Georgia O'Keefe Is Restless

Within the last week, three of my friends have dreamt of Georgia O'Keefe. Maybe it's the weather or something in the water, perhaps she's a common image of strong and isolated creativity. Or perhaps her dust has simply reached us at last, blown on the wind from New Mexico, breathed in with the smell of leaves and the tang of fall to lodge in our brains and dance around our skulls. None of these dreams have been pleasant ones--she's not a comforting figure, with her bones and her sexual flowers and her uncompromising stare. But I am jealous of the attention, wanting to know what she might paint into my night.

Georgia, I'm waiting.

Georgia O'Keefe Is Restless

Within the last week, three of my friends have dreamt of Georgia O'Keefe. Maybe it's the weather or something in the water, perhaps she's a common image of strong and isolated creativity. Or perhaps her dust has simply reached us at last, blown on the wind from New Mexico, breathed in with the smell of leaves and the tang of fall to lodge in our brains and dance around our skulls. None of these dreams have been pleasant ones--she's not a comforting figure, with her bones and her sexual flowers and her uncompromising stare. But I am jealous of the attention, wanting to know what she might paint into my night.

Georgia, I'm waiting.