The Quiet Humble of a Role Model

Posted on July 16, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
I’m a floating sideline spectator whenever the giant husband and big son are entertained by crunching helmets, leaping high-tops or cracking bats. Once in a while, I’ll land on the couch and observe the action up close. Above the din, there is one echo I listen for. A sound one must hear with both ears open these days – the quite humble of a role model. It’s a rare combination of platinum ethics and golden athletic prowess. The man donning pinstripes No.2 possesses this treasured combination. Each time Derek Jeter tips his cap, he lifts a young fan’s heart.

Throughout Derek Jeter’s prolific career, his on – but more importantly – his off-field image has gleamed. One sometimes wonders the plausibility of such a feat anymore when ridiculous entitlement breeds contempt. Derek Jeter has exhibited with grace and class how to be outrageously talented yet quietly humble. And now I’ll wait for a few more superstars to step up to the plate and shine for all those watching, including my children…

Perhaps in the end, I admire Derek Jeter most for his endearing sentiments-
“You try to carry yourself the right way. I’ve always tried to do that. Then again I am who I am. I don’t try to be any different. If people respect you for the way that you carry yourself, it means a lot to me and it means a lot to my family. It makes you feel good.” -Derek Jeter as quoted by the Associated Press

Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of the world’s children playing ball happily together.

Photo of the big son at age 12, taken during last year’s wrestling season
Acrylic painting, Delicate Daughter & Big Son, 4′ x 2′ on canvas, 2008

In an Elephant’s Eye

Posted on July 15, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
Do you ever have one of those outer-body experiences? It usually happens when you pose the intrusive question, “Who am I really?” Then you become aptly concerned when you don’t have enough solid information to answer yourself. Sometimes outer-body occurs after staring at your reflection too long. You investigate the mask you happen to be wearing at the time and think, “Is this what they see when they see me?”

The elephant is one of a handful of mammals who recognizes its own reflection. This beautiful creature doesn’t get caught up in human over-analyzations. In an elephant’s eye it sees who it is – nothing more, nothing less – it sees itself and simply knows its purpose for the day…

I had a little fun with this beautiful creature, imparting human qualities upon its regal form. I thought if elephants were people they might become a tad self-concious after watching, The Biggest Loser.

Belly Mask

Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of tutu-clad elephants dancing a lullaby…

Elephant close-up rendered in Prisma on construction paper, 2009
Belly Mask rendered in Prisma July 14, 2014

The Talking Mushroom and the Little Red Fox

Posted on July 10, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
There once lived a little red fox-

fox

Her auburn fur edged with gold, flickered in the sunlight whenever she ran about the forest. She was smart and lovely, yet she was unhappy. Though she could do all things in perfect fox-form, she dreamt of being a kangaroo. Daily she practiced graceful long jumps. The little red fox could even leap much higher than her older brothers. But this amazing athletic prowess, didn’t satiate her bounding appetite. She wanted to be a kangaroo. One misty morning with dew saturating her delicate toes, the little red fox came upon a purple-spotted mushroom. It was a purple-spotted fungus, the likes of which she’d never seen.

“My dear child,” bubbled the purple-spotted mushroom from his damp earthen throne, “you are unhappy.”

“Yes,” replied the little fox, not even a bit concerned she was talking to a purple-spotted fungus.

“I can make you happy,” whispered the mushroom low, as not to share his secret.

“How?” asked the little red fox, unable to contain her excitement.

“One bite of me and your dream will come true.”

The little red fox wasted not a moment, she chomped on the purple-spotted mushroom. When she awoke next morning, she could not push up on her strong front paws as she done all the previous days of her life. She rolled to her side, then much to her surprise, sprang up. So forceful was the leap, she soared fifty feet across the forest floor. The little red fox landed by a large puddle that had collected between gnarly tree roots and rock. She caught her reflection in the shimmering water. Her wish had been granted – her dream realized. Instead of being jubilant for the change, she sobbed mightily. She was neither a little red fox nor a complete kangaroo…

There was once a snowman who wished he was a fox-

Snow Fox

Hope you enjoyed my little fable.
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of being content in your own skin…

(Fox Up Close: Prisma, 2000, Foxroo: acrylic on canvas, 1999, Snowman with Fox Mask: Prisma, two days ago)

Why Can’t Marilyn Die?

Posted on July 1, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
What is it about Marilyn Monroe? Our appetite for her is limitless.

I fell for her too. I created all these Marilyn images while in college to fill bare apartment walls.

Though gorgeous, sexual beings have gone before and will after (especially today with sophisticated ‘self-improvement’ technologies) none will ever come close to Marilyn’s platinum pulchritude. What is it beyond her obvious blessings? What keeps Norma Jean ever present on our radar.

Perhaps, the perception of innocence around her persona allows us to love her above all others. It allows us to forgive her ‘naive’ transgressions. We blame Hollywood, we blame the machine for allowing her to slip through the cracks. Had her full lips creased at forty-five, would she have tarnished? Would her ‘innocence’ have turned stale? Maybe…

I don’t know about ‘candles in the wind,’ I only know Marilyn Monroe ended her life (unless you subscribe to other conspiracy theories) before life ended her. As for me, I’m still looking for Elvis and Jim.

Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of statuesque blonde angels…

(magazine pic taken in local Stop & Shop, top Marilyn: 18″ x 24″ print from zinc plate etching, middle Marilyn: 5′ x 3′ acrylic painting, bottom Marilyn 9′ conté crayon) All images painted from photographic reference, couldn’t locate original photographers’ names, if anyone knows, please pass on – all photo images are under different estates…thank you

Hitchhikers Are Not Wolves

Posted on June 24, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
Though I’m done with subbing for the year, I drove my kids to school this morning. They generally ride the bus, unless they present a convincing plea. The delicate daughter has perfected the art of pleading. This morning’s plea began last night. She had the Chemistry Regents today and was concerned about AM cafeteria crowding…. The big son’s eighth-grade graduation was also today.

After the AM school drop off, I merrily made my way back home. I was thinking about what to wear for the “Recognition Ceremony” and was hoping I plucked everything in need of plucking. Not fully concentrating, I had to pull my giant vehicle left to avoid a gent walking roadside. If Nair and tweezers hadn’t been invented, we might be related. He was unkempt in appearance. He wore a cap which concealed his eyes. He was quite thin and his shoulders were slumped, but he held his fist erect. His thumb was up and my head was down. Why? Every time I pass a hitchhiker, I picture Stephen King. Then I think – this person is not a wolf…

I often brag how tough I am. My inner-tomboy would whomp anyone bringing discomfort to my loved ones. Why does the little girl in me say, ‘keep driving….’ when she sees a thumb up. I feel tremendous guilt passing hitchhikers by, but I continue to do so. Maybe if the times were different, maybe. Hitchhikers are not wolves…hitchhikers are not wolves…

Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be protected by Sweet Lobo of Moon Clan.

(This is a detail of a 5′ x 5′ oil painting on canvas, I think I painted this wolf about 6 years ago)

Linus Who?

Posted on June 23, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,

Partial Wikipedia entry: “Linus Carl Pauling (February 28, 1901 – August 19, 1994) was an American chemist, biochemist, peace activist, author, and educator. He was one of the most influential chemists in history and ranks among the most important scientists of the 20th century. Pauling was one of the founders of the fields of quantum chemistry and molecular biology.

For his scientific work, Pauling was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1954. In 1962, for his peace activism, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. This makes him the only person to be awarded two unshared Nobel Prizes. He is one of only four individuals to have won more than one Nobel Prize (the others being Marie Curie, John Bardeen, and Frederick Sanger). Pauling is also one of only two people to be awarded Nobel Prizes in different fields, the other being Marie Curie.”

I have officially entered Mr. Pauling into my gray matter. I pray a tiny brain wrinkle forms so this new info keeps. Well my friends, as we dangle upside down contemplating the meaning of our lives and struggle for our minute of fame, notoriety, security, acknowledgment, validation or a simple pat on the back, perhaps the real measure of greatness is finding one’s face in the dictionary margin.

Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of humanity winning the Nobel Peace Prize…

(Sketched this portrait today, beneath the beautiful sun and glorious sky. Cheesy pencil on cheesy paper)

Locked Holy Doors and Worn Tombstones

Posted on June 22, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
This afternoon the giant husband and I did some weekend running around. On the way home, we passed by a lovely old, shingle-sided church.

By appearances, it hadn’t held a congregation in quite some time. The front door was locked and bolted – a sad sight for a house where one is supposed to find solace and prayer. The building might even be for sale – sadder still…

Adjoining this historic structure was an old graveyard.

Many of the stones, some going back to the 1700’s, had served hard time. Some had sprouted lichens.

Still others surfaces were so worn the names and dates were no longer readable.

Some stones rested on one another for support, clinging to the last vestiges of their earthen anchors.

There was a beautiful tree, its powerful branches watching over and protecting its wards.

It continues cherishing thousands of secrets and keeping whispers safe.

Over the years, I’ve passed by many houses of worship. Their doors locked when services are not underway. I’ve passed by ancient cemeteries too, some a bit neglected.
In times of real need, we alone must bow our heads to dream of hope, pray for peace and hold onto our loved ones as long as possible on this earth…

This post is dedicated to Phyllis Rose who lost her battle with cancer on Friday night. My mom told me of Phyllis’s passing. She was 53. I hadn’t seen Phyllis Rose since I was in my teens. On Friday night, I was worrying about getting the grocery shopping done…life is…
Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be peaceful and your wishes all come true…

(Sketched the day of this post. This is my handsome nephew, VW. Image inspired by my sister Dolores’s photo)

ALL is Not Divisible by Two

Posted on June 19, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
Sixteen short years ago, I left my career. It was a surprise even to me. I had planned on working right through the whole mom thing. Why not? I could multitask with the best of them. I had color-coding down to a science. I was not only a list maker, I was a List Master.

Go ahead, throw in that new baby ’cause there was nothing I couldn’t do. Besides, all the women I worked with returned after having babies so would I. I adored my career. I loved walking into my big office, (though I didn’t appreciate the kitchenette location if someone was microwaving broccoli). Creating 4/C textbooks and their ancillary components required a small planet of talented people. My staff was terrific and I had a fabulous administrative assistant. After months of arduous work, I always loved having a tangible product to shove proudly into someone’s hands.

I only knew how to do my job one way – ALL. I worked many hours often and always. It was how my parents raised me. You give your ALL so ALL was what I gave. I was Atlas – the weight of the publishing planet upon my back.

Eight months after the delicate daughter entered my autobiography, I gave notice. I only knew ALL and ALL was not divisible by two. For many months afterward I color-coded toy baskets, made infinite to-do-lists and wrote about a little alien in my house…

Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be weightless and pain-free this evening…

(I rendered fashion gal in pen and ink, ball on back girl is pencil, Prentice Hall cover design and interior design by me. Skeletal System in Motion cover illustration by the talented illustrator: Keith Kasnot )

The Middle Kingdom

Posted on June 18, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
Today, I mistakenly left the Jonathan Tropper book I was reading at home. So for some light lunch reading I grabbed an Ancient Civilization textbook from the room I was subbing in. Since my mind has been on the Far East, I opened to Ancient China. I’d read this chapter before but hadn’t thought beyond the 12-point Times Roman.

Through no fault of their own and perhaps a tad bit of ego, the ancient Chinese believed they were nearly alone in the world. There was no possibility of other powerful civilizations like the Egyptians, Romans or Greeks existing beyond the seas and mountains that cut them off from the rest of the planet. Convinced they were the center of the universe, the Ancient Chinese called themselves the Middle Kingdom. Funny, don’t many of us think this way? If we don’t extend ourselves, we too believe we are the center of our universe.

I like the idea of a Middle Kingdom. I wonder what the characters – cut off from the rest of their world – might look like. I collected some older sketches that could be interesting springboards for, “Monsters in the Middle.” Hey, isn’t that already a show?
This gal might be a protector of a crystal cradle –

This guy could be a water/sand creature-

And of course there would be other creatures dwelling mountainside, possibly deep within caves-

Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be filled with gentle space creatures…

Someone Hit My Car in Answer to a Prayer

Posted on June 17, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
The delicate daughter has been raised in the art of promptness. Last week, on the way to her Kmart job, we were stopped dead in our tracks. Motorcycles – three abreast – cruised down our country lane. It was an amazing spectacle. Many woman riders were cruising by solo. Almost fifteen minutes elapsed before the last motorcycle flying a, ‘Wounded Warrior Project,’ banner cruised by. They must’ve raised quite a bit for our veterans.

I too, once owned a motorcycle. It was really cute, an all black Kawasaki 250 (if memory serves). I imagined cruising down the highway as an uber-cool, independent babe astride her slick motor-horse-

I have always been captivated my Marlon Brando and his suave biker image. If Marlon and James Dean’s genetics had ever mixed their offspring would have been into motocross-

Back to the little Kawasaki. I kept it at a good friend’s car shop. He let me practice in the shop parking lot after hours. I could make left turns with no effort. Righthand turns were a problem. I couldn’t turn right without dropping the bike. I felt off-balance and blamed it on my left-handedness. One day I said a little prayer, “Dear God, I don’t know if I should keep the bike. I can’t seem to do the ‘right’ thing. Please send me a sign. I’ll keep practicing until I hear back from you,” AnnMarie.

The very afternoon I uttered this prayer, I was driving my sporty, charcoal-grey metallic, Nissan 240SX to my friend’s shop to practice riding my motorcycle. A man in a Ferrari-owned pickup truck was making an illegal u-turn. I was coming around a blind corner doing 65 in my little sports car. We smashed. My car slid across the opposite lane of traffic. Since God sent the sign, he pushed my car fast enough so it avoided oncoming traffic. Though I was spared, the right side of my car was not. The gentleman in the truck was fine too, with only a small cut on his forehead. Well, I learned from that day to be careful of what I prayed for. I sold the motorcycle and had my car redone.

For these past 2 weeks, I’ve been driving by a sleek black motorcycle with a For Sale sign on it. I have that old feeling. I’d like to give motorcycles another try. Tonight when the giant husband opened his mail, this was in it –

I’ll take it as a sign…

Thank you and goodnight. May you ride side-by-side with Marlon and James toward a gorgeous sunset and wakeup to the glorious sun…

(motorcycle silo with funky front wheel rendered in marker, biker chick done in watercolor and pencil, Marlon/James combo created with colored pencil and marker)