My Gypsy Sister sees the world in colors, her paintbrush swaying in a rainbow dance, sometimes waltzing slowly to the sound of a strumming harp, other times dancing a vibrant, sensual Flamenco. A lifeless canvas comes alive with a kaleidoscope of colors. Gyrating swirls become a dreamer’s vision of what the heart may see. A dancing clown? A lion’s mane? Perception at its best. Your voice is heard with paintbrush in hand, always speaking what your mind has dreamt. There is no name more fitting than the one I chose for you, My Gypsy Sister.
~ June Rosalia Home Page
My Gypsy Sister sees the world in colors, her paintbrush swaying in a rainbow dance, sometimes waltzing slowly to the sound of a strumming harp, other times dancing a vibrant, sensual Flamenco. A lifeless canvas comes alive with a kaleidoscope of colors. Gyrating swirls become a dreamer’s vision of what the heart may see. A dancing clown? A lion’s mane? Perception at its best. Your voice is heard with paintbrush in hand, always speaking what your mind has dreamt. There is no name more fitting than the one I chose for you, My Gypsy Sister.
~ June Rosalia 
