Maine Ideas

I relish the process of creative meandering—that preliminary step we all go through in which we explore all the rivulets of inspiration that feed into the estuaries of design concept. Upon establishing the solid ground of givens, such as location: “East Hampton Springs overlooking the harbor,” building vernacular: “clapboard 1930s cottage,” who: “active blended family of six,” need: “ease, comfort and sense of place that will foster enduring bonding memories,” and once that solid ground is established, one can let the meandering commence. The meandering should allow inspiration to bubble up from anything that even momentarily attracts one’s attention.

Staring through the whispering pine trees may conjure up a blackened green that could become the window casing or shutter color. A vintage toile with pagoda pavilions and blousy rosebuds cavorting across the linen may spark the combined color scheme of your master bedroom or simply the lighthearted ambiance you imagine overall. The discovery of grammar school-style pull-down maps may inspire a stairwell hung with framed topography filled with nostalgia for one’s elementary years.

When I unearthed an assemblage of pewter ice cream molds and tin chocolate molds, their weathered patinated metal seemed the ideal juxtaposition to a sleek stainless-and-concrete kitchen I was conjuring. Mounted on the white plaster wall of that kitchen, the collection could reinforce the theme of the stainless- and greige concrete, but soften and personalize this utilitarian room with their curious sculptural shapes—hardly decipherable as molds and quite industrial chic as a collage.

Meandering over some Audubon prints that I would normally consider quite passé, I encountered the birds of the Bahamas, rich with raspberry tones with melon and cotton pinks. Both thematically appropriate to a house I am working on in the Abacos, and refreshing in their Bahamian hues, these prints clarified the entry-hall scheme.

Why not gloss the walls with the cotton pink, stencil the ceiling with colors of raspberry, frame these prints with large white mattes and white frames and hang nine of them in the entry for dynamic drama and a strong sense of place?

Tearing me away from a summer weekend on the East End is generally an improbability. But a reunion with old friends, with stops in Camden, Boothbay and Dark Harbor, crowned by Maine’s largest outdoor antique show did the trick.

Meandering through Maine’s sensibility was an eye-opener for this confirmed Hamptonite. Rather than purchasing, gutting, renovating, expanding and totally redecorating a summer home to fit one’s every whim and fashion desire, “Mainelanders” prefer to embrace a structure’s ancestral eccentricities.

Yes, they may replace the roof, change the aluminum wiring and get a new stove, but most likely they move in having purchased the previous owner’s furnishings, rearranged a bit, slipcovered a bit, and added their own layers. Stunningly, there is a remarkable creativity in this approach as well, a keen selectivity and a refined eye that recognizes why that brown wicker rocker, though deceptively comfortable, sits in that cramped corner all alone. One discovers through patient observation that it is the ideal spot to quietly view Boothbay Harbor’s lighthouse, centered between the white pine and leafy sugar maple.

You have found a soothing, inspiring spot to weather through your torrent of morning emails. There’s even an ideally sized Chinese lacquer stool upon which to place your strong mug of coffee. You sit there, rock, read, gaze, rock, read, and nothing seems overwhelming or irritating.

Meandering through this sensibility was a pleasure.

Maine’s largest outdoor antique show near Camden was as advertised: large. Although, like Brimfield, this antique market sports its lion’s share of junk but diamonds in the rough are more the rule than the exception.

Though I am greatly spoiled by our dealers and well-vetted fairs here on the East End, much was curious and foreign to my eye, particularly due to the Maine clientele and those remotely located dealers. Despite living by the Hamptons seaside, 100 miles thrust out into the Atlantic, I found that Maine’s antique purveyors were more oriented toward items and collections geared toward a nautical life. There were ship bells, anchors, chains, fabulous lobster traps and colorful buoys, which pepper the bays like confetti.

I remarked at reflective lanterns (shockingly bright when lit), boat detritus apparently fished from the bottom of the sea and all manner of nautical maps, shore birds, fish prints and decoys. Meandering through, I was particularly enamored by items made in home garage workshops, such as a folding card table of inlaid parquetry, a wooden relief of a sloop (carved and stamped by the Maine State Prison), and a huge galleon whose sails were made of birch bark. These lovingly, skillfully executed objects carefully shellacked and waxed spawned ideas for a future paneled library.

Used judiciously in a front hall or study, they will always remind one of the indomitable spirit of the amateur who creates, not to sell but for the love of the craft itself.

The Maine fair was chock-full of hand embroidered, crocheted, printed, stitched and quilted textiles—with a bit of wear and soiling—that simply a box of Biz could cure. Examples of excellent handiwork that obviously entailed hours of labor were sold for pennies.

These linens, starched, ironed and slipped on your bed pillow add class and distinction to even the most contemporary of environments. Quilts, our specific national treasure, should be hung and enshrined as art. I mused how these masterpieces of group stitchery could enshrine the average bed or sofa if used as a vertical backdrop.

I also meandered through my friend, Gary Little’s, home. His Mainelander approach was in evidence, having inherited certain furnishings with the home.

Built in the twenties, this Cape Cod-style wooden house had never been winterized, and enjoyed the original unpainted wood walls and wide pine floors. Sensible additions had not cut down on the number of doors (sometimes six to a room). A dipping of the door hardware—which was a potpourri of brass, crystal and nickel—just added to the ambiance. And finally, upgrading the plumbing and polishing the floors did the Maine trick.

None of the history or eccentricity was wiped out, especially as he layered in with care his treasures found at shops and fairs or items gifted by friends. Though filled, Gary’s small Maine home never felt cramped or uncomfortable. Most important, upon arrival, I felt I had arrived home. And though not my home, nor my sensibility, nor even my aesthetic, I deeply appreciated this often elusive state of being that Maine fosters so deeply.

As an old professor of mine used to say, I had stumbled upon a “teaching moment.” I had meandered right into the inspirational truth of “home.”