my treasure

Posted on May 7, 2015 by AM Roselli

I didn’t know your history
your smile never let on
I didn’t know your struggles
you lifted us without complaint
I didn’t know you cried yourself to sleep
you kissed us so gently
I didn’t know you grew up shunned
your embrace included all who entered
I didn’t know your ninth Christmas
you wished only for peace
I didn’t know your childhood
you gave your own children love without conditions

I was a teen, when you told me
how your father drank
all the fights, the smashing glass, the screaming
you were kicked out and had to move nine times
your childhood was a dark story
one you never used to fan futile flames
you welcomed life
donned a brave face
put yourself through college
and never looked back

you are my role model
you are my treasure
you are my dearest friend
Happy Mother’s Day
above my mom at 18, below (and I never lie) my mom at 78

5’x6′ painting done at my mom’s request about eight years ago – all her grandkiddies and all their teeth!

xoxo

Deconstructing Mary

Posted on April 14, 2015 by AM Roselli

I recall two special people every April,
like a pair of sad-eyed jacks –
Abraham Lincoln
and my friend, Mary.
I dream of Lincoln sometimes,
a long voice burning in my head brighter than any bullet.
And my friend Mary.
I met Mary many, many years ago.
She always wore silver hair and a smile
and sipped tea from bone-colored porcelain ware.
That’s what I remember.
Her invitations to tea.
Her framed mantle photos.
Mary’s stories lived in the folds of her face.
Her most prized story floated
in the crinkled waves around her ocean eyes.
While my clumsy fingers fumbled through the handle
of a delicate porcelain tea cup.
Mary told me ‘the’ story at our very first tea,

1912
A young man and his childhood friend were to travel to another country. They planned to find dearest loves and build dream homes. When the auspicious morning arrived, the young man’s travel companion was nowhere in sight. With no appearance by his friend, the young man made a difficult choice. He watched the steamship sally forth toward the horizon and away from him. Gravely disappointed was he to miss the once-in-a-lifetime, maiden voyage of the luxurious RMS Titanic. The young man did eventually meet Mary. And they fell in love. They had ten children. Their children had forty-eight children.

Mary is gone now.
Has been for quite sometime.
But there is always this week in April,
I fondly remember
Abraham Lincoln
and my sweet, departed friend Mary.
Shortly before midnight of April 14, 1912, the RMS Titanic struck an iceberg, at 2:20 am the ship went below the water.
Abraham Lincoln – born February 12, 1809, died April 15, 1865
Dark Nana acrylic on illustration board done many, many years ago before I required eyeglasses.

Fallen Stone, Painted Rocks

Posted on September 11, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
For Americans, September 11th has become a day of remembrance. On this day we remember the fallen, the injured, the loss, the lessons, the heartbreak, the world…

On that pristine, cloudless day in 2001, the New York skyline was blackened. Americans were shocked by tragedy. What happened afterward was nothing short of spectacular. The indomitable American spirit rose up like a phoenix. We grieved long, then we rebuilt the fallen stone.

After 9/11 many of us looked for ways to help out. I painted hundreds of beach pebbles then planted myself in front of the local grocery store. I collected over $1,200 selling rocks for $1, but many teary-eyed people donated much more. We look back and still weep.

The money was given to FDNY Rescue 1 – they’d lost half their company, eleven men.
The portrait below is of FDNY Rescue 1, Firefighter Gary Geidel (44 years of age), who was lost on 9/11/2001. I painted this for his mother.

There are many parts of the world that can’t look back, their lands are still war zones. I pray for worldwide peace. It is very, very difficult…but not impossible.

Thank you. May you too, dream of world wide peace…

A Tall Order

Posted on August 23, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
The big son wants to be giant like his 6’7″ dad. At the big son’s physical, the doctor offered, “You’ll definitely reach six at least.” The big son was waiting for her to say, “and seven inches.” She didn’t. When we arrived back home the big son bemoaned, “I want to be as tall as dad, so I can talk to him – eye to eye.” I supportingly said, “Hey, you may get there. But for now, just use a ladder like everybody else does.”

I have two nephews – brothers – who are 14 months apart. They are amazing kids: bright, handsome, kind, athletic. I jokingly refer to my sister Virginia’s, three children as the platinum kids. They’re nearly perfect in every way. All three received huge scholarships. The 2 boys have since graduated and are finding much success. I’m quite sure their beautiful sister will do the same. The interesting thing is my eldest nephew is 5′ 10″, while his younger brother is 6′ 3″.

Years ago, my mom requested a portrait of her darling grandchildren. The images below are details from the 6′ x 8′ oil painting. I’ve not yet recovered from painting so many teeth.
This is platinum nephew, number one –

This is platinum nephew, number two –

This is the beautiful platinum niece –

Here are all the teeth I was talking about –

Thank you. May your dreams reach tall heights…
All images of my painting are iPhone pictures of photos, quality is poor, sorry…

Moonskin and a Blue Monster

Posted on August 10, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
The saturday night moon… Something about soft blue light bathing parts of vulnerable skin, the bedroom window allows to be touched. So peaceful this moonlight. Smiling, forgetting my head sinking into the mattress because that old pillow has seen better days. Like a child – I was – in that satin light. Our dachshund curled under the comforter; a tunneler by trade. Shouldn’t he be howling or something?

A few months ago, the big son was perusing my high school yearbook. He found my senior picture, looked a few moments then said, “Mom, you looked pretty.” I smiled. He made me feel young like that satin moonlight, if only for a moment.

And of course, now that I’m lots older, more wrinkled and much wiser, the moonlight also inspires other things. I like to call this lovely birdie, Bluebell. He rises with the sunset and enjoys all things in blue moon light.

If you should meet him please don’t worry, he harbors a sweet disposition, but just to be safe, I’d let him be…unless the moon is extra bright…

Thank you and goodnight. May delicious blue moonlight guide you to dreamland…
High School grad photo taken 1981 yikes! Bluebell images created in 2010…

The Pointy-Eared Dog Who Admired Art

Posted on July 20, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
There once lived a pointy-eared dog who admired art. He marveled at flat empty spaces of no significance brought to life with color, line and form. His great canine imagination soared whenever he gazed upon brushwork harmony –

One day he met a lovely blue-eyed woman. They spent the afternoon sipping Harley & Sons Peppermint Herbal Tea – his favorite – bantering about the merits of sable brushes infused with hog hair. He asked a passerby to take a photo of this lovely smiling day. For the pointed-eared dog feared, if precious moments were not captured on canvas or film, the memories would be lost forever-

Concern for his own lasting image began haunting him. The pointy-eared dog once heard of a legend. A pointy-eared dog like himself – a Queen in her day – who had her image committed to canvas.

He wished for the same and set about the task of gathering the portraitist’s location. During his info quest, the pointy-eard dog heard another legend. This one painted terror in his heart. After the Queen’s death, the royal portraitist became a recluse and had moved beyond the border of Werewolf Wood. If one desired their portrait painted, one must make it through Werewolf Wood alive.

The pointy-eared dog contemplated his motives for desiring a portrait of himself-

He questioned the intelligence of risking life and limb –

The pointy-eared dog even tried imagining the mighty Werewolf fearing itself-

Lupogoggle

In the end, the pointy-eared dog smartly decided not to risk a journey through Werewolf Wood. He’d have to do his best to remember himself from the inside. He’d try to summon his best qualities and paint an image in his heart. The pointy-eared dog reasoned if he focused on his good qualities everyday, his image would be a masterpiece…

Thank you. May you dream a dream free of werewolves and hobgoblins…
Hope you enjoyed this little tale. Incidentally, Rocky the Shepherd is a ham 😉

Photo: Rocky posing with Captain -acrylic on canvas, 1998 Photo: My lovely sister Dolores with Rocky 2011 Photo: Chama posing with her portrait: oil on canvas,1994 Photos: Rocky the Shepherd closeups – 2013
Werewolf art – mixed media 2011, Werewolf with Goggles – Prisma 2014

Big Mike

Posted on June 9, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
As many of you know, I refer to my 6’7″ spouse as the giant husband. Now, one doesn’t go about meeting giant husbands without first palling-around with other large people. There was one such grand person who I affectionately called Big Mike. Big Mike was a six-foot-four, life-loving, grapefruit-muscled, enormous hearted Irishman. In short, Big Mike was the infectious laughter at the party. He was the one always wearing a perpetual smile. He was Big Mike.

June 5, 1993 was the night I met the giant husband for the very first time. I was hanging out with friends at a small town pub. I was with my dear lifelong friend Joe, and of course, Big Mike. Big Mike was – for lack of a better description – ‘busting up the joint!’ He was letting fly, joke after joke in his big booming voice. The giant husband’s roommate at the time happened to be laughing along with the rest of us. The roommate phoned the giant husband. He informed him of Big Mike’s antics and suggested he come to the pub.

Not too long after the roommate’s phone call, this giant of a man – bigger than Big Mike – was filling-up the small pub’s doorway. His dark hair touched the door frame above and his broad shoulders met either side. As the giant husband stood there, Big Mike, larger-than-life, announced to the room while pointing at the giant husband, “and there’s the biggest man I know!” And the rest they say, is history…

Big Mike left this world too soon. I find when there is a clear sky and the sun is out, I can almost hear Big Mike’s booming laughter. I painted this portrait of Big Mike for his mother.

Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be filled with the booming-gentle laughter of sweet spirits…