Tag Archives: love

“to live”

Posted on by

A March 2024 sketch done with a ridiculously large Ticonderoga preschooler pencil
“Little Karole” would blossom into a six-foot-tall, gorgeous woman who’d live an amazing life as a stained glass artist. And much later, she’d become my beautiful mother-in-law.

perhaps it is my 60 years of age inspiring the words below, it could be that the majority of my new friends, most in their 70’s and 80’s, continue to open my eyes in every direction but down

“to live”

I don’t believe the phrase “to live” means escaping our burdens

I don’t believe “to live” means transforming ourselves or collecting accolades

I don’t believe “to live” includes acquiring wealth or building empires  

I don’t believe “to live” means ignoring the past or focusing on the remaining years as we age

I never believe “to live” is expressed through curated media or grinning images

I do believe “to live” creates dubious comparisons of one against the other

I do believe the phrase “what it means to live” suffocates dreams before they begin

I do believe “to live” finding strength in our efforts amid others indifference

“to live” brave in our ‘individualness’ while accepting others in theirs

“to live” caring for ourselves so we can care for others

 “to live” stepping forward when we’ve lost someone behind us

And I always believe “to live for today” when it is tomorrow

am:)

Yes, Thinking about Millie Again

Posted on by
Another recent sketch – I call this one, Movie Star Millie, drawn from a 3″ photo taken in Atlantic City when my mom’s life was opened to an ocean of possibilities

To keep my focus on the spirit of an image and not become mired in details, “My First Ticonderoga” #2 HB lead pencil is the only art implement I use. This pencil is a cumbersome preschooler one. Many times while sketching, this ginormous lead pencil really pisses me off, but I persevere, because I need the practice.


Why Millie this morning –

While reorganizing my studio desk, I opened the box tucked in the far back of the top drawer. In the small box, a Metropolitan Museum angel ornament Millie had given me years back, plus, other keepsakes added along the way. One such keepsake, another gift from Millie, was a poem printed on ‘parchment’ and its accompanying angel pin whose wings had broken off and disappeared.

I got to thinking how missing wings don’t matter. Missing wings will never matter.
Millie’s angel will always lift me up.

xo
am:)
Happy April Flowers

Sometimes the cold tries very hard

Posted on by

to bore into the underbelly of our hearts.

When trying to imagine the light
this grey time of year can envelop us
in its blue without shadow

To taste the sun on our bones
we must always be willing to barrel down the glassy peaks —
ice be damned!

(image courtesy of some screensaver thing somewhere)

– this morning I was thinking about the ice dark outside my studio window and these words found their way into my cold dang fingers – this is my winter desktop every year – it changes along with the seasons

I hope you’re all managing well.
am:)

Bringing the Misfits Home

Posted on by

Bringing the Misfits Home
A Sentimental Christmas Memory

we embrace every relative
     load up the wagon, pack in tight and leap onto the highway
Staten Island to New Jersey
     chrome steeds try galloping past our Country Squire, but Dad fantasizes he’s lead stallion
from the rear-facing seat, I watch the mesmerizing herd of headlights
      trail farther and farther behind       
no other man (driving 90 miles an hour) will ever replace this depth of faith
     my fierce childhood possession, always

into the cold, dark Jersey night, we arrive home
       the V-8 shudders, the presents cushioning our sleepy heads rattle
       my little sister’s pigtails shift on my shoulder, I shake the bones to wake us up     
Tima’s barking gnaws the sleep crust from our eyes
        while we unpack every last ounce of Italian cheer and clamp our gifts
       beneath all available arms
my brothers, sisters and I march like weary soldiers across the snowy lawn  
       we trudge up the brick stoop and into our warm home
pajamas quickly managed, we mime brushing our teeth

       Mom tucks us in and kisses our cheeks with her smile brighter than winter
I surround myself with stuffed animals, swaddle in blankets
       and stare out my bedroom window to search for the blazing star of my picture books
      (I’ll later learn that I’d been praying to Venus all along)

tomorrow, like clockwork, Emile will stop at the corner of our street
       yell out in his mildly, terrified mailman voice, “WHERE’S TIMA?”
one of us will step into the cold to coax our hefty German shepherd
      away from her favorite place on the front stoop to bring her inside
      and just like that, Christmas is officially over

(Opening image, 1980 – Christmas Tree)
(Image directly above, 1980 – my little brother, Vito, me and our goofy shepherd, Rosie
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find an image of our childhood shepherd, Tima, a much more serious-minded shepherd )

Hope you’re all doing well ❤️
am:)

A Two-headed Calf Once Broke My Heart

Posted on by

For those unfamiliar with the poem The Two-headed Calf, it was written by Laura Gilpin (1950-2007). This force of nature came to me by way of my dear friend, DS Levy.

Ms. Gilpin’s tragic, yet beautiful portrait reminds us of the choice each one of us can make regardless of our circumstance or time on this earth. The Two-headed Calf is taped to my computer where my singular brain absorbs it daily.

When I was a child, my brothers and sisters often visited the Blauvelt Museum (shown below) to gaze at its many taxidermy displays. One animal in particular always tore at my heart — the two-headed calf mounted on the wall above the mantle who looked through me with her six dark limpid eyes. How I wish I knew of Ms. Gilpin’s poem back then.

Hiram Blauvelt was a philanthropist, conservationist, art and animal collector. Ironically, Hiram was a big game hunter, and his kills provided the conservationist displays.

“Through his big game and private wildlife art collections, Hiram hoped to promote the cultural value of wildlife art and the need for conservation of its subjects and their habitats.” “Founded in 1957 as a natural history museum, the Blauvelt Museum introduced students, scouts and youth groups to the need to support wildlife and habitats conservation. Visiting artists created drawings and paintings from close observation of the specimens.”

In searching for the images for this post, I was elated to learn of Blauvelt’s direction. When the ‘hunt-then display to promote conservationism’ philosophy fell out of favor, “…the Board of Directors of the Blauvelt-Demarest Foundation decided that the original objectives would be best achieved by redesigning the museum to feature the works of contemporary wildlife artists, built on the artistic foundation of the Blauvelt’s early collection of works…” And among its many wonderful events, today’s Blauvelt also hosts an art museum residence program.

I Miss Her Too Much—Still

Posted on by

I don’t often show post-stroke images of my beautiful mom. I share the image (below) to share Millie’s joy.

Through three years of relentless pain, Millie smiled and expressed joy. Knowing her was a gift, and her lessons of love🌹 remain with me.

As her Halloween Birthday🎃 arrives, I will smile impossibly wide to pay Millie’s gift forward in a world that needs a hell of a lot more love❤️🌎

I wish you all a fun, fabulous, creative, smiling, and safe👻Happy Halloween!
am:)

(image below taken many harvest moons ago when Millie and Billy were cruisin’ around in their convertible Mustang GT, and my kiddies were not yet costing us college money😁)

Why Create in This Woeful World of Ours

Posted on by

“With all the darkness that’s going on the world, you can look at the darkness, just
don’t stare. It will make you crazy. It will make you cross eyed. It will make you
what it is. The solution is to create magic, dance, sing, love. Create environments
where you can create joy. Because you can create joy.” —RuPaul

Occasionally and sometimes often, I remind myself why it is that I create critters and creatures from the comfort of a warm and comfortable studio, sleeping dachshund at my feet, food in the fridge, clean water at my disposal (for now…) while man’s madness blinds him to the fires burning the land, the books, the beauty, the ballot boxes, the bridges, the rainbows…

Millie’s Rainbow

Posted on by

This post was inspired by a ‘new’ image.

It’s a wonderful gift to receive an image you’ve never seen before of a person you’ll not see again (in this version of life). My mom’s cousin had recently sent me a batch of family photos, a few of the images I’d not seen before – what a treasure to see my mom’s pearlescent smile in a ‘new’ way. I merged Millie’s image into the rainbow photo shown.

The rainbow happened on a most horrible day — a day not blackened by the dark weather but by my words. It was the day I told my sweet mother I was sending her to a nursing home. And that beautiful woman had the gall to smile, to tell me she understood and that everything would be okay.

The weight of my heart forced my tears forward like the storm. Then not long afterward, the rain stopped, the storm clouds moved on their way, and there outside, arcing over my house, was the most complete and perfect rainbow I’d ever seen. It was Millie’s Rainbow.

Thank you,
AnnMarie❤️

The Steady Blue Firmament

Posted on by

vito fbi copy 3
Dear Dad,

Your eyes flashed the colors of a summer storm.
Thunder rolled along the pink of your mouth.
Your shadow filled our home whether you were with it or not.
All this hurricane in one man.

But as terrifying as the clouds of my childhood could be at times, you were the sky.
How I miss the steady blue firmament of your presence in my life.
Today, somewhere out there in the nebula, you’ve turned 92 years old.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Love,
AnnMarie

Happy Father’s Day

Posted on by

Dang, I miss my dad quite a lot. Can’t believe it has been six years.