Apr 15

Apr 15 The Picnic

Written by Abigail Napp | Photos by Marc Alt

Picnic Styling by Ojai Picnic Moments | Added Styling by The Alice Edit

LEFT TO RIGHT: ASHLEY WOODS HOLLISTER, CASSANDRA C. JONES, ABIGAIL NAPP, AND LOUISE SANDHAUS

We arrive in the early afternoon at Taft Gardens – 252 acres, not on Google Maps. Cars stop on the road and people move to and fro, shuttling tripods, flower centerpieces, and pillows in the golden light.

From the footpaths, we could not see the elaborate spread of rust and ochre in the desert garden, but we would soon be enjoying it as the picnic models.

The striking beauty and cruelty of a private garden is knowing that you can only be there for a moment, because you are invited. We walked around surveying the space, knowing that the event would quickly be over. The garden would never look the same. The group would never convene again.

The idea for a picnic came to Jules from a work by Renoir. “Luncheon of a Boating Party” depicts actual friends – journalists, actors, and poets – gathered around a shaded table, wearing straw hats, lost in fin-de-siecle banter. In the painting, a white linen tablecloth seems overtaken by arms and elbows, glasses, and wine bottles, while rowboats move in the background. That intimate scene we could only dream of, the pandemic made even a toast seem risky.

At the top of the hill, a wardrobe of ankle-length dresses hung near a banana thicket. Some of the models hovered there, contemplating what to wear. Already, a few garments and accessories had been claimed, including a black felt hat stitched with silver thread, showing the constellations of a night sky.

CASSANDRA C. JONES, TAFT’S ARTIST-IN-RESIDENCE in a hat by satya twena

ASHLEY WOODS HOLLISTER OF T.W. HOLLISTER & CO. enjoys sanders & sons dairy-free strawberry-LEMONADE gelato

We changed behind an impromptu wall in the studio of artist-in-residence Cassandra, a circular room with a couch and desk. We pulled down our masks to drink water in each other’s company.

We spoke about the striking lipstick that brightened a face. The retro Gucci glasses that pulled out the polka dots of a dress. The wedding anniversary diamond that was so luminescent it caught all of our eyes and focused them on the uncommon cut.

We noticed the details of our bodies and clothes and began to describe our attachments and our families. We spoke of the things that are given to us that we wear for life. The expectations, disappointments, and commitments that they represent.

But one possession captivated us all – Georgia O’Keeffe’s bracelet.

Once photographed on a ranch in New Mexico, the piece was now with us, wrapped around the wrist of Alice. We touched it. How could we not? We discussed the artist’s slender hands, photographed in black and white by her lover Alfred Steiglitz. We searched for the photo of O’Keeffe wearing the bracelet when she stood near a rancher, who might have been her crush.

Later, we took our places in the golden light beneath the oak tree, dressed and coiffed, watching the roving photographer, vermouths in hand.

LOUISE SANDHAUS POURS T.W. HOLLISTER & CO.’S RED VERMOUTH FOR ABIGAIL NAPP

This is for us? I wondered throughout the afternoon, impressed by the beauty of the company and the setting. Everyone had contributed in some spectacular way to the experience that unfolded before us.

As our vermouth buzz set in, the desert garden turned on. We asked for more pours, sipping from vintage copper-hued glasses, and licking gelato in ruby cones. The charcuterie plate was forgotten. Tiny flies buzzed around. The clicks of the camera paused only when the conversation drifted in that direction. We made O’Keeffe’s shiny bracelet the protagonist of the session, shimmying the cuff bracelet as if it were a bangle on and off our wrists. We welcomed O’Keeffe to the desert picnic, surrounded by cacti and blossoms she would have surely painted for all of us; the party that we hoped would never end.