Ultimately, O’Keeffe’s ‘things I had no words for’ become complete only when viewers lend their own vocabularies of memory and mood. Umberto Eco’s ‘open work’ (1962) describes this reciprocity: meaning emerges in the encounter, not solely in the maker’s intent. Hence the varied readings of the flowers—as anatomy, landscape, or weather of the self—are features, not bugs.
In this shared space, painting is conversation. O’Keeffe begins it with color and shape; we answer with attention. Between those gestures, something unsayable is nevertheless said. [...]
