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View of “Georgia O’Keeffe: Living Modern.” PHOTOGRAPH BY JONATHAN DORADO PHOTOGRAPH BY JONATHAN DORADO On a visit to Spain, she bought a skirt suit from Cristóbal Balenciaga, his impeccable couturier instincts on display in its perfectly tailored arms and waist. When she travelled to Japan, she returned with kimonos, one of which she is wearing, open and loose, in a Paul Strand portrait from 1918. She honed her style by borrowing (today we might call it appropriating) from other nations, too. In New Mexico, where, in 1940, O’Keeffe bought a home at the Ghost Ranch, the site of some of her most iconic images, she wore denim and painted the landscapes, writing to tell Murdock Pemberton, the art critic for The New Yorker, that she loved to wear a shirt he had given her paired with bluejeans: “I rather think they are our only national costumes,” she said.

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Corn, who guest-curated “Living Modern,” O’Keeffe’s style was influenced early on by the writings of the feminist Charlotte Perkins Gilman, whose book “The Dress of Women,” from 1915, argued that women should free themselves from restrictive fashion norms by adopting masculine styles of dress. (“One is a good painter or one is not, and that sex is not the basic of this difference,” she replied when Judy Chicago asked her to participate in an anthology on women artists, in 1972.) O’Keeffe was reluctant to stand for anything other than herself, yet she was open to the world-its places, people, and ideas. She could be coy in that way, especially about the trappings of traditional feminine identity-denying that her flower paintings bore any resemblance to female genitalia, bristling at others’ attempts to label her a feminist. O’Keeffe once said that her penchant for black was not a preference but a practicality: if she started picking out colors for dresses, she would have no time for painting. PHOTOGRAPHS BY GAVIN ASHWORTH PHOTOGRAPHS BY GAVIN ASHWORTH (R) Dress with matching belt, circa nineteen-thirties. Lord & Taylor shirt, circa nineteen-sixties. Moving from that gallery to the next delivers a shock of shadow, O’Keeffe’s dark garments standing beside her painting of the Brooklyn Bridge, its archways swooping across the sky.įrom left to right: (L) Emsley suit, 1983. Her silk dresses hang in sets of four, their creamy whites aged to a pinky-yellow that echoes her painting of a seashell hanging on the adjacent wall.

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The show, which runs through July 23rd as part of a series called “A Year of Yes: Reimagining Feminism,” seeks out synergies between O’Keeffe’s personal style and her art. She never took to wartime synthetic fabrics, favoring silk, cotton, and wool. A row of blouses on display shows the care she put into details: she liked mother-of-pearl buttons and occasionally allowed for a modest flourish, like a ruffle or a bow. This and other photographs of O’Keeffe are among the items on display at the Brooklyn Museum’s fascinating exhibit “Georgia O’Keeffe: Living Modern,”_ _which highlights the understated, androgynous style that helped shape the artist's “self-crafted persona.” O’Keeffe was an expert seamstress who made her own clothes and altered or otherwise preserved them herself she kept some of her dresses for as long as sixty years. Like a man, they’d say. In a photo taken when she was around thirty she wears a broad pointed collar, her hands stuffed into the pockets of a loose-fitting black dress-she looks away, knowing that the camera will keep looking at her. I am going to give up everything for my art.” When she became an art teacher in Canyon, Texas, where she lived until she moved to New York, in 1918, O’Keeffe’s students would gossip about her outfits. Roxana Robinson, in the biography “ Georgia O’Keeffe: A Life,” from 1989, writes that O’Keeffe once announced to her classmates, “I am going to live a different life from the rest of you girls. She prided herself on wanting more than was expected of women at that time. In a group photo from the Kappa Delta sorority at her college-prep boarding school, in Virginia, she is immediately recognizable: already she wore black and white almost exclusively she rejected corsets and heels in favor of tunics and flats. If her sisters braided their hair, she said, hers had to be loose. Even as a child growing up in small-town Wisconsin, Georgia O’Keeffe used style to set herself apart.