Day 325: O.K.

I always felt an affinity with Georgia O'Keeffe. I couldn't put my finger on it. But maybe the docent at her museum in Santa Fe narrowed it down for me. She wasn't, it seems, that enamoured with people. There are very few in her paintings; she lived this amazing life (when she finally could) in the vast spaces of New Mexico; and she famously said: I wish people were all trees and I think I could enjoy them then. I love the word docent. It's new to me, but prevalent in museums in the States, it seems. It's a quite, soft word. A storyteller word. I once did one of those tests where they work out what kind of a learner you are—visual, tactile, auditory—and I ended up as the last. I love to listen to stories, but only those told by a real person in my presence. And in fact I prefer to be an anonymous listener—not one on one. An eavesdropper, if you will. But the docent at this museum was magnificent and I could have sat on that hard little bench and listened to him all day. The subject matter helped. Goergia was a feisty thing, driven, opinionated. The men of her day all thought she was this magnificent female voice of the Freudian, speaking out for the repressed feminine sexuality. But she just liked to paint flowers, and shapes. There is a great painting in her series of Arum lilies which she dedicates to her husband Alfred Stieglitz, a prominent art promoter, photographer and proponent of Freudian themes in her work, but in which the phallic part of the flower is, shall we say, foreshortened. Funny lady.

List_Addict               Irene
We visited three types of second hand place today: a second hand cowboy boot shop, a standard thrift store and a consignment store. The last was an interesting experience and I spent much too much. I couldn't work out how the tags worked. There were subtle variations of colour which represented different percentages of discount. 'The peach ones are thirty percent off, but the apricot is full priced', for example. I re-scanned everything once I thought I had worked them out and selected a couple of pieces which then seemed to be charged to me at full price at the register. I left confused and willing to stick to thrift stores. The boot shop was lovely, nice people, heaps of boots. But because I have one pair now (here, here or here), the second pair I want is a fantasy pair based on ones I saw someone wearing years and years ago, which I can't quite recall, but which I will know when I see them. I didn't see them. And the last store, a Salvation Army, had an interesting clientele. It was prime eaves-dropping real estate and a great source of cheap leathers for skinny people. I indulged in the first, and except for a doesn't-quite-fit-but-can't-pass-it-by purple suede and snakeskin eighties iconic jacket, I didn't indulge in the second. I vacillate often on the topic of buying things that don't fit, but that I love and hope to one day squeeze into. It's why I have just as many unfitting clothes as fitting, and why this blog must go on beyond it's planned three hundred and sixty-five days, and until I have worn everything. Oh dear. What have I created? The definition of infinity?

Clockwise from left: adobe, colour, and the New Mexico flag; Santa Fe main street and law enforcement; street art
The Outfit T-shirt/holiday pj's: Thailand market stall Cardigan: Op-shopped Skirt: Op-shopped Leggings: Target Boots: Dr Martens

Photographer de Jour: V——

Who wore it better?

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