LAST NIGHT I, and about a thousand others, attended a party celebrating the publication of a big fat coffee table book called Hamptons Gardens by Jack deLashmet (Assouline), held in a private garden more akin to an arboretum.
There wasn’t an uninteresting plant on the four-acre property, which was designed by deLashmet. No fussy perennial borders — just one extraordinary hedge, tree, and shrub after another, mulched and manicured to the last pine cone, interspersed with pools and statues, but not too gaudy or too many (with the possible exception of the sphinxes). There was an almost Japanese restraint holding the homeowners’ obvious incredible wealth and ability to do anything they wanted in check.
The property, owned by Tony Ingrao and Randy Kemper, interior designers and antique dealers, is all about strolling lawns, discovering hidden corners, admiring individual specimens. The party was all about drinking vodka tonics, sampling tiny hors d’oeuvres, mixing and mingling. It wasn’t too fancy; a lot of people were wearing jeans. It felt like one of those rare “right place at the right time” moments. The season has begun.
Note: The pictures in this post were taken with my friend’s iPhone.