Nancy did not hand out compliments profusely. She was gracious but somewhat reserved socially. She had strong opinions and principles which she would defend without being confrontational. She had unquenchable courage and steadfast will in the face of adversity - the more powerful for coming from such a gracious person. For those of us lucky enough to have known her personally, we will cherish our memories of her, her innate sense of style in every object, from what she wore, to how she built, from what she ate to her skepticism of bombast and jargon, her disdain for self-inflated Famous Architects. She used materials meticulously but wisely, with a light hand - simplicity trumps pretense.
When I saw her the last time and knew her illness was in its last stages, I asked her what I could do for her. She didn't want books, music, food, flowers. I asked her if I could have her permission to write about her buildings and career. She was delighted. I was surprised and gratified that she readily agreed.
We have always been frank with each other so I asked her if she was comfortable with how she and her children had decided to deal with her body. We had both considered how to deal with this design and specifications challenge and laughed together about the lack of truly sustainable options - legally, culturally, and scientifically. She mentioned two examples of end of life attitudes which had amused her - a book called Cadillac Desert - even though written in the 1980's it is still relevant today. She also mentioned a beautiful and little known Japanese movie - Departures and discussed how beautiful and surprising it was in detail.
Her friend Catherine Diamond wrote the following poem for her and has given us permission to publish it. Rachel and Treven Baker included it in their announcement of Nancy's death on July 24th:
Sunflower
Morning.
The sun seedling sprouts,
and its lover, a young girasol,
corkscrews through the earth
to be near her Helios.
Yearning and turning,
feeding on Brightness and Air
not the day, but the whole year,
her radar tracking.
Leaning and learning,
to ever more ethereal heights,
she draws his radiance back into the earth,
never letting him out of her sight.
Swaying caryatid, whose green arms embrace the breeze,
her face emits a thousand lights,
its spiral of seed faceted like a honey bee’s eye,
storing the sweetness of his glance
for a later burning.
Her head itself a crown,
a memory globe of experienced wonders
till it grows too high, too heavy;
the stalk buckles,
balks and bends.
The sun sets,
and the whole sky sparkles, enfolding her.
Catherine Diamond

Photo of Nancy with sunflowers