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| PARTIES AND THEIR PHOTOS by Carol Joynt The best party photos invite the viewer into the party. It may be an illusion but they almost seem to have sound effects — the laughter, the tinkling of ice, the din of the room, THE music, the punch line to the jokes. Just as with a good party, a good party photo has vibrancy, and spontaneity. For the photographer, the trick is to go as unnoticed as possible, or to get people to forget there’s a camera. Occasionally, though, the photographer must cajole the a shy one into a moment that cracks the shell. Whatever else, avoid posey-posey, because it risks turning out like a mug shot.
The famous Oscars selfie wasn’t the first of the genre, but it made these self-portraits as ubiquitous as the golden arches. I respect the cultural significance of the selfie. From time to time I indulge like a 16-year-old on prom night, and also enjoy the selfie playground that is Instagram, but the key with selfies, as with life, is self-control. I mean you, James Franco. The past week stands out for parties that were different in form and location but lent themselves to the spirit of capturing the moment. |
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| The first was last Thursday at the St. Regis Hotel and hosted by Thornwillow Press publisher Luke Ives Pontifell, who gives good parties. A full room but not crowded, a din of conversation but no need to shout, and delicious cocktails. I’ve only been to two of Luke’s parties, both in Washington, and both delightful. He appears to craft his soirées with the same measures used in his profession of creating handmade books, stationery, calling cards and other beautiful paper items. The party was to promote Thornwillow’s new edition of Lewis Carroll’s poem “The Walrus and the Carpenter,” and to thank Adam Gopnik, who wrote the book’s foreword. The photo I loved best happened the moment after Pontifell introduced Gopnik, who said something that was insider funny to both of them, and Pontifell cracked up. It’s attractive when men make other men laugh. I wish I could remember the joke, but I can’t and it doesn’t matter. |
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| Luke’s got Harvard written all over him, and appropriately because he went to school there, but he’s not a stuffed shirt. He’s jovial and at ease. We talked about an off the wall idea, using his ancient, artisan methods to make a dictionary of modern urban slang (see “selfie”) which allowed me to try to explain the meaning of “throwing shade.” My unprintable definition made him laugh. “Ah, I get it,” he said. This topic carried on when we sat down to talk with Gopnik and his wife, Martha Parker. They were slightly perplexed but also intrigued by the idea of “shade” and a Thornwillow version of Urban Dictionary. But they also wanted to say hey, wassup? with their friend Jill Krementz, New York Social Diary’s associate editor. And, so, hey, a shout-out to you, dear Jill. No shade thrown. Next week we’ll explore ratchet. |
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| Friday evening brought a retreat to one of my favorite getaways, the serene town of Little Washington in Rappahannock County, Virginia, though getting there involved anything but serenity — ninety minutes of highway gridlock followed by thirty minutes of blinding thunderstorms. I knew that friends, food, wine and merriment waited at the end of the stressful journey. |
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| The main event was a dinner party at the home of “Big Washington” developers Jim and Mai Abdo. They invited one of their favorite DC chefs, Dan O’Brien, owner of DC’s Seasonal Pantry restaurant and market, to prepare the dinner and to also be a guest. Rounding out our group was John Fox Sullivan, into his second career as mayor of Little Washington, and his always elegant and always smart wife, Beverly Sullivan; and, last but not least, Henry Harris, a contractor who is involved in various Abdo projects. |
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| The Abdo’s also are innkeepers and I stayed at their just-opened White Moose Inn, which is on Main Street and only a short walk from the town’s famous Inn at Little Washington. The two inns are quite compatible — the Inn at Little Washington being the grand dame and the White Moose the hipster boutique B&B. Room rates are always negotiable in this emerging-from-recession era, but The Inn is more expensive, the Moose less expensive. While the Moose has a cook’s kitchen and does offer daily breakfast and occasional chef dinners, it is not a restaurant. The Inn, of course, is built upon one of the best restaurants in the United States. The chef and owner, Patrick O’Connell, is a close friend of more than 30 years. |
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| After a delicious roasted chicken dinner at the Abdo’s, (and a never exhausted supply of fine wine) we piled into cars and drove twisty country roads through milk thick fog to bring chef Dan to meet chef Patrick. In the “living room” at The Inn our group of 6 quickly expanded to 12 as Joe and Lizanne Reger, who were staying at The Inn; and another young couple who were staying at the Moose; and then chef O’Connell, joined us. |
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| Patrick can’t help himself; he is a naturally generous host. He treated us to nightcaps as well as an assortment of cookies and other sweets plus his signature red and white striped boxes of fresh popcorn adorned with shaved black truffle. I swooned over the popcorn as those who had just finished in the dining room gushed about their dinners, in particular a quintessential Patrick creation – “Hot and Cold Foie Gras.” Dan got a private tour from Patrick of the major motion picture that is The Inn’s kitchen. And then more drinks. All the photos from the evening are festive and tell a story. My favorite is one shot at the very end of the night, at midnight, of the whole crew of us. It was a rollicking good time. Lots of affection and laughter, and I hope that shows. |
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| Photographs by Carol Joynt. |
Follow Carol on twitter @caroljoynt |
