The News from Stu Jenks (http://www.stujenks.com) & Fezziwig Press (http://www.fezziwigpressonline.com).
Nocturnal, Daylight, Toy, Infrared, Portrait, Sport & Nature Photography; News Of The Road & Of The Land; Stories Of Family, Spirit & The-World-At-Large.
(Contact Stu Jenks via email at stujenks at gmail dot com to purchase prints, books, CDs, & image, story and music rights.)
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.
"When I first began to paint, I used to go to the ancient village and pick up pieces of pottery and copy the designs. That is how I learned to paint. But now, I just close my eyes and see designs and I paint them." - Nampeyo.
It's worth getting off the Interstate or taking a cab from the airport if you have a three hour layover or simply worth a special trip.
Denver Art Museum's American Indian Art Collection.
I made my third journey to DAM's Native collection just a couple weeks ago. It has a wonderful permanant collection and newer work by living Native artists they rotates in and out.
Included in this post is some work by Nampeyo, the famous Hopi potter and by Rhonda Holy Bear, the Cheyenne River Sioux artist, plus a detail image of Standing Bear's tipi and an Edward Curtis photograph of a Hopi potter.
At each visit, I see something old that I knew I loved and something new I didn't know existed. Isn't that what a great museum visit is all about?
So visit the Denver Art Museum when ever you have the chance.
Oh, and yea, they have some pretty good stuff by some white folk too.
All images (c) Stu Jenks 2012 except for the Curtis of course (but I did take the pic of his photo. And a friend just told me it is of Nampeyo herself. Great image. A great potter.)
"...But, in the end, it's all only as deep as the man behind the drafting table. In an age with fewer and fewer creative heroes worth looking up to, I can say without hesitation that, in this case, the man at the helm of the hand doing the damage is a shepherd worth following. Fish would probably cringe at a comment like that, as his hermitic and occasionally bashful composure doesn't sponge up compliments well. But, I'm writing this, so fuck him. I've been around the world and met a lot of "artists" who eat, shit, and breathe inside a bubble of self-aggrandizement, armies of yes-men at their sides ready to toot the bugles for every flimsy "breakthrough" they put forth. Jeremy Fish avoids that typecasting by boiling his intentions down to their most elemental forms: he makes pictures, he makes a lot of them, he makes them for himself, he makes them for the people, and he makes them from the heart. I am proud to say that I look up to him. You should too..." ---part of an Introduction for Jeremy Fish, by Aesop Rock
"Vortex at Cathedral Rock, Sedona, Arizona" (c) 2010 Stu Jenks
Those of you who have read my essays over the years may think I’m a very Woo Woo kind of guy. Sometimes I talk to trees and I hear their voices. On occasion, I feel the presence of dead relatives and even hear them speak. I’ve had spontaneous visions of past lives. I pray often throughout the day and quiet my mind through short yet powerful meditations. My visits into the nocturnal desert shake my core in a Godly-sort-of-way. But I’m not nearly as Woo Woo as you might think. I don’t believe that I’m special in God’s eyes. I don’t magically believe that through my spiritual practices, harm will flee from me and light will always come. I’m just awake enough to avoid The Bad Guys. I don’t believe there is any Secret to prosperity. I believe success is a combination of hard work, good luck, what part of the planet you were born on, and what race, class and sex you happen to be. I don’t believe that I’m one of the Chosen Ones. I believe my closeness to God comes from my heart journeying into an often poor and despairing world, giving as I can, but not from any sense of religious entitlement from having sat on the lap of God or from a condescending pity for those less fortunate. It just feels good to give. I don’t believe that praying in a cathedral or making a stack of stones will cure me of cancer, cause my mother to not die a painful death, or bring back a past lover I still miss. I believe that Life is a wonderful, painful thing, and that prayer is about me getting right with The World, not God doing right by me. At one time, I thought God was a gumball machine: I put in the coin of prayer; I get back what I want. Those beliefs seem so much like those of a scared child now. I’m not in Spiritual High School yet (I’m still too much of a know-it-all.), but I do feel like I’m currently enrolled in God’s Middle School. But what does make me more Woo Woo than most is that I do believe if you go to a place, anyplace, be it a church in a square or a stream near a mountain, and you come with strong and focused intent to be closer to God, to Humans, and to All There Is, you will find a power of Love and Light there beyond what you would expect. You will be spiritually surprised. But it comes from the intent, not the place. Revelations can visit any of us at any time, whether we are surrounded by centuries-old stained glass at Notre Dame in Paris, or the weeks-old stench of piss and grease in the alley behind my favorite grill in Tucson. It’s about intent. Your desire to Give. Your willingness to Love. Your ability to Forgive. So stack your river stones high, metaphysicians of Sedona. Let the Woo Woo out. But know what you will most likely receive will be the knowledge that you are OK just the way you are. And from this new found wisdom, hopefully you will return to your loved ones in the village, bringing a grounded spiritual practice of Giving, Loving, and Forgiving. Chances are very slim that God/Goddess/All-There-Is will give you a million bucks.
6:30 p.m. End of May. A few bright-yellow Palo Verde blossoms hang on for dear life. Spring is leaving, and they say we’ll hit the Century Mark the end of next week. But those little yellow flowers still explode outside of my third story apartment window. The Mourning Doves sing their last songs of the day. The Great Horned Owl will sing its first night-song in a few hours. And there’s another song, from a wren I think, but I don’t really know for sure. Maybe it’s part homage to Robert Smithson or just a continuation of my decades-long obsession with The Spiral. Or maybe I was just looking for a way to give the birds in my neighborhood a Christmas present. (Even wild birds need a feast now and again.) I cleaned the land of its windblown plastic grocery bags. I dug the spiral trench with a shovel. (There was already the shadow of an older eight-foot spiral there from years ago. I just made it 6 inches deeper.) I emptied 40 pounds of birdseed into the sculpture. And on High Noon yesterday, I took a picture or two. Worst light of the day. Great time of the day. I know I’m weird. I type with my glasses off, my laptop and I sit at the foot of my bed. I put on my glasses, look away from the computer and gaze out my window to the sculpture, to the bird feeder, to a bit of holy ground, a couple hundred yards to the south. It’s just County land that no one uses, where down the hill from the spiral, a small covered reservoir was constructed twenty years. No one walks this piece of land but for me and some coyotes, and I don’t walk it very often and the coyotes prefer the washes. But it’s not bad land. Just good unknown land. We have a lot of that in Arizona. May all those acres stay a mystery for a very long time. I wonder how much seed the birds have eaten in a day and half? I think I’ll put on my boots and go see. And maybe afterwards, I’ll walk over to Starbuck’s and buy a Grande Dark Roast.