The Truth About My Art

Posted on January 21, 2015 by AM Roselli

My Friends,
When someone places an artist’s hat upon my head, I often feel unworthy. I’m not glued nightly to a canvas. I’m not angst-ridden at 3 am. I don’t take myself very seriously.

The truth about my art…
There isn’t a prestigious fine art degree, but there is greatly advanced naiveté.
There haven’t been decades of rendering, but there have been years of creative struggle.
There isn’t an artist hiding in my house, but there is one hiding in my brain.
There isn’t a grand studio filled with en plein air studies and sable brushes in old coffee cans.
There is a room off the kitchen built with a hammer and nails,
by a creative husband for his emotional wife.

Self/acrylic

I hope this painting (featured once before) keeps my blog’s PG13 rating – as I consider these subjects nude, but not naked 🙂
Thank you. May you dream of wearing many hats and loving them all.

Self is one of my larger acrylic pieces – 4 ft x 4 ft. Painted in 1997 (if memory serves)

Character

Posted on January 19, 2015 by AM Roselli

My Friends,

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.”
Thank you. May you have a dream too…
Blue Horses painted for a selfless friend and healer

Hello Dollies, Please Don’t Hurt Us

Posted on January 18, 2015 by AM Roselli

My Friends,
This blog of mine has been through several iterations. While returning from a self-hosted site back to WordPress, many older posts were lost in translation. I’m going to use Sunday evenings to rework, repair and repost some of my favorite 2014 efforts. I hope you don’t mind blogging down Memory Lane with me. If you haven’t read before, I hope you enjoy.
Thank you,
The ‘Annagement’ (sorry couldn’t resist)

Hello Dollies, Please Don’t Hurt Us
(originally posted 4/15/14)

Returning home from a lovely garden journey, the giant husband and I happened upon an old-timer’s flea market. A pair of cigarette-smoking, timeworn vendors stood outside like cement lions. They wore pensive smiles while observing curious browsers.

The market’s outdoor portion consisted of a few makeshift tables loaded with lopsided frames, 1950’s tools, hat boxes… The indoor portion was housed in a dilapidated and dank-smelling barn that had seen better days. The giant husband and I strapped on our big-boy coveralls and entered the jittery building.

Beside the usual flea market fare of old records, fringed lamps, mildewed books, chipped dinnerware and broken Tonka toys there were boxes of dead dolls. I can’t think of anything more blood-curdling than little plastic people. Dolls used to scare the crap out of me when I was a kid, now they were back to haunt me.

These dolls were broken-hearted. Their tiny scratched lips whispered how long they’d lived without a warm embrace.
They’d been abandoned then forgotten…
The dolls choked on satin visages of yesteryear. Long ago, they’d been precious…
Eyes once marble-bright were now marred dull like the fabric tears of stuffed clowns…
The giant husband and I had to look away from the pained grimaces.
But the most frightening thing of all was when a little sinister man-doll attempted to steal the giant husband’s soul…
Thank you. May you dream of happy dolls in warm homes.
All photos taken in April 2014 with iPhone. I’ve made it a personal goal to attempt art for every post, some earlier posts in 2014 have only photos.

Stranger Girl

Posted on October 14, 2014 by AM Roselli

Dear Friends,
Below is a five minute sketch. She was created to live demo basic ‘facing’ for an art student. I had a little fun with eye decoration (that ate 3 of the minutes). The ‘quickie’ was later tacked to my studio cork board. Yesterday while drawing a ‘real’ portrait for someone, the young lady hanging from my cork board spoke.

She directed in a slightly demanding tone, “Hey you, look up here!” A little shocked, my eyes hesitantly rolled up, followed by my head. Once the young lady had my full attention, her voice softened, “Please,” then she paused for a dramatic moment, “Please, tell me who I am?”

I looked away and stared at the floor. I thought a minute then replied,”I don’t know.” I looked back at her face and those black-lined eyes. She appeared sadder than I remembered drawing her. So I added, “But I promise, when I’m done discovering who I am, I’ll figure out who you are. For now, I’ll just call you Stranger Girl.”

She smiled. She had a name and that was a start.

Thank you. May you dream of strange people with friendly faces.