art

Western People

Three men and two women posing at a reception event

I’m still a little stunned in the wake of our trip with Scranton Fringe to Ballina, Ireland. Although I’m not blessed with Irish ancestors myself, most of the Irish-American in Scranton can trace their roots back to County Mayo in the country’s rural Northwest. In many of these traditional villages, they are bring back use of the traditional Irish Gaelic. We were fortunate to have sightseeing time built into the trip and spent several photogenic hours in Westport and at Downhead Patrick in Ballycastle, the Ballinglen Museum of Art, Ceide Fields neolithic archeological site, and on along the coast to Belmullet. My first time leaving the U.S. after so many years of hardwork, struggle and sacrifice as a single mother, it was personally a soul expanding experience. We saw six rainbows! I always thought the rainbow was a mythological character in old folk tales but in October, the weather changes back and forth from sun to showers so quickly, real rainbow sightings are almost a daily occurrence! Who knew? There are quite a few images and videos from our trip on my social media accounts.

Working at the Ballina Arts Centre and meeting the lovely audiences who came to support our shows was the professional highlight. It’s going to take some time to process the last 10 days. In the meantime, I had to share this lovely bonus prize that came to our attention as our plane landed at JFK yesterday and we turned off Airplane Mode.

They got Maureen and I reversed in the cutline here. I am on the left between the Ballina Mayor and Ireland’s Minister of Culture and Maureen is on the right-hand side, but neither of us could care less about that. The people who know us know who we are and those who met us will remember it was Maureen on the stage and me behind the scenes. It was definitely a career highlight that makes me newly grateful that I didn’t give up my passion for the arts while anchored by the practical choices I’ve had to make to survive.

Thank you, Ireland, for your tremendous hospitality! I hope to see you again before too long.

October 29, 2025 0

The Ferment: Creativity and Burnout

Two years after opening a file in FadeIn, I finally finished the first episode of The Ferment. This was a couple of weeks ago and I’ve been letting it sit before making some more edits before sharing the script with my colleagues. I’ve been writing episodes two and three simultaneously, so it won’t take too much longer to finish the next two. I’m giving myself until the end of June.

In the meantime, school has been as much work as I’ve come to expect — teaching seven classes for the fourth semester in a row. I am cutting back in the fall. I’ve made a promise to myself and to my art. Not trying to be a downer, but it was my birthday last week and I’m very aware I might not have as much time left as I’d like … maybe dying early from workaholicism is preventable. Or can at least be slowed down.

Trying to take a little break today (burnout is rumbling on the horizon), I made another image in the poster series for The Ferment that I also started two years ago. I’ve had this idea written on a post-it for close to a year.

So … I’m slow. Why is everybody in such a hurry all the time? It’s not a race.

Here’s what I made today and what I made last week. Images for a bit … and then I’ll get back to the words (as soon as the semester is over, unless I use writing as a procrastination tactic.)

Peace & Blessings – ali

April 17, 2025 0

Counts as Writing

It’s coming … I promise you.

The first three episodes of The Ferment will be fully scripted (revisions pending further development, of course) by the end of winter break (before the Spring 25 semester).

And for as much as the recent election results suck in so many ways, I will use the dark emotions to fuel the art. Just like I do personally when painful feelings arise. I will make something out of this suffering, too. Perhaps you will join me?

We will make something of value out of the ongoing tragedy – because bad things have been happening and they will continue to happen. We pray they won’t escalate too quickly. We pray the country doesn’t veer too far off-course of Progress while we inject as much positive value into our communities as we can.

We will remain diligent- on watch for abuses of power, corruption, harm, and injustice. Over the weekend, I finally made a donation to the WVIA newsroom because I’m not sure where else independent journalists are working and democracy needs to protect them.

Who has the $10 billion that was spent on political campaign advertising this year?

How many Americans have been made anxious, distrusting, and ill from the bombardment of thought bombs falling for months on our global mind? Pennsylvania, at least, feels harassed and violated. Can some of that gross profit be used to fund independent journalism that cannot be controlled or regulated by the government?

If not, what can be done to put our nerves at ease? Uncertainty, they keep saying, it’s what fuels the fear.

Can we do something with campaign spending that benefits all of us? Can we engage in our communities- give back- generously nurture shared experiences- create opportunity for those without capital who given time and space will envision innovative solutions and writer better stories?

Anyway …

I’m working.

November 12, 2024 0

Holiday Card 2023: Wrapping Paper

*This post includes two concluding stanzas that were cut from the printed card due to lack of space.

Didn’t like the cold so much when I was younger,
blamed the biting air for skipping classes.
But I didn’t know about wool then
(not the cozy kind that doesn’t itch)
and it was colder in the ‘90s.

Now, suffering hot flashes most days,
the chill is welcome.
There’s a luxury to dressing in layers;
topping off coats with concealing cloches.
Glad for the excuse to cover my aging body.

Like wrapping paper,
women over a certain age
have been too hastily discarded,
tossed crumpled into the corner.
Obsolete as a Twilight Zone librarian.

My sister loves the tubes at Christmastime,
the color play of so many designs.
Nothing, she reminds me, is more satisfying
than a full-roll, clean swipe of the scissors.
Stacy used to stay up all night wrapping presents
but gift bags are too easy.

Our grandmas who grew up in the Depression
taught us to save every scrap.
Slice along the Scotch tape,
salvage what you can,
try not to rip the paper.
Recycle that sheet.

A student writes,
“wrapping paper is terrible for the environment.” *
Oh, shit. That, too?
Coated and covered with glitter, foil, tape, and bows,
it’s hardly recyclable.
But couldn’t we all use a little mystery and suspense?
The pleasure of anticipation?
The magic of the reveal?

Can I look the other way on this?
Imagine four months of winter-bare branches
without snow, now and then, to cushion the view.

I spent a lot of time thinking about masks this year.
Not the flimsy paper things we hoped
would slow the virus
But the subservient facade they call normal,
the polite smile that excuses exploitation,
doesn’t complain,
helps the insecure feel superior
and the abusive absolved.

Mine keeps slipping. Oops, sorry, not sorry.
Just trying to be me!
But they don’t like what they see.
And now I don’t even know who to text anymore.

We’re judged by our exteriors
while we insist it’s what’s inside that counts.
Truth is:
nothing inside that package will fill the void inside of you.
The ghosts will be hungry
until you stop wanting.

We prefer potential to reality,
just wanting to feel seen.
Maybe this time?

Your gifts are not a test:
we’re only counting thoughts.
Still, people give envelopes of cash
or can’t miss gift cards
because they know an ill-chosen gift
will give them away.
The poshest packaging in the world
won’t cover their failure to care.
Because they haven’t been paying attention.
They don’t remember what you’ve said.
They don’t really know you at all.
And who has the time to shop?
“Things” aren’t what life’s about.

Is this how people decide we collect things –
like owls or elephants?
Like a nickname, you don’t get to choose.

It’s all got me thinking about intimacy
(as I struggle to write romance)
and how we fall in love as we reveal
what’s inside to one another,
whisper secrets never before shared,
confess high hopes and silly dreams.

This poem has come a long way.
I don’t know if it’s done
but it’s time to wrap it up now.
Pun intended.

*Furoshiki cloths are fine. Use newspaper roses or natural springs of pine and cones
instead of shiny synthetics.

– alicia grega, Nov.-Dec. 2023

December 19, 2023 0

What’s on my white board?

Nothing much. Inspirations and notes. I like to keep it clean, between.

Sister Corita Kent’s rules and Bertolt Brecht, Berlin 1931. Black Scranton Steamtown Magnet. Giving blood is the least I can do to give back; to justify my footprint, my consumption of resources. Always give back. I’m rooting for you Wanda. Nod to Ginsberg’s HOWL on the City Lights Bumper sticker I’m considering putting on the car. That’s an Allen Ginsberg quote scribbled at the top of the board. The Howlmobile does not have a name. Allen into Al; Big Al after my grandfather. Once upon a time, I was Little Al. The Proofreader’s Marks remind me of the Hobo Code.

Post-its to remind me what my brain was thinking. Or should think more about in the future. “Coney Island of the Mind,” Ferlinghetti. “Peter Pan Goes Wrong panto.” Show me why your vision will work (writing workshop). Building Sandcastles. Show within a show. LESSON: Dialogue & time period. Solo performance devising workshop (Fringe?) LC ART 105 OA syllabus + updated content due 5/22 – GOAL 5/15. Most important dates and appointments are written in the planner. Or on the mini board on my desktop.

Above that: the sweetest Christmas correspondence from my daughter in L.A. Bonjour, Miranda!

“The show is over. The audience get up to leave their seats. Time to collect their coats and go home. They turn around – no more coats and no more home.” A postcard from the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh – Untitled (1991) by Christopher Wool.

May 8, 2023 0

Art class still-life display

February 6, 2022 0

the inside of my skin hurts

–The Grace of Mary Traverse, Timberlake WertenbakerThere are so many marvelous lines and stunning passages in this script, I hesitate to pull out one bit to represent. Put this on your reading list. Better yet, stage the thing. Especially recommended for feminists and women’s studies scholars.

July 13, 2018 0

Reverend Billy on the search for an (American) Pussy Riot

Just as fast as possible we have to find the Pussy Riot of our own culture. This is not celebrity or international personality consumerism – the Pussy Riot women carry meaning. The fact that they are so striking a presence is a lesson for us. Commercial artists are now an obscure oxymoron. Beyonce, Gaga, Bieber etc. dare us with meaninglessness. All the smooth-skinned human products persuade us that fame for its own sake, product for the sake of selling – is harmless. No, this approach to culture, which infects the fine arts as well as Hollywood and Broadway, must be slain by the meaning they have left behind. The price that is being paid by all of us for these years of culture with no meaning can be seen in our inability to prevent wars, climate disruption, and the extinction of life. The arts should be leading the way toward a new way of living. At this point, because of how meaningless depoliticized culture is locked in place – the artists of the future, like Pussy Riot, must be revolutionary. Must deliver freedom. Must make the cossacks and cowboys, czars and CEO’s show their crazy violence. -rev

via Reverend Billy And The Stop Shopping Gospel Choir.

February 20, 2014 0

the artist as Servant

Is this where we are now? Intriguing essay on the general public’s mass perception of the artist.

We’ve done away with the ridiculous Outsider Saint. But we’ve replaced him with a Servant whose primary task is to make us feel good about ourselves, either through the work itself, or through the way the work (or the artist’s personal life) allows us to grandstand. She must make art that reifies our core assumptions about the world, lest it be found problematic, and thus bad. He must not leave questions unanswered or uncomfortable realities uncomforted, lest the work’s unsettling nature be taken as a formal weakness. And if she stands up for being paid for her work and/or treated with a modicum of decency, she is, of course, “difficult.”

I’ve felt a degree of this most recently after stepping down from a position this summer in which I essentially worked for free for the theater community for five years. And perhaps I am imagining it all and projecting false convictions. But it seems there has been a subtle level of rejection in the wake of that work. A feeling that the contribution was not enough. That moving on to other work now might be a failure of sorts. I was only worthy, only valuable, as long as I kept giving selflessly, with no concerns for my own artistic interests.

Art doesn’t have to be about the community, but it’s always better when it matters to them, when it has some universality in its appeal. A project I’m drafting a plan for right now is about making art ordinary. Not unlike kids putting on a show in the back yard… a neighborhood happening “marketed” door to door like politicians and restaurants that deliver that will bring people outdoors to an abandoned lot or other open space in which they can share an arts experience, a creative event, and hopefully a positive one, rather than fighting over parking spots, shoveling snow, or watching an ambulance take a neighbor/stranger away.

It’s not about me and it is, to a degree, about public service. Hopefully I will be able to find others willing to sacrifice themselves to such an experiment. 😉

-ag

via The Incredible Shrinking Artist – Parabasis.

February 18, 2014 0

Gregarious Expressions

by Alicia Lynn Grega

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