TORRINGTON — Three high school seniors from Torrington, Trevor Llewellyn, Mateusz Haratyk, Bobo Lwin, and their families recently returned from a triumphant trip to Agrigento in Sicily, Italy
Inspired by the short stories by Nobel Prize-winning Italian author Luigi Pirandello (1867-1936), the three friends wrote an original screenplay and created a hand-colored silent film, titled “Nailed,” as part of the CIAO program of the Connecticut Academy of the Arts (CAFTA).
They submitted their fifteen-minute film (which features Trevor as a convincing Pirandello having a philosophical dialogue with Diogenes, played by Mateusz, and Bobo as the detective) to the literary, theatrical and film competition in Agrigento, Italy that celebrates Pirandello’s literature and theatrical genius, “Uno, Nessuno, Centomila,” which translates to One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand.
The CAFTA students competed with 1,711 students representing 289 schools from 19 countries. The students rose to the top 10 internationally. The nominated filmmakers, and their families, were invited to the event, which was held May 6-9, 2024, in Sicily.
Grant funding for the trip was arranged by Julie Scharnberg of the NWCT Community Foundation, who said, “This is the best part of grantmaking—to see what can happen when students have the opportunity to participate in initiatives like CAFTA’s CIAO Program. So much hard work went into writing and producing such an insightful film. And then to see the level of recognition the three Torrington High School seniors received at the Agrigento film festival is thrilling and truly inspiring.” The grant was made possible by the City of Torrington with funds from The American Rescue Plan Act of 2021.
Teresa Graham-Sullivan, (co-founder and executive director of CAFTA), her husband John Sullivan (CAFTA co-founder), their dogs Zoe and Circe, the three young filmmakers, Trevor’s mother Michelle Hass, and Mateusz’s Aunt Justyna Ferenz traveled together to Agrigento, Italy (where Pirandello lived) on this whirlwind adventure.
Their film won the special Critics Choice Prize proposed by Italy’s renowned film critic, Benjamin Biondi for their film. CAFTA students also received a Certificate of Honor for their original script from the Director General of Culture for Italy, Alessandro De Pedys, as well as scholarships for script studies in Italy. Their work was well received at the Pirandello Theater where, according to the young men, they were “treated like rockstars with standing ovations” as they made their presentation. They were interviewed by RAI TV, Italy’s National Network.
Trevor Llewellyn as Luigi Pirandello in the award-winning, hand-colored silent film, “Nailed.”Courtesy of CAFTA
CAFTA, located on Prospect Street in Torrington, is the creative treasure of Teresa Graham-Sullivan and her husband John Henry Sullivan III. CAFTA’s mission is to “provide individuals of all ages the means to identify, explore, and utilize their creative ideas and talents with excellence and high standards on a competitively global level.”
Mateusz Haratyk, whose plans now include studying filmmaking in Poland and Italy, remarked that, “I got deeply interested in philosophy because I was looking for any ways to better my life. I began reading Pirandello by accident. What reading Pirandello means to me is understanding to never underestimate the power of planting a seed. Pirandello was writing for audiences in the 1920s but the themes and concepts of his works have never been more relevant than today. His work transcends generations and should be closely studied by modern audiences. Being invited to Agrigento was truly a life-changing experience. From the beautiful award ceremony to the incredible people we met, I can assure myself that this experience will never be forgotten.”
The filmmakers researched “Novellas for A Year” by Luigi Pirandello, who wrote 40 plays, numerous short stories, novels, and is considered the father of the Theater of the Absurd. The theme for “Nailed” was chosen by reflecting on the growing violence in the world. They were drawn to the author, who won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1934, and his themes concerning the senselessness of human existence, questions about death and its meaning, our ability to dominate our irrational impulses, as well as the fact that our lives are often in someone else’s hands.
After returning home, Trevor Llewellyn, who is bound for the Maine Maritime Academy in Castine, Maine, to become a pilot, commented, “Being able to return [he competed there when he was in 8th grade, also through CAFTA] to Agrigento was an amazing feeling. I’m so glad that I was able to see some old friends and meet new people. The contest was organized beautifully, and everyone involved made us feel welcomed and accepted. I am unbelievably grateful to all the organizers, judges and other contestants.”
Mayor Elinor Carbone has planned a ceremony to present the young filmmakers with a Special Commendation from their City of Torrington. This August, Rep. Jahana Hayes (D-5) will award each young man with a Special Congressional Citation in recognition for their excellence in their work presented during the Luigi Pirandello Contest 2024.
Bobo Lwin, who now plans on becoming an electrician, added, “Going to Agrigento is like a movie, from all the cheers from the audience to meeting new people and tasting the culture, I know that this experience will always be in my heart.”
Their film, “Nailed,” has been entered into this year’s prestigious Venice Film Festival as part of the Venice Biennale 2024.
Dan Baker, left, and Daniel Latzman at Barrington Hall in Great Barrington.
The partnership behind Barrington Hall began long before the building itself. Both Baker and Latzman grew up on Long Island, spent more than a decade in New York City, and eventually found their way to the Berkshires, drawn by the desire for something different. What they didn’t realize at first was just how closely their lives had already mirrored one another.
They were born in the same hospital, a year apart. Their families had distant connections. They even played on the same soccer team — never meeting, but moving through the same spaces. It wasn’t until they became neighbors in Egremont about five years ago that those parallels came into focus.
“In hindsight, it feels inevitable,” Latzman said. “But it was actually extremely random that we ended up here.”
From the beginning, Barrington Hall was meant to be a place people return to, not for any one event, but for the experience of being there. On any given week, the space might host a jazz performance, a dance party, a songwriter circle or a children’s event. Some nights bring in touring acts. Others highlight local creatives. The variety is intentional and so is the atmosphere.
“It’s about people,” Baker said. “It’s about being present.”
Inside Barrington Hall.Provided
Baker and Latzman are keenly aware of the world outside with its constant barrage of information, political conflicts, a culture that pulls people deeper into their screens. Barrington Hall offers a way out of that noise.
“A little bit of a bubble,” Latzman said. “A place to step away from everything else.”
During a recent event, they noticed something telling: a full room of people dancing, talking, engaged — and almost no one on their phone.
“That’s when you know something is working,” Baker said.
Taking over a beloved local space comes with responsibility, one Baker and Latzman have met by honoring the building’s traditions while also expanding them.
“We didn’t feel obligated,” Latzman said. “We felt honored.”
Part of what makes the space distinct is its versatility. Large enough to host more than 250 people, yet intimate enough to feel personal, it fills a gap in the local landscape, serving a wide range of people and bringing different groups together in the same space.
“We want people to feel like, if something’s happening here, it’s worth checking out,” Latzman said.
They are carefully balancing community access with the realities of running a business, with an eye toward the long term.
“We want this to be here in 20 years,” Latzman said.
Inside Barrington Hall.Provided
That vision extends beyond the building itself — future collaborations, expanded programming, a growing role in shaping the cultural life of the Berkshires. But at its core, the mission remains simple: to create a place where people can gather, a place that feels alive.
And perhaps most importantly, to create a place where, if only for a few hours, people can step away from the noise of the world and enjoy being together.
When asked who they’re most excited to host next, their answer was immediate: The Mammals on April 10 and Lee Ross, a one-man party band from Massachusetts, scheduled to perform on May 1.
For more information and tickets, visit
barringtonhallgb.com
Gail Rothschild with her painting “Dead Sea Linen III (73 x 58 inches, 2024, acrylic on canvas.
Her work begins, often, with something small: a scrap of linen from the Judean desert, dating “to a time before the notion of ‘Israel’ or ‘Palestine;’” a fragment so diminished it barely registers as an object; or a rare indigo-dyed child’s head cloth from Tutankhamen’s tomb.
“I call them portraits of ancient linen,” she said.
Rothschild grew up in Greenwich and studied drawing and painting at Yale University. “That was kind of my first love,” she said. But she quickly veered toward something more collective, working with Peter Schumann at the Bread and Puppet Theater, building papier-mâché puppets and participating in a kind of performance-based activism that blurred art and politics.
“After Yale, I got out of school and thought‘Wait a second. I don’t want to paint anymore. I need to work with people in communities and make things.’”
She moved to Brooklyn and began working in public schools, developing projects rooted in collaboration and local history. The projects were ambitious, research-driven, and often confrontational. At the University of Massachusetts, she recalled asking students: “Did you know that Amherst was named for Jeffrey Amherst, who was responsible for giving blankets infected with smallpox to Native Americans? Why don’t we look into that?’”
There were sculptures, letters to watchdog groups, installations. She worked on four such projects a year, she said, until the pace became unsustainable. “At some point I just said, ‘I’m exhausted. I’m going back to the studio.’”
What brought her back was a book, “Prehistoric Textiles ” by Elizabeth Wayland Barber. Inside, she encountered an image of a 7,000-year-old textile, unraveling.
“It said to me, ‘this could be a great big abstract painting’,” she said. “What does it mean that this textile, this thing that used to be a Cartesian grid and over time has gone back to nature?”
That question became a kind of axis for her work. “There is this cusp between nature and culture,” she said. Early on, she avoided textiles with imagery, drawn instead to the raw language of fiber itself. But eventually, even that boundary softened. A project with the Godwin-Ternbach Museum introduced her to Egyptian textiles — Christian, pagan, Greek, Roman influences colliding in woven form.
Gail Rothschild’s “Esquina Decorada” (52 x 52 inches, 2022, acrylic on canvas)Gail Rothschild
What followed was a deepening relationship with museums and, crucially, with conservators. Institutions like The Metropolitan Museum of Art and collections in Berlin and Paris began sending her images of textile fragments, sometimes pieces she has still never seen in person.
“It’s almost easier for me to transform it when I haven’t seen it,” she said.
Her process is both precise and intuitive. She grids the canvas and the source image, drawing freehand to “honor what the object is.” For a time, she works closely from the photograph. Then something shifts. “At some point I’ll say, ‘It’s a painting. It’s got to talk to itself,’ and then I stop looking at the photograph.”
What emerges is layered, luminous and muscular. “Sometimes people say, ‘Do you miss making sculpture?’ and I say, ‘I never stopped.’”
You feel that in the surfaces: the tension of threads pulling apart, the sense that something is both forming and dissolving at once. Even the backgrounds — often ambiguous, atmospheric — are not neutral. “It’s really more about feeling the space around the object,” she said, especially as she considers how ancient fragments are mounted on modern fabrics. “I get to invent an entirely other language.”
Some of her most arresting work is on the monumental textiles of The Met Cloisters, where medieval tapestries, some towering more than a dozen feet, are slowly, painstakingly conserved. It’s in the conservation labs that Rothschild has observed the physical reality of these works: their own weight pulling them apart, threads breaking under centuries of strain. Conservators insert new threads to stabilize them and Rothschild documents this process. “There’s a kind of poignancy to their work,” Rothschild said, “because as hard as we work to conserve the objects of our past, in the greater cosmic scheme of time, it’s only temporary. There’s something beautiful about that.”
Time operates on multiple levels in Rothschild’s work. There is the time of the object —thousands of years, in some cases — and the time of the painting, which unfolds over months. “Once I start working on something, I can’t stop,” she said. “But then it’ll rest for a while and I may change it, add layers.”
And then there is the time of attention itself, the way looking can tip into obsession, into pattern-seeking that doesn’t quite turn off. Rothschild is aware of that edge.
“I have to make myself stop or I just see patterns everywhere and I can’t stop, really,” she laughed. “That’s why I’ve built in other things I need to do in my life like take the dogs for a hike or, you know, volunteer at the Sharon Land Trust… otherwise I go a little nuts. And it wouldn’t be good painting either.”
A painting session, for her, has its own its own arc. “There’s kind of a trajectory for every work session. I might be repeating something and suddenly it looks linear. The language I started painting with may change by the end and I think, ‘Oh God, I’m gonna have to go back and repaint that.’”
But then, she said, there is a pause.
“I kind of step back and say, ‘No, this painting can hold both. That’s part of its history. There’s the history of the object but then there’s the history of the painting.’”
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