Rita's Roses

The painting above is the first piece of art that I remember my mother purchasing when I was a little girl. I was eleven, school was out, and it was a warm Saturday in early summer when my mom decided that she would take us to the small amusement park that had been set up in the parking lot of a nearby plaza. Dinner dishes put away, flowers watered and floors mopped, off we went for an exciting evening of old fashioned funfair games and rides. 

After braving roller coasters and haunted houses for us kids, mom deserved a break and so with snow cones in hand, we trailed behind her while she made her way to a quieter corner of the grounds, where a gathering array of artists and craftspeople had set up shop, displaying their wonderful creations in little stalls, side by side, as they chatted in a neighbourly fashion among themselves.

 

 And that’s when she spotted it. Always polite and endearing, she very sweetly told the young man sitting by a pile of brushes (who, we assumed, was the artist), that she thought it was beautiful and that it really appealed to her. He thanked her and smiled as he slowly sauntered over to us. Tall and lanky with a scruffy beard and long brown hair, he delicately commented that it suited her. It wasn’t about making a sale, the painting truly did complement her in a most mysterious way!  Something in its nature, a nurturing essence, a note of grace, spoke to us who were present and slightly bemused.

 

Mom ran her hands through her thick auburn hair as she carefully considered the weight of his words. Kneeling down to eye level, in a second of silence, I could sense her connecting to the beautiful image before her, a personification of her own myriad of manners. There was a subtle drama to it. The background, with its many moods of green, velvety and luxurious in texture, seemed a curtain- like backdrop to the luminous feature in the foreground, bursting of buttery yellow blooms, some strong and dazzling, others weak, drooping over a stubby clay-like vase, boldly accented by a few sun burnt burgundy leaves. Set in a coppery gold wooden frame, it was ready to be staged and seen by adoring eyes.

"Okay, dear, I take it!" she announced with foreign flair and just like that – we found ourselves standing motionless, staring at a designated spot on the blank white wall above our living room couch, where minutes later, the painting, by a charming A. Julia, took its place among other delightfully decorative items for many years. 

These days, it can be found in my home, where I hope it will continue to be an entertaining conversation piece, providing its hosts and guests with a stimulating view and a sense of familiarity, one that evokes memories of a sweet and fun-loving mother, a russet haired beauty, who, even today, remains as pretty as a picture!

Have a great week. 
Thanks for visiting.