A Thousand Desires

Melissa L. White

November 15, 1887

On a blustery, gray morning in Sun Prairie, Wisconsin— Georgia O’Keeffe was born on her parents’ farm, the second of seven children.

At age four, Georgia regularly helped her mother, Ida Totto O’Keeffe, milk the cows and gather eggs. One day, young Georgia surprised Ida by stating the following, “When I grow up, I’ll be a world-famous artist— rich enough to take care of our whole family beyond your wildest dreams.”

Never one for demonstrable affection or emotional attachment, Ida simply nodded her head. “You’ll need to care for the little ones, after I’m gone.”

Georgia added, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everyone.”

On May 23, 1916, Georgia recounted this childhood memory to Alfred Stieglitz, a successful photographer and gallery owner in New York City. Upon learning that Alfred had “shown” her drawings in his 291 Gallery without her permission, she confronted him. But instead of arguing with her, Alfred charmed Georgia into having lunch with him, where he convinced her to let him “manage” her career. Thus, he finagled his way into her heart, and into her budding career as a professional artist.

“You’ve no idea what you’ve done with your drawings. It’s astounding. Groundbreaking. I know I can make the name, Georgia O’Keeffe a household word,” Alfred crowed.

“You’d do that for me?” she asked, wide-eyed and somewhat starstruck.

“Of course. In fact, if you leave your teaching job in Texas and move back to New York to stay, I’ll guarantee you a stipend with all your living expenses covered by my regular patrons,” he bragged, cajoling her relentlessly.

“Oh, thank you!” Georgia gushed, acquiescing to Alfred’s charms.

“Besides, we must make your childhood prophecy come true.” Leaning in, he kissed her on the forehead.

“I promised my mother on her deathbed, I’d take care of my little sister, Claudia. She’s living with me now in Canyon, Texas until she finishes high school. Once she graduates, I’ll come back to New York and pursue my dream. But I’ll need to send money back to Claudia to cover her living expenses. Mother’s gone. Dad’s very ill. Without my help, Claudia would be on her own.”

“I guarantee your stipend will cover all of yours and Claudia’s immediate needs.”

With that, Georgia fell hard for Alfred, like a schoolgirl with a crush. She went back to her teaching job at West Texas State Normal College, and wrote the following entry in her diary the same night she returned from New York:

The fact that Alfred sensed my need for financial security, and planned a way to give that to me, has laid the foundation for our romance to blossom into a full-blown, life-altering love. I know I could love him for the rest of my life… and many more lifetimes to come!

Two years later, after Claudia graduated high school and moved to Chicago to live with their aunt, Georgia finally moved back to New York. Alfred immediately set her up in her own studio, priming her for success as one of his newest “fledgling” artists in residence.

Alfred led her up the six flights of stairs to her new studio at 114 E. 59^th Street. A hot summer day, June 9, 1918, Alfred immediately opened the windows in the studio apartment, looking out over the urban skyline in the heart of New York City.

“My niece no longer needs this studio so it’s yours, if it suits you,” he said.

Georgia squealed and hugged his neck. “I love it! How can I ever repay you?”

Alfred raised his eyebrows with a seductive little grin. “You could let me photograph you.”

Two hours later, Georgia wore her Japanese silk robe, naked underneath, as she lounged across the unmade bed, posing for shot after shot while Alfred photographed her. Striking many provocative poses, she slipped her robe off her shoulders, exposing her breasts, fueling Alfred’s creative frenzy. He photographed her hands, her profile, her legs and nude torso. A master at chronicling the human form with heightened emotions of passion and lust, Alfred’s photographs reflected an erotic yet refined sensibility. This also marked a new direction in their lives. Falling in love inspired both of them creatively—even with their 24-year age difference. Alfred left his wife Emmy for Georgia, and promptly moved into her studio with her. Their romance flourished, like young lovers just starting out in life. Giddy with the excitement of their newfound love, they fueled each other’s creative passions and soon became inseparable.

Three months after Georgia arrived, Alfred opened a brand new “solo show,” covering the walls of his 291 Gallery with photographs of her. He sold all of his latest “erotic” portraits, with the promise of many more portraits to come. Georgia became so famous as Alfred’s model, that art patrons and the general public alike began recognizing her on the street.

Somewhat annoyed by her new “celebrity status,” Georgia longed for recognition and admiration of her artistic talent and her work, not her token fame as Alfred’s current “muse.” A year later, when her first solo show opened at 291 Gallery, Alfred kept his promise and Georgia’s fame grew even more widespread. With a slew of strategically placed “choice” reviews, which Alfred all but spoon-fed to his favorite art critic cronies, he capitalized on his ability to orchestrate and manipulate the public’s perception of Georgia and her work. He built a mystique around Georgia’s public “persona,” where she was “whispered” about in certain circles, and unanimously admired by the public and art critics alike.

But all of Georgia’s newfound fame came crashing down around her shoulders when Alfred began a flirtatious affair with Beck Strand, the young, perky wife of Alfred’s latest protégé, Paul Strand, who’d recently joined his inner circle. When Alfred became Paul’s agent and manager, his far-reaching hold over the Strands materialized into physical manipulation when Alfred started photographing Beck as his nude model. She then quickly became his latest sexual “conquest.”

Having none of this, Georgia left New York immediately rather than play second fiddle to Alfred’s latest mistress. Running off to York Beach in Maine, Georgia began an entirely new direction in her paintings, delving into the seductive beauty of large-scale flowers, which Alfred promptly exploited as her symbolic feminist representation of the female genitalia. As preposterous as this was to Georgia, no amount of complaining about Alfred’s choice to promote the eroticism of her work could sway him. He’d chosen this career path for both of them, and it was fast becoming more lucrative than they’d ever imagined.

When Geogia’s paintings began to sell for $5,000 each, Alfred adamantly refused her request to stop doing constant interviews with the press.

“I know you think they’re silly,” Alfred replied, “but these interviews are utterly and completely necessary. Publicity sells art, Georgia. The sooner you learn this, the better.”

Georgia reacted to Alfred’s new tact with the following request: “Okay, then. Let’s have a child.”

“No!” Alfred flat-out refused to let her become a mother. “A child would keep you from working. Your work is far too important to let it take second place to raising a family.”

Georgia responded to this latest “decision” Alfred made on her behalf, by agreeing to take on a commission to paint a mural for J.D. Rockefeller at his Radio City Music Hall, without Alfred’s approval. In fact, she honored the commission, even when Alfred tried to revoke it from the Rockefeller architect and designer, Donald Deskey. Rebuffed by both Deskey and Georgia, Alfred retreated into the willing arms of socialite and heiress, Dorothy Norman.

Crushed by Alfred’s latest betrayal, Georgia retaliated by beginning her own affair with fellow female artist, Frida Kahlo, whom Georgia met at a Christmas gala at the Radio City Music Hall in 1931. After years of being forced to deal with her husband, Diego Rivera’s voracious infidelity, Frida Kahlo took an immediate liking to Georgia. While Rivera was giving an interview at the Radio City gala about his own commission to do a mural there for Rockefeller, Frida began flirting with Georgia. She even walked up to Georgia while she stood arm in arm with Alfred, and announced loudly, “I would love to paint your portrait, posing nude with only your black bowler hat, and dozens of strands of black onyx rosary beads.”

Alfred tried to protest, but Georgia played along with Frida.

“And I would love to paint your portrait too, dear. Posing nude in a field of flaming orange poppies.”

Never shy, Frida wiggled her way in between Georgia and Alfred, then unabashedly French kissed Georgia, while Alfred looked on in shocked betrayal.

Georgia laughed out loud, and then left the party with Frida. The two women fell into each other’s arms in Frida’s chic rooms at the historic Blue Moon Hotel on the lower East side. While the blazing fire crackled in the fireplace, Georgia and Frida held each other quietly, after making passionate love together. Georgia traced her fingertip slowly down Frida’s forehead, to the tip of her nose, then tenderly touched her lips.

Frida sighed. “Does it ever get any easier— the more famous you become? To live in the shadow of a man who flaunts his appeal to so many eager women?”

Georgia thought for a moment then said softly, “Alfred was married when I first met him. He left his wife for me. So, I know how he craves his next conquest.” Georgia brushed a strand of hair from Frida’s eyes. “I know too, he could just as easily leave me for a younger, prettier woman. So no, it never gets any easier.”

Frida took a deep breath. “Too bad. I was hoping you’d tell me to just be patient. Love wins in the end every time.”

Georgia laughed. “Ah, yes. Love does in fact win in the end. When we realize that no man is worth losing our self-worth over... no matter how much he helps our career. So, ultimately, it’s our self-love that keeps us from getting lost in our husbands’ affairs. Besides, we have our own affairs to attend to. N’est pas?”

Frida giggled. “Oui! Ma belle amie! Mais oui!”

Georgia leaned in and kissed Frida.

And so began their affair, during which they met each other in secret, numerous times throughout 1931 and 1932. Georgia often referred to this as “the happiest times of my life.”

When Frida returned to Mexico with Diego Rivera, Georgia threw herself into her work. Her paintings took on a new direction, with studies in geometric shapes and abstract designs. She flourished in this new style, until Alfred’s affair with Dorothy Norman became too “serious” for her to ignore any longer. In response to his wandering eye, Georgia left New York for the art scene in Taos, New Mexico and she invited Beck Strand to go with her.

While in New Mexico, Georgia began a new series with cow skulls, pelvis bones, and flowers juxtaposed with the pedernals, mountains, and big skies of the desert. While Georgia and Beck vacationed as guests at the ranch of art patron and heiress, Mabel Dodge Luhan, they grew weary of the constant celebrating and “hedonistic” lifestyle of Mabel’s circle of friends. They ran away from Mabel’s “party” ranch and took refuge at D.H Lawrence’s ranch at the invitation of his wife, Frieda Lawrence.

While camping on the property late one night, Georgia and Beck sat beside their blazing campfire, sharing a Navajo blanket wrapped around their shoulders.

“I got a letter from Paul today,” confessed Beck. “He wants to come out and join us.”

“What are you going to tell him?” Georgia pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders.

“I’m not sure,” said Beck. “I’m having such a grand time without him.”

Beck turned to Georgia and touched her hand to Georgia’s cheek. “Let’s just stay here. You hate New York, and so do I. Both our husbands are having affairs. We could be happy here, just the two of us.”

Georgia sighed. “Except that I love Alfred, and I know in his own way, he loves me too. I’ll never leave him. We’re tied to each other for life.”

Beck threw the blanket down off her shoulders and stood up. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that!” Beck stormed off.

Georgia stared into the fire, then jumped up and chased after Beck. She grabbed Beck’s arm, stopping her. “What the hell are you saying?”

“Alfred told me years ago that he’d never loved anyone in his life. And probably never would.”

“You’re lying!” Georgia yelled.

“And you’re a spoiled child!” Beck raised her hand as if to slap Georgia, but she was too fast. She grabbed Beck’s hand, stopping her in mid-slap.

“I’m not about to risk losing the one person who gives my life meaning, both personally and professionally, all because you want to stay here playing house in the desert!”

Georgia flung Beck’s arm down, turned and stomped back up to their campsite.

Beck and Georgia left New Mexico the next day and went their separate ways. Georgia knew in her heart that no matter how many “affairs” she and Alfred both engaged in, they ultimately belonged only with each other.

Not long afterward, Georgia returned to the desert alone, throwing herself into her work, finishing a new series of rustic pueblos and crosses. When she received the telegram alerting her to Alfred’s heart attack, she rushed to his side at Doctors’ Hospital in New York City.

“I’m glad you came back to me. We’re soul mates,” Alfred confessed to Georgia. “And we’re tied together for life.”

She wiped the sweat from his brow with a damp washcloth. “I’ll always love you. Even though I shouldn’t.”

Alfred laughed. “I had a dream last night, that I died and was a ghost flying around the gallery, trying to keep you from selling a painting. But you didn’t listen to me.”

Georgia laughed out loud. “Well, if I don’t listen to you when you’re alive, why would I listen if you’re dead?”

Alfred chuckled. “In that case, I’ll just have to reincarnate myself and follow you around in my next life, to make sure you listen to me.” He pulled Georgia’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m nothing without you. You’re my life. My world. My queen of the hill.”

“That’s a wild thought, Alfred. I wonder if I’d even recognize you, if you’re somehow able to find me in your next life?”

“I’ll recognize you for the both of us.” Alfred kissed Georgia on the lips.

She hugged him then laid her head on his shoulder. “I will always, always love you.”

Alfred died on July 13, 1946. Georgia spent almost two years organizing his collection of paintings, photographs, and literally thousands of letters. She chronicled, labeled and dispersed his belongings to various museums and libraries. Then she moved to New Mexico as a permanent resident at her beloved Ghost Ranch near Abiquiu, New Mexico.

She lived and worked alone for the next two and half decades until her eyesight began to fail. Utterly crushed, Georgia stopped painting and asked her sister Claudia to come live with her and be her eyes.

In August of 1973, when Georgia was 85 years old, she began spending most of her days sitting in the rocker on the back porch of her Ghost Ranch home. Almost blind. Depressed. Unable to paint. She relied on Claudia for everything. One day, Georgia’s neighbor, Phoebe Pack, arrived for a visit.

Claudia looked up from where she was weeding the garden. “Why, hello, Phoebe. Nice to see you.”

“You too, Claudia. I’ve brought you both a cake.” Pheobe held the cake up so Georgia could also see it.

Claudia removed her work gloves and laid them on the porch. She took the cake from Phoebe and approached Georgia. “Look, sister. Phoebe brought this beautiful cake. It’s chocolate. Your favorite.”

Georgia nodded, saying nothing.

Claudia motioned for Phoebe to follow her into the house.

Once inside the kitchen, Claudia turned to Phoebe. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything to get her interested in painting again. But it’s no use. All she does it sit there on the porch.”

“I know it,” said Phoebe. “It’s like she’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” said Claudia.

Three weeks later, on Labor Day 1973, the pump on the well stopped working, and Claudia called a plumber to come repair it. When the plumber arrived, he brought a young, pony-tailed assistant with him. After quickly repairing the pump, they started getting ready to leave, then the young assistant wandered up to Georgia’s home and knocked on the door.

She answered the door. “Yes?”

“Pump’s all fixed. Good as new.”

“Tell your boss to send me the bill.” Georgia moved to shut the door.

The plumber’s assistant stuck his foot in the doorway, holding the door open. “Do you have any odd jobs that you need done around your place, Miss O’Keeffe?”

Georgia squinted at him. The blazing sunset behind him silhouetted him in the doorway like an aura. In her mind, this young man looked amazingly like a younger version of Alfred. She smiled, wondering to herself how she could get to know this handsome young man.

“I do have a few paintings that need to be crated and shipped to New York. Can you come back tomorrow at 8:00 am?”

He grinned. “I’ll be here at 8:00 o’clock sharp.”

Georgia nodded. “Don’t be late.”

The next day, the young man arrived at 7:45 am, and knocked on Georgia’s front door. An early riser, she answered the door and showed him the paintings in her studio that she wanted to ship. When he finished, she asked him to putty a broken windowpane and replace the rotted planks on the back porch. When he finished those tasks, she offered him a glass of cold lemonade. They sat together on the patio, drinking their lemonade.

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“Juan Hamilton.”

“You do good work, young man. I could use a hard worker around here. Did you go to college?”

“I did,” said Jaun. “I have a master’s degree in fine arts. I’m a potter and sculptor.”

“Then why on earth are you doing handyman work?” she asked him.

“Because it pays by the hour. Making pottery doesn’t.” He smiled at her warmly.

“Can you type?” she asked after a moment.

“60 words a minute,” said Juan.

Georgia grinned. “Come with me.”

She led him to her office where a large pile of letters lay on top of her desk. The pile measured about one foot high. “See all these letters?” she asked.

Juan nodded slowly.

“Can you read them to me, and then maybe help me think up some nice responses?”

“Of course,” said Juan.

They spent the next seven days reading her letters with Georgia dictating her replies. Juan proved to be an excellent secretary.

“You’re good at this,” noted Georgia at the end of the week. “Whatever you’re earning as a handyman, I’ll double it if you’ll come work for me full time.”

Juan agreed, and they soon became inseparable. He not only read her mail to her, but he also played her favorite records and sat with her for hours on end, listening to Rachmaninoff, Beethoven, and Debussy. He read poetry to her and questioned her about her life. He asked her what she’d dreamed of the night before, and soon they became extremely close friends.

When Juan suggested that she write a book about her life and work, she jumped at the opportunity and promoted him to her assistant and business manager. Juan took his new role very seriously and found ways to make himself indispensable.

When they finished the book, Juan travelled to New York to meet with Viking about publishing it. Acting as her agent, he finagled a very lucrative deal with Viking. Georgia’s reaction mirrored her admiration for Juan; she became enthusiastically ecstatic. As soon as he returned to Ghost Ranch, she asked him to help her start painting again.

They set up the canvas in her studio while Georgia wore dark glasses and sat at the back of the room, using binoculars to see the painting up close. From there, she directed Juan to apply the appropriate paints in the colors and hues of her choice, guiding him where to make the next strokes of the brush. They finished several paintings in this manner, and Juan then secured their placement at the MoMA in New York. As an addendum to Georgia’s contract, Juan managed to secure a rider which stipulated that they show a series of his pottery and sculptures.

Georgia was so pleased with Juan’s dealmaking for her, she purchased a new kiln and a new potter’s wheel and put them in her studio, so they could work side by side.

One night, Juan lit dozens of candles, put Beethoven on the stereo, and tried to show Georgia how to throw a pot on his new potter’s wheel. He stood behind her while she sat on the stool, her hands molding and shaping the soft clay. Juan reached his arms around her from behind, guiding her hands as they worked the pot together.

When they finished, Georgia asked him to share a bottle of wine with her.

They sat outside on the patio, gazing at the night sky, ablaze with billions of stars.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else,” Georgia said after a prolonged silence between them.

Juan shifted in his chair. “Why do you ask?”

“To know you better.”

Juan sat there for a brief moment, thinking; then he said, “I’ve never told anyone this before, but back in 1973, my wife left me for another man. It crushed me. So, I took a soul-searching, cross county van trip, trying to “find” myself. When I arrived in Lake George, New York, I heard an audible voice in my head saying, ‘Georgia O’Keeffe needs you. She needs you to take care of her.’ The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I immediately had a premonition that I found you at Ghost Ranch, and we became close friends.”

Georgia sipped her wine, nodding, taking this all in.

“When I arrived in New Mexico, I found work as a plumber’s assistant, then I met you a few months later. It happened just the way I dreamed it. Call it fate, or call it luck, I knew in my heart I was destined to find you.”

Georgia set her glass down and reached for Juan’s hand. “Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

Georgia brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his fingers. “When Alfred was dying, he told me about a dream he had where he’d died and was a ghost flying around the gallery, trying to keep me from selling one of my paintings. I wouldn’t listen to him, so he told me he planned to reincarnate himself, and find me in his next life, to help me make better decisions.”

Juan laughed. He held up his wine glass.

Georgia lifted her glass and touched it to his. “I’ve always known that you and Alfred were the same soul. After all these years, you found me again, and we’ll continue to find each other in future lifetimes because our love is too big for just one life. We need many different lives to experience all that this love has in store for us.”

Juan smiled tenderly at her.

Georgia smiled back at him. “Thank you for finding me.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for inviting me into your life.”

*****

Juan managed her affairs and career for several more years, until Georgia began to grow feeble. One afternoon, she called him to her bedside, telling him she didn’t have much longer to live.

He took her hand in his.

Georgia smiled. “Few people have held extraordinary places in my heart. My grandfather, George Victor Totto, with his royal title and heroic past. And my dear father, Francis O’Keeffe, Sr. And you, Juan.”

He smiled.

“But it’s you I’ll miss the most when I pass on. More than anyone else.”

She reached to her bedside table, took the black stone sculpture of a Tibetan monk’s hand, and offered it to Juan. The hand was positioned, palm out, in a pose of welcoming or halting, depending upon one’s point of view.

“I want you to have this, dear. It’s my favorite piece that I own.”

He took it, then leaned over and hugged her. “Thank you.”

She smiled, hugging him back. “I’ve done all I can to provide for you. Changing my will to leave you the bulk of my estate so you won’t have to worry about earning a living ever again. Now you can simply create art and be happy, like what you did for me these final years of my life. The same as Alfred did for me early on.”

“Thank you for saying that, Georgia. It means everything to me.”

“I’ve believed that you’re Alfred’s reincarnation since the day you arrived on my ranch thirteen years ago. Especially after you told me how you heard that voice in your head saying that I needed you to take care of me.”

Juan watched the tears welling up in her eyes as she spoke.

“I know we’ve loved each other many times before, in lifetime after lifetime. And I want you to know how grateful I am for you taking care of me these past few years.”

Juan touched his hand to her cheek and kissed her gently on the forehead.

She closed her eyes, smiling. “You are my closest friend. My protector and partner.”

Juan nodded. “You’re my closest friend too.”

She took his hand, kissed it quickly. “I love you beyond life and death. I will always love you. In fact, my favorite quote is by Rumi, and it perfectly describes how I feel about you. It says, ‘I had a thousand desires, but in my one desire to know you, all else melted away.’”

Juan smiled at her. “That’s so beautiful. Thank you for sharing.’

“It’s true, dear. I’m ready to pass on, at peace with you. At peace with myself. Everything else just melts away.”

Closing her eyes, Georgia drifted into a peaceful sleep. She passed on four days later, on March 6, 1986, at the age of 98.

*****

Juan scattered Georgia’s ashes across the red hills of her beloved Ghost Ranch, just as she had wanted. He also helped establish her home as a museum, preserving her life’s work and legacy for generations to come.

Contact Melissa

(Unless you type the author's name
in the subject line of the message
we won't know where to send it.)

Melissa's story list and biography

Book Case

Home Page

The Preservation Foundation, Inc., A Nonprofit Book Publisher