LOMBARDI
August 16, 1960 to Present
The first significant moment I can remember was the first
day of first grade when I realized my mother was going to
leave me there, alone. I cried, while sitting at my little
desk, until there were no more tears. I think it was the first
time I had been out of my sandbox in the small farming community
of Hopkinton, Massachusetts. Just a few short years later,
I was hardened to the realities of survival and tested on
a frigid winter morning in 1969. A deep blanket of fresh snow
covered our tiny house and I was sure I heard the fire horn
blast, to testify there was no school. Ma would have none
of it, and I followed her instructions to the letter, getting
dressed and eating my cereal as I would on any other school
day. I remember the sense of bewilderment rushing over me
as we pulled up to the deserted school. Ma cursed the school
bus driver during the entire 3 1/2
mile drive for not showing up that morning, and now she was
telling me to
get out. I made my best effort to protest and her tone only
became more
forceful, so I quietly exited the vehicle. A paralyzing wind
took my home
work, while I watched my mother speed away.
Several hours later, Ma stood in front of a sink full of dirty
dishes when I arrived home. She was not looking for me, nor
did she show much concern for my half-frozen condition. She
only asked why was I home so
early from school. This was the same winter my youngest brother
Frank was born. I am the oldest of five children. Frank’s
birth created a housing
problem that was quickly resolved when I was sent with my
clothes, to the
chilly basement and an old green couch in the corner to sleep
on. Here was my first studio, and while the TV news spoke
of the Vietnam war, the real war was raging at my childhood
home. I would escape to my basement to draw, and to listen
to the soothing voice inside, that was always telling me that
things would be just fine. I would draw flowers and death,
the trees that I loved and the girls I desired, and I have
made all the typical mistakes. I let the bullies who honed
in on me make me feel weak. I let my parent’s inability
to express their love make me feel like I was not important.
I allowed my lack of formal education to make me believe I
was not good enough. I let my career path lead me in many
wrong directions. And always I would hear that same voice
inside saying, never mind all that, just create.
Amazingly, it has been 37 years since that memorable winter
and that
inner voice is a sparkling diamond which I can never ignore.
I keep a green couch in my studio to this day it makes me
feel secure. I am quite certain that every event, every relationship,
every challenge since, has been only a matter of perfect timing.
Now I know that it is my destiny to paint, and to remain open
to the consequences of that purest act. Now, when I sit in
front of a blank canvas, I ask the intelligent and loving
forces in the Universe, to use me, to help me grow, and to
let my creativity be a special message to you the observer,
for this perfectly timed moment in your life.
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