Go visit Lynda Martin-McCormick at her home on the slopes of Portland’s Mount Tabor and you’ll be greeted by the words and essence of her beloved husband David. In a nook of her front stoop hangs a gorgeously calligraphed plaque that reads, “If God is Love Then Love is God”.
“The idea of creating a piece of calligraphy with this saying came to me as a visual image a few months after I had bought a house here in Portland,” Lynda says. “I think the quote is David's own epiphany. It is very much his spirit: logical (if A=B, then B=A), but also soaring, spiritual, and simple. He often went right to the heart of a matter.”
I first met Lynda when she was seeking support in anticipation of David’s death. Three thousand miles from their home in Washington, DC, he was to die in their Airbnb, a lovely garden apartment near OHSU where he’d come for treatment of the cancer he’d lived with for a number of years. They had family here, including their daughter and son-in-law with their newborn baby, Lynda and David’s first grandchild. Lynda wanted to keep David’s body at home for 24 hours after his death. Their story is told in the 5-minute mini-documentary DIY Death.
“The idea of creating a piece of calligraphy with this saying came to me as a visual image a few months after I had bought a house here in Portland,” Lynda says. “I think the quote is David's own epiphany. It is very much his spirit: logical (if A=B, then B=A), but also soaring, spiritual, and simple. He often went right to the heart of a matter.”
I first met Lynda when she was seeking support in anticipation of David’s death. Three thousand miles from their home in Washington, DC, he was to die in their Airbnb, a lovely garden apartment near OHSU where he’d come for treatment of the cancer he’d lived with for a number of years. They had family here, including their daughter and son-in-law with their newborn baby, Lynda and David’s first grandchild. Lynda wanted to keep David’s body at home for 24 hours after his death. Their story is told in the 5-minute mini-documentary DIY Death.
David with 1-day-old Malcolm Lynda contacted a professional calligrapher, a friend of her sister-in-law and her partner who had met David during a visit to Portland. Having her use a lettering style developed by a Welsh calligrapher was a happy surprise since David's family has Welsh roots. Lynda says, “It feels like a cherry on top.”
As to how it turned out: “The end result was more beautiful that I had imagined.” But the effect was more than aesthetic – the piece has great powers of evocation.
“Having it on wood was also not in the original picture, but so very David,” Lynda says. “He loved to make things out of wood. He made the bed we slept in together, and now I sleep in alone. He made the desk that I work on. At our old house it was a double desk; we worked side by side. Now it's just for one. The first thing he did when we began to be serious about one another was to build a table: in the landing of the group house where he lived, using two wooden horses to brace the table, cutting the wood with a hand-held power saw and inlaying a strip of mahogany with a wobbly router. That's how I knew he was courting me. He made bookshelves and an end table for my mother, a cabinet for our son; one of the last projects was a set of kitchen benches for our daughter Lindsay and her husband Eric. So having the calligraphy on wood is very meaningful.”
More than art, more than memory, the piece has another purpose. Lynda explains: “The most important part for me is for other people to see the calligraphy. I wanted it to declare for me that David lived; that I loved him; and that he is in this house and always remembered.
As to how it turned out: “The end result was more beautiful that I had imagined.” But the effect was more than aesthetic – the piece has great powers of evocation.
“Having it on wood was also not in the original picture, but so very David,” Lynda says. “He loved to make things out of wood. He made the bed we slept in together, and now I sleep in alone. He made the desk that I work on. At our old house it was a double desk; we worked side by side. Now it's just for one. The first thing he did when we began to be serious about one another was to build a table: in the landing of the group house where he lived, using two wooden horses to brace the table, cutting the wood with a hand-held power saw and inlaying a strip of mahogany with a wobbly router. That's how I knew he was courting me. He made bookshelves and an end table for my mother, a cabinet for our son; one of the last projects was a set of kitchen benches for our daughter Lindsay and her husband Eric. So having the calligraphy on wood is very meaningful.”
More than art, more than memory, the piece has another purpose. Lynda explains: “The most important part for me is for other people to see the calligraphy. I wanted it to declare for me that David lived; that I loved him; and that he is in this house and always remembered.
"I have made a place for David, and told the world something important about him." “I have David's ashes in the house, but no one can tell what they are. They just see a lovely hand-thrown jar. Now there is a public spot for David here, where I live. I have made a place for David, and told the world - the world that comes to my front door - something important about him. This gives me great ease. I feel more congruent. I used to feel that there was a rupture; life without David had been torn from life with David. Now it's all one piece, I am all one piece. When grief flows, I don't feel lonely.”
I had the honor of serving as a sounding board for Lynda as she considered the installation of the calligraphed plaque. It was placed in a simple family ceremony just before Christmas. She says, “David’s sister and her partner brought little statuettes of a skier and a bicycle, both very much part of David's identity. Our daughter Lindsay and son-in-law Eric added a sprig of flowering rosemary. Our son Daniel put up the mounts for the plaque. There is a pine cone placed below for each member of the family. The installation is truly comforting.”
In the few weeks since then, no visitor has mentioned it. “I would have thought that someone would say ‘that's beautiful’ or ‘how interesting,” Lynda says. “But not so far. I wonder about that. But I love coming to the front porch and seeing it. For me, the calligraphy is tremendously healing.
I had the honor of serving as a sounding board for Lynda as she considered the installation of the calligraphed plaque. It was placed in a simple family ceremony just before Christmas. She says, “David’s sister and her partner brought little statuettes of a skier and a bicycle, both very much part of David's identity. Our daughter Lindsay and son-in-law Eric added a sprig of flowering rosemary. Our son Daniel put up the mounts for the plaque. There is a pine cone placed below for each member of the family. The installation is truly comforting.”
In the few weeks since then, no visitor has mentioned it. “I would have thought that someone would say ‘that's beautiful’ or ‘how interesting,” Lynda says. “But not so far. I wonder about that. But I love coming to the front porch and seeing it. For me, the calligraphy is tremendously healing.
Lynda with Malcolm Lynda’s mother died seven weeks before David, in Washington, DC, while David was in the hospital here in Portland. Lynda plans to honor the flow of grief and the continuity of connection with her mother by installing a Little Library in the front yard, dedicated to her.
“My mother loved books and she loved children reading books. I imagine a painted memorial on it: To Pauline Martin, who lived to be 101 and always loved a good story,” Lynda says. "I'm thinking of splashing a little Jack Daniels over it as part of the inaugural ceremony. Maybe some milk and cookies for kids in the neighborhood. My mother wasn't a big drinker at all, but in her senility (in the nursing home) she used to ask for a coke 'with a stick in it,' meaning some bourbon. Makes me smile.
“I just want people here around me, my friends and neighbors, to know who I came from, and to know something about these two people I loved who are gone.”
“My mother loved books and she loved children reading books. I imagine a painted memorial on it: To Pauline Martin, who lived to be 101 and always loved a good story,” Lynda says. "I'm thinking of splashing a little Jack Daniels over it as part of the inaugural ceremony. Maybe some milk and cookies for kids in the neighborhood. My mother wasn't a big drinker at all, but in her senility (in the nursing home) she used to ask for a coke 'with a stick in it,' meaning some bourbon. Makes me smile.
“I just want people here around me, my friends and neighbors, to know who I came from, and to know something about these two people I loved who are gone.”
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