Why I Am Leaving James Franco

Today is my last day with James Franco. After almost 12 years of following his every move slavishly — first in that James Dean movie, then on reruns of Freaks and Geeks, then in all sorts of movies and, above all, magazine articles and Internet chat rooms — I believe I have lived with him long enough to understand his culture and his identity. And I can honestly say that the environment of James Franco Obsession now is as toxic and destructive — to me, personally — as it could possibly be.

To put the problem in the simplest terms, the interests of the obsessive entertainment writer (which is to say, me) continue to be sidelined in the way James Franco goes about his business (which is to say, in the manner that best serves his interests). James Franco is one of the world’s most important actor–writer–producer–artist–supermodel-thingamabobs, and he is too integral to my mental health to continue to ignore me.

Has he called me once since gay marriage was legalized in New York State? No, he has not. While it is true that he has never called me a “muppet,” the sad truth is that he has never called me at all. In fact, I have reason to believe that he doesn’t know I exist.

It’s all give, give, give. When is it my turn to take? Does Jibby have any moral compass at all? Surely he understands that I, like hundreds of other people who write about movies for newspapers, magazines, and blogs, have obsessive needs that are every bit as valid as his.

Why, it’s been days — entire days — since Jib-Jib released a new movie, or published a short story, or installed some sort of art project somewhere, or made an ironic public appearance, or did anything worth writing about. Am I supposed to sit around here waiting? How does he expect me to keep this relationship going?

And although it’s hard to believe, it’s true that sometimes the waiting time is even longer before photographs of him begin to speak to me, in that special voice he would reserve for me alone, if indeed he ever spoke to me, or knew who I was.

It might sound surprising to a skeptical public, but character really does count; it was always a vital part of Jib-Jib’s success. It wasn’t just about being famous; this alone will not sustain an artist for so long. He revolved around weird career choices which I could analyze and explicate at length (Tristan + Isolde? Really? Marilyn Monroe drag at the Oscars? Are you serious?), not to mention a dreamy smile I could get lost in. I am sad to say that I look around today and see virtually no trace of the cult of personality that made me love this celebrity for many years.

Clearly now I need to turn my attentions elsewhere. But where can I find an intelligent, multi-talented, disarmingly charming actor to obsess over? One who got his start in a sitcom, say, and who attended at least one of my alma maters? One who makes the occasional blockbuster but who reveals his true artistry in quirky, often homo-friendly, small, independent movies? Maybe even one who speaks French?


NOTE TO JIB-JIB: Of course you know I’m just kidding, darling. Call me!

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‘Rags’ Revisited

“Yankee Boy”: Martha Wasser as Rebecca, Zac Ballard as little David, and Austen Nash Boone as Nathan.
Barbara Siman’s staging for Marymount Manhattan College’s
Theatre Production Workshop.
Photograph by Susan Cook©

My last glimpse of Rags was not closing night of the show’s Broadway run, 23 August 1986, but a few years later, when lyricist Stephen Schwartz directed a smaller-scale production for the Jewish Repertory Theatre (or somesuch name) in a tiny theater in Chelsea.* I am in fact eager to hear people other than Teresa Stratas and Dick Latessa sing the words “Now it belongs to you,” to people other than Josh Blake and Judy Kuhn, and really to mean those words: Rags ought to belong to more performers and more audiences than ever knew the original. But returning to the show a quarter-century later, with so many beloved friends gone now, and to see Rags in a student production at Marymount Manhattan College proved more poignant than I could have imagined.

After all, when Leanne Brunn warbled “Three Sunny Rooms,” it was as much the voice of my beloved Marcia Lewis that I heard as it was Brunn’s, and faces of friends loved and lost that I saw in place of the young actors onstage now. The show meant a lot to me, as I’ve said, and over the years it has taken on additional meanings, resonance far beyond the strains of Charles Strouse’s score. I had to keep reminding myself: the past doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. Now it belongs to them.

According to Barbara Siman, the show’s distinguished professional director and choreographer, the performing edition used for this production incorporates changes made by Strouse, and the book’s author, the late Joseph Stein. (Absolutely nothing was made at MMC of the fact that Ms. Siman is also Charles Strouse’s wife, and I confess I didn’t recognize her when we spoke after the performance and probably made a fool of myself.) Remembering that Schwartz tinkered with the book, too, for his production, we can see clearly that it’s been a goal of all three of the creators of Rags to give this show a new life: to correct the persistent problems in its book, perhaps at the same time making it easier to produce, to help it attain and sustain the status it deserves.

After all, Rags represents strong work from all three creators — and in the case of Strouse’s score, it represents some of the most ambitious and thrilling music he ever wrote. Moreover, and again it’s true for all three creators, Rags expressed profound feelings, particularly about the experience of Jewish Americans but also about politics, family, love, class, and success. There’s no reason to leave this piece locked in an archive somewhere — and it would be nice to earn a little royalty income from it, too.

But the changes that Charles and Joe wrought are only partly successful, and in some cases quite puzzling, especially in Act II. While Siman’s production was for the most part sensational — a template of sorts for other theaters with less than Broadway-size budgets — I’m left with the feeling that the best thing that could possibly happen to this show is a revival by an outfit such as “Encores!” here in New York, involving a fresh creative team and employing (as “Encores!” always does) a fresh hand to adapt the book.

Surely the answer to Rags’ problems isn’t to make the show even talkier than it was before — and yet so many songs are cut in Act II! Turning that ravishing, thundering Kaddish chorale into a truncated solo made me wince, though it does speed up the action. But how did Strouse bring himself to sacrifice “Dancing with the Fools”? That’s the eleven-o’clock number for the show’s heroine, Rebecca, and possibly his most serious composition, one of the reasons he wanted to cast an opera singer in the role, to avail himself of the range and scale of a trained voice.

Granted, if you eliminate that song (rather than transposing it down or rearranging it), you do make it easier to cast Rebecca’s part in a theater where a Classical soprano may not be available. We’re trying to guarantee this show’s future, as I say, and sacrifices are necessary. But that one must have been tough, and ultimately I don’t think it helps much.

For long stretches, the show is very much as it opened on Broadway — apart from the overture, and the questionable choice to make the first account of “I Remember Summer Evenings” an accompanied chorus instead of an a cappella solo, Act I would be thoroughly recognizable to the show’s veterans. The character of Ben, the fast-talking boyfriend of the juvenile lead, Bella, has shrunk yet further, to the point where I don’t understand why he’s still in the show: that character’s loss would be a much easier sacrifice, especially if you haven’t already cast Lonny Price (or Ben Garrett, the very appealing fellow who played him at MMC) in the role.

Siman used photo projections to establish place, generally to much greater effect than Beni Montresor’s ugly, combersome set did on Broadway, and her choreography was truly marvelous, far better overall than that in the original production. She was less successful at getting the young actors to pick up the pace (I could have driven a pushcart through some of the lags between cues, which in turn made Act II seem all the talkier) and at discouraging the egregious mugging from one particular ensemble member. But I walked out of the theater thinking, “Yes, this is just about what this show ought to look like.” And I was happy, truly.

As is my habit, I’ll refrain from commenting in much detail about the student actors, though they were a talented lot, with some especially fine singing voices. Casting a very young boy as David was an interesting (and crowd-pleasing) choice, though it did make me wonder whether Nathan was really the father, since he’s said to have left home six years before the play begins.

I wished Rebecca had been given a coat and a babushka or some sort of head kerchief, especially in the early scenes, to give us more of a sense of the character’s emergence, in “Blame It on the Summer Night” for example: as it was, Rebecca stepped off the boat at Ellis Island looking very much as if she’d just stepped into her kitchen for a little light baking. But Martha Wasser gave a thoroughly admirable performance in what is still a demanding role. For her and for Brunn, who out of all the cast had perhaps the most difficult shoes to fill to the satisfaction of this audience, I’m especially confident the future holds much reward.

As for that future, it remains my hope that, the more people hear Rags, the more they’ll take it to heart — as I did, a quarter-century ago, and as I did again last week. There are so many treasures here! They’re really not hard to find, among the show’s shortcomings. Yes, Rags is still a challenge, but now it belongs to you. So pick it up.

“Greenhorns”: Rebecca and David arrive at Ellis Island.
Photo by Susan Cook.©

NOTE: Only a short while before Stephen’s production of Rags, I’d seen cast member Lonny Price’s production of The Rothschilds, working magic in the same space (a full-out pogrom, no less!) and — for this audience, at least — truly signaling that Lonny’s career as a stage director was launched.

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Janice Hall at the Metropolitan Room

Portrait of a Cabaret Star.
Illustration by WVM©

As spring offers tantalizing signals of nearness, I rise some days prepared to sing “Oh! What a Beautiful Mornin’.” Luckily however — for anyone within earshot — I don’t have to sing it, because Janice Hall is doing it for me. It’s the opening number in her new cabaret act, “I’d Rather Be Doing This,” which I caught at its second performance at New York’s Metropolitan Room.

Janice gave us a preview in December at Urban Stages, a theater in midtown, but while Urban Stages’ proportions are certainly intimate, it’s not a cabaret: the new material felt right before, but it feels righter now in the sort of space it was designed to fill. An increasing sense of ease marks Janice’s each foray into this art form — which is not to say that she ever seemed uneasy.

But consider the ingredients of I’d Rather Be Doing This: a collection of some of Janice’s favorite theater songs and pop standards. In her previous show, Grand Illusions, Janice had a theme: the career of Marlene Dietrich, as charted in song.* In this new show, Janice herself is the Dietrich, if you will, the star around whom the show is built.

She brings to the cabaret stage a number of skills that have helped her transition so gracefully into this new repertoire. Among the most important, I realized while I listened to her on March 5, is rhythm — essential because cabaret is so closely linked to jazz. And baby, Janice has got rhythm, all right, delivering Nancy White’s tricky (and very funny) “Bet He Can Tango” and Porter’s “Too Darn Hot” with danceable flair. But she can slow down, too, and her mashup of Baghdad Café’s “Calling You” and Dimitri Tiomkin’s “Wild Is the Wind” proved astonishing, sung in one long outpouring of breath, her emotions seemingly torn in two opposing directions — that turned out to be one and the same.

Among Janice’s other great assets are her wit and the diction with which to express it. Intricate lyrics pose no obstacle, and with an assist from her director, Peter Napolitano, and music director, Matthew Martin Ward, she deploys impeccable comic timing — notably in Napolitano and Ward’s song, the title number, a paean to anything but making love.

Ward’s no slouch when it comes to comic timing, which he demonstrated with a hilariously deadpan running translation of the Italian pop classic, “Mala Femmena,” a furious curse on the eponymous “bad woman” who’s done the singer wrong. Here and in Piaf’s “L’Accordéoniste” (by Michel Emer), Janice made use of her linguistic abilities, though naturally they’re less central to this show than they were to the Dietrich act.

Another mashup really warmed my heart, the combination of Kurt Weill’s “My Ship” (from Lady in the Dark) and “Pirate Jenny” (from Threepenny Opera), connecting the yearning that’s in both songs with the festering, lethal resentment that marks most of “Jenny.” Every time Janice sings Weill, I go home fantasizing about the roles that she could play so beautifully, from Anna in Sieben Todsünden to Venus and beyond. With her ability to do justice to both aria and song, she’d be unbeatable in almost anything Weill ever wrote, actually.

It strikes me that, while Janice has played soprano leads in opera — the very definition of stardom — here on the cabaret stage she’s got no character but herself to portray, no personality but her own to charm us. It takes guts to do that, and I’m happy to say that Janice is succeeding magnificently.

The next performance of I’d Rather Be Doing This is April 18, at 9:30 PM at the Metropolitan Room. Be there.

Metropolitan Room
212-206-0440
34 West 22nd St.
Between 5th and 6th Avenues
New York, NY 10010
metropolitanroom.com

*NOTE: As a special treat in the form of an encore on March 6, we got a quick overview of Grand Illusions, for which Janice has been nominated for an Outstanding Vocalist award from the Manhattan Association of Cabarets and Clubs. She couldn’t include all of my favorite moments, but every one she did perform was a honey. Please note, too, that Peter Napolitano has been nominated for a directing award from the same organization.

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World’s Best Recipe for Topinambours

Topinambours in their raw state.
They look nothing like artichokes, as you can see,
and I don’t taste much of a resemblance, either.

Countless readers — or anyway, one reader — have demanded that I share with them my recipe for topinambours, known in English as Jersualem artichokes or “sunchokes,” a name which is guaranteed to prevent people from eating them. On the other hand, if nobody else eats them, that leaves more for me, doesn’t it? So call ’em what you will, but I’m sticking with the French. It’s a nice word that sounds rather like some sort of toy or clown.

Culled from the roots of a member of the sunflower family, topinambours are among the légumes oubliés, or “forgotten vegetables,” which the French swore off when the Occupation ended. Under the Nazi administration, the Germans got all the good stuff to eat, leaving for the French the sorts of things (rutabaga, winter squash, crosnes, etc.) to which they were indifferent at best, and of which they quickly had their fill. A couple of generations of Frenchmen wouldn’t even touch topinambours, but they’ve been making a comeback in recent years.

Topinambours (above) with yellow turnips, another “forgotten vegetable,” one January morning at Franck’s vegetable stand in the Beynes market.

That said, topinambours are exceptionally hard to find, and you expose yourself to comment from your neighbors when you buy them. I learned this firsthand at the town marketplace in Beynes, where my veg vendor, Franck, made a point of selecting the best and easiest to peel specimens. He wanted to make an example of me, so that perhaps other customers would take the topinambours off his hands, but I’m not sure he ever succeeded.

Topinambours are well worth the effort (and potential embarrassment and ostracism), with a naturally nutty, buttery flavor to reward you in the end. But it’s important at all times to remember the topinambour’s history, because the secret to preparing them properly is pain and suffering.

Recently, I found topinambours at a farmers’ market in Manhattan, and paid roughly four times for them what Franck would have charged. I took them home and prepared them — exactly as I would have done in my charming kitchen in the French countryside. Please note that there are fancier recipes than mine, but believe me, you won’t have the patience to try them.

Remembered vegetables: Another view of Franck’s stand.
This picture was taken in summer, when topinambours aren’t in season.

1. Get a sack full of topinambours from your vegetable vendor. Never mind about the amount: no matter how few you purchase, you will have too many, as you will understand when you start to peel them.

2. Try not to listen to the remarks your neighbors are making behind your back: “Mais qu’est-ce qu’il fout, l’Américain là? C’est quoi, ces petites crottes de chien qu’il achète, bordel? Moi, je ne toucherais jamais un tel truc! Putain!” Return to your charming kitchen in the French countryside.

3. Even in America, topinambours are covered in gritty, gritty, stubborn dirt when you buy them. Don’t bother to wash them yet. What would be the point?

3. Peel each topinambour. If you are in France, it’s probable that you don’t have a vegetable peeler with a pivoting blade: this is an American innovation, apparently, and French people are always amazed by it. (“Qu’est-ce que c’est, ce petit truc? Mais c’est génial! Putain!”) French peelers are immovable objects, as you will discover when you begin to work; in most kitchens, peelers tend to be very dull, as well.

4. The peel of the topinambour is not terribly thick, but it’s difficult to remove because of the knobby shapes of each root. Dirt remains trapped inside the crevices, and little bumps and outcroppings resist the most adroit peeling technique. Be ruthless!

5. While peeling, try not to think about how much money you have spent on parts of the topinambour that you will only throw out.

6. Peeling topinambours is very, very tedious. If you are working at the sink in your charming kitchen in the French countryside, it’s also stoop labor: our sink was made to measure for the previous owner of the house, a spinster schoolteacher who was teeny-tiny. But whatever you do, don’t think about how much your back is starting to hurt.

7. In order to finish sometime before you die of boredom, try to peel faster. Faster!

8. Faster!

9. Cut your finger.

10. Sometimes it’s easier to cut away the larger knobs, because there’s no way you can get a peeler between the parts, and this way you can just trim and peel and then you’ve got a nice little piece of topinambour.

11. Use a small paring knife.

12. Cut another finger.

This is what a sharpened paring knife looks like.
Just so you know.

13. Remember, it’s not a good day in the kitchen if you don’t pick up your paring knife the wrong way at least a couple of times.

14. Cut the palm of your hand.

15. Don’t bother to wash your cuts. Those kitchen knives really aren’t that old and rusty! You’re in a hurry. And remember that it’s always a good idea to fortify your food with extra minerals, such as iron.

16. Several minutes after your patience has worn thin and your wounds are stinging, finish peeling the topinambours. Rinse under cold water to remove whatever remains of all that dirt and grit.

17. Know in your heart that there is no way you will ever be able to remove all the dirt, and you are sure to find some peel on your plate at suppertime, too.

The few topinambours here resulted in enough peelings
to fill this large coffee mug.

18. Toss the topinambours in a pot of boiling, lightly salted water. Allow to cook until pieces are tender. The consistency will be very much like that of a firm-fleshed boiled potato, such as Yukon Gold.

19. Drain, toss in a little butter, chopped shallots, maybe some parsley if you have any.

20. Serve — in small portions!

21. Because topinambours are notorious for provoking severe flatulence. I wasn’t kidding about the pain and suffering, you see.

Leftovers!
They made an excellent accompaniment to the chicken I roasted last week, and at one meal I mixed them with some green peas. Quite delicious.

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Interview: Catherine Karnow on Her Italian Photo Workshop Adventure

All photographs by Catherine Karnow©
Used with permission.

The photography of Catherine Karnow is familiar to even occasional readers of this blog: she took the picture of me that appears on the upper-right corner of every page. She’s also shared many other images with us, and generously so, since her work is regularly featured in many of the leading magazines in the world, notably including National Geographic and National Geographic Traveler, Smithsonian, both French and German GEO; she’s also been published in a number of travel and photojournalism books.

“Let them see your smiling face”:
Catherine Karnow at work.

Now my friend has launched an exciting new project, a 10-day photo workshop in Umbria, May 10–19. She’s planned a number of excursions with great potential for photographic opportunities, and she personally selected the base of operations, La Locanda della Quercia Calante, But because Catherine isn’t content merely to provide her students with fabulous scenery and sightseeing in a region known for its excellent food and wine, she’s also including daily yoga classes which, like the photo workshop itself, will be geared to all levels of practice.

It sounds like heaven, but at the moment it’s requiring almost every bit of her phenomenal energy and organizational skills. Reached by phone, “I’m gonna workshop until I drop!” she exclaims. “That’s kind of how I feel right now.” She took the time to tell us more about the workshop and, as a bonus, she shared the key to taking good pictures of people — surely the reason she always makes me look far handsomer than I deserve.

Benvenuti! Dining at La Locanda.

WVM: The plan for the workshop sounds like the greatest wish-fulfillment ever devised: it’s almost everything you love, all at once: travel, photography, cooking, and yoga.

CATHERINE KARNOW: Cooking is a tiny part of it! I wouldn’t say pizza-making is really cooking. But eating and learning about delicious Italian food, yes.

WVM: I’m not going to ask where you got the idea, because that seems pretty obvious — but where did you get the idea that you could make this work?

CK: [Laughs.] I figure there’s a lot of people out there like me, who love photography, eating delicious food, doing yoga every day, having great experiences, and Italy. That’s it. People like me love all those things.

You’ve got to have yoga if 1) you’re going to be enjoying that much Italian food, and 2) if you’re running around, taking pictures, going to festivals, getting up before dawn to shoot. Yoga is counteracting all that pasta and all that craziness.

WVM: Tell me about La Locanda della Quercia Calante.

CK: I fell in love with La Locanda the moment I first saw it. I went there last year for a yoga workshop, and within a day, I knew it was the perfect place for my photo workshop. It’s got rustic cottages spread out — two stone cottages with eight rooms each — in a lovely, serene setting of grassy lawn and tall trees. There’s a spring-fed swimming pool. It’s so peaceful and beautiful, [providing] an opportunity for people to slow down, learn about photography, talk about photography, and to bond with each other.

There’s also a beautiful yoga room. If the weather permits, you dine at a long table underneath this arbor. It’s so, so beautiful. I am extremely particular when it comes to lodging. This is tasteful, rustic, and serene.

WVM: It’s in the Umbrian countryside, right?

CK: Yes, it’s in the countryside, about 20 minutes from Orvieto. It’s flat with low rolling hills. Sometimes it looks like that classic Italian countryside with the row of cypress trees lining a road to a farmhouse. You’ve seen those scenes: vineyards, rolling hills, hilltop villages. The light’s nice.

The people in Umbria are genuinely happy to see you because they haven’t been overrun with visitors and tourists, which is the case with areas of Tuscany and other parts of Italy.

Umbria may not be as well-trodden by tourists as other parts of Italy, but it’s full of treasures.

WVM: What will a typical day entail?

CK: A typical day will have one or two exciting photography experiences, such as going out with fishermen at dawn, as they fish the traditional way on the beautiful lake nearby, and then perhaps visiting and photographing and learning about a classic ceramics studio in a town famous for its ceramics. Lunch at a local restaurant, an hour of yoga, time for individual and group critique of photographs. Dinner at La Locanda, where the food is absolutely delicious — and a lot of it is organic — with free-flowing wine. That would be a typical day.

Hungry yet?

The other great thing about this workshop is that almost everything is included. Every meal but maybe a couple of lunches and a dinner. All wine, everything. You don’t have to pay extra for this and that: it’s a generous workshop, with no hidden charges. In sum, this workshop is the kind of workshop, the place we’re staying, the food that I would want if I were going to spend a week in Italy. And my standards are very high! [Laughs.]

WVM: What kinds of issues will you be addressing in the workshoppers’ photography? What will you be trying to correct, and what will you be looking to draw out more?

CK: First of all, there’s no required ability level for this workshop. I just ask that people use SLRs [single-lens reflex] to shoot with, rather than point-and-shoot. And we will be photographing landscapes, people, motion. We’re going out with the Cinquecento car club so that we learn to shoot motion. Dusk. Scenes. Festival activity. Food. Churches.

My goal as a teacher is to guide a student to be able to express him or herself. I don’t place a big emphasis on buttons and dials, the technical aspect of photography. It’s important to know the basics, and beyond that, if people want to know more, I’m happy to tell them more. But this isn’t a class on photo shop. I don’t think that fancy equipment and advanced technological skill guarantee good photographs. They’re not essential. We will be learning what does make a picture good, quote-unquote.

WVM: What do you look for in a picture?

CK: Emotion. Energy. Sometimes, not always, it’s getting the moment. A picture should make you feel something. But there are no rules. It’s important that students understand that.

Orvieto at dusk: Twilight poses a challenge to many photographers. Catherine will show her students how to rise to the occasion.

WVM: Your photographs of people have always knocked me out. Is there a secret to getting good photographs of people? Why do you succeed when others don’t?

CK: The secret to good people pictures is that your subject trusts you and feels comfortable with you. Their first impression of you has to be that they see your smiling face. I do think that’s important. They need to see your smiling face, not some camera that you’re hiding behind. Because you want them to feel like the photography is collaborative, and you want them to feel encouraged and affirmed.

I am honestly interested in them, and I’m thrilled – I literally feel a frizzle of happiness that the camera can be this way – that I can stop somebody and we can meet. I can be quite shy without the camera, and the camera — instead of being this tool that intimidates, it can be this excuse to meet somebody.

Daylight, camera, action! Catherine and her students will join traditional Umbrian fishermen on their morning rounds.

But my enthusiasm for people is genuine. I’m genuinely curious about who they are, what they’re doing, what they think. And I want to have a conversation. If they or the situation is particularly beautiful, I want to capture it. I want to show that. It’s actually hard to articulate this thought, because any way I say it sounds aggressive. It’s almost like a need to make this situation or this beautiful person into a beautiful photograph. The camera gives you this reason to stop and talk with people, encouraging them, giving them a sense of affirmation is so important.

It seems to me that what I’m saying is extremely obvious, and to some it might seem obvious. But I’ve watched other people at work, with all kinds of cameras, and I’ve watched them approach people. I just shake my head, because it’s not effective. They lift their camera before they make eye contact. And let’s just say there are a lot of ways. It’s not the same every time. Sometimes I shoot more journalistically.

A dish fit for a king:
Catherine plans a visit to a local ceramics studio.

But in a certain kind of photography, where people are aware of you and you’re kind of making the photograph together. I just watch other people work, and 1) they have the camera in front of their face all the time, and 2) if you see their expression as they approach the person or situation, it’s either impossible to read the expression or they’re somehow projecting something a little bit negative. They’re not thinking of the person or the people they want to photograph.

If you put yourself in their shoes, what do they see when they look at you? They should see somebody who looks positive and open and happy. It sounds so cheesy, and of course it’s not like that all the time with me, but their first impression should be positive.

WVM: They’re not defensive. They’re at ease.

Hot wheels: A member of the Cinquecento club shows off his Fiat, an object lesson in motion for photography students.

CK: Of course! I mean, if you invited guests into your home, wouldn’t you greet them with a smile on your face? Wouldn’t you invite them in, in a gracious way? You’re not just going to leave the door open and look over with a confused expression.

WVM: People think about the picture, not the subject.

CK: Exactly! They’re thinking, what setting should I put this on. And then the subjects just walk away.

The other key to photographing people is to join in. Be a part of what they’re doing or feeling. Blend in, join in. That means you yourself have to adjust your body language, your tone of voice, whatever it is. If everybody’s having a great time at a festival, be joyous. That doesn’t mean you have to drink or dance, but exude joy. If it’s a funeral procession, be humble, be serious, keep your head bowed, get permission, even just with your eyes to make sure it’s okay. Adjust yourself.

The swimming-pool at La Locanda is fed by a mineral spring.

WVM: Again, it sounds like you’re showing your interest. What they’re doing and feeling matters to you.

CK: Right. I always talk to people, too. I chat with them. So the third important thing is that they see me as a human being. I chat with them about anything. If there’s a language problem, just gesture and smile and nod. You can say, “Aww, she’s so beautiful,” whether it’s a baby or a dog, and yet everybody knows what you’re saying, in any language. I always try to have a translator – and we will have a translator, by the way – but there are different ways to communicate. So I always try to talk to people or communicate in some way.

“Awww, they’re so beautiful, too!”

WVM: What else do we need to know about the workshop?

CK: There’s hundreds of workshops out there right now. I can tell you that this is very special. A) you have yoga. B) you have as a special guest a National Geographic Traveler photo editor – that’s pretty amazing. C) you have all these special, unique, insider experiences, going to people’s homes to watch them and to prepare with them a fabulous lunch or a ceramic dish. Every experience is unique and special.

It’s how I work. Sometimes I walk around a village, more or less like a tourist, of course. Sometimes I set up a tripod at dusk – anybody can do that, it’s not an insider experience. But as I say, I’ve handpicked the fun parts, so we don’t have to visit ten different shepherds, I’m going to take you to the best one. I’ve already done all the scouting for this. I’ve handpicked all these people and places. I did go to see a lot of shepherds, now we have the good shepherd!

The best Umbrian shepherd,
taking a break from his day’s labor.

Catherine Karnow’s Photo Workshop in Umbria:
A Unique Experience.
For more information and registration, click here.

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Oh, Good Lord, Is This Thing Turned On?

By Rush Limbaugh,
Guest Columnist

Oh, good Lord, is this thing turned on? Oh, wow, this is really embarrassing! I can’t believe people actually heard me say that! I mean, I was just running off at the mouth, just shooting the breeze, killing time. People are going to think I really meant what I just said, aren’t they? Oh, Lord.

It’s a microphone, for mercy’s sakes! Why didn’t anybody warn me? Are you telling me that when that little red light is on, people outside this room can hear everything I say? Like, way outside this room? Like in other towns? Oh, wow. I feel just terrible.

You’d think I’d know after all these years when there’s a microphone in my office, and when it’s on and when it’s not. So that’s another source of embarrassment. Great. This day is turning out to be a catastrophe, let me tell you. Great.

This is nearly as humiliating as the time I peed my pants when I was in elementary — hey, wait, it’s not still on, is it? Oh, Lord.

Oh, Lord. I’m gonna lose a buttload of advertisers, I can tell — oh, no! Did I just say “buttload”? There goes the Chick-fil-A account!

Maybe I need to go for a little walk, just to calm down. What do you mean, I can’t? Are you telling me I’m still on the air? And I’ve got to keep talking for how long? Oh, Lord! How can anybody just talk like that, day after day?

Why can’t we get a bigger red light? Could we do that? So there’d be no way I could miss it — no way I could go around saying incredibly stupid things that make me look like a mean-spirited idiot. You know? Is that so much to ask?

I’m really a very nice person, when you get to know me. But I must sound just like a typical woman, you know, a really crabby woman who’s having her period or something. I’m just blabbing on and on and — oh, no! It’s still on, isn’t it?

This is a nightmare! I can’t keep making these stupid mistakes! You’ve got to stop me! Please, somebody help me before I fuck up ag — oh, no!

Oh, good Lord.

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Joyce DiDonato Sings ‘Les Nuits d’été’

Grammy Girl: Joyce sang “Non più mesta” from Rossini’s Cenerentola at this year’s ceremony, shortly before winning the award for her Divo/Diva album.

What happy moments are those when a favorite artist sings a favorite piece of music! And even happier when it all turns out as good as you’d hoped — or better than you’d dared to hope.

Because, after all, some artists can still take you by surprise, no matter how well you think you know what they can do.

And so Joyce DiDonato ticked another item off my wish list for her, joining Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic for Berlioz’s Les Nuits d’été (The Nights of Summer) last week. She’s sung this six-song cycle before, she says, but she never did so in my hearing and not for several years. She’s sung other Berlioz fairly often, though, and lately she’s gained in confidence and fluency in her French, which promised to make her exploration of this music all the more meaningful.

As if to heighten my celebratory mood,
Joyce wore her Grammy gown to the Philharmonic, too.

I knew she’d knock the “Villanelle” out of the park: swift, almost giddy, it’s one number that really earns its “summertime” designation, and it’s imbued with a sunny good cheer that pretty closely resembles what you’d expect from a girl who just won a Grammy Award. But the four next songs in the cycle take us to pain, yearning and loss — and Joyce was ready.

Having heard Joyce sing the role of Sycorax in the Met’s Baroque pastiche The Enchanted Island three times this winter, with its abundance of brilliant, rapid-fire ornamentation, I’d almost forgotten the pleasures of hearing her sing a simpler line. The rhythmic sureness that makes her pyrotechnics so pleasurable serves her equally well in slow numbers, and at several points in “L’Absence,” “Sur les lagunes,” and “Au Cimitière,” the Philharmonic really took its cues from her, not the conductor.

Far and away the high point of the evening for me was “Le Spectre de la rose,” which Joyce stretched out to heartbreaking effect, while the Philharmonic rewarded her with the softest, sweetest playing imaginable. She sustained this delicate mood, letting it waft over us like the aroma of the wilting flower she described — then soared in triumph, reminding us that the memory of the rose will live on, and that its moment of glory, resting on the bosom of a beautiful woman, has exalted it far above the status of kings.

The theme of this concert was color, and that happens to be one of Joyce’s private, personal obsessions as a musician: these songs turned out to be (naturally) like catnip to her. She ranged from the shimmering brilliance of the “Villanelle” to the dark-purple tragedy of “Sur les lagunes,” and darned near every Crayola in between — and, oh, how I loved the boyish swagger of “L’Île inconnue,” in which the narrator tries to lure a pretty girl to run away with him. Playing all those trouser roles has really paid off for Joyce, and I could just about see the radiant blue skies of the seashore behind her.

Maybe because I first learned this music through Régine Crespin’s recording, I’ve always imagined that “L’Île inconnue” takes place on a quai in the Vieux Port of Marseille, Crespin’s hometown. That recording struck me as definitive, flawless in every way, such that it took another singer-friend, Susan Graham, to persuade me that other people’s interpretations of the Nuits d’été might demand (and reward) my attention, too, might be equally valid in unique and unexpected ways.

Now I’ve got a new summertime-singer to cherish, and even if Joyce never records these songs (though, please God, let her record them!), the memory of this performance will stay with me like the specter of a rose.

Which didn’t stop me from making with the jokes. As you can see.

One performance of Les Nudités was all it took to teach Joyce to read her contracts more carefully.
Illustration by WVM.

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