georgia and lake george

In 1916, photographer Alfred Stieglitz was asked to look at some drawings done by then-unknown art teacher Georgia O’Keeffe. Stieglitz was immediately fascinated by O’Keeffe, and even though Stieglitz was nearly a generation older, O’Keeffe was attracted to his wisdom and influence — and to his growing passion toward her as an artist and a woman.

From that point forward, O’Keeffe and Stieglitz would become creatively linked, with an eventual marriage that lasted until Stieglitz’s death in 1946. Georgia's relationship with Alfred naturally made her part of the Stieglitz lifestyle, which included a longstanding connection to the upstate New York region known as Lake George.

Stieglitz’s family owned a large home by the beautiful Adirondack lake, and Stieglitz himself enjoyed visiting the house and getting away from Manhattan, especially in warmer weather. O’Keeffe had been raised on a farm and had no problem acclimating to country life, but unfortunately the Stieglitz summer landscape was generally full of noisy visitors. Beyond Stieglitz’s various relatives, other artists or writers were also invited to stay. Stieglitz ran the influential 291 gallery and had edited the magazine Camera Work, and through both ventures he had developed a busy social circle.

For O’Keeffe, managing the Stieglitz entourage was something of an aggravated obligation. Stieglitz was so tireless in promoting her art and always hoping to keep her happy that at first she put up with the lack of space and peace needed for her to truly create. Still, when Stieglitz sold his family’s expansive home and opted for a smaller farmhouse, O’Keeffe began to experience feelings of entrapment. Stieglitz’s strong personality and work methods also clashed with O’Keeffe’s more internalized process, so that even once the guests had left, she continued to feel boxed-in.

The Shanty

Luckily, not long after the move to smaller quarters, O’Keeffe noticed what had once been a spot for local dances. The place was called the Shanty and was on the Stieglitz property, and despite the fact that it was rundown and in need of much renovation, Georgia decided to make the Shanty her creative refuge.

Stieglitz objected that the cost of repairs to the building might be too high, but Georgia found friends and family to do the work instead — and she also picked up her own tools and got busy herself. Through these collective resources, O’Keeffe’s resurrected Shanty came into being in late August of 1922.

O’Keeffe was not as prolific as she had hoped to be in her shanty space, and her first months of semi-freedom did not result in as much as she had hoped. Perhaps out of guilt — or perhaps to just free her mind from the whole situation — she ended that summer by canning fruits and vegetables, preparing delicious meals and otherwise making Stieglitz happy with her more domestic talents.

My Shanty

O’Keeffe did manage to paint a portrait of her new Lake George studio in 1922, a study in deep tones with a small, pure white window frame. Rather than being an obvious symbol of liberation, the Shanty looks dark and closed-off under a thickly clouded blue-gray sky. O’Keeffe reportedly chose these colors in response to the comments of some of Stieglitz’s male artist comrades, including Arthur Dove and Marsden Hartley, who claimed that O’Keeffe’s palette was too bright.

While O’Keeffe’s painting may appear to be a concession, upon closer examination My Shanty, Lake George is most likely anything but deferential. Firstly, O’Keeffe’s choice to paint a building which she had discovered and worked personally on the renovation of is a statement in itself. Secondly, O’Keeffe almost seemed to take the darker colors favored by "the men" — as she often called Stieglitz’s male artist friends — and create a defensive aura around a place she had claimed as her own.

Heading Southwest

Even with her Shanty, O’Keeffe ultimately found various aspects of life with Stieglitz to be too overwhelming and headed west to find more open views and spaces. By 1940 she was spending most of her time in New Mexico, where she would produce her iconic desert paintings. Alfred Stieglitz remained in New York; the couple stayed married and corresponded frequently, but actual visits grew farther apart.

After Stieglitz died in Manhattan in July of 1946, Georgia made their final trip together to Lake George to scatter her husband’s ashes on the property. She understood why Stieglitz would want to be there in spirit, since the place had meant so much to him for so long. When O‘Keeffe died in 1986, however, her ashes were scattered over her New Mexico Ghost Ranch, which had provided her ultimate refuge and which had become her own sacred space.

(originally published @ Suite101.com)

Sources
    O’Keeffe and Stieglitz: An American Romance -- Benita Eisler (Doubleday, 1991)
    The Phillips Collection -- Georgia O'Keeffe, My Shanty, Lake George, 1922 (pictured)
   

painting of the month

Sailboats at Sunset --

Ferdinand du Puigaudeau, 1864-1930

(from www.the-athenaeum.org)

barnes on bloomsday

Today is Bloomsday, or the literary holiday honoring the June 16th, 1904 novelscape of James Joyce's masterwork Ulysses and its main character Leopold Bloom.  June 16th, 1904 was also the day of Joyce's first significant romantic encounter with Nora Barnacle, who would eventually become his lover, muse, mother of his children and wife -- all pretty much in that order.

Author Djuna Barnes (1892-1982) did some interesting and adventurous interview work -- aside from writing her own fiction -- in the earlier decades of her career, and many of these interviews featured illustrations by Barnes as well.  This portrait of James Joyce is a wonderful example of her artistic talent and accompanied Barnes' Vanity Fair interview of Joyce from 1922. 


(image from wikimedia commons)

transit of venus and birth of venus

The Birth of Venus -- Odilon Redon, 1912 (from www.the-athenaeum.org)

vibration of colors

"How to define my attitude towards Tamayo's work?  Rotation, gravitation:  it attracts me, and at the same time, it keeps me at a distance--like a sun...little by little, with slow, stubborn self-assurance, it unfolds and becomes a fan of sensations, a vibration of colors and of forms that spread in waves...."

Octavio Paz, Essays on Mexican Art (Harcourt Brace & Co., 1993)

Pictured:  Las músicas dormidas -- Rufino Tamayo, 1950 (Museo de Arte Moderno)

pre-raphaelite mother's day

Earth Mother -- Sir Edward Burne-Jones, 1882 (Worcester Art Museum)

studs centennial

Activist, author, and great talker Studs Terkel would have been 100 on May 16th, had he not signed off forever on Halloween of 2008. Studs was born in New York with a given name of Louis; he came to Chicago when he was eight years old with his parents and made the city his home base for the rest of his life.

Studs had a long-running radio show on Chicago’s WFMT, on which he did many an interview in his characteristic raspy voice. Terkel also wrote several books, winning the Pulitzer Prize in 1985, and he often used the oral history format in order to keep the full power of a person’s words and experiences.

In Terkel’s Coming of Age, he conducted interviews with a wide range of older Americans to give a collective portrait of how they felt about growing older, and what they had witnessed in their particular slice of the 20th century. One of the interviews in Coming of Age is with Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000), the prolific African-American artist who created such great works as the Migration of the Negro series, as well as portraits of Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass, and another series detailing the life of abolitionist John Brown.

Since May is Older Americans Month, and since Studs sadly isn’t around to remind us about his book, an excerpt from Jacob Lawrence’s interview seems apropos:

How I became an artist? In elementary school, we were given crayons, poster paint, and were encouraged to put down color. In the great 1930s, I heard stories from older people…[t]hey’d talk about Marcus Garvey, John Brown, Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass. I’d walk the streets of Harlem and hear corner orators talk about these people. It inspired me. I realized I couldn’t tell their lives in one story, so I painted a series of their lives....

When I was a youngster growing up, a person would never attack an older person, a weaker person, because of the fear of God. Now an older person is vulnerable because of something lost, a sense of morality, of ethics…I’m not pessimistic. I think about these things. I talk about them. I feel as long as there’s one person or two people who are aware of the quality, of our capacity to think and feel, we’re on pretty sound ground. I hope so.

From Coming of Age, Studs Terkel (St. Martin’s Press edition, 1995)