Une Nuit d’Hiver chez Nicholson

Written and Edited: Shayla Torres

Winter, after dark.

There are nights that stay with you. Earlier this winter, The Nicholson Gallery became one of them. The evening marked our first after-hours gathering, created to celebrate the holidays and to acknowledge the changes quietly unfolding within the gallery. It was a moment to bring our community together in appreciation, to pause at the end of the year and sit inside what has been built, what is shifting, and what is still becoming. Objects, people, music, and light existed side by side without hierarchy or expectation. The night carried a sense of intention rather than announcement, a gentle closing of one chapter and a hopeful gesture toward the next, held like a small lucky charm as the year turned.

As guests stepped inside, movement between rooms was immediate, continuous. People were curious, drawn to the way light had been handled throughout the gallery. Light stayed intentionally low, concentrated closer to surfaces than ceilings, allowing materials to hold most of the atmosphere on their own. Chandeliers were placed lower than expected, resting on enfilades, positioned directly on the floor in certain areas, treated less as overhead lighting and more as sculptural light within the room. The effect felt quieter, more intimate, less formal than traditional ceiling placement. Glass, candlelight, lacquer, and shadow doing most of the work.

Mirrors were positioned throughout the gallery, catching fragments of movement and conversation as people moved through the space. 

Color remained controlled. Burgundy, navy, dusty blue. Velvet appearing in deliberate, almost restrained moments rather than as a dominant decoration. Table linens fell longer than necessary, reading closer to drapery than function. Dogwood branches held miniature ornaments suspended low across one of the dining tables, subtle enough that they revealed themselves slowly rather than all at once.

 

Three trees occupied different areas of the gallery, each carrying its own emotional temperature. The primary tree, natural and tall, stood beneath the 1910 Italian rouge crystal chandelier near the dance space, tinsel catching low red light, burgundy velvet bows sitting heavily against the branches. A second tree formed from an open apple picking ladder wrapped in lights and oversized soft blue ornaments, cooling that side of the gallery into something more atmospheric and quiet. The third remained traditional. Gold. Red. Warm. Familiar.

Candles lived everywhere. Across enfilades. Along tables. At floor level. Enough to keep the room dimensional without flattening it under overhead light. By the time the gallery filled, the environment already felt established, less like decoration and more like a continuation of the architecture itself.

Along the late nineteenth century French walnut counter (where we call the room The Nicholson Cafe), the bar settled naturally into the room, cocktails poured beside house punch resting inside an antique French tian, the glaze catching candlelight as the night moved around it. Vintage stemware accumulated into a glass tower, slightly excessive, completely appropriate. Cava opened first. Wine followed. James, our bartender served Apple cider mules, cranberry spritzes, and old fashioned cocktails. 

As people moved through the rooms with drinks in hand, food settled into the space just as quietly. Eclipse de Luna moved through the gallery seamlessly, dishes layered along the 1860s French walnut dining table across antique dinnerware, generous but unannounced. Truffled macaroni. Empanadas with cilantro crema. Fried plantains. Bitter greens with apple and walnut vinaigrette. Dates and Spanish chorizo wrapped in smoked bacon. Valdeón blue. Sliders finished with aged cheddar and rosemary aioli. Nothing presented as a focal point. Just available. Continuous. Part of the night.

The dessert bar lived across the Carrara marble pastry counter, dark and white chocolate strawberries, pound cake and shortbread made in house, caramel chocolates, and dark chocolate with orange layered across the surface. Above it, three small silver birds hung from a chandelier tied with dusty blue ribbon, slightly surreal, but completely at home in the room.

As the night deepened, the social energy of the room became more defined. The gallery was filled with people who moved easily between creative disciplines. Artists. Designers. Stylists. Architects. Ceramicists. Photographers. Music collectors. Film people. Restaurant owners. The kind of crowd that notices material, proportion, sound, lighting. The kind of people who stay longer than they planned to.

Conversations layered across rooms instead of forming circles. People moved between objects, mirrors, tables, and corners without hesitation. Introductions happened naturally, often mid-conversation, often unnecessary.

There was a quiet confidence in the room. Nobody performed. Nobody posturing. Just people who understood why spaces like this matter, and how rare it is to find them operating at full capacity.