Many years ago, the artist Philip Guston took a gaggle of art students to view the Frick Collection in New York. Among his young protégés was Lewiston-born multidisciplinary artist Charlie Hewitt, who had befriended Guston while at a six-week art program at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, New York, where Guston had been artist in residence. “Guston was talking very animatedly about a Goya painting and waving his hands around,” recalls Hewitt. “A guard told him he was getting too close to the painting, and Guston being Guston, he got into a big fight with the guy, cursed him out, and decided to take us to the Central Park Zoo instead.”

At the zoo, Hewitt, who was always doodling—“I have a compulsive need to draw constantly,” he concedes—made several quick drawings of some of the animals and hung them on the walls of his studio. Guston arrived the next day to critique Hewitt’s paintings but was drawn to the doodles. “He said, ‘Charlie, I think what you need is in these. I don’t know how you’re going to get there, but I think this is a way you have to go.’ It felt good to me, since I was very connected to that work,” Hewitt remembers.

Today you could say that Hewitt’s Electric Greenhouse in Portland is a monument to his doodling. The artist Paul Klee famously declared, “A drawing is simply a line going for a walk.” Hewitt, intentionally paraphrasing, adds, “My line went for a walk and came back with 6,000 square feet of new work that has humor and a whole new, fresh attitude.”

A few years ago, Hewitt, who also buys and sells real estate with his wife, Kate Carey, purchased a former florist shop and greenhouse on a quiet residential block in the city’s Deering neighborhood. He spent three years renovating the space himself, turning it into a studio and showroom as well as a gallery-like home for other work. Here he turns his doodles, which range far and wide in
terms of subject matter, into light art—as in electrically illuminated art.

What started it all was a wall sculpture with which Hewitt was struggling. Something about it just wasn’t jelling until he hit upon the notion of making a red linear element in the piece out of neon. The artist’s eureka moment would, in time, birth an entirely new body of work distinctly different from the prints and paintings he creates at his other studio, on Pleasant Street on the peninsula.

In 2019 Hewitt received a commission from Speedwell Contemporary in Portland to create a work for the roof of their gallery building. The result is familiar to anyone who has driven along Forest Avenue at Woodfords Corner: a 28-foot marquee sign that reads “Hopeful” in colored letters and lightbulbs. Having Neokraft Signs fabricate the piece in Lewiston reconnected Hewitt with his childhood roots, from which he’d fled to become an artist in New York.

The year 2019 proved pivotal, recentering Hewitt’s priorities and inspiring a renewed perspective on his role as an artist. “It had a lot to do with being out of the New York–centric art-world thinking,” he explains. “I recaptured something here, of being an artist and communicating. I set out at 25 to be part of the art world. But at 77 years old, I’ve dropped into a new place that’s charged.” (The pun is unintended, but the Electric Greenhouse is—quite literally—charged, with light works glowing
from every window and casting multicolored shadows on every wall.)

Shortly after the Hopeful commission, Hewitt began experimenting with an emerging art form, NFTs (non-fungible tokens) and, eventually, with artificial intelligence (AI). He purchased a billboard on the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel and projected some of his NFTs onto it, starting with Hopeful. That initial message landed him in the New York Times and begat a whole series of other Hopeful signs that now pepper seven states along the Eastern Seaboard, gracing multiple cities in each and
attracting many collectors.

A picture of Hopeful loomed large on a jumbotron at President Joe Biden’s inauguration in 2021. After the Lewiston shootings, locals posed in front of the Hopeful sign on the city’s Bates Mill #5 and spread the photos throughout social media. Janet Mills cited it in her 2023 inauguration speech after being reelected governor of Maine. “These signs became a symbol, not just of survival but of health, renewal, new life,” she said from the podium in Augusta. She continued, “The sign’s creator, Charlie Hewitt, said, ‘To be hopeful is not a gift; it is a challenge. To be hopeful requires opening your eyes. It requires making a decision, being part of something.’”

Hewitt drew from his doodles—scrawled on desk calendars, in sketchbooks, on random pieces of paper—for his NFTs, which are projected onto a television screen in his Electric Greenhouse. Since launching this body of work, he has expanded it through AI. After he draws and colors one of his doodles, Hewitt uploads it into an AI software program. “I input the parameters,” he explains, “terms like ‘Picasso woodcut,’ ‘Roy Lichtenstein,’ ‘Charlie Hewitt,’ ‘linocut.’ It’s my sense of aesthetics and my brain driving the program. Sometimes it surprises me and sends me in a totally different direction.”

This is, in fact, completely natural for Hewitt, who cannot stand still creatively. “I’ve always been dying to get to a new medium I’ve never done,” he says, speaking of the NFTs. Broadening the discussion to include the entirety of his light work and the freedom the Electric Greenhouse affords him to explore it, he adds, “I’m challenged by it. And it resonates with people on a level that has nothing to do with intellect, has nothing to do with the art world. I don’t feel trapped here by anything.”

The evidence of his feverish pursuit of new media is all around him at the Greenhouse. There are freestanding forged metal sculptures also inspired by shapes from his doodles (abstracted saws and hammers, for instance, that reference the carpentry work he did to support his New York art studies). There are light sculptures and NFTs. And there are terra cotta plates on which he has doodled, embossed, and printed imagery: a crown of thorns, dice, a robe, leaves, hands. He felt compelled to make the ceramics because, he says, “Being an artist today is such a secular profession. I’m a lapsed Catholic, but there’s a lot of information in those biblical stories. Jesus was a carpenter, which was something I resonated with. There’s a lot of shorthand iconography I can pull from there.”

None of these media and genres is an island, of course. “One form informs the other. The neon sculpture led to Lewiston and Neokraft, where Hopeful came from, which led to the NFTs, which led to AI.” One can hear in Hewitt’s enthusiasm the sense of liberation he is experiencing after over a half-century of being an artist. “It’s the first time in my whole life,” he says, “that I’m able to control my own
identity and my own narrative.”

The Electric Greenhouse has clearly turned the lights of Hewitt’s soul on full blast. The future is looking bright.

Open by appointment: [email protected].

“We have a longstanding love affair with Maine,” Mindi Poston Gay says. When she and her husband and business partner in MPG Home Design, Phineas Gay, first started dating back in 1999, Phin whisked her up north from Boston for a coastal adventure. “We went on a schooner in Camden Harbor, which turned out to be a test to see how I felt about Maine,” Mindi recalls, noting that her husband has deep roots in the state, while she hails from Miami. “It sealed the deal on both sides; I fell in love with Phin and Maine that weekend.”

The couple, who live in Newburyport, Massachusetts, with two sons, ages 17 and 19, rented a beach house in Lincolnville for years. The long-term plan was for Mindi, who is an architect and designer, and Phin, who runs the operations side of the firm, to build their own home there; it was just a matter of finding the right property. In 2015 they spotted a “for sale” sign while on a motorcycle ride, turned down the gravel road, and got to talking to the owner. Discovering they had much in common, including a deep respect for the land, the Gays purchased just under three-and-a-half acres from him along Penobscot Bay.

“That kinship translated to his comfort in splitting the land,” Phin says. “We assured him and his sister’s family, who are also neighbors, that our vision was for a minimalist design that would blend with nature; we would definitely not be building a McMansion.”

In 2016 the family built a 1,000-square-foot studio that Mindi designed. The shed roof structure has shou sugi ban siding, four glass garage doors, and an open interior. What it doesn’t have is plumbing. “It’s basically a heated garage with a portable sink, composting toilet, gas stove, and four cots we’d roll out,” Mindi shares. “We happily glamped there for several years.”

During that time, Mindi explored design concepts for the home. Seahaus, named for the pair’s mutual appreciation for the sea and for Bauhaus style, was completed in 2023. “It follows Bauhaus design principles: lack of ornamentation, form follows function, less is more,” Mindi ticks off. She also took cues from her Japanese heritage. “I am inspired by the wabi-sabi philosophy of imperfect beauty, things that are weathered and worn,” she says.

Shinrin-yoku is another Japanese influence. Translated as forest bathing, it’s essentially the practice of spending time in nature, appreciating its therapeutic benefits. This idea helped inform where the house is situated. “The structure is set back from the sea, connected via a meandering path through the trees, which allows time for reflection as you make your way to the water,” Mindi explains.

Architecturally, the home plays off the studio located beside it. The home is composed of two purposefully distinct primary forms: the bedroom wing with a shed roof that is the same pitch as the studio’s shed roof, plus the main living space: an open, barn-like form with a gabled roof. A small entry connector joins the two wings and offers a view of the ocean, while a mudroom component comes off the end by the studio.

The couple partnered with Todd Weeks, cofounder of High Seas Builders, to build the 2,100-square-foot home, which exceeds the state’s energy codes. “We sought to boost performance and reduce embodied carbon wherever budget and architectural intent allowed,” Weeks says. “The foundation, walls, and roof R-values are well in excess of code.” In addition, Maine-made triple-paned tilt-and-turn windows and lift-and-slide doors from Pinnacle Window Solutions allow for a greater air seal and a lower U-factor [the insulative value for windows] than double-hung or casement windows and traditional sliders. Weeks also points out that most of the wood used here was cut and milled in Maine. “We were excited about using so many local materials,” he says.

The team also charred the eastern white cedar planks for shou sugi ban details around some of the windows and doors on the exterior. “We lash together three boards with wire to create triangular chimneys and hold them vertically over the fire; the shape draws the fire up,” Weeks says. “We turn them for a few minutes for an even burn, then release the wire, use a brush and water to extinguish the fire and clean the boards, and finally, apply an oil finish.”

There are rustic wood accents inside too; namely, the hemlock ceiling in the airy living space, which reaches 18 feet high at the ridgeline. The knotty planks add instant coziness and are more cost effective than a drywall ceiling. Plaster walls and a polished, poured concrete floor up the earthy ambiance. “We kept the interior pure, without ornamentation or fussiness,” Mindi says. “The focus is on the beauty of nature right outside.” Indeed, a pair of 12-foot-wide sliders maximizes views to the forest and ocean and provides easy access to the wraparound deck.

On one end of the room, a Stûv woodstove perches on a simple concrete bench where logs nestle underneath. A mash-up of vintage midcentury chairs—a Mies van der Rohe Barcelona loveseat, two slouchy Togo chairs, and a black bentwood chair with black and white cushions—encourage gathering. “Choosing where to sit is like a game of musical chairs!” Mindi says.

For privacy and television, folks can duck into the media room behind the curtains, where a painting of a very sad clown hangs over a scrumptious sectional. “It’s from my childhood home, and yes, I was afraid of it,” Phin laughs. “Now we joke that it’s the feeling we get when we leave Seahaus: a big frown.”

An 11-foot-long live-edge table of the couple’s own creation is the centerpiece of the dining area. The Gays plucked the chrome conference table base from an industrial park dumpster, then asked a friend to source a reclaimed pine top. “We had to drive home to get a larger car to transport it,” Mindi recalls. “I designed the layout of the sliders around this table.”

Self-described foodies who like to cook, the couple opted for industrial elements juxtaposed with warm wood in the kitchen. Commercial-style appliances and stainless-steel counters on partially open white oak cabinetry line the perimeter. In the center, an extra-wide sink graces a black-stained island with a chunky, red elm countertop. “We requested red elm for its brilliant coloration,” Phin says. The cabinetmaker, Weeks’s college roommate Jacob Perkins, butterflied three boards with Nakashima-style joinery.

On the other end of the home, the boys’/guest bedroom boasts a birch sleep loft above a queen bed, and a hemlock ceiling. Pine planks cocoon the primary bedroom, where a built-in wardrobe with oak and leather handles runs along one wall for storage. Above the bed, a paper lantern glows like the full moon at night, imparting a Japanese sensibility.

In the primary bath, the team whitewashed leftover cedar siding for the surround. The area is modeled on ideas from Japanese bathing culture. “A soaking tub by an oversized window where we can experience the smell and sounds of the ocean while bathing was very important,” says Mindi, who brings seaweed indoors for her baths. “Seeing the steam rise on a snowy day reminds me of being in Japan.”

Several years ago, a couple living in California started to think about where they wanted to raise a family. The wife had grown up in Stonington, and after seven years on the West Coast, “I started feeling more like I wanted to go home,” she says. “My whole family is still up and down the coast of Maine.” The couple started browsing Maine real estate, looking for somewhere that might feel something like the small island community of the wife’s youth while being within commuting distance of a city where they could pursue their medical careers (one is a pediatric hospitalist, and the other practices family medicine). They found a property on Yarmouth’s Cornfield Point, with water views from every angle and a house that, while not quite what they were seeking, seemed like it could be made to fit them. “A lot of homes on the water are these gigantic, formal homes that just don’t appeal to us,” says the wife. “Here, it feels spacious but cozy. We have plenty of room, but it doesn’t feel like we’re in a huge, vast home with unused spaces.”

From the beginning, the couple planned on renovating before occupying the home. The previous owners were an older couple who had used it as a summer residence, and the new owners wanted a year-round home that would suit a young family. They also wanted to open up the floor plan and add dormers to bring in more of the stunning Casco Bay views that surround the property. While they remained in San Diego, they engaged interior designer Samantha Pappas of Samantha S. Pappas Design, not only to create the light-filled home of their dreams, but also to act as their boots on the ground in Maine. “With them being out of town, I ended up being their go-to person,” says Pappas. “I was there to be their face, to meet with people on-site, and to make sure that our vision for the home was being achieved.” She worked with the couple to assemble the renovation team, led by architect Kevin Browne of Kevin Browne Architecture and builder Matt Cotnoir of MasterCraft Carpentry. “Samantha was able to connect us with everybody,” says the husband. “She was such a great coordinator and resource.”

The original design of the home, built in the 1990s, “was like two or three Capes put together,” says Browne. “There’s the main Cape, a side Cape, and a Cape for the garage.” That meant limited fenestration in the upstairs rooms, which had been barely used by the original owners. The couple planned to move the owners’ suite from the first floor to the second and wanted to make use of unfinished space above the garage as well as improve the flow of the bedrooms. To take advantage
of the water views, the team replaced most of the existing roof, creating a series of dormers around the house as well as adding windows on the first floor. “Once they cut the window openings, it just made you feel a lot more connected to where you are on the property, with all the views around you,” recalls Browne. “There was the biggest ‘wow’ factor.”

Another design challenge was the prominence of the garage, which faces the driveway and is the first thing you see upon arrival. “You would drive in, and just see two garage doors,” says Browne. “We made a prominent covered walkway, so you are drawn to the front door. It’s a nicer approach.” The warm reddish brown of Douglas fir posts and rafters contrasts with the home’s pale shingles, helping to draw the eye away from the garage and toward the entrance. On the other side of the home, a full-length deck was replaced with a smaller, lower one ringed by cascading stairs, which made room for a patio and eliminated the need for railings. Lowering the deck also meant that its furniture wouldn’t get in the way of the view from the downstairs windows.

The first floor was reconfigured to create an easy, open flow for family life. A generous entryway was added, and space that had held a powder room and closet became a mudroom with plenty of room for coats and shoes. (A new powder room was created with space borrowed from the garage.) The kitchen is now divided from the living area by a cabinet structure that includes an appliance garage and pantry space. The arrangement creates easy access to cooking supplies but also allows them to be easily hidden. “I’m pretty type A,” says the wife. “I wanted it to be organized, and to be able to hide the kitchen mess.” Another goal was to avoid upper cabinets to keep the look “open and light,” says the wife; there is plenty of storage in the central island and under the counters. The kitchen is open to the dining area, which takes full advantage of the ocean view. On the other side of the kitchen cabinet is a wood-burning fireplace that anchors the living room, which flows right into a second seating area that has become a toddler play space. “I love that they use this as a little play area for kids,” says Pappas. “We didn’t plan it that way, but it’s perfect. You can clean the concrete coffee table with a Magic Eraser, and it looks brand-new.”

The years the couple spent in California together had some influence on the style they envisioned for the home’s interior. “Parts of the California aesthetic are whitewashed, really neutral. I’m drawn to some of that,” says the wife. “I also think that, with Samantha’s eye, it helped make it not too boring or monotone.” “They wanted it to be relaxed and livable, not formal and stuffy,” says Pappas. “They like a lot of neutrals, bringing interest in more with textures as opposed to pops of color. I like to throw pops of color and pattern in, so it was a fine balance of getting interest in there in a neutral way.” A palette of whites, off-whites, and natural woods keeps the home bright and serene, with coastal blues as accents. Pappas encouraged the incorporation of bold wallpapers in the powder room and some of the bedrooms. “She did a good job of pushing us out of our comfort zone,” says the husband. The wife agrees. “I would say, is it too bold? I’m always worried, am I going to get sick of that? It was helpful to have her guidance on what will work long-term.”

With a fresh floor plan and timeless, neutral decor, the home is ready for many years of family life. The views are no longer shut out; as the seasons change, the moods of the ocean flow through every room. There are cozy spots for toddler play and parent relaxation, and breezy spaces for entertaining when the whole family visits. “It just feels like us,” says the wife. “It feels like our home.”