The highest leaves of the potted plant to her right extend an inch or so above her head. Broad, flat leaves, green and mottled white, reach almost to her arm. She stands up straight against a white wall, her thumbs hooked high in the pockets of her jeans. From the waist up she wears nothing but a small metal peace symbol on a leather necklace, the metal cross-in-an-oval covers her navel, the straps touch the insides of her small breasts on their way to the back of her neck, where they are tied in a knot that the camera can't see. To her left, at knee level, there's a glass end table with a single ceramic vase that looks like a wine glass pushed center and forward, near the edge. He almost certainly placed it there. I'm sure I didn't say Let's pretend we're artists. I'll be Stieglitz. You be O'Keeffe. But some things somehow they come to be in the air of a time, and Stieglitz, O'Keeffe, photography-as-art, they were all in the air then. Take your shirt off, Jessie. Stand against the wall, next to the plant. No, leave the peace symbol on: it's cool, the shape it makes hanging between your breasts, the way the cross is right over your belly button. Look at that smile on her face. It says more than you can put into words, regardless of who you are. It says, we're being silly, aren't we? It says, I'm doing something crazy, posing with my shirt off. There's love in what it says, and amusement. We were playing. We were all playing in a way though of course we were serious it was just that we didn't know enough we hadn't experienced enough to know what we were doing and so there was a dopey, innocent, naive play about it that would be cute if so many people weren't dying. The world changed by all we denied, ignored, refused, by all we accepted. The difference is: think of Stieglitz's famous photograph of Georgia O'Keeffe's breasts, the way she placed her hand, the way she touched her own breast, the depths of sadness contained in that erotic gesture. That kind of knowledge is what's lacking in our moment. We were just kids with a camera, in love, circa 1967-1968.