My father, whom I called “Tata” 
(Slavic nickname for ‘daddy’)
painted many portraits of me...  

...I had to pose for hours -
meditation training at an early age!  

Every day, my father would sit at his easel from early morning until he lost the light.  Then he’d retire to the piano and play a medley of the most passionate interpretations of Beethoven or Mozart sonatas, Chopin etudes or Brahms lullabies. 

He passed away suddenly over Thanksgiving weekend, 1970, after an accidental fall.  Having become preoccupied with my own teenage interests, it was an unexpected and shocking loss.  I will miss him forever. 

The following lyric will be translated into Serbian; the recording and music video are works in progress...

PAINTED WITH LOVE

Miss your hands at the easel;
Smell of turpentine

To hear you playing Chopin,

Just one more time 

You painted my eyes,
my gaze was straight and true
All over the floor, 
you tracked spots of Prussian Blue

You hung with modern masters from Matisse to Monet
You defied the doom and the gloom of the day
Although you left too soon, your shining colors remain
I saw how you painted with love everyday
Everyday … you painted with love

Miss your hands, I treasure
the first you ever drew,

And the few of your lost baby boy
who I never knew

You painted your son "The Actor"
holding a mask of paper maché

 Captured our mother’s beauty
on an Indian Summer’s day

You hung with modern masters from Matisse to Monet
You defied the doom and the gloom of the day
Although you left too soon, your shining colors remain
I saw how you painted with love everyday
Everyday … you painted with love

You painted Kachinas dancing,
on Hopi native land

Navajo family in the Canyon

Pueblo procession proudly standing

Riders on the Great Plains,
a native’s bow and arrow 

Your last brush stroke,
the brown fur of a buffalo

You saved the family from war when you had to flee
Across the ocean to the Statue of Liberty

When you met the Native tribes, you could see
Their land of the free

You painted, 'til you lost the light,
Every day until you lost the fight

Each work of art you left behind,
Your legacy will last through time,
through time...

Miss your voice, no more good mornings, no goodbyes that Winter’s day
It took years to forgive you; there’s so much I want to say
Lived a lifetime without you, still memories abound
I was just a girl when you fell, from the platform to the ground

You hung with modern masters from Matisse to Monet
You defied the doom and the gloom of the day
Although you left too soon, your shining colors remain
I saw how you painted with love everyday
Everyday … you painted with love

PAINTED WITH LOVE © 2025  Anna Thea Bogdanovich

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