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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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11208900.081
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1990-09-19
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]BOOKS, Page 104Poet of the DesertBy Stefan Kanfer
GEORGIA O'KEEFFE: A LIFE
by Roxana Robinson
Harper & Row; 639 pages; $25
One of her earliest memories was of "the light -- light all
around." Georgia O'Keeffe spent her life trying to recapture that
elemental radiance on paper and canvas. The quest began obscurely
on the loam of Sun Prairie, Wis., and ended famously in the desert
of Abiquiu, N. Mex. O'Keeffe was the daughter of an Irish-American
farmer and a Hungarian American of aristocratic descent. As art
historian Roxana Robinson discloses in this romantic but insightful
biography, both strains were apparent from the beginning. The child
had six siblings, and she could be highly social and convivial. But
it took great effort, and she once admitted, "I don't take easily
to being with people."
The person who caused her the greatest unease was photographer
Alfred Stieglitz. His relationship began with a passionate interest
in O'Keeffe's drawings; it progressed to a passionate interest in
O'Keeffe. Twenty-three years separated them. She was on leave from
a teaching job in Texas; he was tied to Manhattan. She was single
and unknown; he was married and prominent.
After Stieglitz abandoned his family, he and O'Keeffe took up
residence in upstate New York. There, before company, he would rise
and lead her up the stairs. "We'd say we were going to have a nap,"
recalled O'Keeffe. "Then we'd make love. Afterwards he would take
photographs of me." Stieglitz shot some 300 of those pictures, and
they constitute a statement far beyond the pleasure principle. From
every angle, the long melancholy face radiates an unconventional
beauty; the nude torso takes on the authority and bulk of
sculpture. Before the onlooker, the model is gradually transformed
into a work of art.
In 1919 O'Keeffe exhibited the bold flower paintings that
further inflamed her reputation. They have since become the staple
of a prolific calendar and poster industry. But when the overripe
irises and hollyhocks first appeared, the critics were intrigued,
the public scandalized, the artist discomfited. When an interviewer
remarked that the blossoms resembled female genitalia, O'Keeffe
ordered her to turn off the microphone and refused to speak about
"such rubbish."
Stieglitz finally married his mistress in 1924. But several
years later, he became infatuated with a younger woman. A series
of domestic and professional skirmishes followed; O'Keeffe suffered
a breakdown and stopped painting. It was two years before she saw
a way out: "If I can keep my courage and leave Stieglitz," she told
a friend, "I plan to go West."
She kept her courage and took long sojourns in New Mexico. But
she never made a complete break. Shortly before his death at 82 in
1946, Stieglitz attended a Museum of Modern Art show and sent a
love letter: "Incredible Georgia -- and how beautiful your pictures
are . . . Oh Georgia -- we are a team." And so they remain in the
public imagination.
Still, it is the later artist who has won a more valid
celebrity. This is the solitary poet of the desert, interpreter of
bleached bone and sand and light -- light all around. O'Keeffe
lived to be 98 and became the '60s and '70s apotheosis of feminine
independence. But she was never quite so leathery as she appeared.
Robinson's final chapters suggest a Tennessee Williams scenario,
with an old woman smitten and exploited by her handsome protege,
ceramist Juan Hamilton. Over the family's protests, Hamilton
manipulated the painter's affairs until her death in 1986. He was
eventually awarded 24 paintings and her house.
Yet the work outlives the folly and redeems the sadness.
Throughout the artist's long career, that was always the case.
Every biography of O'Keeffe -- including this massive one -- is
really an elaboration of the message she sent a student back in
1924: "Making your unknown known is the important thing -- and
keeping the unknown always beyond you. Catching, crystalizing your
simpler clearer vision of life -- only to see it turn stale
compared to what you vaguely feel ahead -- that you must always
keep working to grasp."