An Evening in legacy

An Evening in Legacy took place at a hilltop villa just outside Cannes, timed perfectly with the gold-blue hour of the Riviera. The setting felt cinematic but intimate—stone walls, linen curtains catching the breeze, jazz and ambient strings softly threaded through the air.

The long dinner table was the centerpiece of the night:
A custom linen runner stretched across hand-sanded walnut, embroidered with a subtle repeating motif inspired by vintage studio watermarks. The place settings mixed eras—fine bone china from the 1950s sat beside handmade ceramic chargers glazed in oxblood and slate. Flatware was intentionally mismatched: some pieces mid-century silver, others matte black, to nod at generational layering.

Each guest’s name was handwritten on cream cardstock tucked into a folded napkin dyed in Studio Atelier’s Service Green. Instead of menus, a single archival photo was placed at each seat—an image pulled from the early days of Black Hollywood or behind-the-scenes moments from films that shaped a generation. On the back: a quote about legacy, hand-stamped in deep brown ink.

Florals were wild but deliberate: black calla lilies, eucalyptus, burnt peach ranunculus, and sprigs of dried tobacco leaf arranged in low, sculptural vessels made by a Black ceramicist from Marseille. Candles were staggered down the table—some tall and tapering, others wide and low, creating soft pockets of glow. The scent in the air was custom—a blend of smoked fig, vetiver, and saltwater, diffused quietly through the space.

As the sun set and wine passed, stories flowed. Cece toasted her grandfather. Julian spoke of the old studio days. Verna leaned into a memory and everyone paused. It wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t performative. It felt inherited and alive.