Oils by Veronica
An Artist's Words
Before the Artist, lays the white linen of truth. Her Words are the faces of children pink from winter's caress, leaves falling from trees as greens turns to shades of gold, yellow and red, pumpkins as they turn bright colors of orange as Fall paints its bounty with vivid colors, the storm as it rolls and tosses its waves upon the rocks and sandy shores, the moon as it casts its shadows on lovers holding hands, the winds of winter as it twirls smoke in upward spirals from chimneys of old, a country farm filled with love and joy long lost.
As the Artist speaks, the words cast their image on the pure white linen telling of the past, present, future, of hopes, loves, pains, the forever's and the never to be's. Her words are not bound by the limits of single letters grouped together trying to capture a single image. She writes in an international language which all can understand and her words tell a story we all have lived.
She never speaks but her words can be heard around the world.
Joe Lewis
Have Veronica tell your story on a linen of white.
Serenity
Veronica paints stories of warm Sunday afternoons as travelers journey through country paths once known in their youth. They could be at a cross road in their lives and the decision they are pondering could change their very being.
They need the safety and warmth of places long forgotten when youth gave way to the age of time. A place in the distant past where the pressures of today are left at the edge of the forest as yesterday's hopes and joys of youth return again.
Come take that journey back to days of hope, unquestioning faith and with the future of tomorrow before you once again.
My Friend the Babbling Brook
A man walks to the edge of the water and listens to the words of his long forgotten friend.
He never thought this day would come. He thought that life's paths were self directing and all he had to do was blindly follow.
Now he knows that the path was but an illusion. He must chose his own path but without a friend it is so difficult. He needs an old trusted friend to confide in, one who understands him, one who was there in times of need.
In his youth this friend calmed his fears, soothed his mind, washed his soul and answered all his questions.
He has returned to a friend long forgotten, a friend of youth, a friend who was always there, a friend he could always count on, The Babbling Brook.
The Mountain's Tears
An old man and his Grandson walk the path once taken by him and his Grandfather so many years before. They come to the opening long forgotten. Birds are singing long forgotten songs as the Wind whispers through the trees and the water whisks over the rocks creating whirling pools and distant memories are revived.
The boy looks up at his Grandfather and sees him gently wiping away tears from his eyes and wonders why.
"Grandfather why are you crying? Are you sad?" "No my Grandson, these tears have been passed down to me from my Grandfather and someday I will pass them on to you."
"They are tears of joy and happiness for my son has given me you and there can be no greater gift. Some day you will bring your Grandson here and you will pass these very tears on to him."
The old man turns and looks at the Mountain reflecting on the time he had with his Grandfather and wishing he could recapture but a moment from that time, once again holding his Grandfather's hand and seeing his tears, for now he knows that those tears were tears to be shared in love.
He knows he will soon be passing on these tears to his Grandson just as the Mountain passes its Tears on to its ever flowing rivers.
The River now Whispers
The weary traveler stops to rest on a long forgotten rock. She views the trickle of water as it crawls on the river bed seeking long lost torrents of water.
She reflects on the memories of youth when from this very rock the river roared and rolled its bedrocks into spheres of stone.
Its water boiled as it ran from the mountain's tributaries mimicking youth's spirit and hope of the future. They seemed as one.
Time has swiftly past and the traveler gently rests on the rock of her youth viewing the trickle that was once a torrent of boiling water.
Her friend The River Bed has kept her seat all these years and once more greets her but now with only whispers of the past.
A Granddaughter's Question
A Grandmother walks to a pond once visited by her and her Grandmother. The memory is now so vivid but it was not that way just a hour ago.
It had been 50 years ago that they were here. Her Grandmother had passed away more then 30 years ago and thoughts of her had slowly drifted away. It seems that children, chores, work and day to day living has left little time to reflect.
It was her Granddaughter that brought back the past so vividly when she asked. "Grandma when you were small did you have a Grandma?" "Did you love her?"
At that instant chills ran down her back and she wrapped her arms around her Granddaughter and headed off to the pond visited so many years ago with her Grandmother.
The Grandmother turned to her Granddaughter and said " I did have a Grandmother and I loved her as I love you my little one."
A Path to the Valley of Trees
A lone hiker revisits a path that leads to a valley of trees, a path taken many times in his youth. A path that in his youth provided comfort, a time to reflect on the future and a time to rethink today's decisions.
As time passed the hiker no longer put on his hiker's shoes but took other paths that required other shoes.
He spent his time on paths chasing riches and fame. Those paths took him to riches and worries, to parties and shallow relationships, to great houses but not homes, there was something missing. A void inside.
He left those paths and found his old hikers shoes and headed out to find the path of his youth.
The old path lead him to the Valley of Trees. They greeted him by swaying to the wind and spreading their fragrance as in times of old. He could once again reflect on those things of importance and return to the comfort of his youth.
Warm Summers
There was a time when my Summer Days started with singing birds, the dying sounds of cricket's violins and the prodding Sun that chased away the grays of night while the morning breeze brought the smells of freshly cut hay, a breakfast of butter smothered biscuits nesteled next to eggs surrendered to the farm by tireless Hens!
My mind was filled with the thoughts of a swimming hole feed by crystal cool springs, cows that gave their milk for just for me, chickens pecking the ground blindly searching for their daily meal as the wind flicked my hair and the Sun warmed the cool morning air.
A farm house lays on the edge of the field that is filled with a future harvest of corn, peas, carrots, lettuce, tomatoes and vegetables of untold kinds. A child's hand is captured by her Grandma's weathered hand but nurtured by her understanding heart.
Those times are locked in my mind and greet me every so often gently sweeping the dust from my daydreams and I'm once again a child on a farm in Canada.
The Sun Starts a new Day
I can remember being on my Grandparents Farm during my summer vacations. I was no more the seven years old and can vividly remember the mornings as the Sun spread apart the curtains and filled my room with dancing colors moving them about like a child playing with a flash light.
I awoke to her prodding as she gently danced her flickering light across my pillow resting upon my eyes. I could feel her warm brush and hear the songs of the birds reminding me that I was in paradise.
Another day to roam the fields, pick wild blue berries, chase rabbits and see a fawn rising from a summer's night's rest.
I will never forget that image of the farm as it lay at the bottom of the hill and I watched my Grandparents going about their daily chores while I dreamed of catching snakes, chasing rabbits and never growing old.
If only I was a child for just one more Summer.
Leaving my Paradise
The long summer was coming to an end and I was dreading tomorrow, the end of my vacation. I would be leaving my paradise but this was not like other years. I knew that I wouldn't be back next year.
There was something changing inside me and as my dad said happens to all 13 year olds. There was a feeling I never felt before and I knew that things would never be the same.
What I didn't realize was that I would never see my Grandparents again. Friends, high school, college all took my precious time and I had none left for the paradise of my youth. The next time I visited my paradise was to visit the graves of my Grandparents. Tears filled my eyes as I stood in the field looking down on the farm which was slowly dying since its caregivers were gone.
My Paradise was lost in my childhood and I would never feel the same again.
Our Birthright the Ocean
Our Birthright is from the Ocean of old. We once played in her fields gathering our food from her bounties frolicking in her endless waves.
We have left her for her neighbor, land, but have never forgotten our birthright. We don't know why but there is something about the sea that calls to us. Its storms and crashing waves beckon us to return. We seek our relatives the whales and dolphins.
Sailors ride her waves seeking her ports of calm but hoping to ride the waves of her storms.
We can never leave what is part of us. The Ocean calls us and we visit her in the calm of summer or during a Nor'easter and realize she is in our blood and we are part of her.
The Waves Subside
The night had us all worried as we spent the time awake watching the sea as it battered the walls of our summer home.
A Nor'easter had struck unexpectedly and it beat against the rocks and molded the sand like a child pushing sand about in a sand box. We had never seen such waves and wind.
It had been several hours since the ocean had subsided and we ventured out on to the beach and rocks. The sea was no longer angry and was gently washing the shore with sand filled waves. The sky was opening its clouds like a photographer adjusting the aperture on his camera.
I can still smell the scent of the sea and feel the mist that was left over from its tantrum.
Like a child the sea was now apologizing for its unruly behavior.
High Tide
I removed my shoes and socks and venture into the cold waters of Maine. The rocks shielded me from the rough seas and I can feel the quelled waves as they lap against my ankles.
In the distance I hear the calls of the seagulls as they beg the sea to give up her meals. The Sun is hiding behind the white fluffy clouds occasionally shooting its light though holes in the clouds to warm the sand and rocks below.
My feet are turning blue but the smell and feel of the salty sea hides the sting of the cold. I can see and hear small children braving the waters screaming and tossing water at each other as parents yell for them to come in from the cold waters.
I remember when I to paid no attention to the cold Maine waters or to the shouts of my parents.
How I wish I could hear their shouts once again.
The lonely Light House
I look out at the lonely light house and wonder what she has seen.
What ships has she warned of pending danger?
Does she ever rest or is she forever turning looking for sailors whose ships are a drift?
She sits on rocks like a candle on cake. She has had many birthdays but her candle has never been blown out.
She was once proud and beloved by all at sea but that was many years ago before satellites and radar.
Now she turns and lights the angry sea but she is no longer seen or needed, her time was in the past.
As I look out at the lonely light house I too realize, my time was in the past and like the Light House, I'm no longer needed.
A Boy's Friend
What is it about water and boys?
If a puddle exists a boy will find it. Is it the feel of the wet cool substance? Is it the thought of swimming in its refreshing buoyancy? Is it the little creatures that can be caught and brought home? Is it the playground where he and his friends can visit and never destroy? Is it a fishing pole, worm and a picnic on a warm Sunday afternoon?
Is it future memories being gathered to be revisited from a rocking chair on a porch many years from now? Is it a future memory of his Grandfather as watches him cast his line into a favorite fishing hole?
Is it a place to visit by one's self and to think about the coming tomorrows?
Waters that Calm Minds
It has been a long Summer and now Fall beckons. There are times when we need a place of calm to reflect.
We need a place where we can think, a place where we feel the calm of our youth, a place where we can make sense of our life.
There is a time in everybody's life when you are shaken by some event, a death, a birthday, a relationship that is no more, a job that's lost its luster.
It happens to us all. We need to stop and reflect, to see if this path we have chosen is the one we really want to follow to life's end.
We need a place of safety and calm to reflect, decide and to question what is next.
We need the comforted of "Calm Waters" for we need to decide if this is to be the path of our life.
Brook Trout
I can remember one warm summer afternoon in Canada when I sitting on the front steps looking out at the marsh where winter's hay was now growing.
Seeing me daydreaming my Grandfather suggested we go fishing and asked me to help gather the fishing gear.
We headed off in his Austin Mini, a car and the garage it was parked in, I will never forget. The garage was a place where dad and Granddad would go to "Clear the cob webs out of their eyes." Their eyes appeared a lot redder when they emerged.
We arrived at the stream where brook trout were just begging to be caught. Granddad would cast his line into the water and immediately pull out trout after trout.
After about a hour he stopped and pulled out his cooking gear and I enjoyed the best meal I ever had.
Half Moon
It is a warm July afternoon and my mind has been drifting back to years long past. I have a need to visit the house I spent my teenage years in. As I walked out to the patio I realize that it was 45 years ago this patio was built by my father.
I look at the swaying trees that were only seedlings when I was a child but are now towering giants. I sit on the rock where I watched my children spend many hours playing and enjoying games & barbecues with their cousins , aunts and uncles. That was 30 years ago but it just seems like yesterday.
My thoughts turn back to when I was a child and would just wander into the woods with no more to do then just walk and listen to the wind, birds and squirrels as they scurried about on the forest floor. The sweet fragrance of summer filled the air and calmed the mind.
I would walk up to a small pond that only existed after a heavy rain and was amazed at the life it contained. Pollywogs, water bugs and frogs. God it was just incredible. That pond, Half Moon, has long ago been forgotten by many but not by me.
My parents have long left this earth, my children are no longer children and I only have fond memories of those times.
Those times are locked in the very fabric of my being.
Stream of Memories
Have you ever taken a ride on a Fall day when there was a nip in the air and the breeze was telling you that another season was coming to an end?
Have you sat by the edge of a stream and thought about what has happened the last year and perhaps many years before?
Have you thought about the things you didn't do and the things you wish you hadn't done?
Have you thought about that long lost love that you let slip out of your life and realize you don't even know why or how it happened?
Have you thought about arguments you had and the relationships that were changed because of them and now you can't remember what the arguments were about?
I have, at the "Stream of Memories."
A Time to Reflect
In this world of changing tides and ever increasing diversions its easy to get caught in the quick sands of time. We never have enough, "time", but we waste this precious resource loaned to us for this brief visit on this earth. As this Universe blinks our generation is gone. .
This precious gift is wasted on worrying about bills, cars, toys, vacations, while we never really step back and see what this thing, "time", is.
"Sometime", we need to take "some time" and reflect on long forgotten memories and recapture the important "times" we have been given, for this is who we were, are, and will be, not bills, cars, toys ....
A True Friend
When you arrive home from a hard day's work, who can you count on to always be there with an upbeat attitude?
Who is glad to see you no matter what kind of mood you are in?
Who greets you with a warm kiss and a sigh of relief that you did indeed return even though this morning he was not so sure?
Who gladly walks with you anytime you feel the urge?
Who watches the TV with you not at your feet but next to you and guards that precious spot?
Who was made to be the center of laughter but didn't care?
Magnum.
We still think of you, you are missed.
Peace For All
I can remember Christmas Eve all those many year ago. Indeed sugar plums were dancing in our heads not to mention dreams of trains, dolls, cars, doll carriages, baseball gloves, everything little boys and girls could ever dream of having.
We would head off to bed early, since in our minds Christmas would be here all the sooner. Sleep, however eluded us as Christmas' excitement churned our minds.
We could hear our parents laughing and enjoying Christmas Eve with our neighbors. We knew if we didn't go to sleep immediately Santa Claus would pass us by. No Matter, sleep just wouldn't come.
Tap Tap on the window and fear struck us as we "knew" Santa was here and if he found out we weren't sleeping, coal for us.
That fear kept us awake all night but to our surprise he hadn't discovered our heinous crime.
I remember those Christmases so many years ago.
Mom
One only realizes a lost after it is gone. We take for granted the most important things we have. The things that are right there in front of us. We seek those things that our friends have, fancy shoes, clothes, records, toys, there is never a limit or an end. We see images on the TV of the people we want to be like, pretty, rich, popular, all those things that we feel will make us happy.
We seek to be different then our mother as she is none of those thing we seek. She is not driven by clothes, jewelry, being rich and only seeks our love and loves us unconditionally.
It is after we lose the most import influence in our life that we realize that it was the love, devotion, protection and comfort of mom that defined happiness. She has left this earth but will always be in our hearts and souls.
This Website is dedicate to her memory.
My Mom my Hero
I can remember 30 years ago when ma decided to visit her childhood home, her paradise from which she was removed in a single day never to return.
A girl of nine who only knew how to speak French Canadian and only knew her true parents, her Grandparents.
This was her paradise and her Grandmother and Grandfather were her parents by right not blood. This was a paradise filled with oceans, fishing villages, fields of vegetables, farm animals and parents that gently put her to sleep and woke her each and every morning.
Then one day her mother returned to rip her away from her paradise without a word of explanation. This paradise slowly disappeared as this stranger changed her very being. Truly "A Paradise Lost."
This is a picture of mom looking over the seas of her childhood and dreaming of her lost paradise and what could have been.
Never Forgotten
Our Dearest Catherine,
Can words describe our loss? Can a sea of heartache be put to paper? Is a written page an adequate tribute to your lifetime of selfless giving? Surely not. We can only humble ourselves in the light of your love. A light which will forever burn brightly in our hearts. A light which we , in turn, are obligated to share.
Lovely Kay,
You are free to stride the heavens and transverse the serene infinities of the soul. We look forward to seeing you there when our time comes. Until then we linger here with the realization that, life will not be the same for us without you.
Your loving family
Fred Lewis
Veronica
Veronica lives in Malden Mass with her husband Manny and dog "Hunter". She is the mother of three beautiful boys: Danny, Billy and Doug and a mother-in-law to the beautiful Lauren & Bekah the great loves of Doug & Danny.
The last few years have welcomed daughters-in-law, Bekah and Lauren into Veronica & Manny's world as the Giuffre family continues grow.
Joy to the world, Veronica is a Nana to Bekah & Doug's daughter & son. Isn't life grand!
Veronica has been part of the Malden Guild of Artists and has been painting for more then 25 years.
Veronica has given her time freely to teach her great love of expression and relaxation, painting. She has won numerous awards and has been commissioned to paint landscapes, animals and portraits including a pro baseball player.
Copyrights
All of paintings, writings, website themes and layouts are the property of Veronica Giuffre and may not be copied or used in anyway without her written permission.
All of the short stories and writings were written specifically for this website and may not be used in any way without Veronica's written permission.
Stuff
Most of the short stories next to each painting are mixture of fact and fiction. They are based on a childhood growing up in Medford & Malden, MA and summer vacations on my Grandparent's Farm in New Brunswick, Canada.
Those days are locked in my soul and I wouldn't change them, as my mother would say, "For all the tea in China."