Walk with Adri: Hamptons Files
From city sweat to Sag serenity—one girl’s great escape.
Adrianna Christina Beer
Summer came in hot. Literally. My loft turned into a sauna. The AC died a slow, wheezing death. Even my candles gave up. So instead of sweating through another restless Nolita night and listening to friends dissect their latest love drama—I packed a weekend bag, kissed the chaos goodbye, and bolted to Hampton Springs. Fast.
Call it a speedy emotional evacuation, with a side of SPF 50.
What followed was part art pilgrimage, part soul cleanse. Mornings started early, soft-lit and quiet—the kind you only get when you leave the city behind. Coffee. Ocean air. Zero notifications.
I hit the Jackson Pollock–Lee Krasner house, an art-world relic tucked into trees and wild grass. The barn studio still hums with genius and tension—splattered floors, dried brushes, ghosts in the corners. Lee’s energy is everywhere: fierce, grounding, unforgettable. You can practically hear the arguments and breakthroughs echoing off the walls.
Built in 1879, the house is typical of 19th century farmers’ and fishermen’s homes in Springs.
Over in East Hampton, at Eric Firestone’s gallery “Smorgasbord” show was winding down, but it cracked summer wide open. A bold, chaotic mix of artists crashing mediums, time periods, and personal mythologies.
Where rebellion wears color and joy meets confrontation.
It felt fully, urgently alive.
Ryan McMenamy
I skipped the Hamptons party circuit—no stilettos in gravel, no $28 rosé theatrics. Instead: long, slow dinners with real friends. Shoutout to my artist friend from El Salvador, Mariana Cromeyer.
Vintage shopping that felt like rummaging through forgotten dreams. Moonlight. Fire pits. Actual conversations.
There’s a version of the Hamptons that’s all flex and filters. But the one I found this weekend?
Luxury in its truest form: friendship, art, rest, and that electric feeling of being just far enough away.
Reset complete. City, I’ll see you Monday. Maybe.
