Stu Jenks' Fezziwig Press

Circles and Spirals: Stu Jenks' Newsletter #7: 6/28/2022

"Flame Circle at St. Mary's Whitechapel, Lively, Virginia" (c) 2001, 2022

1) Just horrendous. You know what I'm talking about. The over-turning of Roe v. Wade. So much has been said already, and perhaps the last thing we need is a man bemoaning what I believe is a woman's primary right to her own body. Or maybe more men do need to speak up. I don't know. But I will say this. The steady march to a New American Theocracy, a nation ruled by religious beliefs rather than by laws, worries the fuck out of me. Vote in the Fall for all Democrats, no matter how wimpy or conservative they are, and register others to vote as well, so we can hold onto state houses and perhaps hold the U.S. Senate and U.S. House as well. All this makes me so angry and sad. That being said, I have to remind myself that America has only been a 'true' democracy since 1964, since The Civil Rights act.

So Rest In Peace, American Democracy (1964-2022). Adios muchachos. Hopefully a New Democracy will be reborn in the future.

One outside hope I have is that corporations will be less willing to invest into anti-abortion, anti-women states, not sending new offices and factories to those places. That along with the slim hope that Democrat politicians will eventually grow a pair and learn how to fight. I pray for the former to happen but have little hope for the latter. I just feel awful for all the women and girls in my country right now. Just awful. 

2) My radiation oncology has begun on the salvage/killing of the little bit of cancer that remains in my pelvic floor. Not fun. The feeling of having to pee all the time, not every day, but many days, sucks. But truly, the hardest thing about this daily process is walking from the parking lot to the cancer center on my bad left leg, and then the massive fatigue that hits me an hour after treatment. But I don't want to die before my time. The docs seems hopeful that this will kill the cancer that's still left. I sure hope so. 

"Desert Agave Walking Stick, North Topsail Beach, North Carolina" (c) 2022 Stu Jenks. 

3) I tried to sell some of my walking sticks and photographs at my local farmer's market last Saturday. Had very few sales but I met some very nice people, mostly the other vendors and a few shoppers. And of course, like my other Open Art Studio type events over the years, I had the odd person who said really weird things to me (I'll leave it at that). I may come back in the Fall after my radiation, when I have more energy. The people were quite sweet, but this really isn't my crowd where my art will sell, I'm afraid. People are there for the fruits and vegetables, not the rocking chair photos and high end walking sticks. But they were still very nice people. 

"Grimsley High School Graduation, Greensboro Coliseum, North Carolina" (c) 2022 Stu Jenks. 

4) I went to my nephew Will's high school graduation a few weeks back. It was a hoot. I hadn't been to a high school graduation since I graduated from Sanderson High School in 1973. Got a couple of good shots with the long lens. So much fun. Congrats Will McIntyre, and good luck in the fall as you attend the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. 

"DC-10 Fighting A Fire, Dragoon Mountains, Arizona" (c) 2016, 2022 Stu Jenks. 

"Stu and Stuart Sleeping, Mothershead Neck, Richmond County, Virginia" (c) 2001, 2022 Stu Jenks. 

"Harriet Tubman by Arron Douglas, Ackland Art Museum, Chapel Hill, NC" (Image capture by Stu Jenks 2022)

5) I've been to some fine local art shows lately, and I'm still trying to get into other art shows, here and in Tucson, but it's been slow going. Both having a bad leg that's not healing very quickly, and this fatiguing oncology radiation and I'm a bit hobbled. I'm not liking it at all. But it is what it is and it ain't what it ain't. Acceptance is the key and all that good shit. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers, to heal up from this cancer and this torn leg muscle, and that I sell more art, music and books so I can continue to keep the wolves away from the door. Love you all. Stu. P.S. Alexa says hey. 

"Mothershead Neck Flame Spiral, Virginia" & "My Ghost Likes To Travel Hoop Dance, Arizona" (c) 2022 Stu Jenks. 

Circles and Spirals: Stu Jenks' Newsletter #3: 4/21/22

"PTSD" by Clarence Heyward, acrylic and gold leaf on canvas, 2020. Image capture by Stu Jenks. 

 

Hello everyone,

1) Currently some of Clarence Heyward's work (pictured above) is being shown at the Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University in Durham, NC. This show is shunning, presenting the work of 30 emerging artists. Entitled, "Reckoning and Resilience: North Carolina Art Now", it'll be up until July 10, 2022. I've been three times already to visit this show. I can not recommend it highly enough. 

The featured painting is very large, guessing 5 feet tall at least. And yes, that is the Pledge of Allegiance in gold leaf behind the figure. 

2) Maundy Thursday service at Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, here in Greensboro, was as good as it gets. Washing of the feet. Reminding the congregation of Jesus's last commandment, "... to love one another...", the stripping of the altar, all very nice. (And to be clear, I'm not a Christian but I was raised in this Church. I do believe in a God of sorts, cosmic muffin or intuitive thought, but I don't believe in the Risen Christ. I'm more Buddhist and Deist than anything else. And yes, I believe in the ghostly presence of my ancestors in my life. Got that belief from a Native American friend years ago.) But what made me cry was a professional singer, a lovely baritone, singing "Where you there...", that old powerful slave song from almost 200 years ago. Just wonderful.

3) Not so wonderful, my prostate cancer has returned, but only a little bit. Probably the size of the head of a pin. It's a long story but the type of radiation that one cancer center planned for me was very destructive to the good surgical work of Dr. Juan Chipollini 2 years ago. Currently, I don't poop nor peed on myself and everything is working great down there, if you know what I mean. The shotgun blast radiation would change all that, possibly making me permanently incontinent, messing up my colon, and destroying my current sexual function, also maybe for good. This depressed me a lot as you can imagine. Until I remember that great medical school at my alma mater, UNC-Chapel Hill, just an hour to the east. There, I found a new urologist and radiation oncologist who does a very pinpoint radiation using a machine called the Cyber Knife. Great name. Appointment is in early June for this second opinion consultation but I'm already sold from what I've read. And my new doctor is more patient oriented in her care. I'm much more hopeful. Quality of life, baby. Quality of life.

4) The tenth anniversary edition of my first novel, Step Zero is completed and being converted to e-book-ness and soon to be uploaded to the book printer. I'll be making some book-books, but they are expensive. Soon, you'll be able to buy the e-books for either $1.99 or $.99. Attached here is the new cover art for the book. (Thanks to Michael Joplin, for turning me on the the null set symbol. That was brilliant.) 

and 5) lastly, here are some images from recent print sales of mine. I have a big inventory but I'm always, always interested in what people buy. Perhaps you are too.

Love you guys.

Thinking about y'all, and holding you in white light, as the Woo-Woo man says.

Stu. 

All images (c) Stu Jenks 2022, except for "PTSD," (c) Clarence Heyward 2022.

 

 

Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair at the Seashell Shell Gas Station

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Seashell Shell Gas Station, Winston-Salem, North Carolina" (c) 2022 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.

 

"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.

“Auguste Rodin, Saguaro Cactus Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021 [Extended Family Series]

“Auguste Rodin, Saguaro Cactus Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2021, 86 inches tall.

Price: $450, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at [email protected] 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.

 

The reason I chose a career as an artist is because of Auguste Rodin, I kid you not.

I was attending the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill as an art student in the mid to late 1970's. I knew at some point I needed to drive up to the Hirshhorn Museum in D.C. to see what was there. (Pre-internet. You only knew about many things if you saw them in a magazine, in a book, on television, or in real life.) There was a Calder sculpture there at that time I wanted to see and some other minimalist stuff too. I drove all night in my 1964 Karmann Ghia and got there in the morning, stoned on Mexican Dirt Weed, and happy to be there. I roamed the inside of the Hirshhorn for a while and was pretty impressed.

Then I went outside.

The sculpture garden blew my mind, and it wasn't just the marijuana. Henry Moore, David Smith, Barbara Hepworth, Jacques Lipchitz, Giacomo Manzu, Jean Arp...

And Auguste Rodin.

I had seen Rodin's work in books and in slide presentations in art history class, but never in person. I arrogantly thought his work was just OK. I was a minimalist sculptor and conceptual artist at the time, producing what I thought was thought provoking but not particularly evocative or emotional work, like I try to do now. I was a Joseph Bueys-Donald Judd-Frank Stella guy, not particularly interested in 19th Century art.

Until that morning in 1977, when I saw The Burghers Of Calais, Walking Man, and Balzac for the first time.

I hardly remember Walking Man, but Balzac took my breath away, and The Burghers rendered me speechless (and to those of you who don't know me IRL, I'm a chatty guy. Being struck dumb doesn't happen very often with me.)

I don't know if it happened that day, or on the ride home, or when I got back to art school (I was pretty high don't you know), but I remember thinking to myself, "If Rodin can do that, make evocative work that speaks to both our hearts as well as our minds, I can do that too. I can make powerful art too." I wasn't in anyway comparing myself, then or now, to Rodin. I was just inspired to do the work and see if I could bring a little beauty, a bit of honest feeling and a little magic into the world. That I do think I've done to some degree (even though I wish an art professor or a family member had mentioned the importance of a 401-K at some point.) I have created a body of work over the last 25 years that I'm proud of: The photographs, the books, the albums, the sticks.

I may not have made much money in my life but I have put some beauty, some mystery, some true feeling into the world, and I try to be a good person as I do the work. I've not always succeeded as an artist and as a man, but I truly try.

And it's all because I saw The Burghers of Calais on a fall morning in 1977.

 





Photos of Rodin's The Burghers of Calais, & Balzac in Washington, D.C., and The Burghers in Calais, France were taken by me.

#rodin, #stujenks, #extendedfamilyseries

 

“Black Elk, Mountain Maple Wood, North Carolina” © Stu Jenks 2021 [Extended Family Series]

“Black Elk, Mountain Maple Wood, North Carolina” © Stu Jenks 2021, 38 inches tall.

Price: $195, shipping included. Simply contact me via my email address at [email protected] 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.

 

I first read the book Black Elk Speaks by John Neihardt in the late 1970's. It moved me greatly back then, and it became part of my beginning spiritual journey, which truly didn't take off until I got sober and became a member of a number of 12-Step groups. I'm not trying to sound higher-than-thou here, but Black Elk Speaks was a big deal to me. Sadly that first paperback copy is long gone.

There has been some controversy regarding Neihardt's accuracy of what Black Elk, the Lakota Sioux medicine man, told him in 1930. Perhaps somethings were literally lost in translation, maybe Neihardt didn't understand some things about Lakota spiritual practices, or maybe he just made mistakes, but there are no accounts that say John Neihardt was being exploitative of Black Elk, ever. To the contrary, Black Elk gave John, John's daughter Heidi, and many of John's family members Lakota names and also adopted all of them into his own Native American family. You don't do that for someone you don't like.

And Black Elk was no fool either. He survived The Battle of Little Big Horn, The Buffalo Bill Show, and the Massacre at Wounded Knee. That ain't nothing.

All of that being said, I just reordering Black Elk Speaks today, and I will reread it with new/old eyes. I'm pretty sure it will touch me again, but in new and different ways.

 

Here are a few excerpts from the book:

“When a vision comes from the thunder beings of the west, it comes with terror like a thunder storm; but when the storm of vision has passed, the world is greener and happier; for wherever the truth of vision comes upon the world, it is like a rain. The world, you see, is happier after the terror of the storm.”

“Sometimes dreams are wiser than waking.”

 

“Perhaps you have noticed that even in the slightest breeze you can hear the voice of the cottonwood tree; this we understand is its prayer to the Great Spirit, for not only men, but all things and all beings pray to Him continually in different ways.”

 

“...Crazy Horse was dead. He was brave and good and wise. He never wanted anything but to save his people, and he fought the Wasichus (White People) only when they came to kill us in our own country. He was only thirty years old. They could not kill him in battle. They had to lie to him and kill him that way. I cried all night, and so did my father.”

 

“Everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round . . . The sky is round and I have heard the earth is round like a ball, and so are all the stars. The wind in its greatest power whirls, birds make their nest in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours.”

 

"And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy^."

 

 

#blackelk, #blackelkspeaks, #stujenks, #extendedfamilyseries.

“Malcolm X, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2020 [Extended Family Series]

“Malcolm X, Saguaro Rib, Arizona” © Stu Jenks 2020, 54 inches tall.

Price: $195, shipping included in the price. Simply contact me via my email address at [email protected] 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.

 

Most of y'all know who Malcolm X was. Spokesman for The Nation Of Islam for a time until he became disillusioned with the organization. A powerful civil right activist who I believe is often misunderstood. The 1992 Spike Lee-Denzel Washington film is actually quite good. I highly recommend it.

Malcolm X was assassinated at age 39. Tragic.

Malcolm X was the yin to Martin Luther King Jr.'s yang. Or perhaps it is the other way around.

Rest in peace, Malcolm. We are still fighting the good fight for racial equality and social justice 55 years after your death, and we don't intend to stop fighting anytime soon.

 

#malcolmx, #stujenks, #extendedfamilyseries

Images from the Winter of 2020.

"Shiprock Infrared, New Mexico" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks [Shot with real live Ilford Infrared film, using my medium format Rollei]

"Saguaro At Sunset, Gate's Pass, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. [Taken from high above.]

"Pilot Mountain In Fog, North Carolina" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. [It's not special that Pilot is in fog. Happens all the time. But it's special to me. I'm new to this land.]

"Cottonwood Trees, Near Dudleyville, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. [Something about the whiteness of these trees.]

"South of Solstice Rock, Santa Catalina Mountains, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. [Taken just after I did my annual solstice prayers.]

"God's Eye Tree (Red Oak), McCorkle Place, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Where we kissed, by an ancient stone wall on the Virginia/North Carolina Line," (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Abajo Mountain Hoop Dance, Utah" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Four Trees, Happy Jack, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Peter the Sexton, at the Church of the Immaculate Conception, Nogales, Sonora, Mexico" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. (Peter led me upstairs, a few years ago, to help me shoot the photograph of the Virgin Mary that he holds in his hands. I brought him a print of Mary as a thank you, a couple of weeks ago. A very sweet man. A true man of God.)

"Christ at Bethesda (Detail), by Jean Restout, Ackland Art Museum, Chapel Hill, North Carolina" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Walk With Light, Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, North Carolina" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. (Brett Deal, what you said was true back in 1979.)

"A Trailer Fire, Winkleman, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. [Shit happens, sometimes in a very quick and awful way.]

"Wasp Nest and Christmas Ball, The Jenks Residence, Greensboro, North Carolina" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks. [Mark, from across the way, convinced me to not knock down this nest. Glad he did. It's a beautiful structure]

"Handmade Christmas Ball, The Jenks Residence, Greensboro, North Carolina" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Stronghold Dream, Cochise's Stronghold, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Lipan Point, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Pamela's Baby Rocking Chair, Elk Tracks In Snow, Coconino County, Arizona" (c) 2020 Stu Jenks.

"Happy To Be Hiking With My Wife, Uwharrie National Forest, North Carolina" (c) 2020 Alexa and Stu Jenks. [I'm typing this on January 22nd, 2020 in Tucson, Arizona. Alexa is in Greensboro, North Carolina. I'm here. I miss her madly. The good news is she misses me terribly too. True love is a wonderful thing, a precious thing, but sometimes it hurts like hell.]