The Alfond has been a consistent home for John's Winter Park work for more than a decade. The light here is particular, late, oblique, falling between the live oaks and the courtyard walls in a way that flatters skin and dulls metal in the best possible way.
These pages collect a single evening at the Alfond: a ceremony in the courtyard, the dinner inside, the long quiet hour that follows when the photographer is still working and most of the guests have begun to forget the camera is there.
