"Life-Lines" painting available as a reproduction (inquire about size best for you) and also immediately as lovely note cards at the Grove Park Inn Gift Shop
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Usually a commissioned piece of art is a memory of place
or an experience a patron wants to remember.
"Life-Lines" was created as a gift to honor my husbands heritage.
Inspiration for, “Life-Lines” began with a simple old clothes-line.
In July, my husband and I traveled to Greece to attend his cousin’s wedding. A dream come true, we finally had the time to travel to the birthplaces of his ancestors.
Leaving Athens, traveling through the Corinthian canal, we journeyed deeper into the mountainous heart of the Peloponese. The family stories we remembered began to come alive as we traveled higher and higher into the remote countryside.
The rocky landscape looked formidable since the eons of dry summers left only the heartiest of plant specimens. We passed by dozens and dozens of villages. The more remote and less charming of those held a fraction of previous populations.
Finally we came to his mother’s village, Livardzi.
Through windy narrow roads, passing by the church of his grandparents, we came as close as the car could get to the house.
The lanes narrowed to only allow a horse or donkey.
Once inside and exploring the home; an old tattered clothesline tied to the balcony caught Bill’s mom eye. She explained that she didn't want to take it down, as years ago it was her mother who put it up. Thus was my inspiration to chronicle in art—the story.
What follows is the story about Bill’s grandmother (Yia-Yia) embedded
into the artwork in English & Greek-
With one glance, even a stranger to the village would know her story. Yia-yia, years ago had donned a black dress that would become her uniform for life.
Papou was gone.
His life was stolen; just steps from his home, and like so many others during the Greek Civil War.
It must have been a terrible moment the day she dressed in black the very first time. Vasiliki was alone with her two sons and three daughters.
Immediately after her wardrobe became colorless,
Papou's brother took over fathering the children even though he had a family of his own. Fate was cruel yet again, and shortly after, "Theo" (Uncle) was cut down
like his brother.
His young wife now had her colorless closet too.
The young widowed mothers shepherded their children through life by their own hard work and wits.
Yia-yia worked the tiny farm in the mountains and raised the children in such a way, that if they were poor,
they had no idea.
They were considered lucky as two stories below lived their horse, chickens, and a goat.
Chickens laid their eggs, the goat provided milk
and the children helped make the feta.
Provisions of dry goods were sandwiched in-between the living area and the livestock area that would keep them going through the cold winter.
In spring, the garden would be planted.
The Olive and Fig trees bloomed with promises of fruit.
Thus was the home of the late George Cacavas adeptly run by my husband's Yia-yia. And it was done in this way; in this house, by at least 5 generations of Cacavas’ before.
So looking at that clothesline still I wondered,
how many Papou’s and Yiayia’s before?
How many children slept here and
what were their dreams?
I looked for ghosts and found none.
Only because of being Greek Orthodox
could I know why.
Their faith was so strong, so inbred,
that all the souls that went before, didn't linger.
They took flight to Him, and left their bodies under
the stone crosses in the yard of
Saint George Church.
(Many thanks for Greek translation
by Andrea Zourzoukis )
The artwork contained in this site is protected by U.S. and international copyright laws. The visitor agrees
not to reproduce, publish, or distribute any of the enclosed material without permission from the artist.
or an experience a patron wants to remember.
"Life-Lines" was created as a gift to honor my husbands heritage.
Inspiration for, “Life-Lines” began with a simple old clothes-line.
In July, my husband and I traveled to Greece to attend his cousin’s wedding. A dream come true, we finally had the time to travel to the birthplaces of his ancestors.
Leaving Athens, traveling through the Corinthian canal, we journeyed deeper into the mountainous heart of the Peloponese. The family stories we remembered began to come alive as we traveled higher and higher into the remote countryside.
The rocky landscape looked formidable since the eons of dry summers left only the heartiest of plant specimens. We passed by dozens and dozens of villages. The more remote and less charming of those held a fraction of previous populations.
Finally we came to his mother’s village, Livardzi.
Through windy narrow roads, passing by the church of his grandparents, we came as close as the car could get to the house.
The lanes narrowed to only allow a horse or donkey.
Once inside and exploring the home; an old tattered clothesline tied to the balcony caught Bill’s mom eye. She explained that she didn't want to take it down, as years ago it was her mother who put it up. Thus was my inspiration to chronicle in art—the story.
What follows is the story about Bill’s grandmother (Yia-Yia) embedded
into the artwork in English & Greek-
With one glance, even a stranger to the village would know her story. Yia-yia, years ago had donned a black dress that would become her uniform for life.
Papou was gone.
His life was stolen; just steps from his home, and like so many others during the Greek Civil War.
It must have been a terrible moment the day she dressed in black the very first time. Vasiliki was alone with her two sons and three daughters.
Immediately after her wardrobe became colorless,
Papou's brother took over fathering the children even though he had a family of his own. Fate was cruel yet again, and shortly after, "Theo" (Uncle) was cut down
like his brother.
His young wife now had her colorless closet too.
The young widowed mothers shepherded their children through life by their own hard work and wits.
Yia-yia worked the tiny farm in the mountains and raised the children in such a way, that if they were poor,
they had no idea.
They were considered lucky as two stories below lived their horse, chickens, and a goat.
Chickens laid their eggs, the goat provided milk
and the children helped make the feta.
Provisions of dry goods were sandwiched in-between the living area and the livestock area that would keep them going through the cold winter.
In spring, the garden would be planted.
The Olive and Fig trees bloomed with promises of fruit.
Thus was the home of the late George Cacavas adeptly run by my husband's Yia-yia. And it was done in this way; in this house, by at least 5 generations of Cacavas’ before.
So looking at that clothesline still I wondered,
how many Papou’s and Yiayia’s before?
How many children slept here and
what were their dreams?
I looked for ghosts and found none.
Only because of being Greek Orthodox
could I know why.
Their faith was so strong, so inbred,
that all the souls that went before, didn't linger.
They took flight to Him, and left their bodies under
the stone crosses in the yard of
Saint George Church.
(Many thanks for Greek translation
by Andrea Zourzoukis )
The artwork contained in this site is protected by U.S. and international copyright laws. The visitor agrees
not to reproduce, publish, or distribute any of the enclosed material without permission from the artist.
