We’re not surprised in the slightest to discover that Georgia A-Flower-Is-Never-Just-a-Flower O’Keeffe was quite the steamy letter writer. Her love letters to the (ahem, married-at-the-time) photographer and modern art promoter Alfred Stieglitz were published as part of an exhibit at the Whitney Museum of American Art a few years back. The two married eventually, and Stieglitz cheated on O’Keeffe eventually, too, so we guess karma already did all the judging for us. Which is not to say that you shouldn’t learn from (and take notes on) the passion conveyed in the following letter — it’s good stuff. We would just argue that, though more challenging, the same kind of intensity can be found in loving relationships that don’t have stakes-raising, taboo-tingling adultery at their core. We would also argue for better grammar and punctuation.
From New York
13 June 1918You will be here in a few minutes I guess but I have to get up and write you – its necessary – I must – I’ve been lying here listening for you in the dark – my face feels so hot Aching for you way down to my finger ends – an actual physical ache –As I came up the street into the sunset after supper – I wondered – can I stand it – the terrible fineness and beauty of the intensity of you – I do not know – may yet have to run away – it seems almost too much –…And lying here – wanting you with such an all ache – not just wanting – loving – feeling – all the parts of my body touched and kissed – conscious of youA volcano is nothing to itNo words I know say the hotness – consumingness of itStill I some way feel I can be quiet when you come can control myselfFeeling it grow though—I seem to feel that the moment will come when I cant control myself when I’ll be blind and mad…The woman you are making seems to have gone far beyond me – Almost out of sight
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