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.
I was just at a Starbuck's buying an Egg Nog Latte, when a homeless woman came in and asked the clerk, "Do you have anything for just a dollar?"
I'm not struggling like her obviously, but as my father used to say, "It's not what you make but what you spend." And having my own business, Fezziwig Press, costs money and my little company isn't making enough money right now.
So I'm doing an Amanda Fucking Palmer thing. If I don't ask, you don't know to give.
Fezziwig Press and I have been struggling financially for the last year or so. Namely, I'm not quite breaking even, still a few hundred dollars in the red each month, even with my part time counseling gig and all. I'm making some sales with image rights, book sales, music sales, etc, but not like I did five to ten years ago. So I'm putting out the artistic begging bowl. And I'm giving shit away.
The Transpersonal Papers (1861-2010) was released in 2011. Cost a boat load to produce but I only sold seven ebook copies. (Thank you to the seven, by the way.) So I'm offering it today, to you all, for free.
If you like The Transpersonal Papers, or the StuBlog, or my work, I ask that you give a little money to my Paypal account. My log-in is my email address, stujenks at gmail dot com, spelled like you normally would type it. Donate to my Paypal, or buy some books, or send money to P.O.Box 161, Tucson, AZ 85702. Whatever you like. No expectations, but if I don't ask, you don't know. And of course, if you don't give, that's perfectly all right too. We're all tight these days, don't I know. Or you just might not like my stuff that much. It's all good, as the kids say. Except for my ever-shrinking savings account.
I hope you enjoy the photographs and the stories in this book. Perhaps someday I'll have enough money to print it as a large coffee table book, like it was originally envisioned. Perhaps not, but you can have it right now for free. Enjoy.
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 email@example.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,
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.
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.
"Brahman" by Susan Toplikar (c) 2004 Susan Toplikar & Photos by Stu Jenks
A painting by North Carolina artist Susan Toplikar. I love her. I love her work. I love her husband Mike Cindric too.
I had the privilege to sleep under this painting, when I standed with Susan and Mike earlier this month in the beautiful Oakwood section of Raleigh.
Fun fact: There are six paintings in this series (I think) and they are huge, around 6 feet by 4 feet.
Quote by the artist: "These paintings really aren't about horses."
You got that right, as Victoria Hardy would say.
I sleep well with these colors above my head. (Actually, I was a bit restless those nights, but not due to the beauty created by men and women, but rather because of the ugliness of some people.) I hope to sleep beneath this horse again someday.
To see more images of 'Brahman', go to Susan's website at this link.
"The Great Gallery of Horseshoe Canyon, Canyonlands National Park, Utah" (c) 2011 Stu Jenks
[Remember: You can click on any images on the StuBlog and enlarge them.]
A coyote howls somewhere down there. I’ve pitched my tent but it may be warmer just to sleep in the truck. I’ve never seen so many stars. I figure I’m as far away from any living human being as I’ve ever been in my entire life. The pavement of Utah 24 is over 35 miles away. The nearest town is around 50, the campground at Goblin Valley around 45 or so. And to the East and South, there is nothing for 70 to 100 miles. (Good nothing, but still nothing.) I don’t usually get spooked in the wilderness at night but I am tonight. I’m a long ways away from anybody and if I get hurt, it’s going to be just me, me and me. Now, I don’t plan to hike any slot canyons tomorrow so the risk of getting my arm caught under a rock like Aron Ralston is slim, but I could sprain an ankle or big rains or snow might come. Bo calls it The Rule Of Two: I’m allowed one bad thing to happen but if two happen, I’m screwed. My major concern is the weather. If it rains or snows, the soft dirt road I drove in on this afternoon will be a ribbon of mud. I do have two new tires on the Pathfinder but you know what they say about four-wheel-drive: It just allows you to get stuck farther away. I watch The Kids Are All Right on my MacBook Pro, and eat some cashews and string cheese. I hit the hay early. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.
I’m up. I had a hell of a time sleeping. It was so cold last night. I like cold weather but I like warm rooms too. I have no such room, unless you count my truck idling with the heater on. No coffee this morning. Just strike the tent, and load up the gear. No tripod. It’s just too long a hike, in and out, up and down to carry it. Long and wide lens, water, Rollei, and the 5D Mark II and I’m good to go. I’ll eat when I get back. It’s about 800 feet to the valley floor, then another three to four miles or so. Around eight miles round trip. Not a long hike but with all this gear, I’m feeling it after just the first mile. The air nibbles at me. Doesn’t bite. No wind. Just a pleasant cold slap to the face. A chipmunk screams at me. He just wants some breakfast, not some big human breaking his routine. The path is easy, being an abandoned road that descends to the valley floor. Seems there was some exploratory mining here a hundred years ago. That’s how they found the pictographs. Probably why they are so well preserved, they being literally in the middle of nowhere. Really. This section of Utah was known as The Blank Spot, the last place in the lower 48 to be explored and surveyed. On maps, over a hundred years ago, it was a blank spot on the map. Just white paper. On the valley floor now. There is water but much of the stream is frozen. That’s a first. I’ve never hiked on a frozen stream in the Canyonlands before. Wonder if this water flows year round? And then, I stop thinking all together. It’s a good thing. Partly age, partly spiritual practice, I often hike for miles and don’t think a single thought. I just see and listen and smell and breathe and walk. Only time I think is when I bring my camera to my eye and think ‘Should I shoot at f11 or f16, or ISO 125, 400 or 3200?’ These thoughts last until I have answered the question and taken the shot, and then it’s back to nothingness again. When I was a toddler, my parents thought I was retarded, for I hardly spoke at all. I would just stare out at the world with a blank look on my face. Some things haven’t changed. The hikers from yesterday said I couldn’t miss them. I’ve already missed the first pictographs I think. That’s OK. I came for The Great Gallery. So on I walk. Water, rock, color. Water, tree, look. Water, walk, rock. Water, rock, color. Pretty much my thoughts. I round a corner and then I think I see something. Could be them. I walk toward the sandstone wall. “Wow,” is all I say. I unload the cameras and get to work. I work for about an hour.
Afterwards, I just stare at the walls. I’ve capture some images but I know that you never really capture a place with flat images. 2D can never capture 3D, no matter what they say. You have to be in a place to know it, to feel it, to smell, to see it. The 2D does give you a sense of the space, but only an aroma. Like the smell of baking cookies is not the eating of the cookies. The smell is a thing, a real thing, but it isn’t the thing. So I just stand and take in the 3D of The Great Gallery into the 3D of my body and soul. I believe my soul is three dimensional or perhaps four dimensional. 3D plus time. Or maybe 11 dimensions like the quantum physicists say there are. 4D plus soul plus a constant plus gravity plus a bunch of unknowns like heart and God and spirit. After a few minutes of flying between worlds, I notice something. All of the figures of The Great Gallery appear to have been painted by different hands, different artists. And then I have a few thoughts. I think I know what these figures might be. These are the paintings of the leaders of the tribe, much like the marble and bronze statues of Lincoln and Washington and Robert E. Lee and Caesar Augustus. And are these stylized paintings of women or men, or perhaps both? Many native tribes today are matriarchal as well as patriarchal. Maybe the chiefs and chieftesses of this clan all had ornate robes to signify their rank. Sure looks like they wore their fineries for these paintings. And maybe, just maybe there was some sexual equality in these tribes. Maybe. Nice to think so, but who knows. But definitely, all these pictographs were painted by different people, in slightly different styles, at different times. Definitely. Some in the Woo-Woo community (in which I still have my membership card) suggest that these are pictures of extraterrestrials. I think not, nor do I think that Picasso’s later work was painted by someone with brain damage. It was Pablo’s funky style just as these paintings were the Archaic People’s style of representation. No, the ancient people were just as creative as we are now, perhaps more so. No. I think these are paintings honoring the brave and the powerful and the healers and the protectors. They are of good strong men and women. They were the leaders of The People. But given that these pictographs are over 3000-4000 years ago and all we have of these people is what I’m looking at right now, my guess is a good as yours. But I think it’s a good guess. I continue staring at the walls, at the figures, and then stop thinking so hard and fall into the space again. Robe, red, jewelry. White, red, water. Wall, sky, paint. Sky, paint, wall.
The hike out isn’t easy, but it isn’t that hard either. It just is what it is. A bit of a trudge. But a hell of a good slog past cottonwood trees and below high sandstone faces.
Rain clouds to the right and left, virga almost making it to the ground. Others directions, I see rain falling all the way down to the ground. The soft dirt road passes underneath my Pathfinder and I. About 25 miles to go. I just might split those two storms if I’m lucky. I just might get out of here before it rains. And I do. Back at Utah State Route 24. I back up to disengage the four-wheel-drive. I get out and check my tires. All’s good. I consider kissing the asphalt of the state road but decide to just thank the road in my own quiet way. “Thanks,” I whisper, and off I go, heading south toward Capitol Reef.