Film parties are something of a guessing game when it comes to being able to “see” who’s who in the dimly lit (bordering on pitch black) environments that the “NYFW party” du jour relies on for its allure exclusive. No lights, no candles. Maybe, just maybe, if you’re in the mood, you’ll put a low-wattage mini lamp in the softest white ever, covered by an absolutely black lampshade, on a side table in a dark corner, or a retro ceramic saw with an adobe colored finish, zero light emission and mounted ORDER even higher than the eye level of a very tall person – or (my favorite), you’ll be able to catch a glimpse of someone by the light of a nearby guest, on their phone all the time. And I don’t mean all these scenarios in one party: scoring all three at the same time would be a triple cherry in a slot machine. You get what you can get.
So when I shoot candidly, I usually don’t know exactly “who” is in my frame until I look at the photos afterwards and see what the flash reveals. Which, I have to say (even though it sounded like I was complaining), is a lot of fun. It’s like a grab bag from Claire’s, circa 1996: you don’t know what’s inside, but you buy it anyway because you know it’s going to be good.