georgia at the window

Georgia O'Keeffe: a portrait, 1918
palladium print, Alfred Stieglitz



  1. immediately I am moved to gasp, I want her knowing that these words are really foolish implements that I am using to pluck the most delicate of splinters from the soul of god.

    every woman. every blessed woman. how did women manage to have such gorgeous forms? and is it the same for men, only that we are not as blessed to be as inundated with their images? I think it must be so. perhaps not only they, but too often the photographer, have been unwilling to go to the same depths of vulnerability. if they did I am sure I would gasp then too wondering how such earthly creatures might be created. (this is true. I stop and remember being in a small gallery in Chicago. I remember moving detached from canvas to canvas until I stood before a huge self portrait of a man so raw and open, despondent really but naturally so, normally so, in a rumpled bed. I remember wanting to crawl into bed with him and hold his human ache. ah. I laugh. he was fully clothed! in a suit, in fact, but never had I until recently seen a photo of such a naked man.)


    1. i think you could take such photos of men, erin. you have, already, some which have expressed the same "depths of vulnerability", as you say. i don't know about me, i haven't tried much, i must confess, but maybe i should.

      this is astonishing.