Stu Jenks' Fezziwig Press

A deep dive into my hard drives, and a few new images as well...

"Council Rocks Flame Tower, Dragoon Mountains, Arizona" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

So recently I've been doing deep dives into my hard drives, to perhaps find some images I had overlooked, or reprocess some photos from the past that I can make better. It's been fun.

Here, is a Zippo lighter image, shot at dusk at Council Rocks in Arizona a few years back. (I may need to do more flame tower images here in North Carolina. Hmm.) I popped the color a bit and sharpened the photo a little. I really like this image and this place. It is the place where the Apache chief Cochise lived, and where he made peace with the Americans in the 1870's. I miss Arizona so.

Other old and a few new images are below. If you want a print of anything, reach out.

And may you all have a Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year.

Love y'all.

Stu.

"Shiprock at Dusk, New Mexico" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Washington Monument 1961, D.C." (c) Image capture Stu Jenks 2021, photographer unknown, from a postcard.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Jesse Brown's Cabin, Blue Ridge Parkway, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.


"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Brown's Summit, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair (with pelican), North Topsail Island, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"A Dartmoor Stream, UK" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Scorhill Stone Circle, Dartmoor, UK" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"The British Oaks in Wistman's Wood, Dartmoor, UK" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Crowned Buddha, Ackland Art Museum, Chapel Hill, North Carolina" (c) Stu Jenks.

"Parvati, Ackland Art Museum, Chapel Hill, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Little Copper Dome, Broad Street, Richmond, Virginia" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Mossy Creek Church, The Valley of Virginia" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks. (The place where my fourth great-grandmother Polly is buried, in an unmarked grave)

"Rodin's Burghers, In front of City Hall, in Calais, France" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Acis and Galatea, Luxembourg Gardens, Paris, France" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Portrait of a woman, outside of Chartres Cathedral, France" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"The Blue Virgin, Chartres Cathedral, France" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Cheyenne, Wyoming" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"The Blue Mary, Parroquia de la Purisima Concepcion, Nogales, Sonora, Mexico" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Flame Spiral atop Tumamoc Hill, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

 

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair at the Grand Canyon

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Lipan Point, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona" (c) 2013, 2021 Stu Jenks.

 

This image is one of my favorites. A perfect winter's day at the Canyon. It's also the back cover of my book Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair (The Deaths of Mary and Pamela Jenks)

Speaking of that book, a nice thing happen to me today.

I gave the PBRC book to my father-in-law Norman Smith to read. He's a highly educated gentleman, a voracious reader, and a sweetly religious man. He read the Dementia Blues book a few days ago and liked it.

"It's very well written, Stu," he said. "Thank you, Norman," I said.

High praise from a man of few words.

But this morning as he was dropping off the paper (He lives just up the street from Alexa and I and he shares his newspaper with us), he got out of his car and said:

"You did a wonderful job writing your mother's eulogy. As good if not better than the priest's. And I love the Bible passage you picked for your mother. Oh, my."

That touched me a lot. I know I'm an OK writer and I was the designated eulogist for the Jenks clan for years, because I knew how to write, how to speak, and how to not talk too long at a funeral.

But still.

It was nice to hear such kind words from the only father figure I have in my life. A very sweet moment.

(As always, if you want to buy something: books, prints, and music, you know where to find me. www.stujenks.org, here, bandcamp, CDbaby, Bookbaby, and at Amazon and Apple stores. Have a great day, y'all.)

Recent images from Downtown Richmond, Virginia.

Images from my recent Dia De Los Muertos trip to Virginia.

These are from the Broad Street area in Downtown Richmond.

Happily, Richmond Camera Shop still exists, except now is in Carytown away from downtown. I remember the 8mm movie boxes my Dad had, that got processed at Richmond Camera. Great that this old camera store still exists.

Also, Robert E. Lee is gone. Bye, bye.

And who doesn't like old brick and old glass from a hundred years ago. And the police sculpture is near the entrance of the downtown cop shop.

Broad Street is getting fancy again, with high end hotels, hipster apartments, and clothing boutiques. It was that way 100 years ago, then it decayed, and is now coming back. Feels a little odd though. Income inequality and the lack of a living wage from close to a majority of Americans angers me and it bugs me to see rich folk walk past the homeless and act like they are not there. That's also part of Broad Street, but I'm guessing in 1914, that happened as well.

I still love the old glass and the red brick though. Living in Tucson for decades, this old architecture is new-ish to me. I moved away from Richmond when I was 5.

It's been a long time since I've walked down Broad Street, holding my mother's hand, going to Thalhimiers Department Store to eat a club sandwich for lunch. I remember that like it was yesterday.

 

Dia De Los Muertos at the Jenks family plot in Lancaster County, Virginia.

I live here in Greensboro, North Carolina now, but I'm really from Tucson, Arizona.

Part of the border culture, is the annual Dia de los Muestos celebrations. In Sonora, Mexico and Sonoran Arizona, many families on the nights and days around November 2nd, go to their family cemetery plots and clean the graves. They also bring favorite foods and beverages of the deceased, and fresh marigold flowers to decorate the graves of their loved ones. Many stay throughout the nights, drinking and eating, telling funny stories about the deceased, having a good time with friends and family, both living and dead. It's a big deal. Some towns in Sonora, Mexico will have parades honoring the dead. In Tucson, we have the All Souls' Procession, where many thousands of people march through downtown, dressed as the dead, or with placards acknowledging their dead loved ones. A large steel urn filled of written prayers is taken to a site near the Santa Cruz river, where the urn is set ablaze, sending prayers skyward. It's a big deal. (I've been lucky enough to be one of the All Souls photographers over the decades.)

Having moved back to the South, I realize that I had an opportunity to go full-on Day of the Dead with my ancestors. On the way to the Jenks family plot the other day, I visited my grandparents and my great-grandparents in Richmond, along with visiting the grave of my murdered great aunt Bertie. The story of Aunt Bertie's murder and what happened to her two young children can be found at this link. After visiting my folks and my sister, I placed flowers and candles at my great-great grandparents and my great-great-great grandparents graves in Oak Grove Cemetery in Lexington, Virginia. It was kinda-sorta on the way home.

But the main event was at Mary's, Stuart's, and Pamela's graves at St. Mary's Whitechapel Episcopal Church, in Lancaster County, Virginia, near the shores of the Rappahannock River.

Some background regarding St. Mary's Whitechapel and my mother's religious life:

My mother Mary was a big deal in the Diocese of Virginia, being on the Standing Committee and committing her life to service in the Episcopal Church. The rector at St. Mary's in the late 90's and early 2000's was a delight. Loved Mom. Loved trains. However, the rector after him, was an ex-divorce attorney who became a priest late in life. She was frankly horrible, a control freak, pushing mother out of her roles at St. Mary's. Granted, my mother was a force of nature and was a pain in the neck on more than one occasion, but that priest could have fired my mother with a bit more empathy and grace, given she is working with an elderly woman who is doing all this for free. It broke my mother's heart. The current priest at St. Mary's is a very nice woman who I've only met once. Seems very grounded, sweet, and genuine.

Some background regarding on the St. Mary's Whitechapel Graveyard:

The church and the graveyard have been around since 1669. Yeah. 1669. There have been in the past a lot of rules and regulations regarding what you can leave at the graves. No potted plants. No toys. No plastic flowers. No this, no that. They used to enforce this rigidly, but from what I saw the other night, not so much. Potted plants are there. Small figurines are there. A recent burial from a few months ago still had its wilting flowers and the cardboard photo of the deceased. The current priest I believe is doing the right thing, being more flexible. Then again, when she sees the mess I made she might think differently.

I looked all over for marigolds and only found a few late in the process. Trader Joe's sunflowers did just fine.

The food for each person consisted of these:

For Mom, cottage cheese. She loved her cottage cottage.

For Dad, a can of tuna, a can of collard greens, and a single tuna wrap from Trader Joe's. (I ate the second tuna wrap.) Dad loved his tuna fish.

And Pamela, it's bagels.

Many of you have heard me tell the Pamela Jenks Bagel Story. Of her yelling at the Harris Teeter clerk in the frozen food isle in Raleigh.

"Excuse me sir. Can you tell me where the fucking frozen begals are?!!!" Clerk running toward us. "Madam, please don't use that kind of language." Pamela yelling, "Why the fuck not!!!" Clerk's brain going into vapor lock. Him, slowly walking away. Me, just standing there smiling. Not my first Pamela Jenks rodeo.

Pamela yelled and cussed everywhere she went. She wasn't crazy crazy, but she was Southern crazy.

As far as drink goes, that was problematic. All the beverages would have been alcoholic. Me being in recovery, driving with three liquid rattlesnakes in the back of my truck was not a good idea. I went with cans of Arizona Ice Tea, with what they liked to drink written in sharpie on the side of the cans. "Pamela liked scotch." "Dad liked beer." "Mom liked wine." It worked just fine. (Throughout the night, I actually drank Pamela's iced tea. It was very good.)

I placed the food, drink, flowers and candles at each of my loved ones' graves. Put one single flower on my grave, just to include me in all the fun. The Virgin of Guadalupe candles really brought it all together.

I arrived around 5 p.m. and stayed throughout the night, only leaving around 3 a.m. so I could make it to Lexington to place flowers and candles at the Beeton's and Jenks' graves. I place a towel on the "OK God Let's Do It" bench to keep my butt warm, and I played a little woo-woo music on my phone, specifically Steve Roach and Kevin Brahany's "Western Spaces". Hearing that music made me miss Utah and Arizona terribly, but it was still very nice to hear it softly echo throughout the forest.

It's hard to put in words the powers of those few hours. Sometimes if you say too much about a spiritual experience it lessens it resonance in your life. This is one of those times. I felt like crying but I didn't. Just felt sad, mostly because Mary is gone. I miss Mom.

At one point, I walked down to the road to see if I could see the burning candles. I could see the one on top of Dad's headstone. 'Man,' I thought. 'If you are driving down Lively Road tonight and looked up at just the right time, you will see that candle. Won't that be delightfully spooky.'

It was a very good night. Next year, I will return again to honor the dead.

I hope the priest doesn't feel mad at me about all of this. My guess is she will roll with it. But I did leave a candle burning, many flowers and food lying around. My guess is the deer and other wildlife will make short work of the cottage cheese, the tuna wrap and the bagels. The raccoons will have a tough time though, getting into the tuna fish can and the collard greens can, but those little guys are pretty resourceful. You never know.

Rest in peace, Mom, Dad, and Pamela. You were not always the best family, but you are my family.

There is an old metaphysical saying, that our parents did a shitty job, but they did the best they could with the skills they had, and in that paradox, can be find peace and compassion.

I found peace and compassion the other night, in the dark, at my family's graves.

I'm blessed.

#allsoulsday, #diadelosmuertos, #thejenks, #stujenks.

“Stuart Carlyle Jenks, Jr. (For Aunt Gracie), White Ash, North Carolina” [Extended Family Series]

“Stuart Carlyle Jenks, Jr. (For Aunt Gracie), White Ash, North Carolina” © 2021 Stu Jenks.

The terrible story of Grace Jenks Lester Wadworth's family abandonment is at this link.

The short version is this: Her mother, my great aunt Bertie, was murdered in 1914. Her and her brother Jimmy, ages 3 and 5, were put in orphanages in Richmond, VA by my great grandparents, my grandfather, and his siblings. No one ever visited. The family didn't take them in themselves. All the Jenks kids were adults but they just gave them up to the system and turned their backs on little Gracie and Jimmy, forever. Shameful. Horrible. Even my father Stuart Jenks was never told the story about Gracie and Jimmy.

Gracie died in 1994. I never met her. But I could have. I never met Jimmy either, nor know where he is.

As part of my Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebrations, Aunt Grace got a visit from me yesterday. Her grave is 3 hours away in Wilmington. She didn't get food or drink, because she rests in a Veterans cemetery, but she did get a candle and a walking stick.

About this walking stick.

I made it for myself to use on the trails. The problem is this: I don't use walking sticks when I hike. Never have. I've either got a 70-200 mm in my hand, or a mandolin on my back, or a saw and gloves in the other hand. A stick would just be another something for me to carry. (The irony doesn't escape me. I've made over a 150 of these suckers, but I don't use one myself.)

That being said, I thought Gracie should have it, or perhaps a passerby or a cemetery caretaker will take it away. That's fine. It's the thought, the intention, that counts. And I already have the "Gracie Jenks Lester Wadsworth" walking stick/wall piece at my house, which is part of my private collection.

Bottom line? Gracie needed a stick yesterday, and I have plenty of them.

I also played a little mandolin at her grave yesterday, as the sun went down. It was a sweet moment for me, maybe for her too.

Rest in peace, Gracie. I didn't know you at all, but I still feel angry on how my family treated you. If your spirit can hear me, know that I'm truly sorry for the horrible crap my family did or rather didn't do for you.

And know that I love you. I hope you're OK wherever your soul might be.

#stujenks, #graciejenkslesterwadsworth, #extendedfamilyseries

 

Red Maples Leaves

"Red Maple leaf, on the branch in my front yard, Greensboro, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

 

"Red Maple left, on a white rock, Cane Creek, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

 

Tobacco Barn, Caswell County, North Carolina

"Tobacco Barn, Caswell County, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks

As I was taking this image, I could see the final composition in my mind's eye. I love fine elegant composition. I like how easy my eye moves around this photograph: down the roof line, back up to the trees, resting on the upper door and the red wood for a second, then back down the roof line again. I'm also grateful to have really good glass (Canon 70-200 mm f/2.8 IS lens) to make it all happen.

My father used to say, "it's a sad dog that won't wag its own tail" 

Well, Dad, I'm wagging here.

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Ruby's Mini-Mart, Caswell County, North Carolina

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Ruby's Mini-Mart, Caswell County, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

 

A day at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park

All photos (c) Stu Jenks 2021

Sarah Spencer and Charlsie Dickson

"Sarah Spencer, Ashe County, North Carolina" (c) image capture 2021 Stu Jenks.

 

"Charlsie Dickson, Ashe County, North Carolina" (c) image capture Stu Jenks 2020.

 

On Joe Thomas Road, not far from my wife's family farm, is an small cemetery. Atop a hill, surrounded by mountain pastures and farm land, this cemetery is a lovely spot to stop, walk, and look around.

I've walked the grounds a couple of times. The first time in 2020, I found little Charlsie's portrait, her having died in 1926 at age 8.

A few weeks ago, I found Sarah's grave. Unfortunately, I did not photograph her whole stone so I don't precisely know when she died and how old she was, but I recall she was in her 30's and she also died in the early 20th century.

I'm struck by Sarah's beauty and her passionate intelligent eyes. Speaking of eyes, and I may be projecting here, but Charslie looks so sad. Sweet and sad. But that could be my 21st century prejudices.

One thing I do know is the survivors pay for the grave stones. You can tell Charslie's parents loved her very much, enough to spend the money for a ceramic photo plaque. Those were not cheap, nor were the stones themselves. And Sarah's husband purchased a very fine stone too, and got a photo plaque made of her beautiful face.

Now I'm guessing here. I can see Sarah's husband visiting her grave often just to see her face. She was stunning with smart and kind eyes. I'm sure he missed her a lot. I can see why.

The work of Kawase Hasui

I am fortunate enough to live two miles from a wonderful university-based art museum, the Weatherspoon Art Museum, associated with the University of North Carolina at Greensboro.

Right now, they are having their annual paper show and a traveling Japanese woodblock print show. These are four of the image captures I took at the woodblock show.

I adore Kawase Hasui's work. Discovered him just a few years ago when I saw his work in another shin-hanga show in Richmond.

I'm big on good composition. Really big.

I'm also a big fan of the Bit-of-Red School of Art, where a touch of crimson dramatically highlights a painting, a print, a photograph. (An example of that can also be seen in my photograph Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Brown's Summit, North Carolina, at the bottom of this post).

And I'm a sucker for any winter scene.

Hasui is a master of composition, of the Bit-of-Red and of portraying wintry wonderlands.

I emotionally fall into his prints. I just do. I hope you can too from these digital images, but as you know, there is nothing like seeing a painting, a sculpture, a woodblock print, in person.

I hope you enjoy his work. He's simply magical.

 
#stujenks, #hasuikawase, woodblockprints

“Abraham Lincoln #2, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” [Extended Family Series] (Originally "Thomas Hart Benton")

“Abraham Lincoln #2, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021, 56 inches tall. (Originally "Thomas Hart Benton")

Price: $125, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

This is a very complicated piece.

Originally this stick was made for Thomas Hart Benton. A painting of his in the North Carolina Museum of Art moves me greatly. (An image capture of that painting is at the bottom of this post.) This 1945 painting is of a family moving from their home before flood waters reach them and their house. A few years ago, that painting was a powerful metaphor for me, because I had to leave my wife and Greensboro to return home to Tucson, in order to work, and make a living. I felt like that man lifting that bed into the wagon.

So. I made Thomas Hart Benton a walking stick. Signed it and everything.

Then I saw Ken Burns' documentary on the man a couple of weeks ago.

Benton was a complete and utter asshole it appears.

He treated everyone badly: wife, students, contemporaries, you name it. He drank way too much. He hated gays and said often how much he disliked the 'limp wrist crowd'. He thought he was the greatest artist who ever lived. He was a bad guy.

Jackson Pollack was one of his students. Benton said of Pollack, "The only thing I taught Jack was how to drink a 1/5 of scotch a day." A day. I know.

I told Alexa about my displeasure with the man. She suggested I burn the stick. I kind of liked that idea. It would burn like a son of a bitch in our fireplace. But I choose a more middle path, sanding off Benton's name and dedicating the stick to someone I actually care about, like Abraham Lincoln.

Old Abe already has a piece made in his honor, a saguaro stick, somewhat heavier from this one. I've been wanting to make Honest Abe another functioning walking stick, something he might have actually used if we had lived at the same time, and he happened to wander into my studio in 19th Century Washington, D.C.

So Mr. Lincoln, you get another stick.

And Thomas Hart Benton? You are shit out of luck. Love your paintings but you can go straight to hell. As you can tell, I feel very strongly about this.

I've said this since I was in art school, said it for decades actually:

You can be a good person and a good artist all at the same time.

The asshole white male artist driven by his creative passions is a cop-out. You, Benton, Picasso, many others, just didn't give a fuck about other people. You were children who just wanted you wanted when you wanted it, wrapping your awful behaviors in artistic rhetoric. It's a rationalization, not a vision statement. Simply, you were dicks. You knew it. I know it. Fuck you.

I've had the opportunity to make sticks for extended family members who were jerks. I've only made one, and that was the Uncle Courtney Saum/Donald Trump stick. If I'm going to spend the hours making lovely pieces, I want to make them only for lovely people. Just the way this artist is built.

Sorry for the lecture. Here enddeth the lesson.

#lincoln, #stujenks, #extendedfamilyseries, #thomashartbenton

"Sacajawea, Mountain Laurel, North Carolina" [Extended Family Series]

“Sacajawea, Mountain Laurel, North Carolina” © 2021 Stu Jenks, 68 inches long.

Price: $200, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

We all know that Sacajawea helped Lewis and Clark in the expedition west, but I didn't know that she had been bought by the French trapper Toussaint Charbonneau from another tribe to be his wife/slave. Charbonneau also came along for the ride with Lewis and Clark and the others.

Truly, the reason Sacajawea proved so valuable on that trip was she spoke many of the native languages of the tribes along the way, and because she was a Native American woman among all white people. Many of the tribes would have simply killed the members of the expedition if Sacajawea wasn't there, walking with her infant son in her arms. And reading between the lines, she was a lot more fun to be around than her husband Toussaint. I just find it interesting that Charbonneau is lost to time. Sweet justice if you ask me, that we don't remember at least one white jerk at all.

Note to the U.S. mint: It was nice of you to make the Sacagawea Dollar but y'all messed up, making it roughly the size of a quarter. You can still fix this problem now, making the coin more like the British One Pound coin, roughly the size of a nickel but much much thicker and heavier in weight. Americans I believe would use that dollar, if it didn't feel just like a quarter in our pockets. Yes, yes, passing extensive national voting rights legislation to keep our country from falling into complete autocracy is a number one priority, but making a good dollar coin should be up there too. Just saying.

#sacajawea, #stujenks, #extendedfamilyseries

"Guy Clark, Dogwood, North Carolina" [Extended Family Series]

“Guy Clark, Dogwood, North Carolina” © 2021, 57 inches tall.

Price: $125, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

I was fortunate enough to see the singer-songwriter Guy Clark perform at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, in San Francisco, in 2010. I even video taped him with real live gear. I knew who he was from songs like LA Freeway and Desperados Waiting For A Train but I really didn't know how remarkable he truly was. Until that day.

An old and ailing man, he still put his back into every song. I am blessed to have experience that performance.

Here is the link to YouTube of Guy Clark performing "Let It Roll" that day.

Dogwood seems like the perfect wood for a country gentleman like Guy.

Rest in peace, Mr. Clark. You touched many.

#guyclark, #extendedfamilyseries, #stujenks.

“Dave Drake The Slave Potter, Saguaro Ribs, Arizona” [Extended Family Series]

“Dave Drake The Slave Potter, Saguaro Ribs, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021. 88 inches tall.

 

Price: $695, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

This is from Dave Drake's wikipedia page:

"David Drake (c. 1800 – c. 1870s), also known as "Dave Pottery" and "Dave the Potter," was an American potter and enslaved African American who lived in Edgefield, South Carolina. Drake lived and worked in Edgefield for almost all his life.

Drake produced alkaline-glazed stoneware jugs between the 1820s and the 1870s. An enslaved African American, he often signed his works "Dave." He is recognized as the first enslaved potter to inscribe his work, during a time when most enslaved people were illiterate, often forbidden from literacy, and anonymous. Drake inscribed his work with poetry, often using rhyming couplets, as well as his signature."

 

Leonard Todd, an descendant of one of Dave's slave owners, wrote a book about the potter. There is some controversy around some of the facts of his life represented there, but it's a lovely book, written by someone who appears to care deeply about Dave.

Dave until recently was known only as "Dave The Slave Potter" or "Dave", not using his last name, given the cruelty of his first owner, Harvey Drake, but since in a census of 1870, Dave used the name "Dave Drake" to represent himself so he could vote, most folk now use his full name.

Dave, like all enslaved people in the South, experienced many horrors and terrible loses. Even though firm facts are hard to come by, it appears Dave's wife and children were sold away from him and shipped to Louisiana. He lost a leg at some point, stated by some that he lost it when he fell asleep on a railroad track after drinking, but it's just as likely he was tortured by one of his owners, and lost his leg due to that injury. Cutting off legs, hands and fingers was common place, back then, for slaves who 'misbehaved.' His last owner, Lewis Miles, doesn't appear to have been that horrible and allowed Dave to write poetry and one-liners on his pots, even though it was very much against the law at the time.

One of the sadness lines on one of Dave's pots is "I wonder where is all my relations. Friendship to all and every nation," alluding to how friends and family of enslaved people were sold away from each other, never to see each other again.

I was fortunate to see one of Dave's large jars in a show here in North Carolina a few years ago. I can't remember the inscription exactly but the line on the jug mentioned how 'Christmas is the saddest time of the year.' That was because slave owners gave each other slaves as Christmas gifts, callously breaking apart families, giving children away from their parents, separating husbands and wives. Slaves were not people. They were property. Frankly, this sad history still echos in the land around here, in North Carolina, where I live.

In spite of some of its apparent errors, Leonard Todd's book Carolina Clay: The Life and Legend of The Slave Potter Dave is a joy to read, and a tome filled with sadness and beauty. I highly recommended it.

My large wall piece here mirrors the size and strength of the man, the sculpture being over 7 feet tall. At the bottom of the old Saguaro rib, it is missing one of its 'legs', honoring that Dave threw pots with only one leg, having another person kick the wheel for him.

This piece of art is very meaningful to me, hanging proudly in my garage workshop. However I would be happy to sell it, and part with it, so that it can be seen by others in person.

Ironically, pots and jars of Dave's that sold for only a few dollars and cents during his lifetime, are now selling for hundreds of thousands of dollars, one jar bought by a museum at auction in 2020 for $369,000. Yeah. I know.

Thousands and thousands of pottery pieces were produced by slaves in the 18th and 19th century in the South. Luckily, Dave Drake's last slave owner, Lewis Miles, allowed him to write on his pots. And happily Dave knew how to read and write, and he knew how to turn a phrase.

No photo was ever taken of Dave. We know he was a big man.

He was a large man in height and size, and a large man with a very big heart.

God bless you, Mr. Drake.

(And I'm fully aware that in your lifetime, you never ever called "Mr. Drake." But you should have been.)

#dave, #daveslave, #davepotter, #extendedfamilyseries, #stujenks

"Annie Beeton, Red Ash Wood, Virginia" [Extended Family Series]

“Annie Beeton, Red Ash Wood, Virginia” © Stu Jenks 2021, 54 inches tall.

Price: $150, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

Annie Beeton is my great-great-grandmother. She was married to John Allen Beeton, who fought in the Civil War. Johnny worked at Virginia Military Institute and at Washington and Lee College in Lexington, Virginia. I do not know his job. Both are buried in Lexington.

It's a beautiful cemetery and John gave Annie a lovely grave marker after she died. She died young in 1883 at the age of 45. Johnny died in 1902 at the age of 73. Annie's name is on the other side of this monument. I did photograph her side of the stone but the light wasn't that good that day. But she's there. Her name was the first to be placed on this stone.

Here's the thing that bothers the heck out of me.

Almost nothing is known about Annie. We know that she bore a son William in 1858 and a daughter Ella in 1863. We know that her father Richard was 30 and her mother Jane was 17 when she was born in 1838. We know she lived most of her life in Lexington. We know she died there. But that's about it.

It upsets me that most American women in the 19th century were basically property. They were expected to bear children, raise them and make a home for her family and herself, but little is written about women of that time. Men write a lot about other men, but rarely do they write about their wives, nor do the newspapers nor does the society at large pay them much attention. What we can figure out about Annie is through what was written about her husband, Johnny. And a lot of guessing.

John Henry Beeton made munitions in Richmond, Virginia during the Civil War. Was quite good at it, it appears. He also transferred out of Stonewall Jackson's Brigade as soon as he could at the beginning of the War. Stonewall was greatly disliked by many as a professor at the Virginia Military Institute. Johnny worked at VMI before the War. He was 30 when the War began. He got a relatively safe job in Richmond making guns and ammo after leaving Stonewall's command. He must have gotten back to Lexington during the War at some point because my great-grandmother Ella was born in May of 1863. After the War, Johnny came home but didn't return to work at VMI. He worked at Washington and Lee College for the rest of his career.

We can guess that he loved Annie very much, given the large ornate grave marker he had made for her and himself. He never remarried after her death. A lot of men of that time did. Their two kids were grown when she died. Again, I'm going by the extravagance and the size of the grave stone. Most stones in this cemetery are not this grand. Johnny spent some money on this. I can imagine how much he loved her, but I don't know for sure. I can guess her kids loved her too. I have no idea how she died. We have photos of Johnny in his Confederate uniform but no photos of Annie.

Makes me sad I don't know more about her, or that any of us know her better.

My wife jokingly says, "Men are the reason for all the world's problems." She making a joke but a dark joke. It's pretty much true.

The world is far from perfect, but I'm so happy that most women are no longer anonymous in the world. They are known and seen and heard. At least a little bit. We are slowly getting to place of gender and sexual equality.

Big hug Annie, from your great-great-grandson Stu. Your daughter Ella met and married Francis Jenks in Lexington in the 1880's and they had my grandfather Edgar as one of their five children, whose wife Lillie had my dad Stuart, whose wife Mary had me.

Again, I wish I knew more about you, Annie, but given your beautiful grave marker, I'm guessing that Johnny loved you very much. And your children did too. I choose to believe that.

So Annie, here's a pretty but imperfect red ash walk stick, made especially for you. I love you from afar, from across time. It's how I'm built.

#extendedfamilyseries, #stujenks, #redashwood

The PBRC at North Topsail Island

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, North Topsail Island, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

I went down to the beach, on a rainy day, to try out a new hand board for body surfing I had recently bought, but the waves were only wind-made, very choppy, and the current was too strong for me to really effectively use the hand board.

I'm just old school, I guess, about body surfing. Just put me in the ocean and see if I can catch some waves. I had a 10 foot long board, before it was stolen a few years ago, but given the smaller waves here on the East Coast, body surfing without the weird hand board, for now, will do just fine. 

I got beaten up pretty good by the waves, and the current was a lot to fight, but I had a great time. I like being beat up by the waves. I think most surfers feel that way: We like to catch waves, either on a board or with our bodies, but the stories and the big-time-fun comes from wiping out. I laughed out loud a few times as I was getting thrown around by the sea. So much fun.

Before surfing, I took these pics of the PBRC in the surf. Business before pleasure, don't you know.

Lazarus and Jesus at Duke Cathedral

"Jesus at Duke Cathedral, Durham, North Carolina" (c) 2021. Image Capture by Stu Jenks.

 

"Lazarus at Duke Cathedral, Durham, North Carolina" (c) 2021. Image capture by Stu Jenks.

 

Last time I visited Duke Cathedral on campus, I was a child.

A few days ago, I returned with a long lens. From a distance, the glass is lovely but close up using my SLR camera, the Gothic-styled stained glass is down right creepy. Most of the faces had white-all-around eyes. Yikes.

I don't know who looks worse, Lazarus or Jesus.

(Actually, I find the Lazarus window very evocative and quite beautiful.)

 

Wild Turkeys in Ashe County

"Wild Turkey, Ashe County, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

Really wished the Founding Fathers had taken Ben Franklin's recommendation: the Wild Turkey would have been a great National bird. Bald Eagles are pretty and all, but they are thieves and not particularly noble to other wildlife. Turkeys are smart, good parents and tasty to eat. A truly American bird.

Deep in the grass, not seen in this photograph, are three baby turkeys, following close behind Mom. They stayed hidden. Mom did not.

Beautiful animal.

Off to the Zoom Room factory...

Off to the Zoom Room factory. It's all about from the waist up. The COVID mullet: Business from the waist up, party below the belt.

Alexa took these images. I did a little post-production fiddling afterwards.

Alexa also mentioned to me yesterday that it's hard to find my store from a Google search. You can easily find my digital stuff like my music and ebooks but not so much the hold-in-your-hands stuff. If you want to buy my real live books, CDs and prints, or want inexpensive epubs and pdfs of my books, or you just want to donate to the cause that is the Jenks, click on this link. For image rights licensing, email me or call me instead. (stujenks@gmail.com). If you want to give to my Paypal account, use my email address too. For wall pieces and walking sticks sales, contact me via email or phone.

Beside the high humidity of the Southern summers killing us, money being tight, and global warming making storms more violent and prevalent now, Alexa and I are just fine.

Grateful we are, one day at a time, just to be here together on the planet.

Bottom image is a selfie of Alexa, taken a while back. Just so you know what the photographer looks like. I love my wife.

Stonewall Jackson's Death Place

"Stonewall Jackson's Death Place, Virginia" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

In the middle of nowhere Virginia, there is a pretty restored old farmhouse where Stonewall Jackson took his last breath, after having been shot by his own men.

Stonewall Jackson. Great Civil War General. From what I've read, an arrogant pain in the ass to all who knew him.

Not-so-fun-fact: The owner of this farm sold it during the War because he was caught between warring factions just too many times. They torn up his land and scared the hell out of his family.

War is worse on the innocents than it is on the combatants. Was that way in Virginia in the 1860's. Was that way in Iraq and Afghanistan in the 2000's.

However, in 2021 when I visited this place, it was a very pretty piece of property. White brick house. Lovely gray skies. Very peaceful.

Humble Hearts Hymnal

"Humble Hearts Hymnal, The Blue Ridge Music Center, Virginia" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

Along the Blue Ridge Parkway near Galax, Virginia sits the Blue Ridge Music Center. If you love Mountain Music and the roots of Americana and Bluegrass, the visitor center's museum is something to experience, from old instruments and archival film footage, to hymnals and photographs. If you are close by, I would recommend visiting. It ain't nothing.

A free epub of Dementia Blues for y'all (and a hidden Leviticus track too)

A writer friend today suggested I submit one of my self-pub books to this book contest thingy. Win between $1000 to $5000 if they pick your book. It's a bit of a scam, our $65 submission costs supporting whoever the hell Winning Writers are, but I had that much cash in my Paypal and thought what the hell.

The tricky part was which book. Initially I thought Step Zero, but that's too long. Then I thought Victor Mothershead, but that's Book 4 in the Step Zero series.

Then I thought Dementia Blues, my best selling book of the 15 books I've produced. I glanced through the epub before I submitted it and thought, "This is actually pretty good. It holds up."

So I uploaded it to the contest.

But you know I ain't going to win.

But you all can.

Download Dementia Blues

Above (and at the end of this post) is the epub edition of Dementia Blues by me, Stu Jenks. Designed by Gail Cross with the photographs and everything. It's a sad but sweet book. I think you'll like it.

And even though the chances of me winning this book contest are slim to none, you can win a free book right now. Pretty sweet, eh?

Love you guys.

Keep your lamp trimmed and burning,

Stu.

Download Dementia Blues

P.S. Hidden track: I'll give away my last book Cherry Picking Leviticus too. What the heck. I'm in a generous mood. (If you feel like donating to the cause, my Paypal is stujenks@gmail.com). Be safe out there.

Download Cherry Picking Leviticus by Stu Jenks

“John Henry Beeton, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021 [Extended Family Series]

“John Henry Beeton, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021, 56 inches tall.

Price: $175, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

In a lovely cemetery in downtown Lexington, Virginia, six of my ancestors peacefully rest: four 2nd great-grandparents and two 3rd great-grandparents. It's only recently that I've discovered this, thanks to the hard work of my friend Brad.

John Henry Beeton, my great-great-grandfather, worked at the Virginia Military Academy in Lexington when the Civil War began. He was married to Anna Marie by then, and they already had a 3-year-old son William. (Their second child, Ella, was born in 1863. My great-grandmother.) He apparently was quickly drafted into Stonewall Jackson's brigade after Fort Sumter. Stonewall Jackson was not a beloved professor at the VMI. He was deeply disliked by many. According to records, John soon transferred to another branch of the Confederate Army, making guns and ammo in Richmond. Appears John Beeton didn't like Stonewall Jackson much either. John worked for the rest of the War at that munitions factory. He was good at his job, rising to become foreman. After the War, he returned to Lexington to work at Washington and Lee College. He did not return to work at VMI. I bet he had enough of the military. Sadly, Anna died young in 1883 at the age of 45. He never remarried.

The Confederate States Of America cast iron plaque at the base of his grave was placed there by who knows who. I don't approve of these kind of monuments. Like many, I hate the Civil War, slavery and the inter-generation racism of the South, but when I visited his grave for the first time, I found his medallion broken in two, lying on the ground. That made me sad. I thought of just taking the marker completely away from his grave, but instead I had a blacksmith in Greensboro repair it. I recently returned it to John and Anna's graves and put back his marker.

John was a veteran. He did serve, even though it was for traitors against the Union. And I bet John didn't approve of the War either. Most didn't. In The South, you really didn't have much choice if you fought in the Civil War or not. You had to go. Luckily, he was far from most of the fighting and was able to return to his wife and his two children after the War.

Rest in peace, John.

And Anna Marie Beeton? I'm making you a stick as well. Thank you both for loving one another and producing my great grandmother Ella, who gave birth to Edgar, who married Lillie, who gave birth to Stuart, who married Mary, who gave birth to me.

Sadly, little is known of Anna Beeton. Back then, women were hardly considered people in America, but that's a discussion for another time.

Over and out for now, from Stu, son of Mary, daughter of Elton, daughter of Emma, daughter of Matilda, daughter of Elisabetha.

#stujenks, #extendedfamilyseries, #johnhenrybeeton

“Camille Claudel, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021 [Extended Family Series]

“Camille Claudel, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021, 66 inches tall.

 

Price: $195, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall. Love y'all, Stu.

 

Camille was a French sculptor, an associate and sometime lover of Rodin, a marvelous artist in her own right, largely forgotten because how poorly she was treated by her family and others. To read about her tragic life, click of this Wikipedia link.

To my surprise, some of her work, a bronze bust of Rodin, resides at the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh. In the last decade, Camille is finally getting the recognition that her and her work have so deserved.

You, Madam Claudel, get a complex wall sculpture from me, made specifically in your honor.

#stujenks, #extendedfamilyseries, #camilleclaudel

“Gandalf The White/Ian McKellen, Tulip Poplar, North Carolina” © Stu Jenks 2021 [Extended Family Series]

"Gandalf The White/Ian McKellen, Tulip Poplar, North Carolina” © Stu Jenks 2021, 61 inches tall.

Price: $125, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

Ian McKellen was the perfect choice to play Gandalf in the Lord Of The Ring movies. I love this character in literature. I love this actor in films.

This stick isn't as elaborate as his wizard staff but it'll do. It's a fine strong walking stick.

You, Ian and Gandalf, are family to me, folk who don't even know who I am, but that's more than OK. You are still kin.

#extendedfamilyseries, #stujenks, #gandalf

 

“Eleanor Roosevelt, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021 (Extended Family Series]

“Eleanor Roosevelt, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © 2021 Stu Jenks, 67 inches tall.

Price: $125, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at stujenks@gmail.com or Facebook message me, if you would like to purchase one of my pieces. Payments can be made with Paypal, Venmo or credit card with Square. All pieces are signed with its title, and can be hung from the wall.

 

My mother Mary revered Eleanor Roosevelt. Eleanor was First Lady when Mom was a teenager, living across the Potomac from D.C., in Alexandria, Virginia"

"She was not an attractive woman," my Mom would say,"but she was an great inspiration to many girls and women like me." Mom wasn't lying.

Thank you Mrs. Roosevelt for all you did for us, and thanks Mom, for telling me about her and FDR, when I was a kid.

Photos of Eleanor's sculpture and other work at the FDR Memorial in Washington, DC, were taken by me in 2021. 

"The Old Man & His Angel"

"The Old Man & His Angel". Image capture by me, when I was recently in Washington.

Detail from Thomas Cole's painting, The Voyage Of Life: Old Age. National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. I love this painting.

 

On this date in 2001, my father Stuart Jenks died after a long battle with interstitial muscle cancer.

Politely speaking, Dad and I had a complicated relationship. (More on this can be found from my previous writings and books, specifically the post "Dad Doesn't Leave The House Anymore" on this feed.)

I generally don't miss my father, but occasionally I do.

Like today.

"Burke's Garden, Virginia"

"The Burke's Garden Signs, Virginia" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks. 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Low Gap, North Carolina (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Low Gap, North Carolina" (c) 2021 Stu Jenks.

(To read the PBRC ebook, just google my name, 'Stu Jenks'. and the book's title, 'Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair', and you'll find it on most worldwide book platforms.)

 

"Dad Doesn't Leave The House Much Anymore"

"Dad Doesn't Leave The House Much Anymore" (c) Spring 2001, 2010 Stu Jenks

(Pinhole photograph taken six months before Dad died. Exposure time approx. 30 minutes long. Stuart Jenks Sr. died at home on September 3rd, 2001, twenty years ago this week. This story was written in 2010 and edited again today.)

    Dad doesn’t leave the house much anymore.
    “He sometimes goes outside but he rarely stays out,” Mom says. “It’s like he’s given up.”
    It’s been a bad few months. They can’t give Dad the Agent Orange Cancer Cure anymore. Too much of The Big Bad Chemo would kill him outright now. He went to John Hopkins in Baltimore recently and they’ve put him on very experimental cancer therapy which consists of Stuart taking Thalidomide pills. Dad’s now a guinea pig.
    “We’re running out of options,” Dr. Evers, my father’s oncologist, said. My Dad calls him Medger, after the slain civil rights activist. It’s not a compliment, and it's kind of a bad joke. Dad sometimes is less funny than he thinks.
    There’s one more last ditch treatment, they say. Another experimental procedure where they pump a caustic chemical cocktail right into my Dad’s chest. Stuart has to be under anesthesia for this and be closely monitored while they pump in the chemicals. Very experimental. Very risky. A last hope. We’re scheduled to go into the hospital in a few days. I just flew in from Tucson tonight to help as I can.
    Dad’s sitting in front of his mini-TV in the living room. He has on headphones to listen to it, for if he doesn’t, the regular TV speaker blasts out the house. Dad has been losing his hearing for years. He refuses to get hearing aids. He likes hearing less, he said to me, because without hearing aids he can barely hear Mom talk. Stuart fell out of love with Mary years ago, but is too cheap to divorce her. Sadly, Mom is still deeply in love with the man.
    Dad's just sitting there, watching the TV. I walk out onto the screened-in porch, then to the kitchen, then upstairs to my bedroom. I’ve done this circle a number of times tonight. I pass Dad each time, but after our first hand wave of the night, Dad doesn’t look up from the TV. He doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention to the television. Almost like he’s looking right through it. A thousand yard stare, probably not that much different than the one on his face at Iwo Jima in 1945.    
    Without him knowing, I place my pinhole camera, with the shutter open, on a table in the living room. I then go outside to sit on the river pier in the dark. No moon tonight. A half hour later, I come back up to the house. Dad’s still sitting where I left him. I grab the pinhole, place my hand over the aperture hole and take it upstairs to my bedroom. I close the shutter once I’m upstairs.
    A few minutes later, I walk back downstairs to get a snack. I wave at Stuart again. This time he waves back. Dad goes back to looking at the TV. He’s not smiling. He’s not really anything. Like a quiet ghost in the house. Strange from a man who had such a big personality when he was well. It’s like he’s already gone now. I don’t fault him for this. Hell, if I’d gone through almost two years of brutal surgeries and horrible chemotherapies that barely shrunk my tumors, I’d want to be gone too. But I still miss him. And then sometimes I don’t. It’s complicated. He's a retired Marine Corps officer. I'm a woo woo artist. Yeah. Often I feel like I don’t know him at all or he, me. We’ve both tried, but we still don’t get each other. Never really have. It makes sad and a little angry. Mostly it just make me really really sad. You kind of missed out on getting to know your only son, Dad, by having unreasonable expectations of me being just like you.
    I walk back up stairs to my room, stow the pinhole camera away in its bag, and go to bed for the night. This is going to be a hard week.

    [That week, the doctors didn’t even attempt the super-experimental cancer procedure they had planned. They opened up Dad’s chest and found he was full of cancer. It was too late. That was one horrible day. Mom cried. I cried. Dad, to his credit, tried to put on a good face, cracking a few jokes, but he knew. 
    I privately asked the oncologist just how long Dad had. He resisted telling me any estimate. I told him I’m not going to hold him to it. The doctor relented and said, “Three to six months.” Almost exactly 6 months later, Dad died on Labor Day night, with his wife Mary lying beside him. "It was so peaceful," Mom said at the time. We buried him at St. Mary's Whitechapel Episcopal Church on the next Saturday, two days before the world completely changed on 9/11.]

Dad as a young Marine. Photograph probably taken by his mother, Mama Lillie.

Infrared photograph taken of my father in the Spring of 2001 by me.