Stu Jenks' Fezziwig Press

Fine Art Walking Sticks By Stu.

For those of you who know me, you know that I like to walk. A lot. A lot a lot. Hiking hither and yon, happily up high desert hills and down rocky western valleys. Then in October of 2018, my wife and I moved to North Carolina. (I've since returned to Tucson. The short story? I couldn't find work. Financially strapped I became. My wife is still there, surrounded by family. She and I hope to reunite soon. We miss each other terribly.) Though I traded cactus and high desert for beech trees by still waters, and rolling hills they call mountains there, I continued walking. And walking.

As a kid and a young man in North Carolina, I marveled, as I strode through Southern forests, at those small spiral trees, that became beautifully deformed, because vines choked them into those shapes. Soon after I arriving back in the South last year, I saw such a spiral tree while hiking beside a creek. The tree was dying now. I cut down its ailing trunk. I took it home and I began to make a walking stick out of it (Or wizard's staff perhaps, since it came in at over 61 inches tall.) It took grinding and whittling and sanding and oiling. It took a long time. It turned out well. But one stick just wasn't enough. I want to make more spiral walking sticks. I went hunting for them, work gloves in my back pocket, a small saw in my hand. I hunted spiral trees like a sportsman stalks a deer. I learned about different types of wood: Hornbeam, a low tree but very hard, where I spied many a spiral; Red and Black Oaks, tough carving but beautifully red when finished with Tung oil; Beech wood, almost too soft at times to carve but lovely none the least, either with or without a spiral. I learned about grinders and sandpaper and steel wool and the very best of oils.

I got a BFA in Studio Art at Carolina in 1979, in sculpture, ceramics and weird conceptual art. I was a half-ass sculptor back then but not a terrible photographer or art filmmaker, but I had no steady vision, little discipline, no patience. But now, I seem to have the patience for hours of carving and sanding. OK. I'm not always patient, but I am practicing the artistic adage of "You must be in love with the process of making art, otherwise you will eventually stop doing it." Mike Cindric, my art professor at UNC, taught me that. I love the carving with my sharp pocket knife, the grinding with a soft wheel before sanding, the 220 grade sandpaper and the final 400 grade, then the oiling, one coat, two coats, up to four coats, depending on if I want a glossy or matte finish, and then the final polishing with super fine steel wool.

I've become a sculptor again. A pretty good one this time, if I do say so myself.

Then I moved back to Arizona in April. I brought my stock of hardwood sticks with me. There is no Hornbeam, no Red Oak, no Beech trees here, but there are lovely Cottonwood and Sycamore trees in the washes with their bright white wood, Aspen trees way up high in those mountains, and Saguaro ribs down below. And a friend or two are now gifting me their old sticks to carve. Isn't that nice? Not many spirals trees here but sweet, strong sticks nonetheless.

So on my website, there will be fine art walking sticks for sale. Most will be expensive but some of the simpler designs will be cheaper, around $125 or so. I don't need to tell you they are one of a kind, unique in the truest sense of the word, made with love and that-patience-thing-I-mentioned, finished as finely as I can possibly make them.

Not to be too highfalutin, but these are more sculptures than walking sticks. Signed on the bottom. Cataloged and photographed. Sure, you can use most of them to balance your stride on the trail, but I envision these pieces leaning against living room walls as much as helping you climb the next big hill.

Lastly, if you are in Arizona, it's much easier to buy them by coming by my studio (contact me at stujenks@gmail.com for the location.) or me bringing them to your place. They are expensive to ship, but I will ship them. And you can pay me via Paypal, using stujenks@gmail.com or at my store at www.stujenks.org

So that's my story. Look for more sticks up here over time. I'll mark ones that have sold and I'll put up my new sticks as soon as they are finished.

Keep your lamps trimmed and burning, y'all. And as always, thank you for your financial and emotional support over the years.

Love, light and luck,

Stu

 

 

Beech Tree "Y" Stick, 54.25 inches, North Carolina. Price: $150.

 

 

Red Oak Spiral Stick, 61 inches, North Carolina. Price: $175.

 

 

Soft Beech Spiral Stick, 67.5 inches, North Carolina. Price: $200.

 

 

Saguaro Rib Stick, 56.75 inches, Arizona. Price: $100.

 

 

Hornbeam Skin Spiral Stick, 58.5 inches, North Carolina. Price: Sold.

 

 

The First Spiral Hornbeam, 61.5 inches, North Carolina. Price: $700.00

 

Crooked Hornbeam, 47 inches, North Carolina. Price: $175.

 

 

Aspen Scar, 54.5 inches, Colorado. Price: $125.

 

Tall Aspen, 71 inches, Colorado. Price: $125

 

Cottonwood Crook, 59 inches, Arizona. Price: $150.

Stories from the Toole Shed, celebrating its 25+ years. (Owl's Head Hoop Dance #2: For James Graham)

"Owl's Head Hoop Dance #2, Arizona" (c) 2002, 2019 Stu Jenks.

 

The Toole Shed 25 Year Anniversary Thing.

     In 1992, The Toole Shed in Tucson, Arizona was born. It was a difficult labor but the baby arrived with 100 fingers and 100 toes.

     James Graham asked me to do a little something for the 25 year anniversary thing. I hope to be able to travel from my new home in Greensboro, North Carolina, back to my true hometown of Tucson in May for the celebration, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to. But I surely can raise two hands in praise for those heady times in the 2000’s when I was a part of the tribe, and I can share a story or two, and a photograph or three.

     I really hope I can make it in May. Love and miss you all.

 

Owl’s Head Hoop Dance #2, Arizona
(Ode to The Toole Shed Darkroom)
Spring and Summer, 2002

Excerpts from Stu Jenks’ book:
Hoop Dancing: More Journeys Through Nocturnal Photography.
Fezziwig Press: 2009.

    I blow the negative with a blast of canned air. The negative carrier rests on a small light table. I bend over with my loupe and look for dust. Damn. Still a couple of pieces of lint. I blow the negative carrier again with air, doing my best to rid it of all dust. It'll be a white spot on the finished print if I don’t eliminate it now. And I really hate spotting prints. Unless you are really good at it, you can still tell when you’ve spotted a final print with a brushed dot of colored ink. I look again through my loupe at the negative. I think I got it all now. I hope. I'll find out once I do a test print or two.
    I place the carrier holder in the color enlarger, between the lamp and the focusing lens. I gently pull down the lamp housing to secure the carrier. I've already set up my easel to print a 7 x 7 inch image on 8 x 10 inch paper. Now I just need to focus it. I turn on the enlarger lamp and crank the enlarger head up and down to get a rough size of the image and then I bend down close to the easel with my focusing mirror, reaching high above my head to the fine focusing knob on the enlarger. No filters right now, f-stop wide open for focusing. Back and forth, between almost sharp and spot-on sharp, looking for the grain to pop in the mirror. Pop. There it is.
    I stop the enlarger down to f16, very gently turning the aperture, so as not to move the enlarger very much. This is a very old Omega color head enlarger and it doesn't like to be bumped. Very delicate, this old machine. It already has a threaded bar that runs from the metal frame through the old sheet rock wall to the north. This jury-rigging is there to add stability and hopefully keep it level. But when a train goes by, just a few feet north of the darkroom, the whole room shakes, enlarger included. (I've often thought it would be fun to make prints as the trains go by, just to see how wonderfully fuzzy those images would be. The whole of the Toole Shed borders the tracks.)
    I'm in the Toole Shed Darkroom, here in the Toole Shed, in the Historic Warehouse District of Downtown Tucson. Doesn't that sound quaint? Well, it’s not really. Across the street is Pleasure World, a video porno store that fronts a male prostitution business. Perhaps the only pornography store in America that shares a common wall with a courthouse, in this case, the Tucson City Court. The courthouse parking lot is where most of the nighttime prostitution business is transacted. James Graham and other Toole Shed residents have called the police on many occasions but they don't seem interested. Makes James mad as a hornet. I don’t blame him.
Speaking of James Graham, it's through his generosity that I'm printing here tonight, and other nights too.
    Maybe a little history about the Toole Shed and the Warehouse District are in order. I could be wrong about some of the facts here. In fact, I’m sure I am. Please forgive me. The Toole Shed is truly a mystical place, living in the land of soft myth as much as in hard reality.
    So here goes.

 

"The 16th Circle, Owl's Head, Arizona" (c) 2002, 2019 Stu Jenks.

 

    Back in the early 1980's, The City of Tucson (The City) and the Arizona Department of Transportation (ADOT) decided to widen and improve the Aviation Parkway, a relatively unused East-West thoroughfare that runs parallel to the Southern Pacific railroad tracks, east of downtown. A city bond came up on the ballot and the people of Tucson voted for The City to have the money for that construction. Then, the City and ADOT decided that since now that the Aviation Parkway was going to be so wide and new, it made sense to connect it to Interstate 10 that runs just west of Downtown. About a mile separates the Interstate, from the western end of Aviation Parkway. Only problem was how to get the two roads together. The City and ADOT came up with another bond issue to get the money to build The Last Mile. They were confident that it would pass, since the first bond passed easily. In preparation, ADOT bought all the land along the tracks between the Aviation Parkway and I-10, except the Tucson Electric Power (TEP) building, a large eight-story office structure. They'd worry about TEP later. On the land they bought were a series of old decaying warehouses. Legend has it that they were owned by a number of prominent Tucsonans and that ADOT paid way over market value for them. (I believe it's called a Sweetheart Deal.) Rank has its privilege I suppose. And its corruption. Anyway, ADOT bought the land and the old buildings and the bond came up on the ballot and it went down hard to defeat. The people said No to The Last Mile. Now, The City had egg on its face and ADOT was stuck with old rundown buildings it paid too much money for. But the City and ADOT held onto some hope that, in the future, another bond would pass to pay for the piece of road.
    It's now the year 2002 and we still don't have the Last Mile. A spiffier Aviation Parkway but no Last Mile.
    But that ended up being good for us artists. Here’s how.
    ADOT was stuck with these buildings but they couldn't do anything with them for they were slated for demolition, but the road never came, and the warehouses just sat fallow. The homeless began to live in some of them. Then some artists contacted ADOT in the late 1980’s/early 90’s and said that they would love to use the warehouses for art studios. We'll put in all the sweat equity, they said. And we'll clean and fix them up, and pay you a little rent too, the artists told ADOT. And they won't be such an eye sore, and you'd be helping the artists of Tucson have affordable studio space. ADOT agreed. James, his wife Julia, Dave Lewis and a number of other people went into the warehouse on the corner of Toole and 6th and began the long process of making it livable and workable. They worked very hard and very long to get this done. They named the building The Toole Shed, after the avenue outside and the tools inside. They have been on a month-to-month lease for over a dozen years now. ADOT fixed the roof this year but not until much asking, pleading and prodding. The rent’s paid (mostly) and ADOT is reasonably happy in the ‘no news is good news’ idea. The residents and artists of the Toole Shed do repairs and maintenance as they come up.
    The Toole Shed has some legends attached to it as well. Perhaps true, perhaps myth, perhaps a little bit of both. It’s said that Air America, the CIA-run airline that sent goods and arms through Laos during the Vietnam War, ran shipments through the Toole Shed on their way out of the country. It is also said that during Prohibition, there was a speakeasy in the basement of the Toole Shed, where black and white porno films were shown and bathtub liquor was served. The Shriners, at one time, even stored their sequined costumes in the Toole Shed basement.
    Now, The Toole Shed is home to over fifteen art studios, a darkroom and most recently, Tucson’s Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA), a project of James, Julia, and other patrons and artists in town.
    The darkroom was a creation of James and Julia’s hard work. Story goes that Julia built the sinks for James as a birthday present, and then James assembled the counters, scrounged the cabinets, and found the enlarger. The color paper processor, it's said, was brought by somebody and then just left there. Some stories in the Toole Shed do one of two things: They get bigger and more elaborate with each telling, so a story of a mouse becomes a story of a moose, or they shrink and become very small, so a story of a art couple drinking, fighting and fucking all the time in one of the studios just fades away after they are no longer tenants, their names forgotten. Anyway, the darkroom is huge by darkroom standards, probably a couple hundred square feet, a trapezoidal shaped room with a high ceiling and plenty of room for dancing and moving around. James is a tall thin man who prints color photos that are 30 x 36 inches. Great big prints of hazardous materials and other mysteriously beautiful things. Wonderful prints from a great big rock and roll darkroom.
    This night, Steve Roach's "Lost Pieces" are playing on the boom box in the darkroom as I focus the enlarger. I'm printing color tonight. The ratty old Hope Color Processor clunks away on the other side of the room. It is old, but it does just fine. Most times, that is. It has no replenisher reservoir, which is a bit of a drag, for the chemicals become old in about four days, but you can still do quite a bit of printing in half a week. I'm printing black and white negatives onto Fuji Crystal Archive Color Paper. 8 by 10s, 11 by 14s and a few 16 x 20s. Good sizes. The red light overhead isn't on in the darkroom, like in black and white paper printing though. With color paper, you print in complete darkness.
    I turn out all the lights, and take out an 8 x 10-inch piece of paper from the Fuji Box, and by touch, place it in the easel below the enlarger. I’m making a test strip first, to get my exposure times for the final prints. I check to make sure the Fuji box is closed, to ward against light leaking on the paper and accidentally trashing it. I reach toward the timer to my left that has been set at two-second intervals of exposure light. With my right hand, I find an 8 x 10 inch piece of cardboard and place it over 4/5 of the paper that is to be exposed... (I know this section of the story is tedious as hell, but I thought a full description of chemical darkroom color photo printing should be written down in details somewhere, so just in case, in say 100 or 200 years from now, folks might want to know how we did it.) ...I hit the timer with my left forefinger. Two seconds of f16 light falls on the easel and the paper. I move the cardboard off the easel about a 1/5, an inch and a half or so, and hit the timer again. Two more seconds. Back off another 1/5. Hit the timer. Two seconds more. Back off the cardboard another 1/5 of the length of the paper. Hit the timer switch again. Two seconds of "Hoop Dance #2" falls on the Fuji paper. Now I take the cardboard completed away from the easel. Hit the timer one last time. Last two seconds of enlarger light. The afterglow of the enlarger lamp fades to black.
    I lift the top of the easel and take out the 8 x 10 inch piece of paper and I walk in the complete darkness to the Hope Color Processor 15 feet away. There is a tiny piece of fluorescent tape on the processor to guide me, but it's old hat to me now. I've walked back and forth in the dark a lot in this darkroom. Like a blind person, my body remembers how many steps it is to the processor, where the handle to the lid is, how to get back to the enlarger, etc. Half the fun is the process of making these prints.     Making magic in the dark. And part of the magic is working in full darkness.
    I place the Fuji Crystal Archive Paper in the slot that feeds the paper through the processor, close the lid, and walk in the dark to the light switch on the other side of the room. I turn it on, and it’s instantly big time bright. I squint a little. My eyes adjust. I have seven minutes to wait until the print comes out of the other end of the processor. I light a smoke and sway to Steve’s electronically manipulated drums and think back to that night near Owl's Head when I shot “Hoop Dance #2”

 

 

"Abajo Mountain Hoop Dance, Utah" (c) 2002, 2019 Stu Jenks.

 

    Not much Moon to speak of. A half moon sliver to the east, obscured in cloud. I wonder if this'll work. There is still some dusk light to the west, but it’ll be gone soon.
    The massive rock protrusions of Owl’s Head are farther away than usual. I'm not at my regular sacred place, with its shallow fire pit, quaint rock seats and emotionally familiar ground. I'm north at a relatively unknown wash to me. But I need a wash with trees to do what I’m thinking of doing.
    My Pathfinder’s parked partly in the desert, with just enough room for another vehicle to pass, on this one lane 4 x 4 dirt path in the Tortillita Mountains. I don't think I need to worry about company. I've been coming out here at night, for a good long while now and have only seen one car at night in all those years. But famous last words, I park my truck in the road and sure enough someone will come. And I really need the truck to stay in one place for most of the evening.
    I pop the hatchback and pull out the hula-hoop, the power converter and a hell of a lot of extension cord. I go inside of the cab and connect the converter to the cigarette lighter and look for the power light on the unit to glow ‘on.’ Good. I go and get three long rolls of drop cords. One by one, I unloop the cords, and plug the first cord into the converter and slowly walking down the hill to the wash, connecting the second and third cords as I go. I continue through the wash and walk behind some small Mesquite trees to the estimated furthest distance I'll go with the hula-hoop tonight. It'll be easier to pull cord back to the truck then to pull the cord away from it.
    I start up the truck and let it idle. I grab the hula-hoop with its 100 tightly wrapped Christmas lights and walk through the wash to the end of the extension cord. I plug in the hoop.
    The wash explodes with light, even in the waning dusk.
    "Wow!" I say to myself, “I think this’ll be plenty of light.”
    My Rollei medium format camera, loaded with Ilford Delta 400 film, already sits on its tripod on a nearby hill, with depth of field calculated, the focus 2/3’s out, and the f-stop at F 5.6. It's good to go. Now the hoop and cords are ready. Just need to wait a few more minutes for it to get a little darker.
    Ten minutes pass.
    "Ok. Let's do it."
    God, let me know when I need to close the shutter for this is an almost moonless shoot. Help me to close the shutter after the right amount of time. Where am I? I’m here. What time is it? It’s now.
    I walk up the hill to my camera and check to see if the lit hoop is out of the frame. Yep, sure is. I open the shutter and walk back down into the wash. Grabbing the hula-hoop, I swing it from left to right, back and forth, pulling the extension cord with my right hand as I dance through the wash. I hit a tree with the hoop.
    "God damn it,” I say to no one but me.
    I pull the cords and the hoop back out of the frame to the left. I walk up the hill, close the shutter, advance the film, check again to see if the hoop is out of frame, and I then open the shutter again.
    “Slow, Stu,” I whisper to myself, “Dance with it. Dance.”
    I dance again through the wash, swinging the hoop, high and low. This time I miss the tree. It feels good, this hoop dance. I drop the hoop far to the right out of the frame and go up to my truck to check on the time. There’s some glow still to the west from the long-setted Sun and some glow to the south from the distant city lights of Tucson. Hmm. 10 minutes should do. I turn on Elvis Costello's new CD on my truck’s player. I wait and sing along. After ten minutes, I go to my camera and close the shutter. Looking at the sky, there’s only the faint glow of the Tucson lights to the south. No light to speak of from the west and the Moon is still playing hide and seek in the clouds. Hell, let's do it anyway. I reposition the hoop to the east, open the shutter and dance again. I love the dancing part. I love making big light curves. I place the hoop on the ground again, outside of the frame, and head to the truck again. No tunes this time. I check the time and go for a walk up the road away from the wash. Twenty minute exposure this time.
Beautiful night. No rain lately. Plenty of cool air in the washes. Just lovely.
    I turn around wondering if I can see the lit hula hoop. A hundred yards away or so, I spy the hoop glowing through the Palo Verde and Mesquite trees, looking like something from another time and place, creating a wondrously magical light that is both alien and familiar. Pity. Would be a nothing photograph from this distance, unless I had a very long lens (which I don’t), yet it's a big-time-somethin’ experience, right here, right now.
    I'm kind of struck by my own work tonight and my own process. That rarely happens, that I get reflective or impressed during a shoot, for I'm mostly focused on the getting the shot I want and not messing up, and I’m not that impressive with myself in general anyway. I just do what I do. But from this distance, I'm feel more detached from the work, yet more connected to that hula-hoop of light.
    A mentor long ago, once said, that when you find two seemingly contradictory yet absolutely complete truths, look for the paradox that resides in-between them, for there you will find an even greater truth.
Looking at the hoop in the distance, I sense that larger truth. Fleeting yet permanent. Solid yet fluid. Hard but soft. Real but otherworldly. Truth yet an illusion.
    Hmm. Would make a good vision statement for the next Arizona Biennial, wouldn’t it? I crack a little smile. Don’t get too deep now, Stu. Just get the shot.

 

 

"The Three Surrender Trees, Red Ridge Trail, Catalina Mountains, Arizona" (c) 2002, 2019 Stu Jenks.

 

    The 8 x 10 Fuji Crystal Archive Paper flops into the exit tray of the processor. Looking at the test strip, I like the brown color and it appears that seven seconds of light from the enlarger is about right for a 8 x 10. I turn out the light, load the easel again with a fresh piece of paper, expose it and walk to the processor again. I get off course and hit a stool I didn’t know was there hard with my right big toe.
    "Ouch" I yell.
    I hobble to the Hope Processor and load the print into it. I limp back to the enlarger and expose another seven-second print, just for good measure. Darkness again. Missing the stool this time. Feeding the Hope. Turning on the light.
    Seven minutes later, both prints are out. They seem a bit too dark. I'll expose at 6.6 seconds next time. Also, they seem a little boring, with just the simple sepia color. Then I have an idea. I'm sure I'm not the first to think this, but I'm wondering what would happen if I extremely burned in the sky of this black and white negative onto this color paper? What color would it make? What if I use no filters during the burn? Just a straight white light burn.
    I try out my idea. After the 6.6 second initial exposure, I feather in the sky with a piece of cardboard, obscuring most of the bottom piece of the paper in shadow but allowing another 6.6 second of white light to burn in the sky. After burning, printing and processing, I see the result.
    The sky becomes a reddish orange, giving the illusion of the colors of sunset, yet the lines of the hoop dancing are still fine, bright and sharp, and the wash keeps its rich sepia color. This is good. Very good. I repeat the printing process a number of times, making six 8 x 10 Fuji prints.
    It's going well in the darkroom tonight. I’m grateful of that. Some nights, it seems the darkroom fairies wreak havoc on me. Some printing sessions, the dust never gets off the negative, or I make silly beginner's mistakes or I can never dial in the exposure times or the colors correctly. But tonight, my print burning and dodging is reasonable, and my guesses on exposures are close if not right on the first try. Six good prints. Hap, hap, happy.
    Now let's pull out the 16 x 20 inch paper and go for the gold.
    But first, I think I'll walk next door and get a soda out of the Toole Shed soda machine. The Hope Processor clunks away. I'm shirtless in shorts and it's after midnight on a Friday night. I leave the darkroom and walk down the hall to the front door of the East End of the Toole Shed. I open the never-locked painted plate glass door and then unlock the always-locked yellow steel-bar door. I relock the door and turning, I notice that Pleasure World and the parking lot of City Court are hopping tonight. It is a Friday night, after all. Lots of cars. A number of cross-dressed men walk from car to car. No biggie to me. Whatever gets you through the night. I'm mostly thinking about Owl’s Head Hoop Dance #2, and the big print I'm about to attempt. Will the processor hold up? Will I need to rewash the big prints, because sometimes old rubber processor crud gets on the prints. Should I set up a couple of separate wash trays? Will the darkroom fairies be kind? I hear whistling from the parking lot across the street. I pay it no mind, thinking about f-stops, timers, and trays of water. I unlock the door to the main Toole Shed, go inside and get a soda from the machine. Exiting the main section and locking it back up, I hear whistling again and then I heard someone yell.
    "Hey sweetie. You're cute," I hear a masculine-feminine voice say.
    I look over at the parking lot across the way and seeing two women or rather men, looking at me. Suddenly I realize the whistling a few minutes before was for my benefit. I look away and continuing toward my door, very aware of the eyes of hungry men on me. I'm OK with women checking me out (which is almost never), but having a male prostitute giving me the up and down is giving me the willies. I bet this is how women feel all the time.
    "He is cute!" I hear another voice say, from across the street.
    I say nothing. As I unlock the East End door, I become aware of my clothes or rather lack there of. All I have on is a pair of tattered blue jean shorts, old jogging shoes, and no shirt. I smile. No wonder I'm getting catcalls from Pleasure World. I’m basically naked.
    "I love this town," I whisper with a smile, and then I lock the door behind me and quickly forget about the prostitutes across the way. My mind shifts to thinking about all of that virgin 16 x 20 inch Fuji paper in the great big box, and my hopes that I’ll create a good print or two tonight.
    I enter the darkroom and look at my 8 x 10s on the counter of the Owl’s Head Hoop Dance #2. Lovely orange, strong sepia, solid design.
    I’m a grateful man, a happy man, a lucky man.

 

"Ghost Horses, Coalmine Canyon, Hopi Reservation, Arizona" (c) 2002, 2019 Stu Jenks.

 

Elvis is leaving the building... (and cherry picking Leviticus)

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Catalina State Park, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Come late September, I will have relocated myself, my wife and my business to North Carolina. My P.O. box here in Tucson will still be the snail mail way to get in touch with me. (P.O. Box 161, Tucson, Arizona 85702). My email, phone, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, my store, my bandcamp, my patreon, will all be the same. Ordering prints and books will be iffy for a while but I'll do my best during the time of transition.

And look for my 14th book for sale in November.

Cherry Picking Leviticus (Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Vol. 2).

It'll be available as a premium trade paperback and as a affordable e-book. Below is the preface to the book.

Anywho, see you on the flip side from the Piedmont of North Carolina. Wish me luck as I drive a Penske truck across the country. And don't forget to register to vote and cast your ballot in November. It's the most important election of our lifetimes.

Resist. Impeach. Pray. Renew.

Shooting Star/North Star, Almond Grove, California (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

The Ghost At A Distance, Coalmine Canyon, Hopi/Navajo Rez, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Coalmine Canyon, Hopi/Navajo Rez, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, The Painted Desert, Navajo Rez, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

God's Filling Station, Mammoth, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Guard Shack, Christmas Mine, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Vollis Simpson Whirligig, North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh, North Carolina (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Five-Hour Star Circle, Navajo National Monument, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Self Portrait with the PBRC, Coalmine Canyon, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Alexa Jenks, Sonoita, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks.

Stu Jenks, Sonoita, Arizona (c) Alexa Jenks 2018

Navajo Horseman, Coalmine Canyon, Hopi/Navajo Rez, Arizona (c) 2018 Stu Jenks

 

 

 

“Let’s All Be Sweet.”
- Alexa McColl Smith Jenks

 

 

Preface by Stu Jenks

Cherry Picking Leviticus is my fifteenth book. Like my previous tomes, there are some semi-iconic photographs and such, but unlike my other books, this one is purposefully funny. And political. And spiritual. And a little sad. But funny is what we are mostly going for here, like a raspy chuckle in the night from a wounded man while the civilized world burns down around him.

Dark stuff. Fun stuff. Good times.

The dedication for Cherry Picking Leviticus is a quote from my good friend Karen Hardy who lives in the Northern Neck of Virginia. We were talking on the phone a while back, mostly about how her mother Victoria was doing, when I mentioned how I perhaps care too much regarding what other people think, and that I'm more than a little sensitive to snarky art criticism from strangers on the internet.

Then Karen spoke this chestnut:

  "They talked about Jesus Christ, Stu,” she said. “They are going to talk about you and me, too."

 

 

The Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair Installation at Tohono Chul Park

As part of the Dia De Los Muertos show at Tohono Chul Park in Tucson, The Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair Installation is up and ready to go. The opening is Thursday, August 24 at 5:30 p.m.. The show runs until November 8th. Thanks so much to James and Karen for allowing me to be part of this show.

And this post goes out to all those folk who live outside of Southern Arizona, so you all can see and enjoy the piece too. To read the artist's statement for the piece, just click on this link.

Again, thank you everyone for your financial and emotional support this summer. It's been a tough one for me and for many. You all have helped more than you know.

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair photographs and other images from the last few weeks...

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Wellton, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair,  West of Skid Row, Los Angeles, California" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Lipan Point, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Davidson Canyon, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Forgive Me, My Heart, Eastern Colorado" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Four Cranes, Whitewater Draw, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Kara Walker's Angel, Broad Museum, Los Angeles, California" (c) photograph by Stu Jenks 2017.

 

"Achilles and The Tortoise by Mark Tansey, Broad Museum, Los Angeles, California" (c) Photograph by Stu Jenks 2017.

 

"Mary Magdelene, St. Dominic and  St. Ann, detail of tapestry at Cathedral of Our Lady Of The Angels, Los Angeles, California" (c) Photograph by Stu Jenks 2017.

 

"Little Jesus On The Cross, Old Sonoita Highway, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Cross Above The Old Sonoita Highway, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Cathy's Fault Cyanotype, Dripping Springs, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Winkleman Sunset, Arizona" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Breaks Both Ways, Swami's Beach Before Dawn, Encinitas, California" (c) 2017 Stu Jenks.

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Blue Grand Canyon, Arizona" (c) 2107 Stu Jenks.

 

My current art, book, and music resume...

Stu Jenks
Born: Richmond, Virginia, USA, 1954

Education:

1997, Photography Studies, Pima Community College, Tucson, Arizona.
1979, Bachelor of Fine Arts, Studio Art: Sculpture, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

Selected Solo Exhibitions:

2016, “20 Years: 1996-2016,” Wee Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2015, “The Little Ones,” Wee Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2014, “The Ancients,” Wee Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2009, "At-One-With," Jewish Community Center, Tucson, Arizona.
2008, "Nine Prayers," Hotel Congress, Tucson, Arizona.
2007, "A Very Large God," Unity of Tucson, Tucson, Arizona.
2005, "If There's a Heaven...," Endicott West Art Foundation, Tucson, Arizona.
2004, "Mystery And Magic,” Metroform Limited Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2002, "Circles and Spirals," Tohono Chul Park, Tucson, Arizona.
2001, "Analog and Digital," Safehouse, Tucson, Arizona.
2001, "Circles and Spirals," The Image Gallery, The Screening Room, Tucson, Arizona.
1998, "Sacred Spaces," Hercules Florence Gallery, Pima Community College, Tucson, Arizona.

Books:

2016, Victor Mothershead: U.S. Secret Service by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press
2015, Step Zero (The Special Edition) by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2014, Balthazar and Zeeba: A Christmas Novella by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2014, A Rolodex Of Haikus by Tunafish Smith (Edited by Stu Jenks), Fezziwig Press.
2014, Air & Gravity by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2013, Pamela’s Baby Rocking Chair by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2012, Step Zero by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2012, The Fatal Figures (Or How I Got In Trouble With The Law In Art School),
by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2011, The Transpersonal Papers: 1861-2010 by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2011, Bozo In Love by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2011, Dementia Blues by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2009, Hoop Dancing: More Journeys Through Nocturnal Photography,
by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.
2008, Flames Spirals: Journeys Through Nocturnal Photography by Stu Jenks, Fezziwig Press.

Music And Audiobooks:

2003: The Three Surrenders: Soundtracks for Photographs, Vol. One, Fezziwig Press.
2005: West Of The Fires: Soundtracks for Photographs, Vol. Two, Fezziwig Press.
2008: Gladstone Mothershead: Soundtracks for Photographs, Vol. Three, Fezziwig Press.
2010: Hoop Dancing (The Audiobook), Fezziwig Press.
2011: Deaths & Injuries, Fezziwig Press.
2013: Pamela’s Baby Rocking Chair (The Audiobook), Fezziwig Press.
2014: Balthazar & Zebba: A Christmas Novella (The Audiobook), Fezziwig Press.
2015: Angel Ghosts, Fezziwig Press.

Selected Group Exhibitions:

2016, “Into the Night: Contemporary Art and the Nocturne Tradition,” Tucson Museum Of Art.
2016, “In Full Bloom,” Tohono Chul Park, Arizona.
2015, “Small Works,” Tohono Chul Park, Arizona.
2015, “Dia de los Muertos,” Tohono Chul Park, Arizona.
2015, “The Photographers,” Contreras Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2015, “The Sky Above,” Tohono Chul Park, Arizona.
2014, “The Trees: Myth, Symbol and Metaphor,” Tohono Chul Park, Tucson, Arizona.
2012, "Vicios y Virtudes" (Vices & Virtues), Raices Taller 222 Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2010, "Night Moves: After-Dark Images," Tohono Chul Park, Tucson, Arizona.
2009, "Print Pop," Lulubell Toy Bodega, Tucson, Arizona.
2009, "Curious Camera," ArtsEye/Photographic Works, Honorable Mention, Tucson, Arizona.
2008, "La Celebración y el Sufrimiento," Union Gallery, University of Arizona, Tucson, Arizona.
2008, "The September Show," Point Of View Gallery, Raleigh, North Carolina.
2008, "Big Ideas, Small Frames," Dinnerware Artspace, Tucson, Arizona.
2008, "Darkness, Darkness," Three Columns Gallery, Harvard University,
Cambridge, Massachusetts.
2007, "Salon Des Refuses," Dinnerware Contemporary Arts, Tucson, Arizona.
2006, "Big Deal 13," SOMarts Gallery, San Francisco, California.
2006, "Transcending Boundaries," Point Of View Gallery, Raleigh, North Carolina.
2006, "Tough Lovelies: Agaves and Yuccas in Art," Tohono Chul Park, Tucson, Arizona.
2006, "The Art Of Photography,” Lyceum Theatre, San Diego, California.
2005, "Día de los Muertos: Contemporary Expressions," Tohono Chul Park, Tucson, Arizona.
2004, "Hotshoe Salon" Studio 455, Tucson, Arizona.
2004, "Wildfire!", Tohono Chul Park, Tucson, Arizona.
2003, "First Annual Winter Group Exhibition," Metroform Limited Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2003, "Small Works Invitational," Metroform Limited Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2003, "46th Annual International Awarded Exhibition," San Diego Art Institute, San Diego,
California.
2002, "Rocky Mountain Biennial," Museum of Contemporary Art, Fort Collins, Colorado.
2002, "Spite: Ten Years of The Toole Shed," Museum of Contemporary Art/Hazmat Gallery,
Tucson, Arizona.
2002-2004, "Saguaro: Popular Image and Cultural Icon," Arizona Commission of the Arts
Touring Exhibition (with Tohono Chul Park), Arizona.
2001, "Response," Tucson/Pima Arts Council, Tucson, Arizona.
2001, "In God We Trust," Zahorec Hughes Gallery, Cincinnati, Ohio.
2001, "Michael Cajero, Stu Jenks, and Rudolph Nadler," Jewish Community Center's Fine Art
Gallery, Tucson, Arizona.
2000, "La Petite VIII," Alder Gallery, Coburg, Oregon.
2000, "44th Annual International Awarded Exhibition," San Diego Art Institute, California.
2000, "Visions VI," Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption, Covington, Kentucky.
2000, "Nocturnes 2000," Pacific Media Arts, San Francisco, California,
Curator's Choice Award.
2000, "Tucson/Pima Arts Council Fellowship Exhibit," Tucson/Pima Arts Council, Tucson,
Arizona.
1999, "43rd Annual International Awarded Exhibition," San Diego Art Institute, San Diego,
California.
1999, "La Petite VII", Alder Gallery, Coburg, Oregon.
1999, "Visions V", Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption, Covington, Kentucky; Jury's Award.
1999, "Arizona Biennial '99," Tucson Museum of Art, Tucson, Arizona.
1999, "Photowork '99," Barrett Art Center, Poughkeepsie, New York.
1999, "Miniatures," The Galleria, Bisbee, Arizona.
1979, “Bachelor of Fine Arts Show”, Ackland Museum, Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

Installations:

2012, “Open Circle for Pamela,” Glow Festival of Lights, Oracle, Arizona.
2009, "Open Circle Plus Seven," Metanexus Conference, Tempe, Arizona.
2004, "Ancient Spirit, Modern Voice: The Mythic Journeys Art Exhibition," The Defoor Centre
Gallery, Atlanta, Georgia.
2002, "The Open Circle Cairn Project," Museum of Contemporary Art, Tucson, Arizona.

Grants & Fellowships:

2000, Tucson/Pima Arts Council, Visual Arts I Fellowship Awards (Honorable Mention).

Selected Lectures, Juries & Workshops:

2011, Juror, Third Annual Curious Camera Competition, ArtsEye, Tucson, Arizona.
2010, Co-Executive Director, "All Souls' Procession 4th Annual Photography Exhibition
Competition," All Souls' Procession, Tucson, Arizona.
2009, Juror, "Blue Nocturne," The Nocturnes, San Francisco, California.
2006, Presenter, "The Rhythm of Mythic Journeys '06," Mythic Imagination Institute, Atlanta,
Georgia.
2001, Juror, "A Little Night Music," TheNocturnes.com, Pacific Media Arts, San Francisco,
California.
1998, Guest Lecturer on Sepia and Selenium Toning, Photography Program, University of
Arizona, Tucson, Arizona.

Representatives:

Baker + Hesseldenz, Tucson, Arizona.
Fezziwig Press, Tucson, Arizona.

 

Image: "Callanish With A Plastic Brownie 127 Camera, Isles of Lewis and Harris, Scotland" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

Some images from July...

"Organ Pipe In Shadow, Organ Pipe National Park, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"Dead Saguaro, Organ Pipe National Park, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Organ Pipe National Park, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"Nannie's Mirror, Chiricahua National Monument, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Coalmine Canyon, Hopi Reservation, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Coalmine Canyon, Hopi Reservation, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Route 66, Winona, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"Big Rain, Dripping Springs, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

 

Life imitating Art, in the most tragic way...

"The Abyss, Rockwell Kent, 1930, Woodcut at Tucson Museum of Art's Into The Night show." Photograph 2016 Stu Jenks.

 

23 years after this woodcut was made, a friend of Rockwell's and his wife came to stay at their home on Monhegan Island in Maine. Sally Moran was going through a messy divorce from an ad exec and had lost her apartment in New York City. Sally had been a model of Rockwell's back in the day and perhaps his mistress too. (Rockwell seemed that have fooled around a lot.) Rockwell and his wife, also named Sally, were away from Monhegan in early July, but their eldest daughter and her two children were home at the time. On the night of July 9th, 1953, Sally Moran went for a walk before dinner along the cliffs. She never returned. Three weeks later her body was pulled from the ocean. Months after that, the Kents sold their house.

 

Life imitating Art, in the most tragic way.

 

 

 

 

 

"A Dale Nichols at the Into The Night show at Tucson Museum of Art, Arizona." Photograph 2016 Stu Jenks.

 

I love his work; the palette, the forms, the exaggerations. Like those saguaros. No cactus are that tall or that smooth. Great stuff.

 

 

 

"Catalina State Park, Arizona at the Tucson Museum of Art's Into The Night show," (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

 

En plein air. French phrase for an artist who makes his work out of doors. Art curator Julie Sasse says I'm one of those artists. She's right.

 

Thanks Julie for selecting me for the show.

 

P.S. I'm two pieces down from a freaking Misrach and across the way from a Jeff Smith, a Tom Willett and a Bill Lesch. I'm in very good company. Shows up until July 10th.

 

 

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair: Among The Baby Saguaros"

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Among The Baby Saguaros, Starr Pass Trail, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

 

"Baboquevari Peak from Starr Pass Trail, After Sunset, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.

"My Grandmother Nannie's Mirror: The Road to Owl's Head"

"My Grandmother Nannie's Mirror, The Road to Owl's Head, Arizona" (c) 2016 Stu Jenks.