In the periphery of my vision, I see Tomasetti roll his eyes. Ignoring him, I stroll past the windows to the wall next to the hearth. It is there that I see the other photographs: a naked baby crawling on an Amish quilt; an Amish woman with her skirt blown up past her hips, à la Marilyn Monroe; an Amish boy standing naked on the bank of a creek, preparing to dive into the water. None of the photos are sexually explicit, but they are disconcerting. There’s a voyeuristic quality to Karns’s work. Looking at them, I feel as if I’ve interrupted a private moment, seeing something I’m not supposed to see.

“Did you know most Amish object to having their photos taken?” I ask conversationally.

“I’m aware of that.” He keeps an eye on Tomasetti as he peruses the photos on the other side of the hearth. “I strive to be as respectful as possible.”

“As long as you get the shot,” Tomasetti mutters.

“Most cite religious reasons,” I continue. “The prohibition of graven images. Some believe pictures are vain displays of pride. Some believe the snapping of a photo can actually steal one’s soul.”

“With all due respect to the Amish, I think that’s a little melodramatic,” he says. “Don’t you?”

“I think if you respected them, you wouldn’t take photos of them without their knowledge.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to argue. Instead, he smiles. “Stealing someone’s soul isn’t against the law.”

I don’t smile back.

After a moment, he shrugs, a diplomat conceding a point for some greater good. “Everyone is entitled to their opinion.”

Tomasetti stops opposite a photograph of two preteen girls standing topless in the hip-deep water of a creek, shampooing each other’s hair. “You seem to have a real penchant for photographing naked children.”

Karns comes up beside him and looks at the photo. “Most of these photos were taken from afar, some with a telescopic lens. I’ve found that my subjects are more . . . uninhibited when they don’t realize they’re being photographed. The facial muscles are more relaxed. I strive to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

“So they have no clue they’re being photographed,” I say.

“Actually, many of my subjects give me permission.”

“And the ones who don’t?”

“There are ways around that. Photographically speaking, I mean. For example, I can smudge the features so that they are unrecognizable.”

“The Amish aren’t exactly a litigious society,” I say.

He smiles, turning on the charm. “Well, I have to admit, I’ve never been sued by an Amish person.”

Tomasetti turns away from the photographs and gives Karns his full attention. “You have, however, been convicted of the illegal use of a minor in nudity-oriented material.”

“I see.” Karns grimaces, as if his tolerance has reached its limit. “And this is the point of your visit?”