makes a ton of cash as a real estate attorney”, or “Sure glad I have that trust fund.” Never. Nada. Ain’t heard them say it once. But I have often seen the smugness of their faces, and heard their subtle condescending remarks about those who 'don't make a full commitment to The Work.' That's code for meaning those who don't make Art full time aren't serious about it. Well, Fuck you. If I had $30,000 coming in from a trust fund, or someone else was paying my bills, I'd quit the day job tomorrow and make Music and Art full time. But that isn't the case. And again, I would love to have a lot of cash, but it ain't really about the money. Ok, a little bit, but mostly about the attitude of superiority. (Have you ever noticed that those that tell you to not worry about money are those who already have it?)
       And finally, you can bet dimes to a donut, I'd give credit to those who put the money in my pocket, if and when they did. I already do. Every print that's sold, every CD that's purchased is given with a big virtual sloppy kiss attached. Hell, I’ll thank my mother now too. She’s bought me my fancy Canon D30 for Christmas last year. I couldn’t afford the $1200 that camera costs. So thank Mary Jenks for many of the images you’ve seen on this blog and elsewhere in 2007. Speaking of Mary, she’s ____ years old and her health is dicey. Say a prayer for Mother Mary, if you are the praying type.

  Fun Fact #4: Speaking of Craft People, rent or buy “Craft In America”, a DVD of the three hour PBS mini-series. If you like beauty, good design, good people and a sense of community, watch this DVD. It has given me hope for the American future in the Visuals Arts. The Great White Hope of Art won’t be coming from New York or LA in the 21st century. She’ll be coming from Penland, or Helena, or Oakland, or Devon, or Raleigh, or maybe he’ll be coming from Alaska. Look for this DVD. It’s important, in a small way, as one of the Penland artists said.

       Fun Fact #5: The Boss has a new CD out, "Magic" it's called. It’s good. I'm not a person who worships at the altar of Bruce Springsteen, but he, like Neil Young, Bruce Cockburn or others, are still pushing their limits and looking at the world with honest eyes, and with wounded hearts. Plus they also know how to write a good tune. “You’ll Be Coming Down”, “Last to Die” and “Long Walk Home” are my favs.

       Fun Fact #6: “Deer Hunting with Jesus”, Joe Bagent’s book on the unspoken class war in America is infuriatingly funny and sometime just infuriating. Joe is the Progressive Prodigal Son who returns to his hometown of Winchester, Virginia. His distaste and loathing for greedy business men and women is only surpassed by his deep and honest love for Rednecks and for Good Old Boys and Girls, who he calls 'my people'. A great read but be warned. You’ll want to throw the book across the room at least once, but you’ll also laugh so hard you may drop it. And if you are a Southerner, you will get it like a Parisian gets cheese.

       Fun Fact #7: What’s up with all these shows on TV that are about the problems of the spoiled and horny Rich? Do we really need more Desperate Housewives and Husbands? Even the fun shows on HBO like “Californication” and “Entourage” are about the very rich. I guess the middle class, and the poor ain’t that funny anymore. Reminds me of the time of the escapist films of the 1930's.

       Fun Fact #8: If you live in Tucson, hit the Conrad Wilde Gallery this month. The collage, assemblage and mixed media show “Parts of a Whole” is wonderful. It’s worth going to see Catherine Nash’s dark but hopeful work. And Margaret Suchland’s correspondences, David Adix’s knifes, and Greg Stephens’ blood red collages ain’t too shabby either. The show will be up until October 27th.

       Fun Fact #9: Who in the fuck am I going to vote for in the Democratic primary? Fuck me. I hate to say this…I really do…but the Democrats are almost as bad at the Republicans. Selfish, disingenuous, about themselves only. I guess I’ll vote for Edwards, for he is the only one talking about The Poor, but I saw him speak a couple months ago, and I wasn’t impressed. Slick. Not much meat. A lot of air, too little fire. I’ll vote for Hillary if she is the eventual nominee but not now. I saw her speaking at a barbeque in Iowa on CSPAN yesterday and it was like watching an actress performing. Her voice was quieter, more modulating, more compassionate but as soon as she was done with the formal speech, she was back to shouting in that loud angry shrill to someone in the wings. I love her husband and how he speaks. I don’t love her. And Obama. Christ, am I the only one that see it as slightly racist that many Liberals are falling over this very junior Senator from Illinois, simply because he is Black. And a ‘presentable’ Black man too. Oh, he's black but not too black. I think Barack is a good guy, just not his time to be President. Be a Senator for four more years and then run. Richardson looks like he’s going to have a heart attack when he speaks, sweat pouring off his brow. Biden, my early choice, I now think is just plain nuts. The stuff that comes out of his mouth is sometimes bizarre. I like his Iraq Partition Plan but besides that I think he is one french fry short of a Happy Meal. And Kucinich. Dennis, just go and be with your gorgeous wife, fight for liberal causes and make a little cash. And what’s up with you saying “Thank You” after ever time you speak in a debate. You’re not a performer. You're not in a band, saying “Thank You’ at the end of a song before the audience applauds. Geez.
        So Edwards it is. For now. Can I vote for Elizabeth instead?

       Fun Fact #10: Greed and ignorance, unfettered and encouraged, will eventually kill our economy and diminish what's left of the Hopeful American Soul. It won't be a terrorist's nuclear weapon in Topeka. It'll be us. Americans will kill the dream themselves, and most won't even see it pass as they watch Russian porn on their Dells.

       Fun Fact #11: Fear is a useful tool that Republicans and some Democrats have used since 9/11 with great skill. You get the people scared enough and they will turn in their own grandmother if she says a nice word about Allah. You can also get Poor People to vote against their own best interest, with false hope, denial and fear. “Someday I won’t be working at Wal-Mart. I’m going to be a millionaire someday.” I actually heard that spoken once.

       Fun Fact #12: But there is hope, not in the big but in the small. It’s always been that way. A gentle word to a friend. A touch on the shoulder of someone who is hurt. A small check to The Food Bank. The laughter between lovers. The awe at seeing a desert sunset. Doing some heavy lifting for a co-worker. National healing may come from the initiative of bold leaders, but I won’t hold my breath. Most likely, it’ll come from the kindness, generosity, and soulfulness of a very good friend, an impassioned colleague, or a present and caring relative. One person at a time. I can’t give up hope, even though I'm close at times. I may be surrounded by a rude and sleeping populace but I’m committed to being awake, to being kind even when I’m mad, to being generous with what I have, and to living in the blessed and endless moment. That’s all we have, you know. Right here. Right now. Nothing else exists. And next time I’m worrying about my indebtedness or the selfish direction of this country, feel free and remind me, friend, that all that really exist is that sweet e-mail or that funny phone call or that pleasant face to face, I'm having with you.

[Image: "Daddy's got a new pair of boots" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks]

"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.