OUR VIEW | On Memory, Meaning, and the Homes We Build
- Amy Darrow
- Oct 31
- 3 min read
Is there life after death?
It’s fall here in the South. The kind where the calendar says November, but the trees haven’t quite caught on and the temperatures are just truly beginning to drop. Growing up in the North, this would be the moment when everything turned golden. A quiet spectacle of change. It was always a cue: the season of letting go had arrived. I’ve come to love that about fall! Not just the crisp air and softer light, but the way nature models release without resistance. A gentle reminder that this is the season to pause, honor what’s been, and quietly make room for what’s next.
In our family, this time of year holds special meaning.
Halloween may bring the costumes and candy, but on November 1st and 2nd, we shift into something quieter. In our home we create an ofrenda—a simple altar that stays in our home throughout the month of November. On it, we place photos, handwritten notes, small objects that commemorate those we’ve lost. It’s a sacred pause. A visual reminder that those who shaped us are never far away.
Even as a designer, my own home isn’t what you’d call “perfectly curated.”
Surprise!
Scattered throughout are odds and ends that seem unfitting for the space. If you come to visit, you’ll spot the copious pig figurines that seem to quietly inhabit the shelves—a nod to my grandmother, who collected them her whole life. You could not know her and not know the story behind her collection. At her funeral, we laid out her vast collection and invited each guest to choose one to take home.
Now, these quirky little pigs are part of the landscape of our life. Not because they match anything, but because they mean something.
They are living, breathing relics of love.
As a design studio, we're often asked:
"Will you throw everything out?"
"Are you going to want to start from scratch?"
The answer is always no.
We are not in the business of wiping the slate clean—we’re in the practice of building from what matters most.
That often starts with the pieces that carry memory, history, and soul. Clients often ask what to do with inherited items, family furniture, or sentimental art that may not fully align with their vision for a “new” space. Our answer? Let’s talk about it. Let’s find out why it matters. Sometimes it’s the memory and the story that can be honored through new placement of a feature piece. Other times, it’s okay to let it go—passing it on so it can begin a new life elsewhere.
One client recently gifted me a pink carnival glass deviled egg dish from her mother’s collection. I treasure it. Every time I open the drawer and see it, I think of her—and of her mother, whom I never met, but feel connected to just the same.
Is there life after death?
I say yes.
Not just in the spiritual sense, but in how we carry each other forward—in our words, our habits, our stories, our objects.
The homes we design are not just spaces for living. They're places for remembering. And more importantly, for continuing.
If you’ve been wondering what to do with the pieces of your past, know this: you don’t have to choose between meaning and beauty.
We believe in designing for both.
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