From Demolished House to Living Canvas: Artist Transforms May Sarton's York Homestead Into 1,800-Square-Foot Garden Tribute

YORK, Maine — In 1973, poet May Sarton moved into a modest house perched beside the sea in this coastal town, seeking refuge from the world. She called the place Wild Knoll, and over the next two decades it became both sanctuary and subject—most famously chronicled in her 1977 memoir, "The House by the Sea."

Decades after Sarton's death in 1995, the house itself was torn down in 2020. But the land it occupied, adjacent to the Surf Point Foundation, still held traces of its former life: an overgrown terrace choked with plants that caught the eye of artist Carly Glovinski during an afternoon walk.

"I'd never seen the house before," Glovinski recalls. "All of these plants on this overgrown, choked-out terrace made me think, 'What's the story here?'"

That question led Glovinski, then serving as an artist-in-residence at Surf Point, into a deep dive through Sarton's memoir. She discovered not just a chronicle of domestic life, but a meditation on the tension that haunts every creator: the push and pull between solitary work and human connection, between the quiet needed to make art and the community that sustains it.

"There was so much about simultaneous art and gardening, about art and place," Glovinski says. "And friends she had over for dinner but also being on her own. I wanted to honor that and explore that idea, and I decided I wanted to put the house back as rooms of flowers."

What emerged is the Wild Knoll Foundation Garden—an ambitious, 1,800-square-foot living artwork that opened five years ago. Using original architectural drawings and blueprint as guides, Glovinski transformed the footprint of the demolished house into a series of color-blocked garden "rooms." The living room is planted entirely in yellow; another space blooms in pure purple. The flagstone terrace Sarton once described facing the sea has also been restored to life, planted with species matching those she cultivated decades earlier.

About two-thirds of the plants are perennials introduced by Glovinski, roughly half of them native species. During her research, she uncovered and salvaged survivors from Sarton's original garden—giant peonies and hydrangeas that somehow endured the house's demolition—and wove them back into the landscape.

The project represents something Glovinski describes as a "living work"—a large-scale piece of aleatoric art that embraces unpredictability as a core principle.

"Plants behave in some ways that are predictable, but respond to things like weather and soil that aren't," she explains. "And animals and pests coming along have an impact."

Unlike a painting or sculpture, the garden cannot be controlled. Unruly weather, pest invasions, and plant diseases reshape it constantly. The sharing of the space—with visitors, volunteers, and community members—adds another layer of transformation each season.

"This has gone beyond just me working on it," Glovinski says. "The sharing of it means it's constantly changing. What's crazy to me about this project is that it's constantly changing and you have to be okay giving up control of some of it in a way you don't have to be with other mediums."

She participates in seed-sharing programs and divides plants each spring, hosting sales for the community. Local gardeners and garden clubs regularly contribute, offering what she calls "so much learned intelligence from the area."

The balance between creator control and collaborative change mirrors themes Glovinski drew from Sarton's writing.

"Creativity is magnetic," she observes. "But there's the need for solitude, too. Those two things are constantly in tension and the balance is difficult. What's interesting about a garden is that you create a space that's a sanctuary, but is also a living, breathing place for people to gather."

The garden operates seasonally, opening in mid-April and closing around the end of October. Visitors must arrange appointments through the Surf Point Foundation website. Throughout the year, the foundation hosts three artists in residence monthly, and the site becomes a venue for lectures, performances, exhibitions, and nature walks—all of which leave their imprint on the living exhibit.

Glovinski, who began her career as a painter and has worked across multiple mediums for decades, taught herself horticulture specifically for this project.

"The aesthetic underpinnings were more artistic than anything," she says. "I'm very process-driven. It gives me something to push up against. I really love learning through doing in a hands-on way. It gives me the conditions for something special to happen."

For those who visit, the garden offers something of what Sarton once found there: a place where solitude and gathering coexist, where the creative spirit finds room to breathe, and where the past blooms into something new.

"Sometimes as an artist you get attached to outcomes," Glovinski reflects. "I started out that way. But that loss of control, and the process itself, is the interesting thing. You learn to get on the ride."