Stu Jenks: Fezziwig Photography: Texas

"Nine Prayers": The Hotel Congress Show (c) 2008

Hours after I got back in the Art Game last Saturday, I was offered to do a one-man show in the lobby of the Hotel Congress. I was excited. The Hotel Congress, for those of you outside of the area, is this wonderful old hotel downtown, where John Dillinger was arrested, where many a great band has played in its club, where the best breakfast in town is served, where love has been found, lost, and found again, and where some of the best visual artists in Tucson have displayed their work. (I’ve often said that the spiritual and artistic center of Tucson is the front desk of the Hotel Congress, when Al Perry is manning the phones.) A very great honor to be asked to show work there. A very big deal.
With the help of many in the past couple days, I edited and organized the show, picking just nine images, Nine Prayers. It would be a show of large prints, framed and matted, printed on the finest photographic paper. I would be economical but not cheap. It would be a greatest-hits show in some ways, a show of recent work in others, but a show with a underlining theme, that being ‘The little prayers I say when I shoot.’
Then I crunched the numbers and crunched them again. Only one of the nine images did I already have printed and framed large. The remaining eight need to be made and made big. And the numbers were very large too, at least for me.
The eight prints, finely framed and matted, would cost me close to $2500.00. Ouch. I don't have that kind of money. But I'm selling the work for a reasonable and fair price, so I thought I'd probably sell two or maybe three pieces and come close to breaking even. Then I figured in the percentage that the Hotel and the gallery would take from sales (50% off the top), and I became very depressed. In order that I don’t feel like I’m ripping myself off, I need to get at least $850 per framed, and matted print. These being large Fine Art Limited Edition prints, this was doable. But double that, pricing them at $1700 and we are way outside of what the market in Tucson will usually. Damn. I obsessed about this for a day and then I realized I don’t think I can do this. I can’t take a $2,500 risk on eight photographs. I’m still in debt up to my eyeballs as it is .(See “Argument Against Photography” on this blog.) I was disheartened. I emailed David Aguirre at Dinnerware and said I just can’t do it.
I just got off the phone with David, and he is so inspiring, so understanding, so encouraging, so evil. We both realize that this show could be a very big deal for me, to show my best work, in one of the premier venues for showing Art in Tucson. I’m now reconsidering. I’m going to sleep on it for another night or two.
But while I’m sleeping, I thought, why not have a virtual show on my blog of the show and maybe, just maybe, I might make a sale or two.
Here’s the deal on how I print for big shows. I print two prints of each image at Photographic Works, the best lab in town. I print two because the first one costs a lot but the second print is cheaper, therefore if (and when) I sell one photograph, I have the other one to sell as well.
So, friends and neighbors, here’s the deal.
I’m not begging but if someone buys a large non-framed, non-matted kick-ass Fine Art photograph, you will be contributing to me, to be able to afford to do this show. (And to the couple who just bought the Ikon, thanks so much and you know who you are.)
Below are the nine images that will go the “Nine Prayers” show. They are for sale. Prices, sizes, edition numbers, jpegs and type of photographs are all below. If you would like an unframed, unmatted, beautiful image to arrive at your door, in a nice sturdy tube, just email me at stujenks@gmail.com or write me at P.O. Box 161, Tucson, AZ 85702. You can pay me by personal check or by using Paypal (My account name is my email address.) And maybe, just maybe, if I sell a few prints, then I’ll be able to afford to do the Hotel Congress show and break even.
(Actually after David’s inspiring phone call from a few minutes ago, I’ll probably slam my plastic anyway, but you know what I’m asking for. Just some help if you can afford it. No expectation but some hope.)
Either way, enjoy the digital show below and know that I appreciate y’all’s support, whether it comes in purchases, or in kind emails, or in deep hugs. Without an audience, I’m just a bozo in a basement. With you, I’m having a one-man-show at the Hotel Congress.

Love and light,
Stu

Nine Prayers by Stu Jenks

"The Ikon of Catalina State Park, Arizona" © 1997, 2008, Edition of 10, Fuji Crystal Archive Print, 22” x 22” image on 24” x 30” paper, $600

"I pray the flame spiral I draw tonight is better than the one I drew last night."

"I pray I finally get a good shot of Flam Chen after shooting them for all these years."

"I pray I wake up before the dawn."

"I pray I don't fall off the edge of this cliff."

"Tumamoc Hill, Tucson, Arizona" © 2007, Edition of 10, Kodak Metallic Paper, 22” x 24” image on 24” x 30” paper, $700

"I pray that we have a good Christmas."

"Mary at the Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo, Texas" © 2008, Edition of 10, Fuji Crystal Archive Print, 21” x 33” image on 24” x 36” paper, $650.

"I pray I get my mother across the country, in one piece."

"I pray I get some good shots for the girls tonight, even with this slow lens."

"I pray that bull doesn't get mad at me, when he finds out I don't have any food."

"I pray I leave the shutter open long enough so the Full Moon has time to do its job."

Posted at 10:20 PM in Ancestors, Arizona, Cheyenne, Commerce, Current Affairs, Flam Chen, Flame Spirals, Good Folk, Hoop Dancing, Megaliths, Nature, Nocturnal Photography, Other Artists, Photography, Portraits, Roller Derby, Scotland, South Dakota, Spirals, Spirituality, Texas, The West, Tucson | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

May 04, 2008

"From Lively to Sin Vacas" (c) 2008

"From Lively to Sin Vacas" © May 2008 Stu Jenks

[Images from top to bottom: "The Last Chair, Lively, Virginia", "The Flowering Oaks, Lively, Virginia, "Ancient Oak, Lively, Virginia", "Harriman, Tennessee", "Minnie Pearl's Hat, Ryman Auditorium, Nashville, Tennessee", "Mary at the Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo, Texas", "The Very Large Array, New Mexico", "Panoramic Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo, Texas", & "Cattle and The VLA"]

We had just had a perfectly nice little box lunch at an Interstate rest stop in the Valley of Virginia. No harsh words. No crazy comments. No imagined slights from us. Then, as my mother was getting a scarf out of the car, preparing to walk over and get back into the Penske truck, she said to me.
"You know, after Pamela was born I had a miscarriage and I fought to have another child, so remember that, the next time you get upset with me!"
I shrugged my shoulders, gave Annie a crooked smile with a slight shake of the head and walked my elderly mother back to the truck.
And this was Day Two of what turned out to be a week-long journey, driving my mother and her things to an independent living place, near my home in Tucson, Arizona.

I thought it would be fun, driving Miss Daisy across the country. It was anything but. When Annie arrived, ten days before we were going to leave for Arizona, she was prepared to do a lot of work, packing my mother up. What she didn't know was that in the months leading up to the move, Mom hadn't done a thing. When I arrived three days before we departed Virginia, Annie had done an amazing job, in spite of everything.
Even though I had been to The River to visit at Christmas, I had no idea how much my mother had begun to fade. She started out the day as a woman in her eighties and ended the day as a six-year-old child. When friends would ask me, on the phone, how my mother was, I would say she was 'petulant'.
But my mother’s old, and it's not her fault that she has become more of a spoiled brat. She has always been this way. But now, she was ruder, more insulting, and more manipulative that I've ever seen her. She’s never been one to apologize or try and walk in anyone else's shoes, but now it was all or nothing, black or white, good or bad, with no gray in between. And the All was All Her. We either loved her or hated her, and she wasn't shy to say anything now. [Like she ever was.] And even though it was never her intent to be hurtful, that didn't mean it didn't hurt. [Whether a truck runs over you by accident or on purpose, you've still been run over by a truck.] Add to that the entitlement issues in her DNA and the occasional histrionic tears and you've got a nightmare for Annie and I.

Miraculously, we got the 26-foot Penske truck on the road on Friday Afternoon, with Mother and Annie following in Mom's Buick Le Sabre. We made it as far as Charlottesville, Virginia that night.
Besides the little adventure caused by me getting the truck stuck in the parking lot of the motel, (I embedded the rear end into the pavement while trying to go up a little hill. Had to get a tow truck to wince it free), the first day's drive was uneventful and rather pleasant for me. For me. Not for Annie. For Annie had Mom in the car with her, for hours. After Day One, Annie and I traded off my mother. Day Two, Mom rode with me. Day Three, she rode with Annie, etc. That way, we each had every other day without the presence of my mother.
When Mom doesn’t get her way, either she is wrong, you are wrong, or all of us are wrong. There is no simple difference of opinion in my mother's world. If you disagree with her, you hate her. If you are angry at some behavior of hers, you hate her. If you ask for something that she doesn't want to give, you hate her. I wish I could say this was new, but it isn't. It's just more so.
Also, Mary puts people into two groups, those she considers family and those she doesn't. If you are considered family, then you are obligated to do what ever she asks. You are her servant, her peasant, her slave. And if you refuse, politely or no, she gets mad and either insults you or tries to shame you into doing what she wants. Again, not new. Just more desperate and pitiful these days. (Then again, my mother’s ancestors did own slaves and she was raised by black servants. Perhaps I expect too much.)

The manipulations and criticism started long before we left Lively, Virginia.
By the time we reached Tennessee, Mom was saying she wanted to go back home to Virginia or go to Raleigh and live with my sister, Pamela. (Not an option, now or ever.)

In Nashville, she thought she was in Richmond, Virginia. Truly. She thought we were on Broad Street, seconds after we had left the Ryman. Thought the Mosque was just up ahead. ‘What the fuck,’ I silently mouthed to Annie in the rear view mirror, as we drove back to the Interstate.

In Arkansas, she tried to jump out of the car. We affectionately call it The Arkansas Incident. We were driving slow and it was at night, so no one got hurt.
By Oklahoma, we couldn't stand to even think of eating dinner with my mother. We prepared food for her to eat and brought it to her room at sundown, and then Annie and I went out and had our own dinner.
I took some pictures of Mom at the Cadillac Ranch near Amarillo, Texas that turned out to be somewhat iconic. Thanks God for that.

By Santa Rosa, New Mexico, she was weeping in the hallway of the motel, saying we were abandoning her.
The Very Large Array was fun for Annie and I, and we even had one lighthearted moment with Mom. The sustained winds were 40 miles per hour that day and as we were walking Mother to the Visitors Center, one of us on each arm so she wouldn't blow away, Mary said, with a bit of wonder in her voice,
"Son, you are really taking me on an adventure."
We all three laughed. The one and only time that would happen in 2500 miles.

I could say more. I probably should have said less. Bottom Line: Mary is all settled in at Sin Vacas, an upscale retirement village, where all the street names are in Spanish for nutty things. ('Street Without Sin', 'Street Without Denial', 'Street Without Danger'. Mom lives on Calle Sin Envidia: 'Street Without Envy'. And Rancho Sin Vacas, the gated community where the elderly village is, means Ranch Without Cows.) She’s making some new friends and going to church. She's slowly learning how to get to the bank and to the grocery store. And she’s even saying thank you to me when I come up to help connect the computer or put together a lamp (Even though I know her 'thank yous' really mean 'please don't leave me all alone'.)

Mom and I don't really get along. Haven't really for years. I tolerate her and she probably tolerates me too.
But one piece of advice or rather a warning to all.
Don't say to me "You're being such a good son."
I'm not. And if you say it to my face, I’m probably going to get pissed off.
I didn't move Mom because I'm being a good son. I did it because Mom begged me to move her to Arizona, and that we had few options left, for Mary can't really take care of herself anymore without help.
I told Mom a number of times, that I really didn’t think it was a really good idea to leave 100 friends in Virginia behind, to live near her son and her 92-year-old sister and her son's ex-girlfriend in Arizona. But we have a saying in my family: "Mary does whatever Mary wants to do." Her so-called friends in Virginia, most of them rich, white, arrogant fucks, call Mom ‘a force of nature.’ They are not complementing her.
No, I'm not a good son.
I'm not doing this because I want to, or that I even think it's the right thing for her to live in Tucson, but our choice are limited now.
Retirement places in Virginia are much more expensive there than in Arizona.
My sister Pamela lives in Raleigh, in the Old Home Place, but she is fighting cancer and is really in no condition to be around Mom, in a number of ways.
It's by default that I'm doing this, have done this.
I'm not a good son.
I'm just the person who’s doing what needs to be done.
That's all.
If I had my way, Mary would be living in Virginia somewhere.
But you rarely gets your way if you are with my mother.
It's Mom's way or the highway, pretty much.
Even though she would deny that.

“Your hair is so beautiful,” she says.
“You’re as handsome as your father was,” she says.
Mom is over the top with her compliments now. I’m repairing a chest-of-drawers in her new apartment. She’s following me around.
She may be a bit sun-downy these days. She may be her normal Narcissistic self, but she isn’t stupid. She knows she fucked up. She knows Annie and I are pretty tired of her shit.
Phase One is done: Mary and her stuff have been moved across the country.
Phase Two is mostly done: Unpacking Mary’s shit and getting her settled in.
Now, on to Phase Three: Maintaining Mom in Tucson.
Once-a-week visits and occasional chats on the phone is the plan. My plan. Her plan would be for me to be at her beck and call, 24 / 7 / 365. That ain’t going to happen.

The view from her balcony is fabulous. City lights in the distance at night. An arroyo filled with birds and their songs during the day. I close my eyes and hear the quails’ sing. I feel sad. Mom doesn’t even notice the beauty right in front of her. I open the sliding glass door and reenter her apartment. She yells something at me from the bedroom. I can’t hear what she is saying. I don’t really care.