AN ANGEL FOR MAX
A 13-foot bronze sculpture at Elmwood is 'an artistic expression of both grief and hope.'
Angels abound at Elmwood Cemetery, hundreds of them. And why not? Angels are present in nearly all religions and throughout the Bible. They are God’s attendants, messengers and intercessors.
At Elmwood, some angels look or point toward the Lord. Others hold trumpets or torches or flowers. Still others stand silently in prayer.
Only one is airborne.
The newest angel at Memphis’ oldest cemetery is hovering, whispering, and gently straining to lift a young man from his earthly home and carry him to heaven.
The 13-foot tall, 3,500-pound bronze sculpture, dedicated in January, memorializes the death of Max Rose, a beloved son, brother and friend.
Max, a Memphis native and Rhodes College student, died from injuries sustained in a car accident in Kansas in January 2009. He was 19, the middle son of Gayle and Michael Rose.
Max’s monument, designed and sculpted by Memphis artist Roy Tamboli, a family friend, is Elmwood’s first sculptured monument in 15 years.
“While this is an artistic expression of both grief and hope, of terrible loss and stunning tribute, it is also private and public at the same time, and I believe it will draw a very personal response
Cole Huffman, First Evangelical Church from all who see it,” said Dan Conaway, president of Elmwood’s board of trustees.
“I also believe that is the meaningful and lasting contribution to the people of Memphis.”
Gayle Rose said she wanted Max and his monument to rest in Elmwood’s peace, among the 75,000 other souls who represent the history and diversity of the community, for personal and communal reasons.
“Max has such a heart for this community, and he wanted to give everything he could,” she said. “We hope others will find a connection and inspiration in this monument.”
The artistic process of envisioning, sketching, modeling, engineering, sculpting, molding, waxing, casting, pouring, firing, assembling, polishing and erecting the monument took five years.
The spiritual process was even more labor- and love-intensive.
The monument is an artist’s loving depiction A reclining statue of a little girl rests beside the grave of Joan Permilia Ferguson. The child was born Dec. 1, 1852, and died March 16, 1857. of a mother’s grateful and grieving devotion.
For three years, Gayle Rose spent every Saturday in Tamboli’s studio, collaborating with him as he shaped steel, clay, foam, Bondo and some of Max’s favorite clothes into a lifesize replica of her sensitive, strapping 6-foot- 8 son.
She also helped foundry artist Larry Lugar pour the molten bronze.
Her face is in Max’s face. The angel’s hands are her hands. The monument’s inscriptions are from poems and other writings she found in Max’s diary in his charred backpack.
“It was such a gift to have so much time to devote to Max,” Rose said. “Each step in the process was difficult, but it was so affirming and healing.”
Tamboli sculpted the son in Rose’s head and the angel in his. It’s the angel who pulled his father and other sailors out of the Coral Sea when their ship sank during World War II.
“This is the most important work I’ve ever done,” Tamboli said. “It made me realize why I’m here.”
The English word “angel” comes from the Greek angelos, which means “messenger.” In Hebrew Scriptures, the Hebrew word for “angel” is malak, which also means “messenger.”
Max’s angel also is delivering a message, said John Weeden, former executive director of the UrbanArt Commission.
“This work of art matters not only in that it celebrates the life of one extraordinary man,” Weeden said at the dedication in January, “but rather because it teaches us that we are all extraordinary, that we all matter.”
The death of every child should be so memorialized.
The life of every child should be so valued.
Every child should be so loved.