We are the Goon Squad: Meanwhile, at The Met....

While I am trapped in Ireland, resolute in studies, if at times listlessly, the art world in New York continues to thrive. Millions pass through the halls of my beloved MoMA and Met each week unaware of how my heart is burning a hole in itself with desire.

My sister is profoundly taken, and perhaps stylistically inspired, by Georgia O'Keeffe. One clear memory from the summer of '09 is hunting the upper floor of The Strand searching for a decent O'Keeffe anthology, that would not rob me of my pittance wages, to return to my saviour-kin with.

Yes, Georgia is the woman with the vulva paintings.

I see now that The Met is housing an exhibition of her husband Alfred Stieglitz's photography until April this year. The restraint of his work is a fascinating contrast to the vivacious and, if you will allow, fertile arena of O'Keefffe's canvases.

Of the entire collection, the most evocative images to encounter are the portraits of O'Keeffe that focus predominantly on her hands. Though her own iconography is so steeped in the sexuality of the female form, Stieglitz's chooses to portray her hands, the site of artistic creation, as the sacred organs. They have been endowed with as much sexual ferocity as the overt sight of nudity may convey.