Stu Jenks' Fezziwig Press

"Red Ridge Prayer Stick" [Batik Fabric Detail] (c) 2007

"Red Ridge Prayer Stick" [Batik Fabric Detail] (c) 2007 Stu Jenks

"County of Cochise, Arizona" (c) 2008

"County of Cochise, Arizona" (c) 2008 Stu Jenks

    [I was at this three-day domestic violence training a few weeks ago. Some court staff from Cochise County drove up to attend it. They drove a county car. On the first day, I saw the official seal, attached to the side of their car. On the second day, I brought my camera.
    I talked with the P.O.s about the irony of the seal during an afternoon break. They didn't get the joke I saw. It used to be the 'county of Cochise', of his people, his family, his tribe, but not anymore. And my guess is he looked nothing like this picture, for no photograph was ever taken of the man, just like Jesus doesn't look like his portraits either. Not that funny of a joke, really. Frankly, I'm sad and angry, all at the same time.]

"Night Train at the 7th Avenue Railroad Crossing, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007, 2008

"Night Train at the 7th Avenue Railroad Crossing, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007, 2008 Stu Jenks

"The Devil's Needle, Arbroath, Scotland" (c) 2005, 2008

"The Devil's Needle, Arbroath, Scotland" (c) 2005, 2008 Stu Jenks

[Excerpt from the story "Twenty Four Hours in Scotland"]

    6:30 a.m.

    I miss the sea. Christ, I've only been away from it for a day. I could smell it in Edinburgh last night, but I couldn't see it. I need to see it again.
    A9 to Perth, then catch the A90 to Dundee.
    Dundee. I like the way that town sounds, plus that city is right on the sea. Let's do it.

    7:30 a.m.

    Light now. Overcast. A bit rainy just north of Dundee. Hungry as hell. Got another cup of horrid coffee at a gas station back in Perth. I need some real food and a better cup of Joe.
    Then I see the Golden Arches and laugh out loud. What better place to get an Egg McMuffin and a big cup of strong coffee that at the McDonald's just outside of Dundee.
    Twenty minutes later, I'm fat and happy in the Mickey D. parking lot, sipping a good strong American cup of coffee. On my Michelin map, I notice the word 'Cliffs' just north of the little town of Arbroath. Bet I can see the sea from there.

    8:00 a.m.

    Clouds low. A strong drizzle. Not mist, not rain, something in-between. A soccer field's behind me. The clock tower of Arbroath a few hundred yard to my right. A paved path leads up to higher ground. And right in front of me is the English Channel. White caps roll toward the shore.
    I take a very deep breath.
    Grab the Rollei, the tripod, my smokes and lock the VW.
    The parking lot is quite large. Bet on the weekend, quite a few local folk come here, to play soccer or sit by the sea. Just me and another car are here this morning though.
    I walk across the lot and step onto the smooth asphalt path that appears to skirt the edge of the sea. Then I see a small sign, nicely carved on a plank of wood.
    “Beware of Dangerous Cliffs. Take Great Care.”
    I smile. How eloquent, how English.
    A minute later, I realized they aren't kidding. The path runs right along the edge. Sometimes, the edge is a gently descending hill that anyone could easily walk down, but more often than not, the edge is a sheer cliff face, a drop straight down at least fifty feet to wet rocks below. No fence. Just a park bench every so often to rest on. What a delight, to not be protected from my own stupidity, that if I fell to my death, it would be on me. And if I am safe, it's on me too. And just as important, the view isn't obscured by a silly fence of some sort.         
    Waves explode on the rocks below, showering a curtain of mist. Beautiful.   
    A sign points toward The Devil's Needle. And then I see the Needle itself, a large arch of rock that reminds me of the Canyonlands of Utah. Except the Canyonlands don't have this exploding ocean surf around them. I gingerly walk down a grassy slope toward the arch. Make a spiral in the sand and rock? No. Just shoot a straight shot of the arch and the channel instead. Heavy mist coats me and my camera as I take a few exposures. I try and time it so I get the raising spray in the shot, but I never time it just right. Not a biggie. I click off a few more exposures, and then pack up my gear, but stand a while, looking at the sea. Smelling the sea. The sea smells pretty much the same here, as it does at the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia or at Bahia Kino in Sonora, Mexico. Maybe a bit more earthy and peaty in its fragrance but basically the same. My glasses become foggy from the salty mist. I usually don’t like that, but today, I couldn’t care less.
    Then suddenly I slip on a wet rock near the edge, grab the ground quickly and stop my fall into the drink. I slowly rise to my feet and take a few slow steps back, away from the edge.
    Take great care, Stu. Do as the sign says.

    [Note: The above image is an unintentional double exposure. I got lucky that the horizon lines matched up. And finally I dedicate this image to the comedian/writer/talk show host Craig Ferguson who I think lived in Arbroath for a while, though I may be wrong. Glad you didn't jump off the Tower Bridge, Craig. Glad I didn't fall to my death, as well, back in 1985.]

"New Mexican Prayer Wheel" [Detail] (c) 2008

"New Mexican Prayer Wheel" [Detail] (c) 2008

(A better detail photograph, then before, of the 'New Mexican Prayer Wheel', a batik cloth and found object sculpture hanging at my studio. And please come by Studio BR-549 and see this and other works, by myself and other artists, during the Spring Open Studio Tour on May 10th and 11th of this year. Unless the Wheel sells between now and then, it shall be hanging on a well lit wall at our studios at 549 N. 7th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona)

"...at the Singing Rocks" (c) 2008

"Dead Hundreds-Year-Old Ironwood Tree at the Singing Rocks, Ironwood Forest National Monument, Arizona" (c) 2008 Stu Jenks

[On the fifth anniversary of the War in Iraq.]

Tucson Roller Derby: Night Two of the 2008 Season

Tucson Roller Derby: Night Two of the 2008 Season

    [The new season begins. FTW won their bout over The Copper Queens and Vice beat the IC. Good play, all around, from all four teams. New format this year: Two bouts each Game Night. All four teams play. It's tiring for the players I suspect but a joy for the fans. Below is a sampling of the action from last Saturday's bouts (plus some portraits of two new refs and one veteran.) Hope you enjoy the images, and I'll see you around the rink.]

"Coral Sea Roses" by Cathy Spann

"Coral Sea Roses" (c) 2008 Cathy Spann

Flame Spirals: The Nocturnal Photography of Stu Jenks: Chapter Seventeen: “Tumamoc Hill, Tucson, Arizona"

Flame Spirals: The Nocturnal Photography of Stu Jenks:

Chapter Seventeen: “Tumamoc Hill, Tucson, Arizona" © 2007, 2008

[December 21st, 2007: The Night of the Winter Solstice]

     The Mount Lemmon Road is closed at the base. Too much snow for travel to the top, to anyone other than residents of Summerhaven. I wasn't happy about that but I wasn't that mad either. OK, a little angry maybe, for I do prefer to pray at Solstice Rock on this day and I knew that I could make up there in my 4 x 4 truck, but it's really only important to me, that I pray on Solstice Rock. God doesn't care where I am when I do my Big Prayer. Actually, my God doesn't care if I pray at all. He's that loving of a guy.
    So I trusted my gut and headed to Tumamoc instead.
    It's around 7 p.m now. It's dark up here at the summit but bright as Christmas below. The view from Tumamoc Hill to the East is of the whole Tucson Valley. Tumamoc is literally in the center of the city, a protected nature preserve, two miles east of downtown. Lights are on in the nearby skyscrapers. I’m guessing that immigrant cleaning crews are emptying the trash on this Friday before Christmas. Semis with red and yellow running lights, roar on the Interstate below me. The street grids can easily be seen, of Broadway and 22nd Street and even of the diagonal Aviation Parkway. And thousands of sepia brown streetlights twinkle below, like a old photograph of a Christmas tree.
    The Big Prayer was for Open-Heartedness this year. Unlike other years, I started with myself. I usually end with asking God to hear my personal prayer, but I was pretty annoyed with not being able to get up to Solstice Rock. Then that brought up some anger and disappointment regarding some friends and then some frustration with my family at Christmas Time and before I knew it, I wasn’t even walking up Tumamoc anymore but living in the blind illusion of my own expectations and thoughts. I became aware of my own insanity about halfway up Tumamoc and said loudly “God, help me be Open-Hearted to them!” Then I smiled and realized I had my Big Prayer. By the time I reached the summit I had prayed for Open-Heartedness for everyone from Catalina, who live just over there, to the Universe itself.
    I don’t want to leave. It’s so beautiful up here tonight. I take a deep breath and smile. Just a bit longer. The wind picks up, chilling me through my polar fleece. I pull down my Boo Boo hat to warm my ears. I breathe in deeply again. The smell of creosote and mesquite is on the wind, a scent created by yesterday’s rain. The Catalina Mountains loom to the north, capped with new snow.
    I feel very blessed. Very rich, with little cash in my pocket. Very loved, with no loved ones close by. Very fulfilled, with no personal accomplishments near me.
    Time to go. Catalina and I are going to do a bit of Christmas tonight, since I’ll be in Virginia for the holidays. Hope she likes the photograph of Laxmii I made for her.
    I stand, blow Tucson a big kiss, and then head down the hill to my truck.

Flame Spirals: The Nocturnal Photography of Stu Jenks: Chapter Sixteen: "Solstice Rock, Catalina Mountains, Arizona"

Flame Spirals: The Nocturnal Photography of Stu Jenks:

Chapter Sixteen: “Solstice Rock, Catalina Mountains, Arizona” © 1998, 2008

[December 21st, 1998; The Day of the Winter Solstice]

            I've just passed Windy Point and it's beginning to snow. Oh boy oh boy! I'm leaning a little forward in my seat in my old King Cab, looking out the windshield at the flurries, as I continue to climb the winding two-lane road up Mt. Lemmon. My heart rate has increased just a bit. I can feel it pound. I light a smoke.
            My truck is not good in snow. No weight in the back. A 2 x 4. Just a couple years ago, when I was coming up here to pray at Solstice Rock, I had to turn around for I was slipping and sliding so much. I ended up praying north of Prison Camp instead. But today, it's just starting to snow, not much on the road yet and if it does snow a lot while I'm up here, I'm pretty sure I can get down. Getting up is the hard part, and I've only got another few miles to go anyway. I can make it.
            Soon, I reach the pulloff near Solstice Rock. It's snowing quite a bit here. Less than an inch on the ground, but it's sticking. I park the truck, pointing it downhill toward Tucson and pull the hand brake. Screw it, I'm going. It's powder so I'm probably OK.
            I put on my Boo Boo hat, slip on my old gloves, and zip up my blue polar fleece jacket. And lastly, I wrap my old tan wool scarf around my neck and tuck it into my coat. A scarf that my sister knitted 30 years ago. Not knitted for me personally, but I ended up with it anyway. My favorite scarf. I lock the pickup and walk across the road to the little trail that leads up to Solstice Rock.
            Just a short walk up to the Rock. It's delightfully cold. Within minutes, I'm standing on a ledge made of flat granite slabs and huge granite boulders that I call Solstice Rock. No one else calls it that. Just me. A grand view of the Rincon Mountains opens to the east. A thousand foot drop is right below my feet. Snow is coming down heavier now. Best back up a bit away from the edge. Think I'll go to my praying place now.
            I've been coming here since 1988 on the day or night of the Winter Solstice to pray. I pray other days, at other places, quite often actually, but this is the place I come to pray big prayers. I take a deep breath. I close my eyes, then open them. What to pray for this year? I empty my mind. Something short, simple, true. Light. Yes, Light.
            I begin locally. I speak out loud. No Americans around to think I'm crazy for talking to myself. Actually, I'm talking to God. Ok, Stu, empty your mind again. Light. A prayer about Light.
            "God, it's me again. Not that you don't hear from me often, but I'm up here on Solstice Rock to do my Solstice prayers, like I do every year. God, I call you for Light. Bring Light. To Annie, bring her Light. To Michael, bring him Light. To John and Beth, bring them Light. To Mary Ann, bring her light. To Lisa, bring her Light. To Mike, bring him Light. To James and Julia, bring them Light. To Len and Virginia, bring them Light. To Jeff, bring him Light. To Linda, bring her light. To Dirk, bring him light. To Karen and Steve, bring them Light...."
            I pray for God to bring Light to all of my friends and acquaintances I can think of, a few people that used to be friends and a couple who unfortunately are enemies now. Then I expand the circle to include strangers. To every one in Tucson.
            "God, Bring Light to all those who are struggling to recover from addiction. To all of the poor, bring them Light. To the rich too, bring them light. To all who suffer, bring them Light. To all those in the Tucson Valley below, bring them Light."
            I turn to the face northwest toward Prescott.
            "To Byron and Shawn, bring them Light. To all in Arizona, bring them Light."
            My voice begins to rise, stronger, louder.
            "To all in the West, bring them Light!"
            My arms spontaneously open by my side. I face to the east.
            "To Mary and Stuart and Pamela, bring them Light. To all I know and don't know in North Carolina, bring them Light. To all in Virginia and all up and down the East Coast, bring them Light. To all of America, bring them Light."
            My voice is quite loud now. The snow's coming down hard and fast.
            "To all who are suffering in the world, bring them Light. To the people in Europe, bring them Light. To all in Asia, Africa, South America, The Whole World, bring them Light. God, please, bring them Light. Bring us all Light."
            Tears are flowing down my cheeks. I cry every year.
            "Bring them Light!"
            My voice gets quieter.
            "Bring me Light, God."
            Almost a whisper now.
            "Please God, Bring us all Light"
            The snowfall is heavy, with many little and big flakes. I tilt back my head and watch the flakes come down. They hit my glasses but I don't care. I watch them for a few seconds and then I adjust for the slight wind. I spy one I want.
            And then, I catch a big snowflake with my tongue.