MOM (Excerpt from a work in progress)

My mother was born to Amalia (Emma) Vassalotti and Ansalmo Rondinelli in Philadelphia on the twenty-first of December 1915.  For my entire life, we celebrated her birthdays on Christmas Eve, only to learn after her death in 1991 that she was actually born on December 21.  That discrepancy has never been explained.  Another surprise was learning her name was Mary Josephine, and not Josephine Mary. She was the youngest of five children – 3 boys and 2 girls, and her father, of who very little is known, died shortly after her birth.   Her mother re-married to Gaetano Madorna, a widower with 6 children. (They had two more, Tommy and Eleanor.)   Their small row home in south Philadelphia had only 3 bedrooms, and at age 11 my mother and her 3 older brothers, Carmen, Alfred, and Sammy, moved into a nearby apartment; she left school after the 6^th grade to run their small household.  Her older sister, Grace, had married and was starting her own family.  For the remainder of her life, Grace was the real mother figure for my mom.

Jo Rondinelli - living with 3 older brothers and being an 11 year old adult.  Fortunately she was with 3 brothers who adored her and cared for her.  But still.......    

I love this photo.  It shows determination and a will, far beyond her 11 years, completely in keeping with the amazing person she was to become.

Josephine Rondinelli Renzulli...A Tribute

I have been sending out an e-newsletter from Gallery 5 about once a month for the past 2 years, occasionally posting them on this blog. Yesterday's letter evoked such a remarkable response that I thought I would share it with my blog readers.

Josephine Rondinelli Renzulli...A Tribute

Mom, dad, and me at my graduation from Jefferson Medical College

Last month marked the 20th anniversary of my mother’s death. She was my age when she died, an age that has suddenly assumed much more significance for me. I think of her often, almost daily, and give quiet thanks for all that she has given me. She loved art and music, and could sit at a piano or pick up a mandolin and play a tune “by ear”. (Sadly the music gene snuck right by me.) She was always drawing or painting, and constantly encouraged me in my own efforts, providing me with the necessary materials to do so.


She and my father did everything they could to see that I had the opportunities that they never had. I can still feel and sense their pride when I graduated from medical school, and fifteen years later, when I told them I was leaving my practice to become an artist…They simply asked If I was absolutely sure of that and their support and encouragement never skipped a beat. I owe them so very much.


And I will always wonder, what could she have been, what could she have accomplished, given my opportunities? Far more than me, I am certain of that.


Here are four of many paintings:

 

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