“It belongs to me. God told me if I painted it enough, I could have it,” she once said. “Yesterday, you could see every tree on it, and last night — I thought to myself — it is the most beautiful night of the world — with the moon almost full — and everything so very still.” – Georgia O’Keeffe, 1944.
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I learned a lot about Georgia O’Keeffe Tuesday at a show of her work in Boston. She makes me love this work, and I love her for that. Her passion comes bursting through her wariness and stern posture.
I learned that underneath that severe and calculated exterior, she never stopped being a frightened and depressed child. I was fascinated by the video interviews of her that ran up against the museum.
Every piece of art she made was a sacred act to her.
I liked it when she talked about the importance of having a passion for what you do and not letting other people think for you, even when you learn from them.
I learned to photograph what I see, not what I am supposed to see or what other people see. Georgia would not have liked social media or gone onto it.
I knew going for the flower’s soul was the right idea; that’s what people never see but want to see.
I learned to pay more attention to landscapes and let them be authentic and natural, only sometimes gorgeous or epic. I learned to move my art along and not get stuck in one place; I learned to always be honest and open.
I learned a lot more than that, but I need to think more and longer about what I saw on those walls.
I saw a brilliant genius who took photos and painted joyfully and passionately. Here, emotions came whispering, even roaring, and I learned to think more about shapes and the places where my eye roams.
Later, I took a photo of the Thanksgiving food cans pouring from the Army of Good into the food pantry here. They were the home of the Turkey Gravy cans we sent for the big Thanksgiving Dinner.
They say a lot about us and our world, which I saw today, so I took a photo of it. I look forward to seeing you in the morning. My food poisoning is easing, and my computer is in trouble, but I did get my writing done. I’m back; as you can see, it was a beautiful and essential trip.
Black and white softness.
Purple loudness.
A flower with a heart.
A flower with a soul, if you look close enough.
A flower with a message
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I’m still determining why I took this photo, but I’m glad I did. Could you look at it for a while?
Your picture of gravy cans reminds me of an Andy Warhol painting.
I thought of that, but I wasn’t a great fan of his art.still, I like the cans.. they do say something about America.thanks for noticing
I am so glad you got to that exhibition. I knew you would get insight and inspiration. But did the Moore pieces mean anything to you?
Not really. I could see how her work and O’Keeffe’s connect and draw from one another, but I was too smitten by the O’Keeffe images, and the rooms were crowded and loud; Maria loved his work and got a lot out of it.