My visual, audio and literary stuff is free here, but my hold-in-your-hands books, prints, and CDs cost real money. If you want to buy something tactile from me, contact me at stujenks at gmail dot com, or message me on Facebook. If you simply want to look and read for free, that's fine too, but don't hesitate to send me your sofa change. My snail mail address is P.O. Box 161, Tucson, Arizona 85702. Keep those cards and letters coming. And sofa change too. Love and light, Stu.
"The Abyss, Rockwell Kent, 1930, Woodcut at Tucson Museum of Art's Into The Night show." Photograph 2016 Stu Jenks.
23 years after this woodcut was made, a friend of Rockwell's and his wife came to stay at their home on Monhegan Island in Maine. Sally Moran was going through a messy divorce from an ad exec and had lost her apartment in New York City. Sally had been a model of Rockwell's back in the day and perhaps his mistress too. (Rockwell seemed that have fooled around a lot.) Rockwell and his wife, also named Sally, were away from Monhegan in early July, but their eldest daughter and her two children were home at the time. On the night of July 9th, 1953, Sally Moran went for a walk before dinner along the cliffs. She never returned. Three weeks later her body was pulled from the ocean. Months after that, the Kents sold their house.
Life imitating Art, in the most tragic way.
"A Dale Nichols at the Into The Night show at Tucson Museum of Art, Arizona." Photograph 2016 Stu Jenks.
I love his work; the palette, the forms, the exaggerations. Like those saguaros. No cactus are that tall or that smooth. Great stuff.
"Catalina State Park, Arizona at the Tucson Museum of Art's Into The Night show," (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.
En plein air. French phrase for an artist who makes his work out of doors. Art curator Julie Sasse says I'm one of those artists. She's right.
Thanks Julie for selecting me for the show.
P.S. I'm two pieces down from a freaking Misrach and across the way from a Jeff Smith, a Tom Willett and a Bill Lesch. I'm in very good company. Shows up until July 10th.
"Sublime Style 91 Balanced Rocks, Swami's Beach, Encinitas, California" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks. (For Sage Breslin and her family.)
"So what's your name?" I asked the young man. "So I can give you credit." "Just put Sublime Style 91 on it. It's my Instagram name," he said. I wrote that down. He showed me some of his other balanced rock projects on his phone. "Nice stuff," I said. He grinned. "Thanks," he said. We shook hands and parted ways. He never told me the name his Momma gave him.
"...Stu Jenks has roamed farther afield than some of his fellow shutterbugs—he has a charming black and white of a dock jutting in highly symmetrical fashion into the Rappahannock River in Virginia—but he also has plenty of Arizona scenes. The most beguiling is "Finger Rock in Snow, Tucson, Arizona." Tiny at about 8 inches wide and 4 inches high, the color photo depicts everyone's favorite peak covered in snow on New Year's Day 2015. The sky is still misty after the night's storm, but a ray of sun has pierced the fog and lights up the finger's rust-colored rock..." - excerpt from Margaret Regan's review of the Contreras Six Show, The Tucson Weekly.
Images from the Saum family Bible: (c) 1882 Holman's Edition and 2013 Stu Jenks
(From top to bottom: "Mary Magdalene at St. John" [My title, not Holman's], "Jesus Healing The Lunatic", "Arrival Of The Good Sameritan At The Inn", "Return Of The Prodigal Son", and "Daniel Interpretating The Handwriting On The Wall".
Those of you without HBO will have no fucking idea what I'm talking about, but when it comes out on DVD, you will:
At minute 57 of 60 of episode four of "The Newsroom", tonight, minutes ago, at 12:25 a.m., with tears streaming down my face, I'm whisper-screaming at my television set, saying, "She's not dead. She's not fucking dead, God damn it."
If you saw the show, you'll know what I'm talking about. If you didn't, here's a hint. The photo below.
I know she was my congresswoman. It know it was personal to me. (Really personal for her and Mark and the dead and injured.) I'm not objective about any of this, but I just watched the most meaningful fictional seven minutes of TV of my entire life.