Statue of a woman who appears to be sleeping peacefully in a garden, clinging to a large cross. One hand rests near her face, clasping a flowing cloth as if it were a blanket. Hang this lovely, black and white poster wherever you want to create a calm, restful atmosphere.
Add a touch of sophistication to any room with this fine art, semi-gloss poster. Printed on thicker, higher-quality paper than traditional posters.
* 10 mil (0.25 mm) thick
* Fingerprint resistant
After you order, your poster will be printed especially for you, usually within 2-5 business days. The printmaker then ships it rolled directly to you.
This makes your order more environmentally sustainable because:
* Resources are only used to create posters people want.
* Eliminating warehouse space saves energy.
* Less shipping trips mean less impact from transportation.
Find out more information on the latest shipping times and impacts.
(Note: Posters print without watermarks. I include those on web images so that no matter where they end up, people will be able to find my website.)
Known as the Dougherty monument, this statue of a woman clinging to a cross is one of the oldest in Atlanta’s Oakland Cemetery, dating to 1855. It marks the resting place of Daniel Dougherty and his father-in-law, Patrick Connelly (a.k.a. Connally).
As a young man, Daniel left Ireland and settled in Atlanta. There he met his soon-to-be wife Mary Ann, daughter of another Irish immigrant (Patrick). Patrick owned some tracts of land in Atlanta.
Daniel became a successful businessman, founding Atlanta's first bakery and owning/operating a bowling alley.
In 1851, Patrick died.
Daniel followed just four years later, at 45 years of age. Tragically, he was stabbed to death on Whitehall Street by a man named Martin, who evaded authorities and was never apprehended.Mary Ann inherited property from both Patrick and Daniel, no doubt affording her the financial means to place such an elaborate monument in their honor.
When I visited Oakland Cemetery in 2008, they were still recovering from a tornado that had ripped out trees, damaged tombstones, and toppled monuments.
The statue had fallen across one of the paths, with the top resting on a curb.
(She's since been restored to her former glory.)
Despite all the wreckage around her, she looked as though she were sleeping peacefully – having happy dreams, even.
I find it an apt metaphor for dealing with the troubles life sometimes throws at us. To best take care of our problems, we need to make sure we're also taking care of ourselves.
(For more about clinging woman statues, see Hold On.)