Betsy Wyeth's World is an Island in Maine
Islands are the perfect places for Betsy Wyeth. Of the numerous islands in her life, some are metaphoric, created as home and refuge for herself and the man — the artist — she loves.
But there are also the islands with actual moats of distance and challenge, the islands she has bought and lived on off the coast of Maine. Places perfect for keeping the world, literally, at bay.
Every one of these islands is an intensely personal place and serves as muse and world to both Betsy and Andrew Wyeth. Yet in perfect counterpoint to their privacy, their lives have been shared with the outside world in the most intimate of detail for more than 65 years.
Since I was 7, Betsy’s islands have been elemental in my life. From my parents’ portion of an old Quaker mill property in Chadd’s Ford, Pennsylvania, I grew up playing down the hill on the Wyeths’ land, in the old mill itself, and particularly on their three islands in the Brandywine River. After intervening years of school, travel, and sampling the fruits of the larger world, I accepted Betsy’s invitation to come spend a Maine summer with them in 1978.
There would be no going back. I willingly fell into Betsy’s arms, which welcomed me to other islands just coming into her world. I was to be the apprentice of her newest alchemy. In 1978, Betsy bought 22-acre Southern Island, set in the mouth of a small fishing harbor, and for 12 years she and Andy lived and worked there. Southern’s beautiful Tenants Harbor Lighthouse was both home and model, if you will, for many of Andy’s remarkable paintings. Their first “real” island home, it fed a stirring in Betsy, and only a year later, when she learned that just down the coast, 450-acre Allen Island was for sale, she bought it. Just like that. And, later, Benner Island, literally a stone’s throw away, which she bought in 1989.
And she said to me, “Well, I did it. Bought Allen Island. Now what the hell am I going to do with an island this size, six miles off the coast? You helped get me into this — she’s yours in all but title. Help me figure this out and let’s have some fun.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw a 450-acre blank canvas there on the horizon. Allen was then feral territory. Like nearly 300 once year-round islands off the coast of Maine, it had lost its community, its school, its fields. It had become a seasonal home for two fishing families living in decaying houses on the fringe of the fast-encroaching spruce forest.
I had no idea this place would completely change my life.
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