Stu Jenks: Fezziwig Photography, Music, and Writing

"After The Car Bombs" (c) 2005-2007

"After The Car Bombs: Big Ben Infrared" (c) 2005-2007 Stu Jenks

[Taken in the Fall of 2005. A long process getting this image from camera to print. Made a big scan of a black and white print at 300 dpi to create an image that is roughly 36 x 36 inches. Dust removal took over a year and a half. Well, not everyday but very laborious nonetheless. I'm guessing about 20 to 30 hours of using the Healing Tool to remove the little white spots of dust. Tried printing a straight black and white print but it was a bit boring. Added a little sepia, then a lot of sepia, then a bit of red, then a whole lot of red. Have already gone the post-apocalyptic route by shooting with infrared film and by tilting Big Ben, I might as well go all the way and make it a very warm and hot image. I personally like that it's hard to tell if it was shot in the daytime or at night. Like that bit of mystery. And ironically, as I was dialing in the final colors, they found two unexploded car bombs in the West End of London.]

Megaliths and Soda Pop: [The Table of Contents] (c) 2005-2007

[Throughout the StuBlog, you'll find my third photographic journal called MEGALITHS AND SODA POP. Unlike a traditional website (and due, in part, to my freshman skills as a blogger), the stories are helter skelter, here and there, not in the order that I envisioned for the book. Easy solution? Below is the table of contents for MEGALITHS AND SODA POP. Read the stories in order or as you come across them. Either way is fine. Most of them are written as stand-alone stories so you should be OK. All comments are welcome. OK, not all comments, but you know what I mean. Enjoy the journey and maybe someday, you'll be able to hold this book in your real hands rather than your digital ones. But this'll do for now.]

MEGALITHS AND SODA POP: by Stu Jenks (c) 2005 - 2007

[The Table of Contents]

LONDON:

1) “My Tribe”

SCOTLAND:

2) “The Clava Cairns”

3) “The Skye Cow”

4) “IRN-BRU & The Storr”

PARIS:

5) “The Taxi Goddess”

SCOTLAND:

6) “Charles Murray”

PARIS:

7) “Three Eclairs”

8) “Ambulance Blues”

SCOTLAND:

9) “The Standing Stones of Callanish”

10) “If Fairies Live...”

11) “The Uig Ferry”

12) "The Quiraing and Portree, Isle of Skye”

PARIS:

13) “Double Shot. Like Bang Bang”

SCOTLAND:

14) “Twenty Four Hours in Scotland”

15) “Findley McLean & Isebella McIntosh”

"My Tribe" (c) 2005, 2007

   

“My Tribe” (c) 2005 Stu Jenks

[Image: "The East End Lover, London, England"]

    I tried to sleep. I really did. But I couldn’t.
    Walking like a zombie on caffeine, I make my way through the dingy maze of Gatwick Airport, south of London. It’s 8:00 a.m. London time, but it’s 12 Midnight, my body’s time, not to mention this weird thing called jetlag. [Note #1: I have a theory: It’s not the lack of sleep that causes jetlag, it’s that I left my soul in Tucson, and it’s having a hard time finding me. Right now, my soul is somewhere over Greenland]. I chewed my little “No Lag” gum on the flight over but I don’t think it worked. [Note #2: Four days later in Paris, I was still jetlagged like a son of a bitch.]
    Customs was easy. A nice black woman with a London accent. She looked at me hard once and only once, and I was on my way. Now I’m at the luggage turnstile waiting for my bags. God, I want a cigarette. I’ve been chewing Nicorette since Houston, which was what, nine hours ago?  The carousel goes round and round. My bags are one of the last ones to come off the plane. Figures. Maybe God is trying to tell me someone. I want a cigerette to bad to listen. Plus I have two cartons of Camel Filters in my bags. I ain’t quitting now, that’s for sure.
    I have three bags; one huge bag with wheels, a slightly smaller one without wheels, that I put on top of the bigger bag and a sturdy carry-on bag that has all of my cameras and film in it. Within a few feet from the carousel, I realize lugging these bags through the trains and tubes of London may be more difficult that I imagine. Nay. I’ll take the train from Gatwick to Victoria Station and then take the tube to Helen’s house. From my Tube map that I download from my computer at home, I just need to change trains once past Victoria.
    I roll my luggage now, down ramps with brown stains on the walls, and under acoustic tile ceilings that haven’t been clean since Elizabeth was a virgin. Finally, I’m out into a common area, where there’s a coffee shop, a pharmacy, assorted eateries and most importantly, a smoking section. I got a few Pounds from the ATM while waiting for my bags, and I now order a cup of way too strong coffee. I have to ask for milk. (Q: What, do English drink their coffee black? A: No, they drink tea instead, you idiot.) I lighten the thick brew and realize that I don’t have enough hands to hold my coffee and move my bags at the same time. Hmm. Anxiously, I leave two of my bags unattended and take my cup of Joe to the smoking section. After putting my coffee on a table there, I quickly recover my two other bags.
    The Smoking Section is like a Lexan corral for the Nicotine Dependent. A four-sided box of sorts, with plastic walls that go up about 7 feet then stop. At the base of the Lexan are huge stainless steel boxes with powerful fans that suck the smoke through filters. A couple of metal bar stools are about, a few small circular tables, but most everyone is standing, hot-boxing their first cigarette in hours.
    I pull out my pack and as I light my first cig, I notice the people around me and their facial features. The sad eyes, the pallor skin, the lantern jaws, the high foreheads, the deeply lined faces, and then it hits me.
    These are my people. My tribe.
    The descendent of Angles, Saxons, Celts, Picts.
    My clan.

http://stujenks.typepad.com/photos/megaliths_and_sodapop_los/eastendlovers.html