Mary Banas

Vinalhaven, Maine reminds me of America. It’s more Americana than America, I think, because it embodies an idea of America through images of the place—a ruddy lobsterman in his yellow foul-weather gear, summer light on an island of pine trees, “summer people” sitting on early-American style wooden rocking chairs on a wooden front porch, the weathered, ocean-facing facade of the studio of Robert Indiana, boat transoms perched high in the yard with witty-but-terrible names, red flat-bed trucks and melting ice cream cones.