Anderson Postmarked Ogden and Sanfrancisco ? 1923

Wednesday

Dear Alfred Stieglitz

Your letter, that speaks of the constant neuritis. --the worry--
many people to see and all makes me ache to have you and O'Keeffe out
here in these mountains. I am in a high dry valley-- more than ten
miles across anywhere--and there is a regular march of fine days,
Bright clear sunlight--mountains everywhere and in the afternoon from
two to five a singing wind that fairly blows the hat off your head but
blows other things out of your too.

I suppose I was in a pretty rotten state of nerve myself when I
came but the quiet, the end of useless talking about things that can't
be helped by talk and every day hours and hours of walking in the
bright sunlight are altogether putting me up.

I am sending the check for the other 150 for the O'Keeffe because I can spare it and no doubt you two can use it. And I'll be glad sometime when I have a little place and can have the things I care about around me.

Why say you know nothing of literature. It's all a question of
some clear note of beauty put across from one person to another in
any art isn't it?

Paul talked a little of coming out here but I think has given it
up. I didn't want to urge as it might turn out he wouldn't care for
the particular kind of splendor that is here.

I am working steadily and I hope pretty well and I'm glad to hear
O'Keeffe is at work. Luck to the Marin show. I wish I were xixxx
rich enough to own a few x Marins. Love to you both "Sherwood
My love to Arthur and "Red" when you see them

April 16-1923

Dear Sherwood Anderson:

It's all over. I wish you could have seen it. It was entirely
different from O'Keeffe. Quite as intense. An excitement of
grimness. A relentlessness pervaded the room. I know a very
profound impression was made. Not a trace of sensationalism. No
introduction of selling.- I'm tired. Very.- 16 days again of
living 9 hours a day in those galleries & meeting several thousand
people. Battles royal. I believe a complete victory- if one believes
in victory- has been achieved- a surrender of Painters & Intellectuals-
Really you can't imagine those Walls. Three of you were up. You
looked at home & well.

- In a few days I'll send you a print or two of you- & I'll follow
up with a couple of other prints. I must let down. I feel well in
& somewhat dazed. The end was a whirlwind.

- Rosenfeld went to N. Hampshire with Ornstein. He was not very
happy. May be he has written you. He said he would.

One hears discussions about many marriages everywhere.- Some are
very amusing.-

I haven't read a line in any book in several weeks.

- Your letters duly came. It's great to know you at work & undisturbed.-

This in haste - Georgia joins me in sending heartiest-

A.S.

May 11, 1923

Reno, Nevada

Dear Alfred Stieglitz

I got word today the pictures are in California--and I will
have them in a few days. I'm glad. There isn't much here to
feed the esthetic senses. The country though is lovely. Have
been trying, a little, to catch the tone and feeling of it in
water color. There is one thing I am almost sure you and
O'Keefe would like.

Well I'll bring the thing back when I come. O'Keefe you
see is my painting mother. She can't be too hard on my efforts.

Am glad you are getting ready to get out and rest. God
knows you have had hard enough year--but you have got results.

It must be a good year for you both to look back upon.

O, man I shall be so glad to get the things you have
and you may be very sure I will take good care of the things-
loaned--and get them back to you--safe and sound.

Love to you both

Sherwood

Lake George

June 22-1923

Dear Sherwood Anderson:

We came away from New York on Monday evening.- We came up via the Albany Nightboat.- The way as child I always came up.- So many years ago.- A large family & youngsters we. And father & mother & aunt & servants!- More than so many years ago it seemed.- Spring had been unspeakably hard- well-high impossible.- No photography.- No painting.- And on Monday morning I received two messages either of which would be knockout blows for an ordinary mortal- one too ghastly for words.- I won't go into details.- All I know is that I wonder that I'm finally able to pull myself together & think of doing anything.- I came up dazed- my mind a blank yet seeing only too truly- perhaps my own great tragedy- seeing all too clearly unable to do- not knowing what- Life undoubtedly- basic laws ag- rinning-

- On the boat I saw a little old woman- a darkey woman- sitting on a chair knitting.- Very clean looking- very much bent over- busy the picture of peace.- I wondered was she the stewardess that took care of us children fifty years ago.- O'Keeffe persuaded me to address her.- I hate to disturb Peacefulness.- And she sat there truly the perfect picture of that.- I asked her how long she had been stewardess.- Since 1955! I asked her whether she remembered the Stieglitz family.- It was great to hear her talk- to see those eyes- hear that voice- all so clean- so true- In service nearly 70 years! True to a job.- I seemed like a Wanderer- staggering through Life- myself as an increasing load.

- The Hill here is so quiet- It's very warm & cloudless- Bird sounds- The old house of 37 about the youngest thing on the Hill- No one of the family here- the first time in 36 years.- It seems as if my mother must come out of her room any moment led by two nurses.- But I'm glad she is through with Life.- It was no longer living- her lot the last years- There is solitude.- O'Keeffe is fine.- Cooks.- We keep life at its simplest.- Beck Strand is here with us for a few days.- I like her.- She sings when she takes her bath- & the song is queer.-

- I have you often in my mind.- Wanted to write you from town after having received your letter, telling me of the receipt of the photographs.- I want you to know that all the photographs I sent are yours.- Why you should have anything made by me as loan I don't know.- I'm glad you have them if they mean anything to you.

- For weeks in town my job was having Marins framed- O'Keeffe framed- my things cleaned up- & finally carted about 600 pictures by the three of us into storage- into vaults! A horrible thought.- Living work buried.- But there is no place for Marin, nor O'Keeffe nor myself.- The art dealers are too stupid- or rather their places are unclean without their knowing.- And our work is clean- never looked so clean.- Perhaps I'm impossible.- You fellows who write

PRESERVATION PHOTOCOPY: ORIGINAL MATERIAL RESTRICTED

are in many respects much better off than people like Marin,
O'Keeffe & myself.- Marin & O'Keeffe really don't care in the
way I care. And my caring is not at all personal. They are
symbols to me- & when symbols no longer exist for me life exists
no longer-

I have no idea what I'll do up here. Perhaps just listen to the
silences without trying to fathom them- And there is the green of
the trees for the eyes-

I am unspeakably tired.- But I know in time I'll work again- or
should I say play again- for is what I do work?-
I hope all goes well with you.- O'Keeffe & I send our love-

Stieglitz

Alfred Stieglitz.
Lake George.
New York.

Dear Alfred Stieglitz

Where will one find another such as you-to take the trouble to write me when you are so tired and distraught. I again these things begin to happen after a time-people on whom one has depended begin to disappear the place begins to seem empty. But dear man, you do so make the world a living place for so many people. I again only a few have really got to know you. It takes time and a kind of power in oneself to know another just as it does to get anywhere in one of the crafts. There are little distracting things not understood, in one-self and the other. As for myself I freely admit that I have often been stupid about you and it was only last year that I came to know you and really value you.

One day I was going to the country and as I sat in the train I suddenly began to weep bitterly and had to turn my face away from the people in the car for shame of my apparent causless grief. However I was not unhappy. It was just that I had at last realized fully what your life had come to mean to me. In our age you know there is much to distract from the faithful devotion to cleanliness and health in one's attitude toward the crafts and it takes time to realize what the quality has meant in you. I really think man you have registered more deeply than you know, on Marins, O'Keefe, Rosenfeld, myself and others. I myself was helped to an understand of you and your life by just a chance remark dropped by Marins. It illuminated and made clear a whole side of your nature I had not understood.

My new book "horses and men" is in press and I hope will turn out to be a real book of tales. There are some new ventures in it that have I believe real significants. In the meantime I get along into this semi-autobiographical thing on which I am at work. It is thoughts, notions and tales all thrown together. The central notion is that one's fanciful life is of as much significance as one's real flesh and blood life and that one cannot tell where the one cuts off and the other begins. This thing I have thought has as much physical existence as the stupid physical act I yesterday did. In fact so strongly has the purely fanciful lived in me that I cannot tell which of my acts had physical reality and which did not. It makes me in one sense a great liar but, as I said in the

2

Testament, "It is only by lying to the limit one can come at truth".

I was a good deal disconcerted last year when I saw you in the galleries
doing a thing I thought might well kill you if you did not let up and now I am
glad enough to think of you up there at that quiet place with O Keefe. And what-
ever blows the actuality of life may deal you I think you may well know that no
other man of our day is so deeply loved. You have kept the old faith that gets
so lost and faint but that always has so man like yourself to make it real again
to the younger ones. At any rate you may know that this feeling I have come
to have for you is no sudden thing but a slow sure growth.

It is dear of you to want me to have the things of your and I want to have
them. I get them out every day and look at them and they are symbols to me of
you and the real morality of you. They are living things to me and I suppose
that is what every artists wants-to leave thus, living traces of the fine thing
in himself for other craftsmen to see and understand a little.

Bless you man. I hope the summer will bring peace and rest and naturally
I hope, after a time, you will begin working again, as of course you will.

Do you know the letter Petrarch wrote to Boccaccio when Boccaccio was fool-
ish enough to wrtie to Petrarch and suggest that he-Petrarch-was tired and had
better not try to work any more? It is the answer.

My love to O Keefe. I have one little painting you and she may like a lit-
tle-no more.

With Love.

Lake George

July 23-23

Dear Sherwood Anderson:

It's a wonderful feeling feeling oneself moving into the consciousness of human beingness once again. And since a day or two I am once more amongst those really living. That frightful physical tiredness- that feeling that one was dragging one's own heavy carcass through every moment which every moment seemed an unending eternity of pain of every type- ye gods, how does one stand it?-

- I won't go into details of the last weeks. They were hard one s. Very hard. It was as if all the devils of world were busy inventing small tortures to try me out physically, psychically, in every way. Pain- & no sleep- & an emptiness that was worse than Pain-

- But the miracle has happened. And how or why or when- I really don't know.- The terrible tiredness is gone- the Lake is suddenly there again- the Lake. The Sky lives. And I hear the Wind. And actually see the trees. And my heart is full to overflowing happy once more. To know it lives.- What an impossible lot some of us are

- I have done no photography as yet. O'Keeffe is painting some cooking more.- And there is Peace within & without.- I still can with me a great source of Worry- but it is not acting as a dissipating force- It's a very sad story- worse than sad.- It is not a love story about some woman- yet it is connected with woman- love- my own flesh & blood- with all of my life-

- I received your wonderful letter some weeks ago.- I had dragged myself for a walk just dragged myself to the post office 1½ miles away.- Wanted to get away- so I walked without feeling every step a physical torture- yet not "feeling"- I expected no mail. But there were two letters & two copies of the London Sportsman, the only paper I read with genuine pleasure- & have read for over fifty years. Walking back in the broiling sun I began reading the horse news of England the home of the thoroughbred- & while reading it suddenly struck me that there had been some letters. I had stuck them in my pocket. I took them out & locked to see from whom they were. The papers were put away.- There was a letter from you.- I walked along very slowly- sometimes stood still- the sky was very clear & the sun very hot- my head bare- & I very heavy with pain & sorrow.

- I read -

Well, dear Man, it was very wonderful to stand there so alone under the clear blue sky & blazing sun- so full of pain & sorrow- so terribly empty feeling- & read- sense, in spite of all tiredness & weariness- for- a- great- peacefulness- a long, long sleep- that there was a Man far away who actually knew what feeling meant & who could cry while just thinking of another human being- cry & perhaps seem crazy to all those about.-

Yes, I understand.- And I thank you.- I didn't write at once for

I didn't want to write until I felt I could tell you that perhaps
those tears shed so far away- shed by a Man at the thought of a Fool
like myself may have been the cause of my gradually regaining strength
gradually- & beginning once more to feel light within-

So this morning when for the first time in 10 months that I can
use my left arm without setting my teeth- & when I feel as if I
might still be able to do some work- & be of some use to self & so
to others- I write to you & send you much love from the Hill where
Freedom & Peace are at home.-

-I am hoping you are feeling better too- Naturally I'm looking forward to the book. I like the title much greatly in fact.-

- Our love-

Your friend

Alfred Stieglitz

I have had some very fine letters from Paul. He seems to be working
well- growing all the time.- I am most eager that the book he's
working at do justice to himself. It is essential.

Lake George

July 30-1923

Dear Sherwood Anderson:

This is Monday morning. A new week about to begin. The sun's disc sharply defined through a vaporous atmosphere most curious in color & movement. Is the day to be one of bright sunlight- or is it to be gray? There was a marvellous full moon last night- very clear- & the sky was clear & cloudless & still- & the hills very tranquilly dark guarding the Lake so peacefully still- dark too & inviting.- Towards midnight vapors began to rise & settle here & there along the sides of the hills- & gradually some seemed to play about the Moon disc like the Rhine daughters played about the Rhinegold guarding it with their laughter & song.-

I had been fooling all day with small prints made a year ago- prints I frequently took a peep at during the year & wondered why I took such an interest in them- such fool things many- yet fascinating each- I wondered how could I place them properly on the thing one calls mount- just a piece of paper. Frequently it seemed hopeless- they seemed merely to remain prints- beginnings- And yet I knew some day there might be a little more than that if I felt just right.- And yesterday somehow I again began playing & by night I had 14 of the prints virtually placed each on a piece of paper- established a life between print & paper- & some of these tiny pictures give much pleasure - There is life.- So simple.- What is it?

- Your letter came an hour ago. A very beautiful one. So simple. So very full.- I thank you. It is quite wonderful how we have grown to mean more & more to each other!- I wrote you a few days ago. Our letters crossed each other. In the letter I told you I was human once more- gradually getting into work- meaning I feel better.- I was truly for a long time in a very bad shape- A great sorrow still gnaws at the roots of me-

Yes, to so many I seem to waste time with fools & irrelevant things-like I would seem to be wasting time with those fool little prints & those bits of paper all looking alike but so different to me- You see all humans represent a Great Innocence to me- And that is the Wonder I see. Even those Fools who believe they run the World-the affairs of men- All Innocent when I'm alone with Each- All equally Wonderful. That's my madness to feel that. Not as theory. Not as attitude. But just to feel that exists & nothing more. Innocent as the trees are innocent- & the vapors that play about the Moon & that try to hide the sun on a glorious morning like this.- It is when men begin to do business that innocence no longer exists- when exploitation begins- When two get together to do a third- & men begin to talk. Law & Justice & Votes & Party- & nothing is felt-all becomes muddy-& ugly & messy- & so unnecessarily as I see it.- In human.- Nature at play perhaps- or at work- I don't know.- But I have no control over all that- but I can't help seeing- feeling-the endless unnecessary stupidity- perhaps including my own- The

genuine lack of genuine courage- the great passion for light- love-
not in its cheap vulgarized sense- not as another commodity- but
just as a passion for live & let live.-

- It is not sentimentality. And I'm far from clear in words. But I can say a few things with the camera which is innocent even though Eastman would like to rob it of that without knowing that he is attempting to do that.-

It's forty years that I'm in love with photography that is that I
have been wooing it.- I loved it long before- when I was four years
old & yet younger.

- It's fifty years that I come to this place. It's fifty years
ago that I spent a few weeks at Saratoga with my father- & every
morning at 11 we went to the races. It is as if yesterday. I still
see Bobby Swim; thin short freckled, standing on the huge Grand
Union Hotel porch surrounded by rich men talking about the great race-
Tom Bowling was in every one's mouth. The Western 3 year old. Would
he beat the East? Price McGrath's horse. The freckled one, Bobby
Swim, crack jockey.- We saw the race.- The jockeying for start.
The endless delay. There was no gate. The packed grandstand silently
looking all excitement hushed ready to break forth- Tom Bowling
capering. Finally a thunderous "They're off." Tom Bowling left at
the post.- Whistling-screams- shouts of joy. Springbok the rival
ahead- Tom Bowling finally started to run. The race was 13/4 miles.
Tom Bowling runs like mad- a marvellous sight. The others still far
ahead- but Bowling runs faster & faster and as the horses come around
the last turn Bowling is with them- Swim hugs the rail- the crowd
is delirious with yelling: Come on you Bob- come on Springbok-
Bowling is head & head with Springbok forging ahead- another eighth-
will he last- Strachino coming- a beautiful black- Bowling suddenly
alone ahead- Springbok riderless.- Bowling wins. Easily. A long
confab in Judges stand. What had happened. Had Bowling fowled
Springbok- At last the Number went up. Bowling was winner.- I
remember the crowd around him as he came into the paddock. I remember
Price McGrath all smiles. And Swim showered with gifts. Diamond
pins & watches. Days then of real enthusiasm- before too many laws
& rules & regulations- before prohibition- Tom Bowling.- As a kid
I ran races & my name was Tom Bowling.- Over my bed hung a large
lithograph- Tom Bowling.

- I would give anything to know where my parents put it when we
packed up for Europe- It means more to me than Cézanne- Fifty years
ago.- And to-morrow I'm going to take O'Keeffe to Saratoga. The
races begin. I'll show her the old Grand Union & the United States.
The track is new.- The excitement of those days is no longer. Racing
is more business- still there's the horse- & he is as wonderful as
ever. I've seen some very great ones- & some very great races.- The
Horse & the Artist-

- So you see dear Anderson when your letter comes with its spirit
of sheer beauty- life felt- And you ask me, may you dedicate your
next book to me- why I'm overwhelmed. Of course I say yes with all
my heart. "Men & Horses"- to be dedicated to me. And you want to
say a few words as a Preface. All very wonderful.- Not because of
me. Not because of You.- But because there must be so many from

whom we are not very different. -

- Do you know that day before yesterday- & the day before I was
busy making prints from the negatives of you- & of Dove. One of
you you haven't seen & Georgia likes very much.- I am printing so
as to give Paul choice for his book.

- So you see I'm gradually getting into work. And Georgia is
painting.- And well if not yet very much.-

The sun is coming out- & vapors have become clouds.- Our love,

Paul's letters sound very encouraging. I feel he must be doing
solid work. And that he is really moving positively towards the
realization of the book.

- Naturally Georgia & I are somewhat curious to see what you've
painted. Some day I'd like to again see the things you did some
time ago- the things we saw.

Once more- love

Reno, Nevada, August 6, 1923

Dear Alfred Stieglitz

What a mut I am, not being more clear. The book I want to
dedicate to you is not the "Horses and Men" book but the book on
which I am now at work, and that belongs to you much more fully.

In this book I am trying to tell, as plainly and clearly as I
can the story of a man--myself--who found out just about what you have
outlined in your letter today.

You see, dear man, I have been a long time finding out, just
that people are really innocent and it may be that, much more than
you know, of what I have found out has come to me because of a growing
awareness of you. Since I have known you your figure has been stand-
ing all the time a little more and more clear.

You see the book in question (I may call it "A Modernist Notebook")
is an attempt at a man's story of his adventures with men. The man
is puzzled. There is no definable leadership for him.

What he knows after a time is that, while a man may become aware
of the innocence of people in general he cannot quite love that inno-
cence itself. It does not reach you? enough. One wants
comrades, grown men such as I have come to feel you--and Paul too.

We have together the love of horses. In my own boyhood I went to
them, lived with them, was groom to running and trotting horses,
now I know because they were the most beautiful things about me.

But it did not suffice. Will not suffice. The horse is the
horse and we are men.

And it is just because I feel that way I waited for this book,

Anderson, August 6, 1923

as being your book, most essentially, I should have made it clearer.

You see Horses and Men is the book of another year put behind me now

but just coming toward others in the form of a book.

While this book is just forming now, and forming at a time when I

am most aware of you.

I believe I have selected the right book to have your name on the
title page because I believe it will have in it the most of you in me.

S herwood

Lake George

Aug.15-1923

Dear Sherwood Anderson:

It's a glorious day. Sun blazing- wind frolicking- & sky a marvel to watch- alive with clouds playing mad games with each other. O'Keeffe is up in her shanty painting- and I have just shaved & put on a clean shirt. It's nearly 4 P.M. & O'K & I intend walking to the post office in about half an hour.- And I want you to have a word from us. To let you know that both of us feel fine- & that the finer we feel the more we enjoy knowing that you are.- A few days ago we rowed to the village- I don't remember what for- perhaps just to be on the water- & while there went to the P.O. & found your letter for O'K awaiting her (us). While I rowed- she read the letter aloud. She rarely reads on the Lake nor in the blazing light any- where- her eyes aren't particularly strong- but she wanted to read the letter right away- & out on the Lake. And the sky was cloudless- & deep blue- & the sun was hot. It was near noontime.- The letter was as perfect as nature itself. We liked it greatly- we enjoyed it fully. And when we reached the top of the Hill we read it once again.

- The day following the letter for me came. It was a companion piece to hers. And it was read aloud & read several times after-

- So the book you're on now is to the book dedicated to me. You must know that anything you might want to dedicate to me- or to anything that means anything to me- & all that's true- & everything is true if only you see it right- would please me. The mistake was mine not yours. Men & Horses as an idea mean so much to me that I got things twisted. But as "my" book I prefer what you are working at now.- If I have in any way aided you in realizing any part of you I'm more than glad. That's all we are here for- to aid each other in realizing Self. And not as theories or proofs- but merely as beings with potentials reaching far beyond all skies & stars.- There is a reality so subtle that it becomes more real than reality. That's what I'm trying to get down in photography.- That's not juggling with words.- I feel you are after a similar thing & are working it out in your way as I work it out in my way.-

- We have been to the Saratoga Races again, O'Keeffe enjoys the Paddock- watching preparations- the crowds about- the hardened individuals, trainers, jockeys,- etc., etc. There must have been fifty thousand people there Saturday. It meant work for us chasing about- & no seats. We may go once again. It's an expensive pleasure but we feel we have earned the right to indulge a little.-

- There's O'Keeffe- so I'll get this into an envelope & get started.

L.G.- Sept.2-1923

Dear S.A.:

Here is a copy of a letter I recently received from Hartley. I think it might amuse you knowing your interest in Hartley. If you care to you may keep the copy.

- Here all continues to move along without much excitement.- I have been busy with clouds & clouds & tree tops. A small camera. To see what "bigness" might be coaxed out of small areas. Then too "every one" owns a small camera.- I believe I have a few very wonderful pictures. I never can tell though what I have until I'm through with it. Do I ever get quite through with It? Somehow it doesn't happen that I am photographing persons this summer- or at any rate not persons as persons. Maybe that will come later. I don't know. The summer is developing into a mixture. "Ever more perfect weather. But its very perfection killing vegetation & bringing about a water famine!- Somehow that does not affect me any.

Every day teaches me something- I always find there is still so much more to learn about living- But I am physically in shape- & that means there is a balanced- a readiness for almost anything-

- I hope your work goes on- that's the chief thing after all is said & done- & there is no work if there is no real living.-

Our love

Reno, Nevada Sep. 4, 1923

Dear Friend

It has been one of the days when I have thought often of you and
O'Keeffe. It is Labor Day and the whole town has gone of to a Rodeo--
horse roping, cow roping etc. I do not care much for the show, Went
instead up the mountain to the pines.

A pretty good day. My book begins more and more to form itself
up. I am in the homestretch with it. It will be my say. After I have
said it I'll shut up and after this only write tales. I'm trying to
make it constructive.

When I face myself, as I have had to do in this book I realize
how little I know. I can get myself, for the most part, as a crude
fellow with a hunger.

I have been now to New York--what I went there seeking, what I think
I found.

It took so long to learn the lesson of giving all to the thing before you--the bit of canvas, the white sheets of the writer.

It has rather come down to form and surface as I have thought of
it, the surface sense hardest of all for a man like me to get. You see
it is a kind of story, not of a journey traveled, but of one begun, of
long thinking about in a wilderness to find a path.

Lots of love to you both,

Sherwood

2 leaves

RENO, NEVADA
SEP 4
3:30PM
1923

1

C

Alfred Stiegler,
Lake George,
New York,

Lake George

Sep t.19-23

Dear Sherwood A.:

It was good to get your letter. To know your book so far progressed.
On such a sound foundation. Great.-

I'm full up with doing myself- I have done a few "cloud" series
with a small camera which I know are very fine- true developments.
You'll be interested.- Georgia is at the Sea. Went 10 days or
so ago. Had to. And she is having a marvellous time there- York
Beach- where she was a year ago.- She needed what she is getting-
She'll be back soon. But I want her to stay until the need of the
Hill becomes greater than the Need of the Sea.- Then she'll bring
the Sea to the Hill- & I will have the Clouds ready for the Woman.
Georgia is a Wonder.- Truly an artist. If ever there was a White-
ness she is that.- She is. There is no intellectual conflict.-

- Rosenfeld is here since day before yesterday. He looks stronger
than I have ever seen him look- surer of himself- more solid.- He
likes it here. The extraordinary weather continues. No rain. No
heat. Terrible for vegetation. But truly enjoyable for those not
sensitive to the destruction going on- To me, it's all very wonderful.-
I feel very ready.- There are no plans.- Every day- really every moment-
is sufficient unto itself. It's good to know so many
friends creating- That gives me much- the consciousness of that-
knowing there is real living near me- not so far away from me- &
that I myself am not yet sterile.-

Love to you.- I'm sure Georgia joins me in that to you. And
Paul sitting upstairs writing at his book certainly does too.

Alfred S.

Lak George

Sept.25-1923

Dear Man:

You have been more than much in my mind the last few days. After
many days of passionate working- clouding!- I stopped. I had to
catch my breath- Summer seems finally to be here. Warmth & a still-
ness which is indescribable. Georgia still at the Ocean but nearly
ready to return.- Beautiful child-

Yes, you are much in my mind.

- I happened to look into the Dial. I don't see the magazines. I don't care to. But the Dial comes because a college boy insisted I give him a few dollars to help him through College!- So the Dial arrived.-

I glanced at it a few days ago- & read the Gregory article. I hope
you are not affected by anything so obviously malicious. A low order
of cleverness- with a touch of genuine talent peeping through with a
grin. One resents even the genuine talent because of its peepingness.-

- I thought of you Out There.at work- honestly digging- I knowing-
And I hoped you were foregoing magazines as I do- But I fear you
have to see them- & that this wretched piece of disturbed woman
vanity in the Dial may have upset you for the moment. Dismiss it
from your mind. It's really not worth while being disturbed by the
like.- You'll find your "acquaintances" & "friends" more & more
"critical" as you grow & grow beyond them as you most certainly are
growing beyond many of them-

I don't read much- but I see faces. I saw your face. I see their
faces. They are my books before other books. As trees are faces.-

- You are a real person- you have a soul- you are not a bit of
intellectual mechanism of Ingersoll an' Fordian quality.- No one
can harm you- except yourself- And that won't happen-

My love-

Your friend

Stieglitz

Paul looks great & is working with much vim & pleasure-

Lake George

Oct.11-1923

Yes, dear Sherwood A., no one knows better than I do what you have been going through this year.- A photographer must have eyes in every part of his being otherwise there is no photograph.- I'll never forget what you made me feel as you walked into the room at 65th Street last autumn. Strength & Beauty. Or should I say simply Great Beauty for Beauty is always strong.- And every time we met it wasn't so often- after that I noticed the face undergoing a change ever beauty but coupled with a haunted moment- I do not "think"- I just feel- & let that do my "thinking."- And so I came to like you more & more- You seemed to stand there in my forest like some wonderful tree that had no name- a large simple tree- with strong branches & tender leaves-

- Yes, I resent the dirty policy of the Dial. It is dirty. May be it's American. I don't know. There is so much envy. So much jealousy.- The small fry- what a large number of small fry abound everywhere- imagines you drawing huge royalties- some of which it is believed should come the small fry's way- The same old game, Don't I know it.- It isn't only money (mostly imaginary money), they are covetous of- but they hate an artist of any kind- and that you are an artist.- You are honest because you can't be otherwise. But they believe otherwise- for they believe in nothing- not even themselves. Don't I know. My life has been terrifically misrepresented. It hurt awfully to be misrepresented by those often closest to one- one's wife- one's friends often- male & female- but I've found it's all part of the road- sometimes a road seemingly lost in a jungle & into the night. But there is a Light- I'm sure of it- for there is Beauty- everywhere- even in the scoundrels that wish to undo one. It's all a matter of seeing- & putting in order- & not permitting Ugliness to ensnare one- or if it does for not too long.- Playing with the Sky this summer & keeping in touch with you- one or two others- & the reality of the Hill here- have brought about more & more clarity within me- I do hope you'll be able to disentangle "that" mess- As for those trying to destroy you they can only make you stronger.

Our love

Alfred S.

Does the Dial dare be for or against anything as a steady policy
Georgia asks. Of course there is Cummings- but he'll get it in
his turn as sure as fate.- I hate his drawings.-

Lake George

Nov.1-23

Dear Sherwood A.:

The book has arrived. Horses & Men.- I ordered it as soon as I saw it announced. Rosenfeld told me you had requested Huebsch to send me a copy. It may be awaiting me in 65th Street. I thought the directest way of getting a copy to read was to put in an order. I'll be only too glad to have two copies.- I opened the volume & saw the name Pop Gears,- That felt like home at once. And then I saw Alfred Kreyberg & grinned. I had printing frames busy in the sun so couldn't go on. When I had another peep I read the Foreword & the Dedication to Dreiser.- All delightful in spirit & simplicity.- I'll read some to-night. I've had no time for reading because I've been crazily mad with work- fun- some great sky stories- or songs- anything you wish to call them. I have some things that are truly fine. Georgia says "you'll have all of N.Y. rushing upstairs to see them." Well, I'm not desirous of that. Particularly as by June 1- 1924 65th Street will be vacated. My brother, ill, has sold the house. Another chapter will be brought to a close there. The few months called winter will be intensive.

(-Water has been splashing on the sheets- I'm right at the kitchen-sink washing prints)- ones- so much to wind up & get rid of.

The problem of living becomes more & more difficult for us- But I know that when the time comes we'll be ready- In the meantime both of us continue to have a good time making pictures- wondering all the while why we should add to our "load" - & truly enjoying the beauty of this Hill. O'Keeffe's sister, the nurse & exteachers- a healthy, fine girl- is here now- She has just been out & shot a squirrel. She knows how to laugh & cook- & says she feels happier here than she has felt in years- so free. She likes Georgia- & she likes me. And says she doesn't exactly like the "situation"- but she accepts it. I told her if there were no other way for her & she "cared" for me- instead of Georgia- she'd be doing what G. is doing! She couldn't quite grasp such a possibility but said nothing. She knew that so many things she didn't believe before she met me she has learned to believe for she has seen them happen- naturally- beautifully.- How few know what they would do!-

I'll have to run along to my frames- Love from us both-

Alfred S.

*Georgia always says her sister is the nicest girl she ever knew-

Next morning

I didn't get this off yesterday. So add to it. I have just gotten the furnace going. It has become so cold I was sorry for O'Keeffe & for her sister now here. She has just written a hot letter to a follow down in Virginia to come up here & go hunting with her- but