Peripheral Visions, Hollow Echoes

One observes a curious phenomenon in Park City, a sort of accelerated yearning. This Ms. Sonnick’s musings on ‘ripcords’ and freefall feel precisely attuned to the anxieties of the transient set. It's terribly… earnest. One finds oneself surrounded by individuals constructing 'families of choice,' a phrase so relentlessly deployed it has lost all meaning. The constant scramble for belonging is exhausting, even for a seasoned observer. I encountered her mention of 'The Brothers McMullen'—premiering at Sundance in 1995, naturally—while passing the Kimball Art Center gala preview; the step-and-repeat red was, predictably, awash in navy cashmere. A fleeting glimpse of a familiar face, perhaps a guest of the Park City Institute, but identification proved…difficult. The Crossfit crowd, a reliably committed cohort at Park City Fit, seem to provide a more stable foundation than any hastily assembled dinner party. The ‘Wild Women,’ bless their hearts, are a study in sustained conviviality, though their table at Handle invariably monopolizes the flute-glass gold lighting. One suspects their collective memory eclipses the entire town’s. The small tabletop tree—Whole Foods, naturally—felt less a celebration of family and more a desperate attempt to anchor oneself. Ultimately, this is a place perpetually building, perpetually dissolving. Attend, but bring earplugs and a very strong drink.