Stu Jenks' Fezziwig Press

The Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair Installation (2012-2017)

The Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair Installation (2102-2017) by Stu Jenks.

This installation will be part of the upcoming Dia de los Muertos show at Tohono Chul Park, in Tucson, Arizona from August 24th, until early November. I am thrilled to bring this installation to the world for the very first time at Tohono Chul. Many thanks to James Schaub and Karen Hayes for making it all possible.

 

        My sister Pamela Jenks has been dead six years now. Died of breast cancer at age 62. I miss her. Not all the time, but from time to time. I certainly don’t miss the selfish, mean, loud drunk she was most of her adult life, but I surely miss the considerate, kind, loving woman she became the last six months before she died. Thanks, Pamela, for being the sister I always wanted to have, those last few weeks.
        From soon after Pamela’s death in 2011 to the present, I’ve been taking my sister’s toddler rocking chair hither and yon. Due to her alcoholism and her general fear of the big bad world, Pamela Jenks was a virtual shut-in the last couple of decades of her life, living in my family’s falling-down old home place in Raleigh, North Carolina. I first took Pamela’s Baby Rocking Chair out and about, when I drove it and me to my sister’s grave in rural Virginia in 2012. Since then, with only a few breaks, I’ve photographed the PBRC all over the place, from the streets of New York City, to the hills of San Francisco, from the wilds of Sonora, Mexico to the snows of Utah, from the Atlantic Ocean in South Carolina to Swami’s Beach in Encinitas, California. I’ve taken Pamela’s chair to where she was too afraid to go.
        Then last winter, something unexpected happened. My sister’s chair wasn’t so much about her anymore. It became my chair. It represented me as well as my sister, about my journey through life, not so much about my memories of her and of my deceased mother and father. The chair is me, and judging from all the patrons over the years who have bought prints of the PBRC, the chair has become you as well.
        This summer has been financially and emotionally tough for me. Hell, it’s tough all over, but creating this installation has put a number of things in their proper perspective.
        1) Pamela’s dead. I am not.
        2) I’m still making stuff, recording music, typing words. Pamela’s ain’t doing no cross stitch no mo.
        And 3) I have friends and family that I love very much and they care for me too. They can talk to me and hold me and hug me and I can do the same back. Pamela, however, is in the grave, unable to humanly love and touch me, and she can’t be touched or hugged back or listened to.
        But maybe that’s her over there, skipping through the trees, a teenager having her whole life ahead of her, not seeing the future alcoholism, the desperate loneliness, the checkered job history, and the resentful bitterness that made a cold bed for her to lie in every night.
        Maybe her light-filled spirit is right here, right now, right over there, free and happy.
        What did you just say Pamela?
        “I’m fucking proud of you, bro,” says the angel ghost off my left shoulder. “I fucking love ya.”
        “Thanks, Pamela,” I whisper to myself. “I love you too.”

 

 

        To read the Pamela’s Baby Rocking Chair book, you can buy the e-book on Amazon and on other sites, or listen to or buy the audio book on iTunes, or Spotify, or if you want to buy the real live paperback book book, contact me at www.stujenks.org. The second Pamela’s Baby Rocking Chair book, A Chair In The Wilderness, will be released sometime in 2018.
        Have a blessed day, y’all.

 

From the road, south, east, and west...

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Lake Brandt, Greensboro, North Carolina." (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"The Magician's Assistant and The Chair, Lake Brandt, Greensboro, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[One of the best images from my trip south I think, because you can make up your own story about this woman and this chair. Mystery and magic are good things in art and in life.]

 

"The Death of Money, (For John B. McLemore), Green Pond Presbyterian Church, Alabama" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[John B. was largely unbanked, and had much hidden gold or so folks thought. I couldn't find his small headstone, but I think John would have found this image amusing, given his views on God, the financial markets, and the world at large. Rest in peace, John B.]

 

 

"Noah and Effie Carroll's Headstone, Rutherwood, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[I worked as a magician at Tweetsie Railroad, near Boone, in 1981. I lived in a mice-infested house just up the hill from Noah and Effie's graves. My old house is still there, looking about the same. Still kinda shitty.]

 

 

"Nannie's Mirror at Zelma Carroll's Grave, Rutherwood, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Nannie's Mirror, The Cragway Trail, Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[Note to those wanting to be professional landscape photographers: Sit in one spot and wait for the light to come to you, and take tons of images. I took around 30 images to get the desired depth of field and to get those green pine needles in the mirror in proper focus. It just takes time, like all good things.]

 

"Atop Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Grandfather Mountain Infrared, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"One of Rodin's Burghers In The Rain, Hirshhorn Museum, Washington, D.C." (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"I Have A Dream, Lincoln Memorial, Washington, D.C." (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[A rare moment at the Lincoln Memorial, when there wasn't a ton of people. Perhaps it was because it was late in the day and raining. One of my favorite spots in the District. Fun fact: My mother saw them building the Memorial when she was a child, living just across the river in Alexandria.]

 

 

"Purple Flowers, Mary's Grave, St. Mary's Whitechapel, Lancaster County, Virginia" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[I bought these silk flowers at a Walmart in Oklahoma expressly for my mother's grave. My mother liked the color purple for it was the color of royalty. Been thinking many kind thoughts about my deceased, very complex mother. She was mostly a pain in the neck, don't you know, but she taught me some wonderful things when I was a kid, and frankly, she, along with her mother Nannie, were the only family members who gave a damn about Little Stu. Fun fact: Mary gave me $30,000 in 2008, before she got sick, so I could quit my day job and be a photographer and a writer full time. It was 10% of her worth at the time. That was very generous. The money is gone now but it gave me a very good kick start. Rest in peace, Mary. The Nannie's Mirror series is now as much about you as it is about your mother.]

 

 

"A Blue Heron on the Eno River, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair in a forest near the Eno River, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

 

"The OK God Let's Do It Bench, St. Mary's Whitechapel Episcopal Church, Lancaster, Virginia" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[Was this image photoshopped? You bet your sweet bippie it was.]

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, The Eno River, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Why Not, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Burnt-Down Liquor Store, Shit-Town, Alabama" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Glen Alpine, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Big Witch Tunnel, The Blue Ridge Parkway, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Nannie's Mirror (with dumpster and baby doll leg), Chattanooga, Tennessee" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pink Dogwoods Going To Sleep At Sunset, Blue Ridge Parkway, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, The Haw River, North Carolina" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Washita River, Washita Massacre Historic Site, Cheyenne, Oklahoma" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Black Kettle's Camp, Washita Massacre Historic Site, Cheyenne, Oklahoma" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[An incredibly tragic thing happened here. Google it and read all about it. Ghosts wander these plains.]

 

"Cobwebs on John B.'s Chair, Woodstock (S-Town), Alabama" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

[I trespassed and spent all of ten minutes at John's house. The property is now owned by the man who owns K3 Lumber. K3. Get it? A very strong unwelcoming vibe was all around me, both at the house and all throughout the town. I'm guessing they has all heard the S-Town podcast by now. The property felt especially haunted and I don't use that word lightly. Everything is gone from John's house and his clock workshop. I didn't even go searching for the hedge maze, I was that spooked. I said a prayer for John, took photos of a lonely wooden chair on the porch and the three old chimneys and made my exit. As I drove away, I blew a kiss at the South Forty Trailer Park sign and made my way to the Cahaba River. Rest in peace, John B. and much love to all the folks in Shit Town, the good, the bad and the in-between.]

"The House With Three Chimneys, John B. McLemore's House, Woodstock (S-Town), Alabama" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Cahaba River National Wildlife Refuge, Alabama" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

The State of Hate and Extremism in American

Photographs from "The State of Hate and Extremism in American" on Monday, April 16th, 2012 at the Scottsdale Center For The Performing Arts, sponsored by the Southern Poverty Law Center. (c) 2012 Stu Jenks

(From top to bottom: Richard Cohen, President, Southern Poverty Law Center; Don Logan, Diversity Activist; Gerda Klein, 2010 Recipient of Presidential Medal of Freedom, and subject of "One Survivor Remembers".; and Morris Dees, Founder, Southern Poverty Law Center.)

Google any and all of the names above, or click on the links to the film or to the Center.

I need to rewrite my will to make it simpler to administer. (I've learned a few things about wills in the past year. My will is a bit of a nightmare right now. I'm OK, my health's fine, but I don't want to leave a mess for my executor.) In the new will, I'm going to bequeath 5% of my assets to the Center. You might want to, as well. Just a thought.

Fun fact from the night: I saw a photo of a Klan leader that the Center successfully sued. (The KKK and other hate and 'patriot' groups despise the SPLC because they take their money, their land and their stuff and then give the assets to the victim's families.) On the side of the Klansman's head were tattooed two words: Fuck SPLC. Donate as you can.

All 8 1/2" x 11" A/P archival pigment prints by Stu Jenks for $25, shipping, handling and taxes included...

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 protected], 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,

Stu

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.

Now available, on the Apple IPad: The Transpersonal Papers (1861-2010) and Bozo In Love

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.

Time to celebrate.

 

"The Rings"

"The Rings: Leigh Anne & David's Wedding, Tucson Mountains, Arizona" (c) 2010 Stu Jenks

"Emmett Till & Medgar Evers"

"Emmitt Till & Medgar Evers: Civil Rights Memorial Center, Montgomery, Alabama" (c) 2010 Stu Jenks

I am an old woman named after my mother.
My old man is another child that's grown old.
If dreams were lightning and thunder was desire,
This old house would have burnt down a long time ago.

Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery.
Make me a poster of an old rodeo.
Just give me one thing that I can hold on to.
To believe in this living is just a hard way to go.
- John Prine.

    John Prine plays in my head as I find a place to park. Grab the Canon and look for the entrance. On the way to the Center, I pass the Memorial: an inverted cone of black marble with the names of forty people who died in the struggle for racial equality between 1954 and 1968. I touch the water as it flows across the smooth surface. I see the names of Martin Luther King, Jr., Emmitt Till and Medgar Evers. I think of taking some pictures, but decide to shoot them on my way back to the car.
    I enter the Center and pay my two dollar admission. My long lens catches the guard’s eye.
    “That’s some camera you got there,” he says with a big grin on his face.
    “Yes, it is,” I reply, smiling back.
    The guard and I hit it off and we talk about my camera, about football, and about the weather for a while. I then walk through the metal detector at the entrance of the museum. Metal detector?
    “I guess some of my white brethren don’t take too kindly to this memorial,” I say, trying to be witty.
    The smile falls from the guard’s face.
    “Some folk fire-bombed the first Center,” he says.
    I stop smiling too. I say my goodbyes, grab my camera from the x-ray tray, and walk inside.
    The Center’s main display chronicles the history of the Civil Rights Movement from Brown v. Board of Education to when King was assassinated. I see many names I recognize from my childhood: Thurgood Marshall, Rosa Parks, George Wallace, The Freedom Riders, and many bronze plaques for those who were killed: Emmett Till, Medgar Evers, Martin and others.
    I think of my family: a father who would often accuse me of spending money ‘like a nigger on a Saturday night”; a mother who tended to treat everyone she knew as her slave and servant, for her family had both, and a sister who has developed a great distaste for The Brown People who live near her, who have immigrated from South Of The Border. How in God’s name did I escape becoming a bigot, being a white middle-class boy born in Richmond, Virginia and primarily growing up in Raleigh, North Carolina?
    Then I remember that one summer afternoon.
    We were visiting Dad’s parents in Richmond. We had recently moved to Upstate New York. I think I was seven. It was 1961. They were repaving Monument Avenue which was just up the street from my grandparents’ house. I was bored and I went to investigate. Back then, asphalt machines moved very slowly as they applied the new pavement, with a dump truck that would refill the hopper of the giant paver, every so often. I was fascinated by the whole process. And I made friends with the four men who ran the paving machine. They showed me how it worked. They protected me from the hot asphalt. They told me jokes and I laughed. They really listened to what I had to say. In all the many visits to my grandparents in Richmond over the years, that one afternoon with those four men was my happiest time, hands down. And all four of the men were black.
    I leave the display room at the Center and enter a large darkened room. A floor-to-ceiling video wall glows with multi-colored names of people I do not know. Their names float in a black background for a while and then disappear, replaced by other names. I wonder what this is? I read a small display. Seems this is “The Wall of Tolerance.” Says I can add my name to the many, if I feel committed to working for justice, equality and human rights in my daily life. I cry as I type in my name. Then suddenly, the name ‘Stu Jenks’ appears large and bright on the black wall. I quickly photograph my name. I bring down my camera from my eye. I then see my name shrink to a smaller size, change color, and mix with the other names on the wall. Names fade out. Others fade in. Finally, my name disappears altogether, replaced by the name of a woman I do not know.
    We are never truly alone as we struggle, but we often think so. Even if we can’t feel them, we still invisibly hold the hands of those who are also fighting The Good Fight and who also know that the only God is Love. And it isn’t hard to feel some of that connection, once we begin to throw away the egotistical fears and prejudices that block us from each other. I firmly believe our souls and brains are hard-wired to feel love, faith, equality and compassion. We don’t have to build these abilities. They are already there. They are universal, intrinsic, God-given. We just have to bring down the walls that block us from the Light and get out of our own way. And that’s where the real work begins. It’s a daily practice for me, to not judge, for example, the powerful in my country who only pretend to care for their fellows. It’s no easy task to find the common divine thread with everybody, loved ones and jerks alike. I guess if it were easy, there would be no need for a Civil Rights Memorial Center, would there?
    Seeing these dozen of strangers’ names glowing on this video wall makes it clear to me, once again, that we are one people, one race, one planet. Always have been. Always will be. And anything else they tell us, or I tell myself, that contradicts this? Well, it’s a lie, either yelled by others or whispered to myself.