Georgia O'Keeffe Page #2

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Look at that piece over there.

Whereas the Marins

are like an orchestra run wild.

- He was destroyed by the reviews.

- Yeah.

Holder called his pictures

"great gobs of imbecility. "

Yeah, well, Holder was absolutely wrong.

Men and words.

But whenever I can't get to sleep,

I just get my husband talking like that...

...and it puts me right out.

- I'm Rebecca Strand.

- Georgia O'Keeffe.

I know.

But why the depression?

Why the half whisper, the half light,

the soft petal?

The fear of full color?

- Are we afraid?

- Yes.

- And if so, of what? Ourselves?

- Yes! Yes!

My dear, whatever do you look like?

A nun, an acolyte, a virgin at the orgy.

It's fantastic.

And the shoes.

Please promise you won't ever tell me

where they come from.

I won't. If you promise never to tell me

where you come from.

Mrs. Mabel Evans Dodge Stern.

That's three, isn't it?

I've had three husbands so far.

I collect husbands.

And you are Alfred's newest plaything.

The milkmaid from Wisconsin.

My God. He picks up lovers like olives.

Dangerous man. Absolute genius.

You're not in love with him, are you?

You are. Aren't you?

Oh, my dear, my condolences.

Well, headfirst into the fire. Why not?

Life is short.

Come on. Come meet

some of the other dogs in my kennel.

They're all bastards, every one of them.

- Paul Strand.

- Hi, Mabel.

He's one.

- And, Becca, have you met Georgia?

- Yes.

And Jean Toomer. Now, he is a poet,

he's a philosopher...

...he's absolutely gorgeous.

I'd marry him in a second.

- Except, of course, that I'm already married.

- That's never stopped you before.

Now, you must come to my house in Taos.

It's heaven.

Don't even think about saying no.

Jean Toomer.

- Georgia O'Keeffe, my new best friend.

- It's a pleasure to meet you.

Whatever that is, give me two of them.

What's this all about?

I may not know what art is,

but I know what art isn't.

- And this isn't art.

- You're fearless.

Mr. Stieglitz,

I've been absolutely terrified my entire life...

...and I have never let it keep me

from doing a single thing I wanted to do.

Don't move for three minutes.

From here to here.

My mother died from malnutrition

and tuberculosis.

She hemorrhaged and bled to death.

No one knew she was sick,

and she never asked for help.

She died alone and hungry.

I'm like her, starving...

...yet too proud to know that I need help.

What sort of help?

I have things in my head.

I don't know where they come from.

I don't know how they get there.

Shapes and ideas that are so near to me...

...they're so natural to my way of being

and thinking...

...and I need to get them out of my head.

...and bring them into the world.

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