Showing posts with label dale wilsey jr.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dale wilsey jr.. Show all posts

Original Prints by D.R. Wilsey Jr.

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , | Posted on Thursday, July 05, 2012

0

As some of you may know, especially if you keep up with this blog or are acquainted with me personally, you know that I dabble in photography. I've displayed in a few galleries and have had some people ask me about prints for sale. Well, now is the time and the chance for that.

I'm going to start offering a different print every so often. These prints will be limited in numbers and once they have sold out, they will not be offered again. Ever. The only way you'd get to see one if you don't buy one is to come view my copy hanging on the wall. Prints will be signed, numbered, and shipped by me personally. They will come printed on quality photo paper and shipped with care.

The first print I'm going to offer is one that many people have loved when they see it called "Alley at Night". This photo was taken during a quick trip to Tunkhannock, PA for the purpose of catching a sunset over the Susquehanna river valley. When that didn't work out, I began wandering around town.

I came to one of the more interesting buildings in town, the Dietrich Theater. I began snapping shots of the theater as the sun set and the neon began glowing. As I began to walk away, I noticed the alley right next to the Dietrich. At any other time during the day, the alley would be a boring, normal alley. But, in the new darkness of the evening, the exit lamp above the door at the end of the alley breathed life into the bricks. The color was perfect and the shot was too good to pass up.


"Alley at Night" © Dale Wilsey Jr. (Click for larger image)

20 x 30 print - $80 + shipping
12 x 18 prints - $30 + shipping

Email me directly to order:

Please include your name, address, and size
of the print you'd like to order. Prints available
while supplies last.
"Alley at Night" will be limited to 
80 20x30 prints and 100 12x18 prints.
Paypal accepted and preferred.

Thanks in advance to anyone who purchases a print.


...

A shivering sun

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Thursday, December 01, 2011

0

December. After a week of unseasonably warm weather, it begins with a chilling frost. The icing of winter. Even the sun seems to shiver in the sky with promises of warmth. I can watch my breath form around my words as I speak. The year is slowing to a crawl. Trembling while a gravedigger breaks ground.

With the new year closing in, many things have been running through my mind. The holiday season is a time of interaction, not only with family, friends and disgruntled shoppers, but with thoughts and memories of the year passed.

I look at the soles of my boots to see where I've been. Toward the mountains to see where I'm headed. I never look too far ahead anymore, though. One lesson I'm walking away with this year is that the future is never guaranteed. Right now, where my feet stand, is the only moment promised. And even that can be fleeting.

I've been remembering back further and further to past holidays. Joyful and miserable. Times spent in the company of family or good people. Times spent alone. Times spent grieving.

All of the memories have a way of  whittling down the excess of the season leaving me with a clearer view of the core. Instead of seeking shinning wrapping paper and disposable like I did as a child, I look for a smile. A laugh. Warmth.

During winter, moments seem to hang suspended like photographs. Maybe we all just slow to take it in. Remember it better. Etch the seconds into our mind to relive time and time again.

Here's to another year. Here's to experience. Here's to life.

“In the depths of winter, I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer”
~Albert Camus


Visions and Thought: Gallery at Dietrich theater

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , | Posted on Tuesday, November 01, 2011

0

Snow was falling in large, lazy flakes sticking to ledges, coats, and sidewalks. It wasn't even Halloween. I loaded my truck, after brushing away its powdery coat, and headed to town. Parking in front of the Dietrich theater, I looked at the clock capped in snow and tree limbs that grew fat and heavy.

While jack-o-lanterns sat abandoned on porches hidden beneath a wintery mix, I unloaded my truck and ventured inside to begin setting up. Earlier in October, the Scranton Cultural Center hosted a gallery of my photography to benefit the flood-damaged Deatrich in Tunkhannock. Members of the theater's board stopped by and, after viewing my work, asked if I'd be interested in showing at the theater itself.

Now through the month of November (and quite possibly a portion of December) a gallery of my work, entitled Visions and Thought, hangs in the Sherwood Gallery at the Dietrich theater in Tunkhannock. Photos that I have taken through the years are accompanied with my own words in an attempt to convey personal experience and thoughts about the moment captured.


All work is up for sale and, if you stop by and happen to be interested, my contact information is available here and at the theater. For more information about the Dietrich, call 570-836-1022 or visit DietrichTheater.com. The theater is located at 60 East Tioga Street in Tunkhannock, PA, 30 minutes from both Scranton and Wilkes-Barre.


Hell's Breaking Luce: Tom Waits' "Bad As Me"

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Monday, October 24, 2011

2

Tom Waits has always had an extraordinary talent for weaving the real with the surreal. The every day with the oddities of life. He's a circus midway in the middle of a swamp. A Peterbilt hauling a diner down a desert road with the Tattooed Lady from the sideshow in the passenger's seat. And blaring through jukeboxes, bullhorns and radios everywhere is Waits' new album Bad As Me. His first in seven years, Waits has delivered once again.

Right from the get go, "Chicago" sends you flying down the rails on a trip to the unknown as Waits gives you his own brand of a history lesson on the Great Migration of African Americans to northern cities beginning in 1916. Waits states, "Maybe things will be better in Chicago / well it's brave for us to stay / even braver to go", ending with an urgent "All aboard!" 


One of the things you'll notice about Bad As Me is that Waits touches upon some current sociopolitical issues in a few tracks. Something, I feel, he doesn't often do. "Talking at the Same Time" is a blatant, melancholy comment on the current state of the American economy and the contrast of poverty and wealth.

Get a job, save your money, listen to Jane
everybody knows umbrellas cost more in the rain
and all the news is bad
is there any other kind?
Everybody's talking at the same time.
Well it's hard times for some
for others it's sweet
Someone makes money when there's blood
in the street.

Some artists can overdo the political commentary, but Waits approaches it with a subtle touch. The backing instrumentation to "Talking at the Same Time" paints a picture of trudging, down-on-their-luck feet walking along the street, peering in at well-off fat cats profiting from the labor of the lower class...

Well we bailed out all the millionaires
they got the fruit
we got the rind

Bad As Me is an eclectic mix of sounds. Something all Waits fans will expect before hand regardless, but here he really swings in all directions of sound. From the rockabilly infused "Get Lost" which professes a want to ramble and roam with a tight sweater-wearing love to the flamenco-tinged "Back in the Crowd" to the  uncharacteristically heavy anti-war song "Hell Broke Luce", a track only slightly rivaled in intensity by previous Waits' tracks like "God's Away on Business".

Kelly Presutto got his thumbs blown off
Sergio's developing a real bad cough...
Hell broke Luce...
Boom went his head away
and boom went Valerie
what the hell was it that the president said?
Give them all a beautiful parade instead
left, right, left

Even for Waits, this album touches an incredibly varied amount of sounds and ideas. It's as though a pinball was fired through his gray matter touching every corner of his creative conscious before constructing Bad As Me. For some, this may be a bit to take in but, for the experienced and seasoned Waits fans, you'll enjoy just how much he can still surprise you after almost 40 years of creating music.

Waits' tender, romantic side shows through in tracks like "Back in the Crowd", a western-tropical sounding, love lost ballad, "Kiss Me", a crackling, jazzy tune that searches for the excitement of new love in a long-time lover: "Kiss me like a stranger once again / I wanna believe our love's a mystery / I wanna believe our love's a sin". In "Last Leaf", Waits creates what most will interpret as having a deeper, more personal meaning of holding on to more than what he shows on the surface. Waits explains, in a recent interview, "...you could say everything's a metaphor for everything else, but sometimes it's just what it is. It's just what it's about...a tree."

There are a few, small, almost insignificant issues I have with the album, but the good has so far outweighed those issues that I have trouble remembering them. Also, if past experience is any indication, any problem I may have with a Tom Waits track slowly erodes over time leaving me with only the good. Songs that I may not have much affinity for at first become clearer over time as the nuances come to the surface and pull me in.

Bad As Me has, so far, been another incredible Waits experience. It's filled with just the right amount of every human emotion, gradually floating between melancholy and longing. Falling fast into madness and landing in a pile of tender love. Maybe I'm just too much of a fan of Tom Waits, but I really have nothing negative to say about him right now. Unless he decides not to tour. Then, I may be a touch angered.

Overall, I'd have to rate this up there with some of my favorite Waits' albums. The best? No. But this album is incredibly diverse and full of incredible art and vision. The only thing I ask of Mr. Waits is to not keep us waiting another seven years. Bring it on the road, Tom. We all want to see your magic explode on stage like a calliope full of dynamite.

ANTI Records has released a deluxe edition of Bad As Me that includes three additional tracks on a separate CD as well as a 40-page hardcover booklet containing  images and lyrics of and inspired by the album. It is also available in a 180 gram vinyl version which comes complete with a slightly altered paper booklet and CD version of the album. Note that the vinyl version does not contain the three bonus tracks.


All photos included in this post are created by photographer Anton Corbijn. See more here.

NYTimes' #whyIwrite and Dietrich writer's group discussion

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Friday, October 21, 2011

0

Spurred by the National Day of Writing and NY Times' #whyIwrite topic on Twitter, I lead a discussion during my writing group last night on the topic of why we writers write. Here's the comment I left for the Times about that discussion which has been "retweeted" by @NYTimesLearning:


picture-poems.com
NYTimesLearning,
Every Thursday night in Tunkhannock, PA at the Dietrich Theater, a group of local writers ranging in age from 18 to late 60’s come together in an effort to grow, learn, and sharpen their skills as writers. Some of us have been writing our whole lives. Others have only just began. The incredible diversity not only in writing styles but in individual backgrounds and personality has created a dynamic environment.
There is a set schedule of who is to read at each meeting and last night was supposed to be my turn, but I had nothing to bring to the table. The novel I’d been working on had hit a wall and every short story rolling around my desk was unfinished. After informing the moderator of the group about my predicament, she suggested I lead a discussion. Fine by me, but what about?
That’s when I noticed the #whyIwrite topic on Twitter. I’ve always been interested in why those of us who write choose to do so. What drives us to pour it all out? Surely we all have our own beginnings, but it seems that every true writer, at their core, has an undeniable force within that propels them to write.
With this in mind, I lead a conversation on why all of us in the group write. I started the group by quoting Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, one of my favorite and most beloved books on the subject of writing: “No one can advise or help you — no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.”
While Rilke’s position may be a bit extreme, I believe he exposes the core of why writers write. It is a need. It’s not a choice, but something we must do because our mind and heart command us to do so. Lord Byron said, “If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.” I think most of us might do just that if we could not write.
The responses were as varied as the writers themselves. Most of us had always been story tellers. We lived in our minds among our imaginations. We constructed whole worlds during our childhood that continued on throughout our lives. And we all felt the need to tell our stories. To record them lest they be lost. One of the members commented, “I’ve had the urge to write since before I could actually write. I’d tell my sister what to write…and I’ve always had the urge to make a mark on the world even if it’s on a scrap piece of paper.”
After the discussion, we all felt a bit more connected. More open and personal. Not that we were not a closely knit group before hand, but now we had seen each others hearts beating with the passion of the written word.
Thanks for such a wonderful idea. I’ve enjoyed reading all of the #whyIwrite responses and hope that this discussion is explored even further. I also think it is essential for young children who feel the urge to write hear these responses. To discuss writing and reading. Too many today are left to stray away from such an amazing and beautiful world.
Cheers,
Dale Wilsey Jr.
----

Check out the Times' blog entry over at learning.blogs.nytimes.com.

If you're on Twitter, tweet why you write with #whyIwrite. Also, I'd love to hear why any of you write here on my blog. What drives you to write? How did you begin? How does it effect your life?

October off to a good start

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , | Posted on Sunday, October 09, 2011

2

Central display at my gallery.
It was a beautiful night this past Friday in Scranton for October's First Friday events and, with the help of some incredible people at the Scranton Cultural Center, my debut gallery benefiting the Dietrich theater went off without a hitch. Between the bake sale held in conjunction, personal donations and the sale of two of my pieces, the event raised approximately $500. 

Throughout the night, I was approached by many in attendance who offered great feedback and, more interestingly, stories of Tunkhannock and life in general during and after the flood. 

The general buzz and interest in my photography work has given me the push I believe I needed to take it a bit more serious. For a long time, I neglected my camera in favor of the pen and other pursuits. Though I'm not sure why. Training my eye on different subjects allows me to inspect them more closely and, in turn, study my surroundings and life more intimately. Ultimately, it combines with my writing to give me clarity in certain aspects. 

The ladies from the Dietrich have also asked me to hang my work at the theater and, as soon as I get in touch with them, the details will be ironed out and announced here and on my Twitter account. 

Following the gallery there, I will more than likely begin to sell some of my work online. I've yet to figure out exactly how to go about that, but ideas for a full-fledged site and such have been rolling about my skull. Below are two of the prints I sold at this past weekend's gallery.

Alley at Night
Alongside the Dietrich, an alleyway is illuminated
in a way that makes the brick and mortar come to life.
 The bricks almost breathe with pulsing life in the 
constant glow of a single bulb.


Steam Engine at Riverside
In the morning, I wake to the hollow, 
echoing sound of an iron ghost bouncing
from ridge line to ridgeline. I can hear the
grinding of the wheels along the snaking
 tracks. Smoke billows from the stack 
and hangs lightly in the air tracing its path.

I may post images of work I have done here on my blog with ways to purchase prints for now until something more concrete comes along. However, if you are interested in seeing what I have to offer or in purchasing a print of those pictured here, feel free to email me. Contact information can be found on my contact page.

Thank you to all of the people who stopped by and especially my dear friends who came out to show their support. An extra thanks to those of you who donated and to those who purchased my work. To those of you who shared stories about the flood and life in Tunkhannock and also those who complimented me on my work, I thank you as well.



Countdown to exposure

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Wednesday, October 05, 2011

0

This month has started out as crazy as the last and, for the most part, things have been gliding along smoothly (though somewhat overwhelmingly). Then, along comes that inevitable hurdle. As I crack open the seal to a bottle of Theraflu and fight back a cough, I look at the photos and frames strewn about my room. I'm determined to kick this cold before week's end.

Enough of the bad news, though. Some of you may have noticed by my constant Tweets and updates here on the blog that, at the end of this week on October 7th, the Scranton Cultural Center will be hosting a gallery of my photography to benefit the Dietrich theater in Tunkhannock, PA. The theater was recently damaged in the flood and is in need of over $100,000 worth of repairs.

The event and, by proxy, have been getting a bit of attention. In an earlier entry (here), I posted the interview that Electric City reporter Julie Imel conducted with me. There have been various mentions of the gallery in local papers and online, but, most recently, this blog was chosen as NEPA Blogs' "Blog of the Week". Consequently, I was also featured on the local program PA Live! during the NEPA Blogs segment where Harold Jenkins shared his thoughts on myself and my blog. He also managed to give the gallery a plug. See the footage here and the NEPA Blog entry here.

If you're a local to the northeastern region of PA, please try to stop by the Scranton Cultural Center from 5-9. All donations will be accepted and every piece of my work will be up for sale. Every penny made will go straight to the Dietrich theater.

War is Hell, but colds are just bollocks.
I'd like to thank everyone in advance for everything they've done. I will be posting after the gallery to let everyone know how it went and to give proper thanks to those who made it possible and who helped to bring attention to it.

Come this Friday, I hope to have beaten this illness which has filled my skull with fog and water and made my body ache more than usual. Off to the frontline. I come loaded with gallons of OJ and cough drops. Do white blood cells bleed if they're wounded in battle?

(Please excuse any grammatical errors. The germs are waging war against my cerebral cortex.)

Information on my benefit gallery this Friday

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Monday, October 03, 2011

2

On October First Friday, there will be a gallery of my photography opening at the Scranton Cultural Center in Scranton, PA. This gallery will serve as a way to raise funds for the restoration of the Dietrich Theater in Tunkhannock, PA, my home town. All of my work will be for sale and, if purchased on the first night of its showing, every penny will be donated to the Dietrich Theater. Donations other than the purchase of my photography will also be accepted up until 10p.m. Here is the information about my upcoming gallery:


WHO: The Scranton Cultural Center featuring artist Dale Wilsey Jr.

WHAT: First Friday Exhibit: to benefit the Wyoming County Cultural Center at the Dietrich Theater

WHEN: October 7th, 2011 5-8 p.m.

WHERE: The Scranton Cultural Center
420 North Washington Avenue
Scranton, PA 18503
4th Floor, Shopland Hall Lobby

TICKET PRICE: Free
FROM ONE CULTURAL CENTER TO ANOTHER: SUPPORTING ARTS IN NEPA: Scranton, PA -- Sept. 20th, 2011 -- The Scranton Cultural Center at the Masonic Temple will host a benefit exhibit to raise money to help restore and rebuild the Dietrich Theatre in Tunkhannock. The Dietrich Theatre (the Wyoming County Cultural Center) was recently devastated by record flooding. Estimated costs to restore and repair are close to $100,000.

The exhibit will take place Oct. 7th, in conjunction with Scranton's First Friday, as well as, the kickoff of the SCC Electric City Listen Local series. The free exhibit will begin at 5pm on the 4th floor Shopland Hall and run through 8pm. Money will be raised through individual donations, sale of artwork and a bake sale. Donations will be accepted until 10pm.

Photographs in the exhibit were taken by writer/photographer and Tunkhannock native, Dale Wilsey Jr.

All proceeds will go directly to the Dietrich Theatre.

All the leaves are brown

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Sunday, October 02, 2011

0

"Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day."
~Elizabeth Bowen

It's been a long, stressful, busy and, most of all, wet month(s). On the surface, in Tunkhannock, everything seems back to normal since the flood. The roads are clean and clear of mud and people go about their normal business.

Look closer.

Brick's Market is "Closed until further notice". There's still a drooping barrier of caution tape strung across the parking lot of Gay's True Value. In small corners, I find caked mud. Stains of oil. Ghosts of the flood remain on stalks of corn and trees in pale shadows left by the water.


While driving around, I've felt I've been sailing. Waterfalls are still pouring down the side of Avery Mountain and the Susquehanna runs muddy and high along its banks. Route 92 was closed for a second time just last week.

The weather sways like an erratic pendulum taunting me with shining, beautiful days only to pull blankets of dark, miserable clouds across the sky dumping sheets of rain down over hills and across my face.

Leaves are beginning to change and fall, covering my lawn in speckles of reds and yellows. I find myself closing my window at night to keep the chill out and, in the morning, it's harder to leave the comfort of my blankets. Even the sun finds it hard to come out. I smell winter coming.

Jack, my niece's horse who stands quietly behind the weathered wood of the old barn, will grow thick with a winter coat. Snow will fall, clinging to the lashes around his dark eyes. His breath will billow out in gentle clouds around his snout.

Watch the trees grow naked. Feel the crisp retreat of another summer. Another year. Unpack the jackets and mittens and store away the memories created in the passing months. Pick pumpkins from the field and cut character into their face while you drown in cider. This is the winding down of time.

The deep slumber of the land is coming. The hollow winds of winter. Blank canvases of land lit by the moon and pinpoint stars.

Another year is just beyond the banks of snow to come. All is reborn when the last bits of ice melt away and hearts begin to beat faster.

"O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?"
~Percy Bysshe Shelley

An interview with the Electric City

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Friday, September 23, 2011

0


Photo by Tom Bonomo
By Julie Imel
Published: September 22, 2011 in the Electric City and on the570.com

Writer and photographer Dale Wilsey Jr. loves Tunkhannock. It’s more than just his hometown, and more than the place his ancestors settled in so many years ago. To him, Tunkhannock is inspiration. His roots in this lovely Wyoming County region are evident in his work that he takes great care to perfect. Wilsey’s subject matter is as varied as his interests and perhaps even as varied as the jobs he’s held over the years. He’s done everything from working in a stone quarry to a bustling newsroom. Influenced by Hemingway, Bukowski, John Fante, Faulkner, Ginsberg and Rilke, Wilsey loves to write and has been published on several occasions, including in the Boston Literary Magazine. He participates in a writers’ group every Thursday at the Dietrich Theater, and has aspirations to write a novel. Most immediately, though, he is compiling his best photographs for a benefit show for the Dietrich Theater on Friday, Oct. 7, at the Scranton Cultural Center.  A place that is close to his heart, the Dietrich Theater, sustained damage from the recent flood. And while the theater is open thanks to the efforts of committed volunteers and staff members, funds are needed for more repairs.  Without hesitation, he is ready to help. Meet artist Dale Wilsey, Jr…

How did you become interested in photography?
I've been into photography for a long time. My father got me into it. I wasn't even a teenager yet when he started taking pictures and he got me interested in it, and probably around age 16, he gave me one of his old Nikons and I started shooting with that and experimenting. That was about the time I really started getting into the arts. I started meeting more people in the area, and I had more of a creative outlet. I started traveling, too, especially at 16 because I got my driver's license, and I went all over taking photos.

At that point, what was your subject matter?
Very early on it was all sorts of things. I never really had one focus. There was a stint where I just liked to go around and take pictures of architecture and then there were basic landscapes - things my father was into and anything from Tunkhannock.

Tunkhannock is so beautiful.
It really is, and I've grown to appreciate it so much more over the past five or six years. It's really grown on me and it's something I appreciate more and more as I grow older. When I was young, I wanted to get out. I was in Wilkes-Barre every weekend when I was in high school, going to punk shows and driving all over and wanting to just go - and now I find peace in Tunkhannock, and a lot of inspiration.

Funny how your perspective changes with time-
It definitely does. My entire father's side of the family has lived in Tunkhannock for eons.They came over here through New England, came down and plopped into a little village called Eatonville right outside of Tunkhannock. That's where my father grew up and I lived close to my grandmother's house when I was young and we sort of grew up there and we never really moved too far away from Tunkhannock. I'm used to Wyoming County and the valley and the river and the woods. I've been all over, and it's something that I really love.

It must have been difficult to see all the flood damage in your hometown. Did this inspire your work?
I did write a three-piece blog entry about my experience, not really too in depth about any particular portion of the flooding or anything, but I did mention that a bit. I'll probably do more with it as it sinks in. It usually takes me a while to process and get things out on the pages. I roll things around in my head for a while before I actually write about them. I usually have a couple ideas rolling around up there (laughs) but it comes out eventually.

Tell me about your show coming up at the Scranton Cultural Center. Can we expect to see a lot of scenes from Tunkhannock?
You'll see Tunkhannock shots, and you'll see modeling shots that I've done with people. I grew up a "gear head" around my father, so you'll see some shots of older cars, but it really goes all over - from architecture to humans to everything. I'm putting all my work up for sale and everything that I make is going straight to the Dietrich. I figured maybe a mixed bag would be better for this show because I can sell all sorts of photos to all sorts of people. I'm really hoping we can make some money for them. One of the first things Hildy (Morgan) told me was that the theater didn't have flood insurance. The biggest thing they lost is the heating and air conditioning in the old section of the building because it was downstairs. And that was one thing they were looking at renovating and updating, but it never came about. So I'm really happy to try to help out.

Do you remember when the Dietrich first opened?
Yes, I was there when we started cleaning it out. In high school, a class of mine walked down there and we started pulling out all the old stuff. And I remember back when it was closed and boarded up and we walked in and it was really cool to see. I could only imagine what it was like back in the day, back when it was first built. And I loved it, just looking at it and knowing it was going to be up and running again. I thought it was something really great to come to my town. That's when my town started really growing up a little bit from what it used to be and it was great. So I was there when they started it and I guess this is giving back a little, and I'm happy to do it. It's one of the best buildings in Tunkhannock and one of the best things to come to Tunkhannock.

-julie imel

Photographs by Dale Wilsey Jr. will be on display at the Scranton Cultural Center on the evening of Oct. 7, and all proceeds from sales at the show will benefit the Dietrich Theater in Tunkhannock. For more information, visit www.scrantonculturalcenter.org.
The original article can be found here.

October First Friday benefit gallery for Dietrich Theater

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Wednesday, September 21, 2011

0

The day after the waters had retreated, I visited the Dietrich in hopes of finding Hildy, owner of the theater and all-around sweet woman, and to see just how badly the building had been damaged. It was only the day before that muddy water surrounded and engulfed the beautiful building.

When I finally found Hildy, there was still that gleam of happiness and optimism in her eyes even though she was obviously exhausted and heart broken. An army of volunteers had already completed a massive amount of cleaning and the theater, although down, was nowhere near being out. Hildy even spoke of the upcoming (and still happening) film festival.

Somehow, I wanted to help. As I snapped a few photos of the inside of the oldest section of the theater, I told Hildy that if there were anything I could do to help, not to hesitate in calling. Only a day or so later, my opportunity would arise.

Stephanie Bush, friend and fellow Tunkhannock native, contacted me on behalf of the Scranton Cultural Center and asked if I would be interested in displaying a gallery of my photography to benefit the Dietrich. Of course I accepted the offer, though nervously, and felt that this was my chance to give something back to my hometown in a time of need.

On October 7th, during Scranton's First Friday celebrations, the Scranton Cultural Center will be hosting a gallery of my work throughout the years. It will be a mixed bag of photos ranging in content and focus. Admission will be free with a cash bar. Donations will be accepted and I have decided to put every piece shown at the gallery up for sale with all proceeds going directly to the Dietrich. I will not be collecting one single cent. This showing is for the Dietrich and all that it's given to Tunkhannock and the residents who live, work and create there.

Come out and support an incredible cause and enjoy a beautiful night out in the Electric City. Donate what you can. Every single dollar helps to bring the Dietrich back. Tell friends and family. Mention this to anyone you know. Please come out and help me make this a success.

Thank you in advance to everyone.

Cheers,
Dale Wilsey, Jr.


Look for an interview in the Electric City paper in coming weeks about the show and a little about my rambling mind.

See the horsies, Uncle?

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Tuesday, September 06, 2011

0


"See the horsie, Uncle," my niece says to me
as I lift her from the bouncing seat of her
carriage. "See the horsie! It comin'."

She squirms and kicks in my arms,
smiling with eyes wide and bright
beneath the sun of the afternoon as
an equine group-- Buckskin,
Palomino, Appaloosa,
Chesnut --come
trotting along.

Men and women, sitting high 
cradled in soft, worn leather
wear spurs that chime
with every step. Brimmed hats.
Dusty blue jeans. 
Belt buckles.
Sequins and ribbons.

My niece and I sit watching
on the weathered bleachers.
They come one after another.
Shooting down through the arena
from the gate.
Turning quick around the poles.
Around the barrels. 

"See the horsie!" she says to me
again clapping and bouncing
on my lap. "Horsie runnin'."
She looks on as hoofs kick
dusty clouds in their wake.
Manes ripple back 
through the wind.


Down the fairway among throngs
of people. Old-time farmers in their
overalls walk among young generations
caught between the buds of their iPods
or the clicks of a texting phone.

Lights. Bells. A woman hands small
bibles to those who pass by.
Candy apples for sale amongst 
the pink, blue and white clouds of 
cotton candy.

A calliope whistles out its tune
from the carousel spinning 'round
among children's smiles and the
dreams of infants.

"Ride the horsies," says my niece.
And I take her through the gate.
Let her choose her fiberglass
stallion. 

For a moment,
she rides as graceful, skillful
as any of those in the
arena.

Her steed even shudders ever
so slightly as it dips down,
mimicking a gallop 'round
its endless journey.

And she looks up toward
my face. Smiles.
"I ride the horsie, Uncle."

Her tiny curls blow in
the breeze.



He didn't know the man beneath the flag

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Sunday, August 14, 2011

0

Photo courtesy of the Citizen's Voice
Sometimes, moments that dive straight to your core and touch you in a way you never expected happen at the most unexpected times. It's time pausing for a brief instant and singling you out. For that moment, everything aligns and pierces you sharp and exact. Monday, I experienced one of those moments.

It was 11 a.m. when I arrived at the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre airport. Nervous about my first flight (though, more nervous about navigating the three airports I would be visiting) I made my way through the doors and checked in. Easy enough. I even managed to meet Katherine, a sweet Irish woman from Dublin, as I stood in line. She was helpful in explaining a few things I was unsure of and even told me stories of her own travels and that of her children.

After moving through security, I headed toward the scent of coffee. Just behind the small vendor, where you could also buy a Budweiser, a group of men had assembled along the wall. All of them were looking out toward the tarmac, but I couldn't see what it was that had caught their attention.

Coffee in hand, I walked to an open spot at the window. There, on the tarmac, was a small plane and a group of Marines standing in formation. They moved forward like clockwork. Exact and angular. Pulling a casket draped in 235 years of blood, sweat, struggle and tears. My hand slowly moved toward my hat, pulling it off and placing it upon the sill of the window.

Next to me, men were silent save for one who I could hear holding back tears. They all looked on at the scene unfolding slowly below. Flags on the backs of motorcycles sitting upon the tarmac rippled and swayed in the wind as more men looked on and saluted the silver casket of the fallen Marine.

As I turned to walk away, Katherine moved toward the window to peer out at the uniformed men placing the casket into the back of the hearse. Most of the men had moved away from the window, but one man remained standing next to Katherine. It was the man who I had heard choked up breaths emanating from.

As the hearse pulled away and the motorcycles followed suit, Katherine and the man turned and moved away from the window. The man walked toward me with his ballcap in hand. I could see the pain in his face and the mist flowing across his eyes.

"Did you know him," I asked.

The man looked back through the window as the last of the procession moved out of sight across the tarmac. With a solemn look, he turned back toward me and said quietly, "No."

He fumbled with his hat and moved on as I looked through the window at the barren concrete where only the plane sat now. There were no sounds except for the quite "no" uttered to me a moment before echoing within my mind. The man, so touched and pained by the loss of the Marine covered with a flag, had made an unforgettable impression upon me. It is this moment in time that I will never forget. A moment where time stopped and aimed its constant flow directly at me to show me something powerful.

*****

The man beneath that flag was Staff Sgt. Patrick R. Dolphin. His wife, Lindsey, and members of Rolling Thunder and Friends of the Forgotten were among those saluting Dolphin as he was carried from the plane. 

Staff Sgt. Dolphin died on July 31st while supporting combat operations Herat Province of Afghanistan. Dolphin died in combat. Story here: Citizens Voice article on Staff Sgt. Dolphin.

Taking a shot of ink: Prose in Pubs

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Monday, August 01, 2011

1

Jack's Draft House FB page.
It's a Sunday night and all of the parking spots on the corner of Gibson and Prescott are filled. Cruising up the block, I find a space sufficient enough to harbor my pickup. Jack's Draft House sits on the corner. Unmarked, save for a neon sign and a small chalkboard in the doorway. Walking through the glass-paneled door, I see people standing about. Sitting everywhere. They're all intently listening. Some sipping dark stouts. Some with gin and tonics or a bourbon.

Mischelle Anthony is standing near the exposed brick archway which leads to the back room of Jack's reciting one of her pieces. Her words illicit laughter as she smiles behind her glasses, reading on about an unfortunate sounding love interest. Already, I'm a bit upset with myself leaving late and missing the majority of her reading. However, my lack of punctuality aside, I become immediately wrapped up in the aura of the night and the second Prose in Pubs is well under way.

Jack's Draft House FB


Prose in Pubs is the creation of local poet/writer/memoirist Amye Archer. Joined by Jim Warner, another area writer who has been involved in readings and the lit scene for some time, they plan the monthly Prose in Pubs, choosing from some of the best talents the area has to offer.

Last night's roster included the aforementioned Mischelle Anthony, Jennifer Diskin, Matthew Hinton and Brian Fanelli. The atmosphere of Jack's lends itself beautifully to the dynamics of poetry and lit readings. So much so that Amye holds the events sans microphone, a portion of readings that I myself have had a difficult time adjusting to. With the comforting glow of soft lights and the warming architecture and aura amidst the crowd, each reader seemed comfortable. In their element. It seemed to me as if we were all long-time friends joining together to share a few drinks and words slightly tinged with hops and warmed by the sound of genuine laughter.

Each of the readers impressed me last night and left me with a hopeful feeling about the growth of the arts in and around the Northeast PA region. Without events such as Prose in Pubs, the arts and talent present in your own back yard becomes hidden. Glowing treasures only unearthed by chance.

Here's to Amy Archer, Jim Warner, Prose in Pubs and all of the amazing talent showcased last night and in the months to come. Bottoms up, my fellow ink-bleeders.


Jack's Draft House FB


-Follow Prose in Pubs and Jack's Draft House on Facebook.

-Read the interview with Amye Archer about Prose in Pubs at the570.com.

-Be sure to visit Amye Archer and Brian Fanelli at their blogs located in my "Less Frustrated Folk" section.

-The next Prose in Pubs is scheduled for Sept. 25th. Stay tuned for details.





Tell your story.

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on Thursday, July 21, 2011

0

That is one of the most important things I was told after reading the first seven pages of what is to become my first full-length book to a group of writers I meet with every week. "Tell your story." That is my plan. The first words hit the page just a few days ago and it has started off slowly. Transitioning from writing mostly poetry to re-introducing prose into the mix has been my most difficult task.


The story is all upstairs. Imagined and envisioned within the workings of my skull. Morphing the idea and imagery into words on a page feels like a futile alchemy experiment at times. But I've got the engine turning. Now it's just a matter of pumping in some fuel.

My characters have begun to breath and speak. They choose their words and actions. Where they roam. How they see and feel. What they believe. How they love, or don't love. Choices. Now, all I need to remember is to let myself breath while I record their lives.

So, I will tell my story. Let it bleed onto the page. Let my mind and hands take over. Let my characters speak to me and one another. 

"Writing is nothing more than a guided dream."
~Jorge Luis Borges

“If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing,
 or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.”
~Anais Nin

“There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; 
sometimes it's like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.”
~Ernest Hemingway



"On Air" by Robin Stratton

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Tuesday, June 28, 2011

0


Taking a break from my current 700-page behemoth reading selection, I sat down with On Air, the new book from author, poet, editor, writing coach and Boston-ite Robin Stratton.

Stratton brings us into Eric Storm's life, a once-successful DJ for KROQ in Boston, who's life seems to be spinning to a disappointing, empty end. Storm's career as a DJ, once considered his dream job, has now become the bane of his existence as he spends time on air playing music he loathes until, after one too many acts of rebellion, he's fired. Three-years divorced from his wife, her painting studio remains untouched in his house, clinging to the memories of a once-happy marriage. His only friend is an unkempt man he met randomly after his show one night and his mother, the only family and real connection Storm has in his small world, is in declining health and driving him nuts through her love.

Though Eric is a middle-aged man, the story is, ultimately, one of maturation and growth. A movement from a self-centered, blame-shifting attitude to that of a truly understanding and mature man. Growth that, as Eric learns, should have been made much earlier in his life. We're dropped in the latter half of this transition, but learn, through Eric's recollections of the past, that his focus was on himself.
"But rather than ask how she is, I start talking, and I don't shut up...and it takes me three years to notice her happy smile fades. She even takes a step back, I see her take a step back. But do I stop talking? Hell, no! Talking, talking, talking...My needs, what makes me happy, what I like to do. Me  me me!"

Creating a believable and honest character of the opposite sex is always met with some challenges. There are intricacies inherent with your own gender, as a writer, which can and will seep into a character. Though Eric certainly carries some more feminine qualities, Stratton has created a character where these qualities come through naturally and perfectly.

Eric is not a rough and hard exteriored man, but a soft and timid man. A mama's boy in the best sense of the word, though he tries to deny it. He wants to be the ladies man. The heroic and tough man ready to beat someone to a pulp whenever it's deserved. But, as his friend Reynolds says, playing the role of the wise old man and philosopher throughout the book, "You can't take a break from being who you are".

At first, Eric's character got on my nerves a bit. He was whiny and never liked to examine himself and he approached romance like a child. That side of him comes out during his infatuation with the young street performer, Leesha. As I read on about his lust and general giddiness for this young girl, it was no surprise to me that his wife had left him. He was a child in thought still chasing after ridiculous dreams. Some of his comments and internal dialogue irked me. At times, I wanted to grab him by the shirt collar and tell him to grow up.

And he does. Stratton puts Eric to the test and pushes him further than he's ever been pushed before. She forces him to grow up through circumstances beyond his control and, as we read through the book, we see the transformation. By the end, after I had gone through emotions I had not expected to roll through with this book, I was happy for the man. Glad he had learned the error of his ways and found that the happiness and life he had been longing for was right in front of him. He just had to man up and go after it.

In a 173 pages, Stratton took me through the gambit of emotions. Recent events in my life may have contributed to how strongly some of her words touched me as a reader, but there's undeniable feeling here and connections that any reader can relate to. Stratton's writing is tight and focused, only straying when Eric takes a moment to lose himself within his own thoughts. She always finds a way to bring him back to point, however. Stratton will make you laugh in one paragraph and hit you with some incredible insight on life in the next.
"Sometimes it's possible, for a hundredth of a second, to conceive of the past, present, and future, all happening simultaneously...Only I know, here in the present, which is the future of the past. My mind struggles with the nearness of the epiphany, then retreats, incapable of understanding."
Watch how well she weaves her characters together. If there was any excess to the story, Stratton has cut it all out and left you with nothing but the good stuff. Each interaction and event in Eric's life is essential to his growth and story.

A witty, funny, sometimes heartbreaking book, On Air is definitely worth picking up and checking out. You can read it in an evening and reread it again to pick up on anything you may have missed. Eric's character grew on me and Stratton's style and way of telling a story was a refreshing break from what I had been reading.

On Air is available from Blue Mustang Press and Amazon.com. For more information on Robin Stratton and other books she's written, including her poetry collections, visit RobinStratton.com.

Also, check out the Boston Literary Magazine which Robin edits. Their 5th anniversary, Summer 2011 issue is now available in print from Big Table Publishing.

..

A surprising treat at First Friday

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Sunday, June 05, 2011

0

What an incredibly filled weekend. Beginning with Scranton First Friday, a bad alternator, replacing said alternator, breakfast at Sky Haven airport this morning and ending with Bluegrass fiddles and banjos at the NEPA Bluegrass Festival. I've got some writing and other, less important things to do. But first, a treat.

Chip Forelli 

There is one thing that I must mention about First Friday. Chip Forelli. Some of you may already know about him. Especially those with Apple computers. Chip Forelli, a photographer who's work spans 25 years, is the featured artist at Camera Work gallery in Scranton. He produces some of the most amazing black and white photographs I've seen in a while.

My creative quest is the discovery of visual gifts - those precious instances of unrevealed beauty that  we unknowingly encounter every day.  Much is to be gained by embracing these opportunities. 

That's not your average, artistic banter either. Chip's images range from mysterious and perplexing to absolutely beautiful and breathtaking. In a medium which is becoming over-saturated with bland, cliche and overly Photoshoped work, Chip's images are a breath of fresh air. His long exposures bring an ethereal, dream-like aura into the image captured. A moment in time, seemingly captured in the stillness of the print, begins to play out right before your eyes.

Chip Forelli
Although I didn't get a chance to speak with Chip, I overheard him talking about one of the pieces on display at Camera Work. The image is a frozen, snow-covered lake. Two sets of footprints begin in the foreground together before moving apart creating separate paths to destinations unknown. When asked if he had created the prints himself, Chip commented that the scene portrayed in the photo was found that way. "Two people had a disagreement and went their separate ways," said Chip. A much more insightful and interesting answer than "I don't know".

Chip Forelli
The gallery is on display until June 29th and is free to the public. Anyone heading to the Scranton Zine Fest, where myself and a few other writer/poets will be reading, will be able to check it out.

Chip Forelli

Prepare the tinfoil hats

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Friday, May 20, 2011

0

Harold Camping predicts the end is here.
Tomorrow is the end of the world. It has been prophesied by the great Harold Camping. This man has never been wrong about anything pertaining to religion in his long career at Family Radio. He has studied the Bible from cover to cover. Word for word. He's crunched the numbers and he's predicted that tomorrow is it. On May 21st at 6:00 p.m. in each time zone, the rapture will occur. Good, God-fearing Christians will be beamed into heaven like holy Batsignals.

Families have been divided. Some have budgeted their savings to have absolutely nothing left come tomorrow. Evangelists are preaching from their piles of cash to save the world and atheists are cashing in on post-rapture pet care. No need to empty the shelves at the local grocery stores. This isn't Y2K. This is the god damn (pun slightly intended) rapture. Tomorrow, the man with the wavy hair, carefully crafted beard and birkenstocks will be knocking on your door and telling you whether you've been naughty or nice. Hint: if you suddenly end up near the largest bonfire you've ever seen, chances are you weren't nice. Or, at the very least, you didn't put enough folding money in the basket when it was passed around during mass. Pearly gates aren't cheap.

After all the pious folk are shot up into their sky-condos, we immoral, corrupted, non-believing blasphemers will have to endure Hell on Earth until October 21st. I could have sworn we've already been experiencing a bit of it here, but this will be the time when God turns it up to 11. It's going to be a vacation created from the pages of Dante. At least people will have no use for spray-tans anymore. Their flesh will be a lovely shade of charcoal. And, on October 21st, God will play Freebird and pull the plug. Lights out. Earth done. Humanity gone.

Or, on Sunday, we'll all sit back and watch Mr. Camping backpedal for the second time. He'll say he must have missed something in the Bible. Families who've torn themselves apart over this ridiculous concept will, at the very least, share awkward moments or be completely torn apart forever. People who've quit their jobs will be scrambling to find another, in an economy where it's nearly impossible to find anything decent, since more level-headed individuals scooped their old positions up the moment they left. And those who've budgeted themselves to have nothing left will be filing for bankruptcy or applying for loans to keep themselves from living on the streets.

Either Camping is right and tomorrow is the end of days. Or, he's simply another religious lunatic who's ruined the lives of many as he sits comfortably upon his cash. Either way, I plan on lounging around on Sunday (towering infernos or not), sipping a beer and probably caring about the passing "apocalypse" as much as an atheist can. Maybe I'll try to buy a house on the post-rapture market.

A quick word on my words

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Thursday, May 19, 2011

1

Recently, my poem "Legs, lips, sex & jazz" was published in issue #4 of Word Fountain, a publication from the Osterhout Free Library in Wilkes-Barre, PA. It's a free, local literary journal compiled and distributed by the staff of the library. Submissions for each issue are based around a central idea. Issue #4's focus was centered on music. Though I haven't had a chance to sit down and read the issue yet, you can read the online version here. If you're interested in submitting or obtaining a copy of the issue, contact information can be found here.

In June, two more of my poems will be appearing in the Boston Literary Magazine for the 2011 Summer issue. It will appear online first and in print shortly thereafter. You can read past issues and find out more information on this great journal at BostonLiteraryMagazine.com.

Lastly, if you live anywhere near Scranton, PA, myself and a few other poets/writers will be reading at the first ever Scranton Zine Fest on June 11th. For more information on that event, see my previous post and visit ScrantonZineFest.com.

Cheers,
Dale R. Wilsey Jr.

Art, poetry and zines: Scranton Zine Fest 2011

Posted by Unknown | Posted in , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on Wednesday, May 18, 2011

0

Zines have been a staple of the DIY community, music scenes, art scenes and they've carried the voices of rebellion and free thought for decades. On June 11th, the growing art community of Scranton will converge on Center Street to celebrate this diverse, pulp-filled art form.

Zine Fest is the creation of Jessica Meoni, a fourth-year, Graphic Design student at Marywood, who has been involved with past events such as Scranton Ladyfest. Recently, she has joined the design committee of the Pages & Places Book Festival and the Scranton Reads committee.

Jessica has brought together "zinesters" from all over to participate in the event. As an added bonus, she's invited a few poets to the mix for a reading to take place in what used to be the Anthology bookstore.

The Fest is fast approaching and Saturday evening, amidst a few beers (and one delicious bowl of chili) at Jack's Draft House, I met with Jessica and the other poets who I'll be reading with the day of. Among them are Brian Fanelli, a friend and poet from the area who's chapbook Frontman contains poems which traces the journey of a liberty-spiked punk rocker, Amy Archer, who's made 80's hair poetic (it can be done), Alexis Czencz Belluzi, Rachael Goetzke and Charlotte Lewis. The reading will take place at 4 p.m. and will be hosted by Brian Fanelli.

The Fest promises to be an eclectic mix of people and ideas which Jessica has ideas of continuing as an annual event. Tables will be arranged along Center Street and will feature art work, an array of zines and arts & crafts from varying sources. Even the poets have a table (they'll be selling everything from jewelry to souls). You can check out the Zine Fest site for more information on who will be there and what the fest will entail.

For more about the poets, you can visit these sites:
The Fat Girl Skinny - Amy Archer's blog
BrianFanelli.com

...and you're already reading mine.

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)