The photo shoot in her private studio outside Nashville seems designed to capture Dolly Parton's Tennessee mountain heart. But a heart is a hard thing to get just right.

The set, a kind of country road vibe, is carefully crafted and meticulously lit by people who know how. She is one of the most photographed performers on earth, so there are no amateurs here. Her staff (including a creative director; a set designer; a film crew; and a whole slew of hair, makeup, and wardrobe perfectionists) move through the studio with purpose, friendly but with one eye always on the clock. There is a firm schedule. Time is her hobgoblin.

In the middle of it all, with lights winking off the chrome, sits a thing of rare and timeless beauty, a blue-and-white 1972 Ford F-100 pickup, framed by a little thicket of hauled-in shrubs and small trees. To make the scene look a little more authentic, the set designer spreads around some dirt.

Finally, another rare and timeless beauty steps into the frame. Dolly, in high heels and bejeweled denim, comes in smiling, warm, and sparkling. Some people would say it's just the rhinestones that are hanging on for dear life, but I know it's more than that. The lights seem to love her; that's what the photographers say. I bet the sun and the moon do too.

Lord, I think, she's even prettier than the truck. She poses against the Ford, and a veteran magazine photographer goes to work, shooting at a rapid-fire pace. On a screen nearby, the crew can see the images flash by in real time, each one more striking than the last. Her creative director sings out, after every frame:

"Pretty."

"Very pretty."

"Gorgeous!"

"Beautiful!"

"STUNNING!"