About Me
​​​​​ Artist Diane M. Di Maio
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I was born and raised in Ft. Fairfield, ME. I have always been a hardworking team player, personable, energetic, and a go getter. While In High School, I was the class pianist, All State band and chorus. After graduating High School, I joined the Army, worked in top secret communications, Ft. McCellan, AL, Ft Gordon, GA, Ft. Holabird, VA, and Ft. Meade, MD (Honorable Discharge). In 1978, I moved to the Panama Canal Zone, where I taught piano. I also worked as a ships radio officer, with the Delmonte Shipping Company. In 1982 to 2005, I worked for the Metro Dade Police Dept. And Corrections. I was a police officer, squad leader in the academy, Retired in 2005 as a Personnel Specialist 3. I Graduated from Barry University, with a BA in Human Resources. I've had my broker-sales license since 2000, and my Notary since 1978.
Since I retired from Law Enforcement after 24 years, I moved from Miami to Fort Pierce, Fl, I have been involved in numerous art forms. When I first arrived here in 2005, I started to enter the Readers Snapshot with the Tribune. I had 207 winning snapshots. I also participated in the Photo Walks for several years and had a winning black and white photo by entering “Eye of the Camera,” with the Backus Museum. I had two black and white photos this year in the same contest. I owned a gallery in Fort Pierce (Driftwood Designs) in 2007 for a few years which featured driftwood sculptures, the driftwood was found at the ocean from hurricanes Francis, Wilma, and Jeanne. I also wrote scarry and funny stories of the sculptures. I was a member of the Vero Beach Art Club for many years and had sculptures displayed for contests. I had my photos, and many sculptures featured at the Vero Beach Courts and Cultural Center. In 2012, I did an amazing photo book called “White City Park” divided into five sections, birds, flowers, trees, mammals, and reptiles. It was and is amazing.I belonged to the Artist Nest Gallery in Fort Pierce, where I had sculptures displayed and took photos of the gallery events.I have had my photos in the Martin Arts Council in Stuart, the Elliott Museum in Stuart, photos and sculptures, Backus Museum in Fort Pierce, black and white twice, Florida’s National Legacy Society, and one in Who’s Who.I was a member of the Port Saint Lucie Power Squadron for over five years where I taught safe boating, women on the water, weather, emergencies, and other required courses, including being a certified coast guard vessel examiner. I was one of the squadrons bridge members and was the squadrons photographer and editor of our newsletter.I have been a member of the Treasure Coast Photo Club for over five years and had photos entered for “From the Heart” at the Port Saint Lucie Civic Center.When covid struck I stayed home and learned how to oil paint with Bob Ross and mastered all his TV taught paintings, I also took photos of each painting I did and accomplished printing three beautiful art books.I traveled extensively and have amazing photos, I have had two photos one taken in Germany and one in Antarctica featured in the Backus Museum, and I hope to share lots more. At present I belong to the H2U Fort Pierce Art Club in River Walk, Fort Pierce. I have learned how to accomplish other types of painting. I have also taught myself through u tube how to do amazing pour art, which I am ecstatic about, I also take photos of each painting and am in the process of making a pour art photo book. I just went on a 124 day World Cruise to many interesting places , I took pictures and documented them on my 2025 World Cruise Page, (after sculptures).
Driftwood Stories
The Midnight Driftwood Club: The General’s Lost Leg
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Some sculptures are born from careful planning, but others—like this one—are conjured by the wildest storms and the wildest dreams. This driftwood leg, battered and bright, washed ashore after Hurricane Wilma tore through the coast, leaving only fragments of what once was. I found it, heavy and scarred, a survivor with a story to tell.
But as I brought the leg home, I sensed it wasn’t just a piece of wood. At midnight, when the world is quiet and the moonlight slips through my studio window, the Driftwood Club comes alive. That’s when the club members—each a rescued remnant, each with a wish—gather to share their secrets and plot their adventures.
On this particular night, the leg confessed its longing: to be whole again, to remember the body it once belonged to. The club listened, their knots and gnarls nodding in sympathy. “Tonight,” they declared, “we’ll find your missing self!” And so, as I drifted off to sleep, the Driftwood Club tiptoed out the door, catching the midnight train bound for Tennessee.
The journey was wild—empty boxcars rattling through the dark, laughter echoing as the club neared their destination. At last, they tumbled into an old cemetery, searching for a name nearly lost to time: a Civil War general, buried with honor but missing a leg. The leg, eager and determined, used its sturdy foot as a shovel, digging through the earth with the help of its friends.
With a clink, they struck metal. Working together, they pried open the casket, and there he was—the general, still waiting for his missing limb. The leg leapt into place, and in a flash, the general sprang to life! Blood rushed, bones danced, and the Driftwood Club joined in a midnight celebration, singing and spinning beneath the stars.
But magic has its limits. As dawn approached, the club gently reminded the general that the gift would last only until sunrise. Grateful for one last dance, he embraced his leg and his new friends, then settled back to rest. The Driftwood Club hurried home, sneaking into my studio just before I awoke.
When I entered the room, everything seemed as it was—except for a little dirt clinging to the leg, and a sense that something extraordinary had happened while I slept. Sometimes, I wonder: was it just a dream, or do the Driftwood Club’s adventures continue every night, just out of sight?
Reborn- A Driftwood Story
by Diane Marie Di Maio
Inspired by the sculpture you created from the storms of Fort Pierce
During the frantic, ferocious hurricanes Frances, Wilma, and Jeanne — storms that tore through the quiet little city of Fort Pierce, Florida — a once-stately driftwood bird stood proudly at the edge of the ocean. He watched the waves, breathed the salt air, and lived a peaceful life among the dunes.
But the storms came hard.
Winds howled.
Waves crashed.
And the proud driftwood bird was ripped from the shore, tossed, battered, and left among broken branches and shattered roots.
There he lay… alone, rain-soaked, and silent.
At the very same time, Diane arrived in Fort Pierce seeking her own rebirth.
She had just left behind a heartbreaking, tragic chapter of life in Miami — the loss of her youngest son, the heavy shadows of abuse, and years in law enforcement seeing more death than any soul should bear. The stress had torn her down until her heart gave out.
And so, with her two loyal dogs, Roxy and Nuby, she fled to this small coastal town to start again.
Every morning, the three of them walked to Walton Beach — their new place of healing.
One stormy day, fallen trees blocked the road and the air smelled of wet earth and seaweed. Most people would have turned back.
But Diane felt a pull…
Go forward.
Even if the path is blocked.
Even if it's hard.
So she trudged through with her little dogs, branches snapping under her feet.
And then — she heard it.
A faint… whimper.
She searched among the ruined trees and scattered driftwood. And there he was — the small, battered driftwood bird who had once stood proudly at the ocean’s edge.
His beak was broken.
His body was bruised and dull.
But Diane saw something in him.
A spark.
A life waiting to return.
Roxy and Nuby sniffed him gently, as if they understood.
Together, they carried the little bird back through the woods, back to the car, and brought him home.
Diane wrapped him tenderly and laid him out to dry.
When he was ready, she washed him with warm water and picked up the small sander her father had given her years before.
He still couldn’t speak — his beak too damaged from the storms — but Diane knew exactly what to do.
She would rebirth him.
She mixed her metallic oils — soft yellows, warm reds, glowing purples — and began brushing life back into his wooden veins.
Day after day, week after week, the little bird transformed.
He earned a brand-new orange beak.
He sparkled with new blue eyes that shone like tiny oceans.
Slowly… he became handsome again.
Diane named him Reborn.
One night, exhausted, she set Reborn among the other driftwood pieces and fell into a deep sleep.
What she didn’t know was this:
Every driftwood creature in her corner had once been whole.
Every piece carried its own secret story of storms, loss, and longing.
And now, brought together under Diane’s loving hands, they formed a magical circle — The Driftwood Club.
Each Friday at midnight, they voted for one lucky member to become whole for one night only. And this week… they chose Reborn.
Softly, quietly, they tiptoed to make sure Diane slept. She did — peacefully.
The Driftwood Club scurried outside, found a tiny boat, and sailed down the river to a nearby farm where thousands of feathers were stored — bright, beautiful feathers of every color and size.
They pried open the door and, one by one, placed feathers on Reborn’s body.
With every feather, Reborn felt warmth… tingling… life.
His skin glowed beneath the colors.
His spirit lifted.
His heart fluttered for the first time since the storms.
By the end, Reborn stood tall —
the most magnificent bird the Driftwood Club had ever seen.
They danced around him, singing, laughing, celebrating until the stars faded.
But they all knew:
As sunrise approached, they needed to return.
Magic this strong lasts only until morning.
They raced home just in time, returning Reborn to his place in the corner as the first light touched the windows.
All was as it had been.
Except…
When Diane awoke and walked past the driftwood corner, she paused.
There, on the floor, lay one single light blue feather… just slightly damp.
She held it for a moment.
No… it couldn’t be, she thought.
Then she smiled softly, placed the feather on her worktable, and went about her day.
But she knew.
Deep down, she knew.
Magic had passed through her home.
And Reborn — like Diane herself — was becoming whole again.
