Décembre 2015, Paris.
Décembre 2015, Paris.
I’m excited to share that my apartment is soon to be featured on Puddingstone Post! Finally, someone else wanted to geek out with me about design and this dwelling that I have put so much love and energy into over the last 5 years!
Photographing my own space on assignment required a healthy dose of objectivity and reflection, no nit-picking allowed. I mean, the day I’m done fiddling with my house is the day I die, but it was nice to just stop for once and drink in my eternal work in progress. Yep, it definitely feels good to be home (especially now that I’ve gotten my sock drawer in order).
Above: The Noguchi-esque paper lantern in my bedroom cost 15 dollars but feels like a million bucks, and a seascape over my bed, which was painted by my great grandfather, reminds me to appreciate living by the ocean (I forget sometimes). I bought the cloth on top of my dresser in a village at the tip-top of a Cycladic Island, where I encountered this amazing woman. I found the vintage wire egg basket in my neighbor’s trash last Easter Sunday (I was still dressed for church when I grabbed it). The trio of images on the wall are: a drawing I did in college; a random antique portrait that, for me, is so ugly it turns the corner (I think the framing store actually tried to dissuade me from the blush pink metal frame I wanted by “accidentally” putting it in a plain black one); and a Chyrum Lambert study, a present from friends who sublet my apartment last fall and had the artist to stay.
This past winter, I had the delicious joy of photographing a small dinner party of a rather unusual nature. Set against the backdrop of the Reverend Samuel Maxwell House in Warren, Rhode Island, the meal and its costume-clad engineers recreated what a well-to-do Rhode Island family might have served their guests in the 18th century. In the spirit of a lavish abundance of choice on the menu, three different kinds of meat were slowly cooked to perfection in a kitchen fireplace big enough to stand in, while a selection of ‘drunken fruits’ emerged from their month-long bath in brandy to counter the juicy, smoky meats’ flavor. A rich tapestry of side dishes cloaked each table, which was all but obscured by creamware serving platters by the time that guests were invited to take their seats. For dessert, cups of syllabub were prefaced by a demonstration of the creamy dish’s resiliency to being upended, and many a cheerful glass of elderflower champagne was had before the night was through.
These dinners are meticulously crafted by members of the Massasoit Historical Association just twice a year, with very limited seating open to the public by reservation.