Constance Culler Falconer's Obituary
Constance Culler Falconer passed away on August 30, 2019 at the age of 78 with her family at her side.
Constance was born in Lakeland, Florida to Nan and Raymond Culler. She grew up in Lexington, Massachusetts in a loving household along with her older sister Carolyn and younger brother Alan. She married Ian Hay Falconer in 1961 and immediately began a family with two boys, Glen and Quentin. The Falconer family lived in Virginia from 1964 to 1971 and then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. While working and raising a family in Atlanta, Constance returned to college to complete her degree in Fine Arts at Georgia State University and then a Masters in Art History from Emory University. In the 1980s, Constance and Ian lived in Indonesia for seven years. After settling back in Atlanta for a couple of decades, Constance and Ian moved to Big Canoe, Georgia where they built their dream house in the mountains. During the cold winter months, Constance and Ian spent time either traveling around the world or living in their condo in Honolulu enjoying the aloha spirit.
Constance is best known for her passion as an artist, specifically her talents as a printmaker. She produced a huge body of award-winning work, spread her enthusiasm and insight through countless workshops, and was deeply involved in her local art community. Constance’s extensive travels around the globe provided keen inspiration for her subject matter. Each print represented a personal experience that she shared with all who viewed her work and marveled at her attention to the finest detail.
Constance will also be remembered for her kindness and compassion, always thinking of others first. People were instantly drawn to her exuberant embrace of life which led to a wide circle of enduring friendships. She was an excellent cook and toasting to good times together with family and friends brought her much joy.
Constance is predeceased by her parents and older son, Glen. She is survived by her loving husband Ian of 58 years, her sister Carolyn, brother Alan, son Quentin, daughter-in-law Yuko, and two grandchildren, Colin and Evan. There will be a Celebration of Life for Constance this fall in Atlanta, details to be posted soon.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Glen Hay Falconer Foundation (http://www.glenfalconerfoundation.org) and will be earmarked in Constance and Glen’s memory for a planned educational scholarship for deserving craft brewers from the Southeast.
Remembrance by Alan Cay Culler
Constance, Connie, Mom, Gramma
“Aloha! Constance really liked this word in the native Hawaiian language. Aloha! It’s both a greeting – hello - and a farewell, the way we say goodbye. But Constance would always tell me – it means so much more to native Hawaiians.
Aloha is love, compassion, empathy – it is the recognition of and identification with a oneness of spirit that we all share. Aloha!”
This was the way I began the memorial service, the celebration of the life of my sister, Constance Culler Falconer.
Constance was hospitalized in Hawaii in January. In late April she was moved to Oakland California to be close to her son Quentin and his wife Yuko. My sister died at the end of a very rough August. Her lung cancer metastasized to the bone of her forehead and eye socket. The palliative radiation had been very hard on her and in my daily phone calls I could sense that her optimism was fading.
When I saw her in July her determination to live was evident. “I’m not interested in being treated as a dying person; I intend to live, to continue with printmaking and teaching others what I’ve learned.” By late August she had relaxed into the morphine that was relieving her pain. “Hi. We are all high here and we intend to stay that way,” she joked.
Constance and her husband Ian lived in Atlanta for more than thirty years so it made sense to hold her memorial there. Quentin made all the arrangements for the November memorial at the Atlanta Artists Center (AAC).The center had shown Constance’s etchings and other printmaking work. She won some awards there, taught classes in printmaking and at one point she was the president of the board. My sister Lynne made the arrangements for the flowers and the family and other out-of-towners gathering the night before.
Aloha spirit was Quentin’s and Yuko’s idea. Many of us wore flowered clothing and we were all given Hawaiian leis by Constance’s grandsons, Colin and Evan, as we arrived. There was a tape of her favorite music put together by Yuko and a video and lots of print photos for attendees to take home. The whole package created a festive atmosphere that my sister would have loved.
“Aloha! The group answered me in a call and response fashion. I continued in my role as memorial master of ceremonies.
“I am Alan Culler, Constance’s “rotten little brother,” also known to her as ‘Brudder’ or “me brudder” or Alan Cay.
Names are a little funny in our family – I used to call myself ‘Al’ until my sister Carolyn, who is called Lynne, married Alan Wilson who was called Al at work and Alan at home. The family needed some way to differentiate between this nine-year-old boy and this twenty-three-year-old man. So I became Alan Cay (C-A-Y my middle name). Alan Cay was less confusing.
Then about ten years ago my sister Connie, who I had known as Connie for more than 50 years, asked me to call her Constance. She explained that she signed her artwork Constance Culler Falconer and everyone at the Atlanta Artists Center called her Constance as did most people in Atlanta.
I tried, but probably not hard enough. I frankly didn’t call her Constance very often (rotten little brother). Then one day she started leaving me voicemails that said “Hi this is Constance, Connie, Mom, Gramma. Whoever I am, you can call me back.”
I talked with her about it and she said, ”Well sweetie, you’re never gonna call me Constance and I’ve realized that I have many different names, but most of you know who I am no matter what you decide to call me.’”
Connie was my first playmate. She used to tell people that “when Alan was born I immediately regressed, growing down the six and a half years between us to play with him.” I am very grateful. We had a lot of fun and Connie taught me that you are only young once, but you can be immature forever. It is how I’ve lived my life.
I also picked up my “smart mouth” from her. Our very strict father called it SASS and Connie and I got in trouble a lot together. We were always getting sent to our rooms when one of us would make a smart remark and the other would laugh. But our closets backed up on each other and so we’d go into our closets, commiserate about our punishments and laugh at our sass all over again.
As I told the gathering:
“If Constance, Connie, Mom, Gramma were here – and you know she might be – it would be very like her to pull a Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn in order to listen in on what we say – If she were here she would want you to have FUN.
Now it might seem strange to have fun at a memorial service, but Connie was all about having fun and the best thing Connie and Ian could say about an event was that ‘it was a lot of fun –good fun.’
So have fun – celebrate her life by laughing, telling stories, meeting new people. Lord knows, my sister could talk to anyone and learn their entire life’s story very quickly. So have Fun! And feel the Aloha!”
Again the group answered the call, “Aloha!”
As MC, I introduced Ian, her “loving husband of almost fifty-nine years and my lovely brother-in-law.” Truthfully we all worried about Ian’s speech. How very difficult it must be to lose your partner of so many years. But Ian was charming and told the story of Connie’s birth. I remember my mother telling this story. Evidently she was a breach birth and my mother pushed a little too hard and Dr. Johnnie lost his grip. Connie used to expand the story as the reason for her quirky personality. “I was dropped on my head, you know.”
Ian told of their travels to so many countries and how Connie was quite enthusiastic when Ian’s work took them to Indonesia for seven years.
Quentin told what he had learned from his mother in three clear points:
• Be nice – always think about how others will react to what you are saying. Remember to treat others as you would like to be treated
• Be educated – this was more than the many degrees that Quentin and his parents hold. It was about the importance of studying different cultures, listening to different people, and always broadening your perspective.
• Be positive – My sister frequently said, “My blood type is B-positive and that’s also my attitude in life.” It always made medical personnel smile, but it also made anyone within earshot smile as well.
“Memorials are about sharing memories,” said twelve-year-old Colin. “And I want to share a memory of my Gramma.” He went on to describe the scene in the hospital in Hawaii, where the boys had brought a homemade Easter basket with plastic eggs. He and Evan had filled each egg with an encouraging message, “Feel better,” “You got this!”
“Gramma wanted to join in and she took some eggs and a pen and paper and wrote us messages. She wrote me, ‘You da best!’ Here she was so sick and she focused, not on herself, but on others. ‘You da best,’ it’s who she was.”
My sister, Lynne, told how her children liked it when Aunt Connie came to visit because it loosened their mother up a bit. “You laugh a lot when Aunt Connie comes, they’d say” Having children seemed to increase the bond between Connie and Lynne that had been eclipsed by her regression to become my playmate and Lynne’s entrance into the adult world.
Ian’s brother Brian told of how he and his wife Jo hadn’t met Connie for quite a while because Brian was working in international development and he and Jo were living in Africa. He mentioned Connie had made prints of so many of the African animals that Brian and Jo loved. Brian went on to say how the two couples became closer in shared grief when Connie and Ian lost their son Glen in 2002.
My cousin Jeannine, my father’s sister’s daughter, told of how she had been close playmates with Carolyn and Connie as children and when my parents moved to Boston, she lost her siblings and become an only child again. Jeannine went on to say how Connie and Ian had visited her and her partner Suzanne and had hosted them numerous times and that it was always good fun.
My daughter Tegan told a story of a frosting fight, started by Connie that was the highlight of Connie’s fiftieth birthday party.
So many of her friends spoke. Martha told stories of the parties and the closeness born of Connie and Ian living with them. A couple told the story of how they had become close with Connie and Ian around home brewing. (Glen was a brewer and the family has a foundation in his name that raises funds for scholarships for brewers.) Jennifer, a friend of Glen’s wrote in that she had become close with Connie after Glen’s death.
Most stories were about Connie’s fun-loving, loving personality and her cooking. Southern fried chicken was mentioned several times. At the end a member of the Atlanta Artists Center spoke about her leadership.
“I was on the AAC board when Constance took over as president. We were losing money and it wasn’t at all clear that the organization would survive. I remember those early board meetings where Constance took us in hand and helped us find new sources of revenue in teaching and art shows. She got Ian to do our books and we stopped wasteful spending. Yes, she was fun and she was loving, but she was tough, too. She got things done. Atlanta Artists Center is here today in large part due to her work.”
There are many sides to people. We are each a jewel and we shine different facets to those with whom we connect.
Our family will always think of Connie as the kooky spirit who called on our birthdays to sing Happy Birthday. “I’ve saved those messages forever because they made me feel good,” said Nancy, Lynne’s niece.
Nancy’s brother Chris wrote, “Connie helped ME help my parents during some very difficult times. Connie and Ian stayed with Frank and Barbara [his parents] quite often, and always made it a point to pull me aside and ask how we were all doing. Not the B.S. regular “ask and don’t really listen” way, I’m talking about super genuine concern. To my mother and to all of us Connie was ‘quadruple special.’”
Family, friends, and even strangers will remember her for how she listened to them and was right there when they spoke. “Constance had such a calming presence about her. I always felt accepted, understood, and loved.”
Anyone who sees her art on the wall will appreciate her talent, the detail carved in reverse into a print plate – a mother and child animal grouping, a light and shadow rendition of a Moroccan market, a tea seller, a shell, a jellyfish. But those who more directly experienced her passion for her art, who sat through one of her classes or shared a show or the rebuilding of the AAC will remember a different facet of the sapphire that was Constance.
I believe we are all here to learn. . . and to teach. There are so many lessons from a life. Here are a few from the life of Constance, Connie, Mom, Gramma:
• Be nice.
• Be educated.
• Be positive.
• Have fun – celebrate, party, connect.
• You are only young once, but you can be immature forever.
• It doesn’t matter what people call you; what’s important is that they know who you are, (and that happens when you know who you are.)
• Focus on others.
• Remember the little things – birthday and holiday wishes, people’s names and interests.
• Talk, speak and listen, to everyone – everyone is a jewel; look for a parallel facet.
• Follow your passion – be it travel, art, your work or your play – your passion is your “art’ and “we are all artists.”
I remain a little disassociated from Connie’s death. Though I talked to her almost every day of her final months, her leaving is still a little “over there.” I miss my first playmate. I keep thinking of the last time I saw her, “I am not interested in this death stuff; I have too much left to do.”
About two days before she died we were talking on the phone. It was an unusually coherent conversation. I could tell she was getting tired and so I was hurrying off the phone because I didn’t want to wear her out, when she stopped and said,
“Don’t you worry about me, Darlin’. You go on and live your life. I’ll call you when all this is over.”
Now, I jump every time my cellphone rings. Missed calls take on new meaning. But as strange as it would be to get a call from the other side, it would be wonderful to hear her voice again.
Copyright 2019 Alan Cay Culler
What’s your fondest memory of Constance?
What’s a lesson you learned from Constance?
Share a story where Constance's kindness touched your heart.
Describe a day with Constance you’ll never forget.
How did Constance make you smile?