The de Kooning Clan

“I’ve just started using color in my drawings,” says Lucy de Kooning Villeneuve, 29, as she leads me through the living room of her childhood home in Springs, a quiet, wooded corner of East Hampton, New York. She points to a stack of pastel watercolors on the coffee table. “Color is always more fun.”

It’s been over a decade since I last saw Lucy. Her white-blond hair, once long and tangled from daily ocean swims, is now straight and cut at the chin. Her raspy laugh is just as I remember, and the hum of guests moving through the open kitchen feels familiar. On this clear May day, she’s set up a makeshift studio on the patio—two easels and a low wooden table cluttered with paint tubes and brushes.

Lucy comes from a family of artists who have worked in or around this backyard for generations. Her grandfather, Willem de Kooning, bought the land in 1963, building a house and studio on a few wild acres off Springs Fireplace Road. At the far end of the oak-dotted lawn, his two-story studio still stands, filled with paintings wrapped in plastic. His wife and artistic partner, Elaine de Kooning, kept a studio across the narrow harbor in the North West Woods. Lucy’s mother, Lisa de Kooning, sculpted bronze animals—elephants, cows, rams—many of which still stand guard around the house.

Then, in high school, there was us—a ragtag group of local teen artists who experimented with different mediums at the de Kooning home. We built skateboard ramps, turned Lucy upside down to stamp painted footprints on the ceiling, and played Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” on repeat. The house became a hub for creative mischief, thanks to Lisa’s belief in the power of play. “With my mom, there was always paint, art, animals, and fun,” Lucy says. Lisa filled the property with animals—mini ponies named Sara and Joe, pigs (Peter, Wilbur, Daisy, and Dude), a Clydesdale called Bubba, and a white cockatoo named Lulu. She also transformed Lucy’s bedroom into “the neon room,” a UV-lit space where friends could paint on the walls—as long as they didn’t write their names, which the de Koonings considered “boring.”

Though it’s been 12 years since her mother’s death, Lucy has carried on her legacy of encouraging creativity in young artists. For the past three years, she’s taught art to 120 middle schoolers on the Upper West Side, helping them bring their wild cardboard costumes and plaster sculptures to life. Her last day at the Stephen Gaynor School is June 14; after that, she’ll move to Springs full-time to focus on painting. (She has a group show opening July 5 at Keyes Art in Sag Harbor and has already donated five watercolors and a painting to fundraisers for the Springs Historical Society and the Springs Food Pantry.)

“The work I make in Springs is very different from what I make in the city. The energy of my lines and colors shifts,” Lucy says. Then there’s the energy of the space itself. “It can feel overwhelming to make art next to someone I admire so deeply,” she adds, laughing and glancing toward the backyard. “He’s always right there.”

Campo Cuttica

Thirty-year-old Benjamin Sosne, who grew up in Southampton, also remembers Lucy’s house as “a nurturing place where creativity was always encouraged.” He only recently turned to art himself, leaving behind a career in real estate to spend long hours in an industrial studio experimenting with paint, sculpture, and even cannons. “It’s rare to find community and mentorship,” Benjamin says. Luckily, he found both with the Cutticas.Benjamin’s studio sits among several metal warehouses on the Cuttica family’s 40-acre property in Flanders, roughly 50 minutes west of Springs along Montauk Highway. Once a duck farm, the land was transformed in the early 2000s by sculptor and metalworker Gloria Kisch. Now, it’s a whimsical landscape dotted with towering 60-foot pine trees, rocky streams, three ponds inhabited by snapping turtles, and playful metal sculptures from Gloria’s collection.

In 2019, acclaimed Argentine painter Eugenio Cuttica and his wife Ruth purchased the property. Along with their sons, Franco and Lautaro, they moved their surfboards, two Boston terriers, wooden sculptures, and towering canvases from East Hampton. The family has since reimagined the space as Campo Cuttica—a working studio, gallery, family home, and gathering place for artistic souls. Artists who rent studio space here don’t just get a workspace—they become part of the family.

Across a wide field, 35-year-old Franco Cuttica carves into a wooden horse with an electric saw, his shaggy hair tucked under a backward baseball cap. “I don’t try to mimic a horse,” he says, smoothing the muzzle with a sander. “I let the wood reveal the horse it already is.” He began crafting driftwood sculptures in high school, scouring local beaches for the perfect pieces. (I first saw his graceful wooden horses when I was a gangly eighth grader—awkward in all the wrong places—and they left a lasting impression.) What started as a high school side hustle eventually paid his college tuition and grew into a thriving art career on the East End.

“My father taught me how to make art,” Franco says, “but also how to sell it.” Eugenio, whose large-scale figurative paintings have been exhibited worldwide, remains a guiding presence at Campo Cuttica. He offers feedback, shares meals with resident artists, and always has a quick-witted remark ready.

“Eugenio will look at my paintings and point out what’s working or what might not be,” Benjamin explains. “There are so many talented artists out there,” Franco adds, “but creating art can be a lonely journey.”

The Cutticas’ vision comes alive during their monthly summer asados. The centerpiece is a massive grill where Franco cooks 20-pound steaks for barefoot guests. Around him, people dance, mingle, and enjoy live music—often a mix of local musicians and Franco’s high school friends. With drinks in hand and dogs weaving between feet, guests wander through open studios, where canvases still glisten with fresh paint. Invitations spread by word of mouth, though Franco admits he sometimes drives around town handing flyers to people who “look interesting.” In an area known for private estates and tall hedges, the Cutticas see sharing their land—and fostering a space for both creativity and celebration—as a responsibility.

Twenty miles east, past the Parrish Art Museum and down Scuttle Hole Road, 28-year-old Cornelia Channing sets up for a softball game in her backyard—the 158-acre property better known as Channing Daughters Winery. “It might sound corny,” she says, digging through a bin of sports equipment, “but with the privilege of this space comes responsibility. We want to make the most of it.”

Her father, Walter Channing, bought the land in 1979, shaping the hills and planting vines across what was once a potato field. He also built a woodworking studio, crafting large-scale sculptures from fallen trees salvaged with the help of the local fire department. “Walter was a force of nature, an athlete…”Franco describes it as a “state of art.” Cornelia adds, “As a child, being around someone creating art like this was incredibly exciting and fun.” His massive sculptures—upside-down trees and a 40-foot-tall yellow pencil that seemed capable of writing messages in the sky—became backyard landmarks. “Building this artistic kingdom was his lifelong dream,” she says.

Now an editor at The New York Times, Cornelia spent years reporting for East Magazine and The East Hampton Star, developing a relatable voice that extends beyond the East End. She and her sisters are also taking on new roles at the family winery as the longtime CEO retires this year.

On Memorial Day, Cornelia’s mother, Molly Channing, mans the grill, flipping hot dogs and hamburgers. The crunch of gravel signals more arrivals—guests with energetic dogs, small children, and cases of seltzer. Local artists like Scott Bluedorn, Ellie Duke, Harris Allen, Julian Mardoyan-Smyth, and Nick Whelan dot the lawn. “The social scene here is wild,” Cornelia remarks. “There’s a huge community of people aged 25 to 40 who live here year-round, and that’s completely transformed the area.”

Cornelia’s version of the Hamptons is a far cry from the exclusive, bottle-service clubs frequented by linen-clad finance types. Her East End revolves around a tight-knit group—group chats organize potlucks, late-night movie screenings, and midnight ocean swims. “The dream,” she says, “is to bring more artists into the sculpture garden. We’ve also talked about starting a residency where a wood sculptor could work in the old studio.”

She adds, “We’re a real, working art community. My friends are ambitious—not just for themselves, but for this place too.”

### Community Galleries

Thirty minutes down the South Fork, where Montauk’s main strip fades into dunes and scrubland, another unconventional art space is quietly reshaping the landscape. Max Levai, 37, a former Manhattan art dealer who once ran Marlborough Gallery, moved to the East End during the pandemic and took over a 17th-century cattle ranch—believed to be the oldest in America. Once owned by Mickey Drexler, the 26-acre horse farm sits near Peter Beard’s former home and the Roosevelt estate. It’s now home to The Ranch, a working gallery housed in a converted horse barn.

“The idea is to challenge what a gallery should be,” Max explains as Monday, his 95-pound Rottweiler-hound mix, runs laps in an empty sand ring. Unlike the pristine white-cube galleries lining Hamptons’ Main Streets, The Ranch invites artists to live, work, and exhibit on the rustic property. “I wanted to see what happens when you bring artists to a place and just let them exist and create,” Max says.

The first permanent structure at The Ranch isn’t a gallery wall—it’s a living sculpture by Mamoun Nukumanu Friedrich-Grosvenor titled Earth and Sky. Made from willow and bamboo, the 40-foot-wide geodome is planted directly into the field, its woven frame designed to shift and take deeper root over time. Within five years, the willow will support itself entirely, while the bamboo will decompose. “There’s a commitment here that goes beyond money,” Max says. “There’s a responsibility in maintaining something that’s alive.”

Mamoun’s organic, architectural installations have become leafy landmarks across the Hamptons. Sitting inside his largest sculpture to date, its branches knotted 18 feet overhead, the wind sends a brittle creaking sound through the swaying structure.

Born in Southampton, Mamoun grew up surrounded by artists—his mother, Saskia Friedrich, and father, Jeremy Grosvenor, are both local artists.One grandfather is a land artist whose work is displayed at Storm King Art Center, while the other founded the Dia Art Foundation. “I’m deeply influenced by my family,” he says, “but also by this place.” Growing up surrounded by such pristine beauty, he explains, comes with a sense of duty—to use the resources of this landscape for good. His work now appears in numerous locations: at Campo Cuttica, Folly Tree Arboretum, The Ranch, Tripoli Gallery, and private homes. Lucy hopes to install one of his structures at the de Kooning estate as well.

Mamoun describes his sculptures as “paintings in time,” pieces that reshape the ecosystem as they grow. Fast-growing trees like willows and poplars will eventually be replaced by longer-living species such as red maples and sycamores. “When I’m around 60,” he says with a shrug, “maybe I can take a break.” This spring, Mamoun also unveiled a new series of sculptures and drawings in his first solo exhibition at Tripoli Gallery, titled “Birds.”

Meanwhile, in Wainscott, 40-year-old Tripoli Patterson is preparing to close his gallery for the holiday weekend. A former professional surfer from Sag Harbor, Tripoli opened his gallery in 2009 with the goal of making fine art more approachable and enjoyable. “I want everyone to feel welcome in the art world,” he says. “A gallery should be a place you can walk into, even if you’re not looking to buy.”

His annual Thanksgiving Collective—a November group show featuring local artists—has become a Hamptons tradition and a reunion for seasonal visitors like myself. This year’s 20th anniversary exhibition included 145 artists, among them Cornelia’s older sister Sylvia Channing, Mamoun and both his parents, Lautaro Cuttica, and Tripoli’s younger brother, Yung Jake.

For Tripoli, art has always been a family affair. His father, Leonardo Patterson, a Costa Rican-born antiquities dealer, came to the East End in the late 1970s to meet Willem de Kooning and show him a collection of Pre-Columbian artifacts. Through “Bill,” he met his future wife—a friend of Lisa de Kooning. “Having Lisa as my godmother gave me someone who helped launch my career,” Tripoli says. She assisted him in opening his first physical gallery on Jobs Lane in Southampton. Years later, when relocating to Wainscott and preparing for his first solo show with Puerto Rican painter Félix Bonilla, Lisa arranged for Larry Gagosian’s jet to transport the paintings from Puerto Rico.

Now, Tripoli envisions transforming his gallery into a true community hub, complete with a café, library, and plenty of space to gather. “The Hamptons are about what’s happening now,” he says. “The community is in our hands.”