The image that remained imagined

Told from the artist Lapsata Decaro’s perspective, this story offers a personal reflection on what unfolded beyond the image.

Fellini Homage 1, Rome, 1993

We’re very cinematically inspired, and no-one was more inspiring to us at that point in time than director Federico Fellini. When we decided to pay homage to him in a series of photos, we thought who better to cast in a cameo role but Il Maestro himself. A dear friend from a very prominent Italian family provided us with his contact information. We sent images of our work to Mr. Fellini’s office and within days we miraculously received word that he would be delighted to participate. We were rendered speechless.

The sitting was planned for May 1993. We went to Rome in March to scout locations and secure permits. Rome is a tricky city to shoot in and we thought it best to have all the bureaucratic pieces of the puzzle aligned in advance.

Serendipitously, we were having lunch one afternoon at an unassuming but magnificent trattoria in the Vatican with our friend who had arranged the Fellini connection. She suddenly froze like a deer in headlights, leaned over and whispered, “DON’T TURN AROUND, but Fellini is sitting at the table in the corner directly behind you!”

Our spaghetti con zucchini was getting cold as we discussed if we should or shouldn’t go over to him. The final consensus was that fate was at play and we went to introduce ourselves. He was most gracious, engaging, and avuncular. We asked if he wanted to be filled in on our vision for the photograph. He shook his head, and with a devilish smile, responded, “I like surprises.”

We’ve been very privileged to have worked with, and met, many boldfaced names in our career, but this was Federico Fellini, and we were somewhat unnerved at the reality of being in his presence. We congratulated him on his upcoming Lifetime Achievement Oscar and thanked him profusely for his participation in the imminent sitting. As we were extending farewell handshakes and kisses on both cheeks, we somehow all became intermingled and the saltshaker on his table was knocked over.

Now, in the handbook of Italian superstitions, that is an omen of bad luck on steroids. A chorus of “Mamma Mias” ensued and Mr. Fellini immediately took the spilled salt and threw it over his left shoulder. He motioned for us to do the same and then with a sigh of relief said, “And so, the curse is broken!”

We went back to our seats, ordered a bottle of wine, fiddled with our cold pasta and asked the waiter to remove the saltshaker from our table.

Mr. Fellini’s office was in contact with us once we got back to New York to inquire if there was any specific wardrobe direction. We explained the premise of the photo. He would be sitting in a director’s chair while a cast of “Fellini-esque” characters inspired by the archetypes of his films walked toward him. He should choose whatever clothing he felt comfortable wearing. We would love a beret be included, but only if he was comfortable with that. “Perfetto,” she replied.

We gave the shoot dates in May and asked if there was a preferable day and time. She said Mr. Fellini was flexible that week and to let her know where and when once we got to Rome and sorted out the shooting schedule.

We arrived in Rome, checked into our hotel and immediately went about tying up loose ends, revisiting locations, collecting permits, and organizing itineraries. When we returned later that afternoon, the front desk handed us an envelope with a message from our office marked URGENT. Uh oh! It read in part that Mr. Fellini was not feeling well and was unfortunately no longer able to participate in the shoot. He expressly wanted to communicate his regrets for the eleventh-hour inconvenience it may cause. To say we were disappointed is an understatement. We immediately thought of that damn saltshaker!

A few weeks later we learned Mr. Fellini was in Switzerland having a medical procedure. He suffered a stroke in August and passed away in October.

To this day, when we look at this photo, in our mind’s eye, Il Maestro is sitting in a director’s chair in the camera-right negative space, wearing a lived-in corduroy blazer over a black turtleneck, with a beret on his head.

Lapsata Decaro