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The Gentle Giant

Exactly 2 years ago (the day after Mother’s Day) we watched my Daddy take his last breath. He was our Rock and my Idol, and I was his ‘baby girl’. My father-in-law called my dad the ‘Gentle Giant’... He was a striking 6’1 tall man (many say he looked like an older Tom Hanks) with a deep voice, a hard hand shake, but the purest and kindest heart. When you love someone so endearingly that loss is always present, but we honor them by marching onward and keep living the love and legacy they created with and for us. He’d want that.

Our dining room. (Stay with me, there is a correlation here) 

When Charles and I married we were extremely fortunate to inherit a complete dining room furniture set from my in-laws and we had the traditional chairs recovered in a gold and Burgundy checked fabric. In 1995. Every day for the past 15 years, I’ve walked through this small dining room, turning my body a certain way to shimmy behind the chairs and open the door into our renovated kitchen/family room. Traditional, crowded, and did I mention ---1995. 

Meet our Sozo artist and friend Laura McCarthy.  For those of you who haven’t met her, well you should. She is genuinely a breath of fresh air. Extremely witty, authentic with a capital A, and she teaches yoga and mindfulness to incarcerated or currently homeless friends, as well as friends struggling with addiction, through her non-profit One-Breath.org  Laura is the ‘baby’ of five and lost her sweet Virginia-bred Daddy a few months before I lost mine. After her loss, while stumbling through her grief, she found comfort by reading Japanese death poetry. (Meanwhile, I was reading Tracy Curtis blogs and drinking a lot of La Crema). Inspired by the death poetry and her personal grief, Laura created a soulful series of internal landscapes. Beautiful big white backgrounds with thoughtful, gut-wrenching paint, pours, and textures of black, deep brown, gold, and hints of pink. 

Meet Yamoto Takeru-No-Mikoto: 

yamo.jpeg

When I saw this 6x6 diptych that Laura created, I cried. I knew nothing about this piece of art, yet I immediately felt it’s intensity and the light that radiated from the top right corner. When she shared the story with me about the Warrior, I, of course, cried more. 

Yamoto Takeru-No-Mikoto was a very well respected warrior in his Japanese village. He was a faithful father, husband and well respected warrior of the village. It was time for him to die, and he knew it. He walked to the beach and dismantled his robe covered in many expensive golden threads. He was searching for his Peace and was ready for his departure. His family was not. His wife and children chased him over rocks and dunes and sticks, and cut their feet along the way to convince him to stay on Earth just a little longer with them. To their dismay, he passed and in traditional Japanese style, flew off as a beautiful white crane. 

THIS, PEOPLE.

This is when your heart lights up SO big, you actually feel the work and you know it belongs with you. 

Bye Bye 1995 dining room. Yamo (my new name for him) now hangs in our most prominent place when you enter our home. We said goodbye to furniture used twice a year and the display of my grandmother’s antique wedgewood china and welcomed a room centered around the most magnificent piece of art, tranquility, light, and PEACE.  

My hubs jokingly says we now have a pretty hotel ‘Lobby’…but I disagree. My heart swells every single time I see the work and I breathe in PEACE. I’m reminded of my biggest Warrior, cheerleader, advisor, confidant, and how when his baby blues looked at me I knew that I was loved, and quite possibly his favorite girl :)  (Sorry Sister) 

Many of Daddy’s most favorite days and memories were centered around family at our Lakehouse at Lake Wateree. If you close you eyes with me—you might see with me what I encountered often. A 9 year old Hannah swinging in a hammock in the arms of my Dad. In the distance at the end of our dock on a quiet evening we hear the bull frogs chirping, the comforting creak of our hammock back and forth/back and forth, the whip-poor-wills start to sing, the faint ripples and circles in the cove of the Brim catching Mayflies, and always always we’d spot a big white Crane—flying away into the peaceful dusk. 

A room - and a home - can most certainly be transformed around a piece of art. 

Come tell us your stories. We’ll help you find that piece that makes your heart sing.  

xo Hannah