The Fezziwig News by Stu Jenks

All 8 1/2" x 11" A/P archival pigment prints by Stu Jenks for $25, shipping, handling and taxes included...

Image: "Queen Esther Baptist Church, Lancaster, Virginia" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks (Just down River Road from Victoria's house. Love that luscious red carpet. And for you nocturnals out there, it was handheld. Rare for me.)

In this time of making photos on iPhones and Macbook Pros and only looking on screens, I forget I'm a old-school guy. I make a 8 1/2 x 11 work print on archival paper of EVERY image I make. EVERY one. It's the only way, for me, to accurately check for color shift, density, composition, etc. I really like my iPad screen but it's no way to make a good print.

And I have hundreds, if not thousands, of work prints artist proofs at my studio.

If you see an image of mine on The StuBlog or on my old website or on the Fezziwig Press Store or in any of my books, there's a beautiful small print in a box somewhere, perhaps with your name on it. And since I'm organized, I can find it.

Many of you can't afford my larger prints. I understand. I don't have an extra 50 or 100 lying around either. But I do have an extra $20 for stuff I really like.

So if you see an image of mine on any of my sites or in any of my books and you want it, it's yours for $25, shipping, handling and tax included. (I believe in paying taxes, sales and otherwise.)

Just email me at my facebook page or through the StuBlog or at stujenks@gmail.com, and tell me what print you would like or just pull the jpeg and send that to me.

I was just watching the Tarhells lose today in basketball, working on images at my computer when I thought, 'I bet people don't realize I have boxes of work prints here.'

You all do now.

Love and light,

Stu

p.s. Ignore the catagories belows. The computer went wacky. Another reason why I prefer a print in the hand as opposed to an image in The Cloud.

Now available, on the Apple IPad: The Transpersonal Papers (1861-2010) and Bozo In Love

Been a long time coming for The Transpersonal Papers (1861-2010).

Three editors, two proofreaders, two designers, four printers, and hours, days, weeks, months, years, lifetimes, (I know I'm overstating), of writing, traveling, shooting, editing, remembering, hiking, and more writing, shooting, and editing, but I'm not complaining. No, no, no.

And apologies for not having the dough right now, to print The Transpersonal Papers as a coffee-table book as I had originally planned. ($10,000, it would have cost. Maybe someday.) But you now can buy it, for $14.95, as an Ebook on the Apple IPad, and I expect it to be available within a couple days on the Nook and the Kindle as well.

I just looked at it on my new IPad. The photos, text and design look grand.

And as an extra surprise, Bozo In Love is now up on IBooks too, ($9.95), as well as the rest of my catalog: Flame Spirals, Hoop Dancing, and Dementia Blues, on IBooks, Nook and Kindle.

Just in time for Christmas.

And don't worry. All but The Transpersonal Papers can still be bought as a book book through Fezziwig Press. I have plenty. Just go to www.fezziwigpressonline.com, for the hardbounds and paperbacks, but go to ITunes, today, (and Kindle and Nook, soon) for the ebooks.

Heavy sigh from my third story apartment balcony. I look out onto the Tucson city lights in the valley below. Cold, dry air embraces me. I inhale deeply. Exhale.

A very good night in the desert.

Think I'll make a cup of coffee with egg nog and play some Angry Birds on my new IPad.

Time to celebrate.

 

"Manns Chapel, Chatham County, North Carolina"

"Manns Chapel, Chatham County, North Carolina" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

Off to Raleigh tomorrow, one last time. (I've taken the 12:45 Delta from Tucson to Atlanta so many times in the past few months, I expect the flight attendents to say "Hello, Mr. Jenks. How are you?")

I'm renting a Penske truck on Tuesday, loading up the last of Pamela's things to bring them here to Tucson (A nice blond-wood work table, a huge chest-of-drawers, Pamela's old single bed from when she was a kid, and Mama Lillie's secretary desk I inherited in 1983, but had no way to get it out here. And some Christmas presents my sister wrapped before she died. Sweet of her, eh?)

And on Wednesday, I am closing on the Amherst house. Very sad but not for the reasons you might think. Since my father and mother did no maintenance on the house at all, basically letting my sister live in an old damp, moldy house, rent-free, for 20 plus years, The Amherst House, which would have been worth $250,000 or more on the recovering real estate market of Raleigh is now being sold for $110,000, as a tear-down. The man who is buying the home says he's going to fix it up but I don't quite believe him. (He has made plans to cut down all the trees on the property. That sounds like a tear-down to me. The land is worth $100,000 so he's getting a piece-of-crap Cape Cod for $10,000.)

Speaking of trees, the one bugaboo left to do is I have to get rid of the firewood in the basement. Some nice people from Pamela's church in Raleigh have taken some of it, but I have to dispose of the rest, before closing on Wednesday. I'm hoping the Wake County dump will take the logs but they may not. No one on Craiglist wants them, and that poor church in South Raleigh can't use them either. So I may just have to take the firewood back to the woods, unloading it along a nice piece of river.

I kind of hope I get arrested.

"Stu Jenks, artist and photographer from Tucson, Arizona, was arrested today for putting wood back into the woods. Reports are that Jenks laughed hysterically as the sheriff slapped on the handcuffs. It is uncertain if he was intoxicated at the time."

So I'll be away for about ten days. I'm taking my Rollei with me and some Christmas lights too, to perhaps do some hoop dancing photography in the moonlight. I am driving across some pretty country, don't you know? And if you want to buy the image rights of something, or a hardbound book, you'll have to wait until I get home. Then again, some of my books are on the IPad now. Hint, hint. But no worries. Just letting you all know I'll gone for a while.

OK. I should stop writing now. I really should. I really really should. But I'm not.

On a book note, I am writing a conclusion to Dementia Blues, called Dementia Red, telling the stories of Pamela and Mary Jenks' last days and weeks. With photos too.

And to those of you in Virginia who needed to ambush me at my sister and mother's burials, to tell me how you didn't like Dementia Blues (You know who you are), I guess you forgot I make a very small living writing things as well as photographing things. And eventhough I'm getting a little demented now myself, my memory is still pretty good. I'll be changing your names and the places in Dementia Red, but I won't be changing your words.

Oh, and shame on you for what you did to me, that rainy afternoon, and shame on you for what you did to my mother, three years ago.

Shame.

And as one of you jerks mockingly said to me that day in The Northern Neck,

"Oh, Stu, you aren't suffering financially."

Yea, I am. In a few ways, financials just being one.

I'm not getting much cash from these two estates. Pamela didn't have a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out of, and we had almost gone through all of Mary's money taking care of her here in Tucson before she died, with the expensive adult care home and all.

But I am grateful that there is some cash in the estates and in the sale of the Raleigh House; to pay all the heirs and debts of my mother (but sadly, many of Pamela's hospital bills will go unpaid); to pay for two nice gravestones for my mother and sister; to pay for the plane tickets and motels and the Penske truck and the rental cars these past few months; to pay for the storage locker here in Tucson; to have a little to give to some people who are in need; and to have some cash for me to get out of credit card debt at the end of all this; but I am not getting rich off of the death of my family.

So, to you Rich White Trash in Virginia, two words. Fuck you.

And even though I don't miss my mother very much, I do miss Pamela a lot. I feel a lot of compassion for her journey through life. She never got away from my crazy family. I did. And Pamela died way ahead of her time. Sure, she shares responsibility for her life, but my mother, on numerous occasions, told my sister, "...you aren't pretty enough to ever get married, Pam..."

Pamela was over 200 pounds when she died, and she never married.

Be careful what you say to your children. One hurtful statement probably won't fuck them up. A couple dozen times probably will.

I miss you Sis. Thanks for being a nicer person the last six months of your life. I truly wish I could call you on the phone and tell you what those horrible people at Mary's old church said to me after I buried you all. I wish I could say, "You were right, Pamela. You were so right."

And I do believe I feel your spirit these days, but it isn't the same as hearing you cuss like a sailor and hearing you laugh like a crazy person. I miss that.

Big hug and kiss, Pamela. Know that I love you. I hope I'm doing right by you.

And Mary, may the light of God always shine on you. I feel blessed that your dementia made you into a sweeter Mom. Mostly. And most people are loving you in Dementia Blues. You are a bit of a superstar, Mom.

OK, enough jokes and resentments. I need to finish packing.

See you all when I get home, and maybe I'll see a few of you on the road.

Look for a small Penske truck with firewood falling out its back and the police chasing it.

That'll be me.

"Dementia Blues" is now on ITunes and IPad.

Dementia Blues is now available on ITunes and IPad (as well as on the Kindle and the Nook.)

Been waiting a long time for this day.

A very good day for those of us at Fezziwig Press.

And expect the entire catalog of Fezziwig Press to be up on all the ebook platforms by Christmas. (As soon as more of Pamela and Mary Jenks' estates are settled, I'm going to my local Apple store and buy myself an IPad. Maybe a Nook too at Barnes & Noble.)

And in 2012, expect more titles at Fezziwig Press by writers other than myself. Books by poets, fiction writers, therapists, and artists are on the horizon. More on that later.

And as always, thanks for your continued support of Fezziwig Press.

"Flame Spirals: The Second Edition" is now available at the Fezziwig Press online store.

Flame Spirals: The Second Edition is now available at my studio in Downtown Tucson, at Tucson Touch Therapies, and at Fezziwig Press Online.

I'm extremely happy with how well Taylor Publishing printing the book. It's a lithograph book, printed in The United States, hardbound, and reasonably priced (as opposed to the lulu.com First Edition, that was digitally printed and a bit too expensive for many.)

In this, The Second Edition, I've added a couple new flame spiral images, some new Thanks You and a new dedication to "Ghost Dad, Ghost Mom and Ghost Sis."

And I can't say enough about how wonderful Bill Homan at Taylor Publishing in Texas was, as well as Gail Cross, my amazing book designer.

The price is $29.95 plus shipping and handling, or you can pick it up at Tucson Touch Therapies, or catch me at BR-549 Studios.

Finally, expect an ebook version of Flame Spirals soon, on the Kindle, Nook and IPad platforms. We are hoping for Christmas but it may be early 2012.

And thank you all for your continued support.

Love and light, Stu.

Shri Ram, Jai Ram, Jai Jai Ram: (Pamela On The Plane)

 
"Shri Ram, Jai Ram, Jai Jai Ram: Pamela On The Plane" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

(Photographs of Krishna Das by Cindy Elliot: Toning of the KD images by Stu Jenks. Portrait of Pamela Jenks, a month before her death, and a photo of her casket in the kitchen in Raleigh by Stu Jenks.)

An MP3 of Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram by Krishna Das (Be a good guy and buy it on ITunes if you like it)

    Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation, but I swear I feel Pamela’s presence here on this train platform at the Philadelphia Airport. No, she’s here, all right. It’s not just me.
    “What to share a smoke?” I ask Pamela.
    She just smiles.
    “Did I do right by you, Pamela?” I whisper to the empty space to my right. “I’m really not sure,” I say. “Those three friends of yours. Jesus fucking Christ. Those three women who picked over your bones like vultures after your funeral really pissed me off. What is wrong with those people, going through your DVDs, your books, your china, your clothes at the house? What is wrong with them? But I did end up giving Katalina your silver, after talking with Martha. Martha seems solid. She knew who you were, Pamela, good and bad. Martha said Katalina was OK, that you really did want her to have that silver. So I gave her the silver. Anyway. I hope I did right by you.”
    The angel/ghost of Pamela continues to smile to me. It’s the first time I’ve felt her around since just after she died on Tuesday.
    “You did great, Stu,” she says. “And you were right. I am free now.”

    On the plane from Philly to Phoenix. Working of some pics of Krishna Das that Elliot took at The Rialto ten days ago. (Sweet of her to share those with me. They don’t allow me to take pics at The Rialto. The Rialto. Krishna Das. Was it just a week and a half ago? Christ, it feels like a month or more.)  I put on some of Krishna Das’ music on the laptop while I work. I recognize a song from the concert.
    “Shri Ram Jai Ram, Jai Jai Ram,” sings Krishna Das into my earpieces. The crowd on the live recording sings the phrase back to him, in that wonderful Kirtan call-and-response way.
    And I start to cry.
    There is an empty seat next to me.
    Pamela’s ashes rest on the kitchen counter in Raleigh, but I feel her spirit in that seat right next to me, right here, right now.
    I want to sing Jai Jai Ram with KD and the crowd on the recording, but I can’t here. I’m on a dark plane with a hundred other souls. But I can sway.
    And Pamela sways too.
    I can almost see her angel/ghost. She’s not the bloated ugly woman of the last twenty years. She’s not the angry, hurtful, unhappy woman I’ve known for so long. She’s light, bright, beautiful, blond, thin, and joyous.
    “I’m so happy,” she whispers in my ear.
    I say nothing. Just slowly cry.
    “I don’t suffer now, Stu,” she says “And you shouldn’t either.”
    And then Pamela Jenks, The Friendly Ghost, raises her arms above her head and sways with Krishna Das. I cry a little more. Not out of sadness but out of wordless, soundless joy for my sister who suffered so much these past decades and now suffers no more.
    She is free.
    I look at her angel/ghost out of the corner of my eye. Slender arms above her head, eyes closed, loving the music.
    And I think of the hug we shared hours before her death. The first time she ever hugged me, in which she didn’t break the hug first. A long, deep hug of love from my sister who was so scared of dying, but who longed so much for death to come, to release her from her pain.
    A sister who finally found freedom from her life of sorrow.
    And it appears, if I’m not completely out of my mind, a sister who is digging the fuck out of Krishna Das.
    I chuckled.
    Who would have thought it? My Anglican sister digging Hindu Kirtan music. Then again, she’s an angel/ghost now. She can love anything she wants.
    “Oh, Stu,” she says, leaning over.
    “Yes,” I whisper.
    “I love you, Bro.”
    “Love you too, Pam.”
    And she throws her head back and blisses out with the music.
    And I join her in her bliss.

 

 

"The Haw River Bridge"

"The Haw River Bridge, west of Pittsboro on US 64" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks

Just downstream from this bridge on the western shore of the Haw is a path. I walked that path for the very first time 30 plus years ago with Mott Odah, Bo, and Satrunga Jeff. I walked it again just last week. This photo was taken from the plane as I left North Carolina. I was surprised that I could recognize so much from the air. I had trouble knowing where I was while driving around Raleigh, but I saw the Haw River bridge easily from my window seat that morning.

I so love that path beside the rapids of the Haw.

I love the Haw. I also love the pulled pork BBQ I ate at Allen and Sons a hour later that day.

I don't really miss N.C. Too many crappy memories, both of my own making and made by others, but the land, particularly the rivers and the forests still make my soul sing.

But given my sister's late stage cancer and my own responsibilities to clean up and then sell the family house after she's gone, I think I'll be walking that Haw River path again soon. Very soon.

And the photo of the house on Amherst Lane was taken before I cleaned the gutters. I cleaned them not so much for Pamela or myself, but for the neighbors so they didn't have to look at it. And yes, I got a red hot Mustang for cheap from Budget Rent-A-Car at RDU. Even though I didn't know where I was half the time in North Carolina, I did drive in style and from time to time, a bit over the speed limit.

OK, a lot over the speed limit.

And lastly, continue your prayers for the remaining Jenks: Mary, Pamela and myself.

Mary is fading again, Pamela is in pain but I'm doing ok, grateful to be cancer-free and to be free of dementia.

Then again, who are you again? You look so familiar. Oh. I had sex with you in the 1970's?. Was it good? No? Hmm. Sorry about that.