Reviews

Lives of Love... and Art, Fine Acting, minimalist sets carry Alfred Stieglitz Loves O'Keeffe

By Anne Louise Vannon

In the opening scene of Alfred Stieglitz Loves O'Keeffe, painter Georgia O'Keeffe (Pamela Gaye Walker), reminisces to the ghost of her recently deceased husband, photographic artist Alfred Stieglitz (Jim Ortlieb), about how his words would cascade over her, filled with vision and the glory of art.

And for the next 90-odd minutes, words full of the glory and service of art cascade over the audience, rich words, exquisite ideas all jumbled together in what happens to be a stormy, but essentially happy relationship. True, playwright Laney Robertson's script tends to back off a little when it comes to serious conflicts and there is much left unclear. But what would be false in any other play, don't matter here. What counts is the wealth of language and the profound passion driving the two artists.

The play starts in 1946, just after Stieglitz's death. O'Keeffe has come to clean the apartment out and arrange for Stieglitz's burial. While there, is she confronted by her husband's ghost and led into reminiscing about their lives together. Robertson is mostly concerned with O'Keeffe's development as an artist and how Stieglitz pulled that out of her until O'Keeffe literally needed to leave in order to fly on her own.

Ortlieb's performance truly reaches new heights in this scene. While words have been the substance of the play thus far, Ortlieb shows us without words that Stieglitz not only knew the departure was coming but that it was utterly necessary for O'Keeffe's growth as an artist. This is not to diminish Walker's work. Had she not given life to O'Keeffe's obsessions and terrors and cynicism and wit, Ortlieb's work would have gone nowhere. In much the same way that Stieglitz and O'Keeffe fed off each other, Walker and Ortlieb bring the lovers to life. Alone, each performer is formidable. Together, the plays leaps off the stage and into the stratosphere.

Director Mary-Pat Green could have asked her players to take a little more time with their performances. Robertson's words are not the easiest to get your mouth around, and the periodic stumbles in the midst of all the monologues is a tad distracting. Still, when you've got this much talking going on, pacing is critical and better a little too quickly than not quickly enough.

Andrea Favilli's set of Stieglitz's apartment/studio in New York City is minimalist without being sterile, creating a sense of time and place while incorporating huge panels on which both Stieglitz and O'Keeffe's art is projected between scenes. Costumer Dennis A. Parker made a lovely compromise between strict historical accuracy and providing the same simple costume for O'Keeffe that would have had to serve through several decades of radically changing styles.
In fact, it is this simplicity that makes this play work, along with the superlative performances. Robertson, Green, Walker and Ortlieb have stripped down the essential complexity of two volatile, compassionate people to present a tribute not just to the artists themselves, but to all art, and what a glorious thing that is.