Gertrude Stein is doing with words what Picasso is doing with paint.
Critical discussion regarding the aesthetic relationship between Picasso and Stein has often been impaired by an intense focus on their disparity in talent. Picasso was of course the superior artist. However, this acknowledgment fails to sufficiently illuminate the content, poetics and form of Stein’s literary output. The economy and symmetry of Dodge’s observation, written in 1913, ultimately gave few favours to Stein’s critical reputation. Rather, Dodge unintentionally presented a significant point of criticism against Stein’s work: many early critics cried opportunism and labelled Stein to be at best a creative muse or, more dismissively, a mere patron of talented artists and writers. Casting aside her literary efforts, Stein was effaced ‘…from nearly all consideration in the significant accounts of Picasso’s work’. In the latter part of the twentieth century, with the prevalence of postmodernism and gender studies, Stein’s literary credentials began to be evaluated more seriously from these emerging critical perspectives. This shift in scholarship certainly benefits the analysis of Stein’s oeuvre. However, this essay argues that critical comparisons between Stein and visual art remain fundamentally useful in assessing Stein’s body of work – particularly her literary portraiture.
Steiner devotes an entire chapter to the merits of Stein’s literary cubism, concluding that ‘Stein’s portraiture broke down […] when it tried to make a translation between cubist technique and psychological theory into a medium that was fundamentally different from paint and canvas’. This is probably true. However, the rigid terms often employed in discussions of cubism and literary portraiture (i.e. abstraction, nonrepresentation), as well as the emphasis on direct analogy, achieve little of the nuance required to effectively compare these distinct artistic mediums. Furthermore, it is important to complement an analysis of cubist aesthetics with an awareness of temporality – the state of existing within time – in art history, and Stein’s relationship with the linear constraints of literary from. It therefore seems necessary to analyse her portraiture through a framing of both cubist aesthetics and atemporal experimentation.
A resident in Paris, Picasso painted Portrait of Gertrude Stein between the autumn of 1905 and the middle of August 1906. In response, Stein wrote two literary portraits of Picasso: Picasso (1909) and If I Told Him: A Completed Portrait of Picasso (1923). This essay will use Portrait to help explain the content, poetics and form employed by Stein in her two literary portraits of Picasso, arguing that the mutual subject matter provides a unique basis for critical discussion. Surprisingly, much of the previous scholarship fails to establish an unequivocal aesthetic relationship between the two artists’ respective portraits of one another. This essay will begin by outlining the following: the relationship between Portrait and Picasso’s developing cubist aesthetics; the primary features of Stein’s poetics including, importantly, her acute awareness of temporality in art; and, finally, Stein’s tendency towards self-promotion. This will provide the prism of analysis for Stein’s literary portraits.
Portrait is not a cubist painting in the vein that Picasso would produce in the years thereafter. Nonetheless, ‘…during the two years following this period of almost daily contact, both [Picasso and Stein] achieved artistic breakthroughs’. There are certain features of Portrait which indicate Picasso’s emerging protocubist tendencies. Inspired by the Iberian stone masks exhibiting in the Louvre, Picasso – after a long period of delay – produced the final version of Stein’s head. It is the head which alludes to Picasso’s future aesthetic departure from mimesis towards what is often termed as nonrepresentation. For Belloli, ‘…in the handling of the face, lies the future direction of Picasso’s art’.
The timing of Portrait is crucial for this essay’s analysis of Stein. Picasso’s later cubist works, often inaccurately, are labelled for their abstraction. Stein’s literary portraits are unable to match a pure aesthetic notion of abstraction due to necessarily referential nature of sentences; thus, they fail as examples of literary cubism. Stein stated that her understanding of Picasso’s work was due to her ‘…expressing the same thing in literature’. This, significantly, is different from Stein claiming that she and Picasso were both abstract artists. Portrait does not suffer the risk of undergoing such a strict aesthetic measure. Rather, the painting displays Picasso’s preliminary experimentation with masks (a precursor to an intelligible cubist style), which would eventually culminate in Les Demoiselles d’Avignon. Portrait thus foreshadows cubist aesthetics, yet holds little of the terminological baggage which regularly enters discussions of, say, analytic cubism. Furthermore, to determine this essay’s analysis, Portrait allows for the use of Perloff’s holistic characterisation of cubism as ‘…a peculiar tension between conventional symbols […] and stylized images of reality’. Perloff’s assessment of cubist painting is a useful prism in which to analyse Stein’s poetics. Moreover, Portrait is exceptionally capable of reflecting Stein’s literary development. As North astutely argues, ‘[p]lacing a painted mask over his naturalistic portrait, Picasso duplicated the linguistic mask Stein was just devising for herself’.
Stein’s literary portraiture has often been bracketed into phases. But the need to categorise periods of development can often obscure close textual interpretation. Defining Stein’s broad aesthetic, Haselstein notes that ‘…all of her portraits share the general tendency of avant-garde art to combine or fuse the modes of different media of words, sounds, and images’. Stein’s contribution to the genre of literary portraits was that of modernist reinvention: ‘…she altogether refuses mimetic representation, but retains the most fundamental feature of the genre, namely its referentiality’. There are several fundamental aspects of Stein’s poetics worth outlining in benefit of the forthcoming analysis. There is the repetition which Stein argued was rather ‘insistence’, creating meaning through an emphasis on the presentation of words in subtly varying syntaxes; the circular method of description that attempted to defy the temporality of traditional literary form; and the restricted usage of words and punctuation which contributes to the disorientating rhythm of her writing. These aspects of Stein’s poetics feature in both literary portraits of Picasso and this essay will aim to establish the extent in which Portrait, and visual art more broadly, is able to explain their usage.
Finally, a note on Stein’s tendency towards self-promotion: myths abound regarding the circumstances of the painting of Portrait. The majority stem from Stein herself: the painting was told to take some eighty or ninety sittings, Picasso was said to have irritably ‘…painted out the whole head’, and on the day of his eventual return to Paris Picasso was said to have completed the portrait entirely from memory. The establishment of these exaggerated, or even apocryphal, occurrences much reflect Stein’s embrace of ideas surrounding artistic immortality and her ever-willing association with genius and masterpieces. Furthermore, the composition of Portrait itself alludes to Stein’s cultivation of her public image: ‘Stein’s active construction of a literary and social persona in large measure set the terms according to which the device of masking was put into effect in the portrait’. This preoccupation with social dynamics, as this essay will later argue, is intrinsic to her literary portraits of Picasso.
Picasso begins thus:
One whom some were certainly following was one who was completely charming. One whom some were certainly following was one who was charming. One whom some were following was one who was completely charming. One whom some were following was who was certainly completely charming.
Some were certainly following and were certain that the one they were then following was one working and was one bringing out of himself then something. Some were certainly following and were certain that the one they were then following was one bringing out of himself then something that was coming to be a heavy thing, a solid thing and a complete thing.
One whom some were certainly following was one working and certainly was one bringing something out of himself then and was one who had been all his living had been one having something coming out of him.
Something had been coming out of him, certainly it had been coming out of him, certainly it was something, certainly it had been coming out of him and it had meaning, a charming meaning, a solid meaning, a struggling meaning, a clear meaning.
This is a lengthy quotation and with a purpose: some core features of Stein’s writing are immediately apparent, and only in continuity can the subtle effects of her wordplay become visible. The repetition of words is balanced by the subtle alterations in each line. As a reader it is possible to detect the various cadences – teased nuances and fractures – in Stein’s poetics as one sentence moves to the next. The insistent use of present participles (‘charming’, ‘working’, ‘following’) creates a hypnotic monotony wherein the slightest deviations in word order induce a noticeable disruption. Ambiguities are rife: the strict use of present participles entails the possibility of interpreting, for example, the opening paragraph’s use of the word ‘charming’ as a gerund or an adjective depending on how it is stressed within a sentence. This aspect of stylistics in Stein’s poetics reflects a number of features attributable to an emerging set of cubist aesthetics.
Firstly, the enhanced possibility of erroneous interpretation is displayed in the opening of Picasso. If the reader decides (to return to the example) that ‘charming’ should be an adjective as opposed to a verb he or she is making a decision which may not reflect the authorial intention. This plasticity further reflects the lack of nouns employed: nouns are very simple and universally understandable, leaving little room for perceptual error. Moreover, nouns detract from the virtues of ambiguity and do not allow for multiple perspectives. The amorphous quality of Stein’s writing can reflect the inadequacies inherent in sense perception. In Portrait, Picasso fixes a mask where a realistic depiction of Stein’s head might have appeared. A direct representation of Stein’s face, for Picasso, was deemed inadequate. In order to create meaning, ‘…by playing with appearances, by rearranging composition, Picasso has approached […] an explanation of the forces that unify experience in the twentieth century’. It is this altered understanding of experience, displayed in Portrait, which infuses Stein’s Picasso. Moreover, by appropriating DeKoven’s broad comparison of Stein’s literary portraiture and cubism, both Portrait and Picasso ‘…share an orientation toward the linguistic or pictorial surface, a movement in and out of recognizable representation; both shatter or fragment perception and the sentence (canvas), and both render multiple perspectives’.
Picasso, like Portrait, is still referential in a way which is far from opaque. Words such as ‘charming’, ‘following’ and ‘working’ are all eminently relatable despite their disjointed orientation within Stein’s poetics. Stein also breaks up the text with regularly introduced paragraphs, containing a focus on a particular word within each section. This appeal to conventional representation is reflected in Portrait: Stein’s body and clothes are realistically detailed with light and shadow employed in accordance to traditional artistic practice. As Stimpson accurately describes, ‘[b]ecause the browns and oranges of the sitter’s clothing blend with the browns and oranges and dark blues of the background, the body seems at home, in place’. Similarly, the famed “flat” mask stills allows for a sense of proportion in the rendering of the nose and brow. In the production of these fixed points of reference, both Portrait and Picasso are able to produce an aesthetic which is in the broadest tradition of cubism. Citing again Perloff’s description, these two pieces significantly allude to the tension between conventional symbols and stylised images of reality.
The circularity of Stein’s Picasso is also a fundamental point of comparison with Portrait. Eschewing the traditional linearity of literature, Stein’s poetics favour movement and motion as opposed to straightforward narrative progression. This led Fitz to argue that: ‘[l]ike cubism, Stein’s fiction lacks a focal point of action; it lacks a climax. Her stories have a sameness throughout that makes them more portraits than stories’. This notion would seem to be exemplified in Picasso:
This one was one who was working. This one was one being one having something coming out of him. This one was one going on having something come out of him. This one was one going on working. This one was one whom some were following. This one was one who was working.
The first and last lines respectively are: ‘This one was one who was working’ and ‘This one was one who was working’. However, the symmetry of this section belies the content embedded inbetween: ‘something coming out of him’, ‘going on working, ‘whom some were following.’ This information does appear to induce a qualified idea of progression. Though this progress is sometimes horizontal and staggered in revealing the entity of Picasso, Stein’s introduction of poetic layers is able to alter the meaning of ‘This one who was working’. It is, essentially, a process of aesthetic struggle with the intent to create textual meaning. Stein’s poetic form is commensurate with the subject matter. Similarly, in Portrait’s depiction of the head, which was produced via exhaustive alterations, ‘Picasso’s struggle enacts a progression from identity to entity’. For Picasso, it is appropriately Stein’s mask which is able to reveal her true self to him. The circularity of Stein’s poetics, somewhat paradoxically, reflects this progression from identity to entity.
Hoffman remarks of Picasso that ‘[w]e would not even know from the portrait that Picasso was a painter’. Perhaps it is difficult to delineate an accurate artistic profession, but the subject is undoubtedly immersed in a constant creative ethos. Stein emphasises Picasso’s work ethic: ‘This one was working’ appears in numerous variations in the above excerpt. In a letter to Stein, when nearing the completion of Portrait, Picasso wrote: ‘…I worked in Gosol and am working here [Paris]’. What Stein is attempting to illustrate in Picasso is the artist’s ‘…neverending creative self-sufficiency’, which was typified in the painting of Portrait. Furthermore, Stein designates Picasso’s creative output as containing ‘…a charming meaning, a solid meaning, a struggling meaning, a clear meaning’. The solid and clear meaning of Picasso’s work is exemplified in Portrait, with its naturalistic depiction of Stein body and clothing emphasising the stylised imagery of the face. Moreover, the referentiality of the majority of Portrait’s composition allows the face to present greater meaning and, ultimately, reflect Stein as an entity. Portrait is something which ‘…had been coming out of him’: a burst of aesthetic creation equitable with a conception of artistic rebirth that Stein was attempting to emulate in her own poetics.
Thus far this essay has focused largely on Stein’s aesthetic practice. If I Told Him is able to expand on Stein’s poetics through its emphasis of Stein’s relationship with temporality in art. Subtitled A Completed Portrait of Picasso, Stein’s second portrait serves as a literary revision of the first Picasso, ‘…a partial correction of the earlier panegyric endeavor’. It begins thus:
If I told him would he like it. Would he like it if I told him.
Would he like it would Napoleon would Napoleon would would he like it.
If Napoleon if I told him if I told him if Napoleon. Would he like it if I told him if I told him if Napoleon. Would he like it if Napoleon if Napoleon if I told him. If I told him if Napoleon if Napoleon if I told him. If I told him would he like it would he like it if I told him.
Again, the use of repetition is very much apparent. However, where in Picasso the next sentence explicitly modified the previous, If I Told Him is constantly revising itself – even stuttering in midsentence: ‘…would Napoleon would would he like it’. Moreover, the delineation of clear paragraphs has subsided into short, abrupt lines: ‘Now. | Not now. |And now. |Now. |’. Visually, it appears more opaque than Picasso, amplifying ‘…the instability, indeterminacy, and acoherence of Cubism’. However, it is grounded in Stein’s adoption of nouns, as seen in the use of ‘Napoleon’.
This would seem ostensibly to detract from the possibility of reader misinterpretation and the impression of perpetual motion produced in Picasso. The hegemony of present participles has disintegrated. However, perceptual errors are still feasible: in If I Told Him Stein has brought the entire literary portrait into the present tense. This gives the effect of the portrait seeming to occur in the moment that the reader is digesting the information provided. It is immediate and oscillates purposively via an internal poetic momentum which functions to misdirect the reader. Again this can be squared with Picasso’s persistent desire for aesthetic reinvention, which found part of its genesis in the struggle to produce Portrait. Exact resemblance is mocked thus:
Exact resemblance to exact resemblance the exact resemblance as exact as a resemblance, exactly as resembling, exactly resembling, exactly in resemblance exactly a resemblance, exactly and resemblance. For this is so. Because. Not actively repeat at all, now actively repeat at all, now actively repeat at all.
Have hold and hear, actively repeat at all.
I judge judge.
As a resemblance to him.
Here, If I Told Him provides a reminder of the futility of faithful representation which Picasso found in the painting of Stein’s head.
This is then followed by a return to the topic of Napoleon. The comparison of Picasso with Napoleon is perhaps an obvious one: both were perceived as little men who challenged the existing hierarchy of their profession:
Who comes first. Napoleon the first.
Who comes too coming, coming too, who goes there, as they go they share, who shares all, all is as all as as yet or as yet.
Now to date now to date. Now and now and date and date.
Who came first Napoleon at first. Who came first Napoleon the first. Who came first, Napoleon first.
‘Who came first Napoleon the first’ plays cleverly with notions of art history and the canon. Stein is gently parodying Picasso’s efforts to introduce the Iberian mask into Portrait as well as his efforts to introduce cubist aesthetics into visual art. Stein, in her use of atemporal poetics, is aware that the subversion of portraiture is the subversion history. It is noteworthy that this history is predominantly male and patriarchal. The repetition of the conjunction ‘he’ is the most visually striking aspect of If I Told Him. Stein’s laughing mockery of Picasso’s virile masculinity may well explain his need to replace a realistic depiction of Stein’s face with a mask. Picasso’s inability to traditionally represent Stein – ‘I can’t see you any longer when I look’ – as a female writer reflects the linguistic mask in which Stein cloaked her atemporal poetic experimentation.
Napoleon’s stature was rarely realistically depicted; note, for example, in Jacques-Louis David’s famous portraits. Napoleon Crossing the Alps – he astride on horseback – is how Napoleon wished history would portray him. The image of Stein in Portrait, similarly, is what she wished to dominate the historical perception of her. When Picasso is told that Stein does not look like the portrait, he allegedly replies that ‘…she will’. Herein lays the possibility of manufacturing an alternative history through visual art. As Schwartz persuasively argues:
Picasso’s portrait may, then, not only cause us to view Stein in a new way, but may win out and become a dominant way of seeing her. The features Picasso draws our attention to may come to be seen as “the” features that are most characteristic and informative.
In line with Stein’s awareness of the social dynamics of history and her own attitude towards self-promotion, If I Told Him aptly concludes with: ‘Let me recite what history teaches. History teaches’.
In conclusion, this essay has argued that Picasso’s Portrait of Gertrude Stein is able to explain various elements of Stein’s use of content, poetics and form in her two literary portraits: Picasso, and If I Told Him: A Completed Portrait of Picasso. Though there has been a significant amount of scholarship which focuses on the relationship between cubism and Stein’s literary portraiture, scarce attention has been paid to an explicit comparison of Stein’s portraits of Picasso and Picasso’s portrait of Stein. This essay has not attempted to show a causal relationship between Stein and Picasso’s aesthetics. Rather, it has attempted to define the points of comparison between the two artists. Portrait of Gertrude Stein has been able to reflect an emerging set of cubist aesthetics, a drive to reinvent an artistic medium, an astute awareness of temporality in art, a diligence in the process of craft, and the power of self-promotion. These attributes appear throughout Stein’s portraits of Picasso, and suggest a broader compatibility between the mediums of visual art and literature than is often considered.
Belloli, Lucy, ‘The Evolution of Picasso’s Portrait of Gertrude Stein ‘, The Burlington Magazine, 141.1150, (1999), 12-18
Cope, Karin, ‘Painting after Gertrude Stein ‘, Diacritics, 24.2/3, (1994), 190-203
DeKoven, Marianne, ‘Gertrude Stein and Modern Painting: Beyond Literary Cubism’, Contemporary Literature, 22.1, (1981), 81-95
Dodge, Mabel, ‘Speculations, or Post-Impressionism in Prose’, in Critical Essays on Gertrude Stein, ed. by Michael J. Hoffman (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1986)
Fendelman, Earl, ‘Gertrude Stein among the Cubists’, Journal of Modern Literature, 2.4, (1972), 481-490
Fitz, L. T., ‘Gertrude Stein and Picasso: The Language of Surfaces ‘, American Literature, 45.2, (1973), 228-237
Friedman, Ellen G., ‘Where Are the Missing Contents? (Post) Modernism, Gender, and the Canon’, PMLA, 108.2, (1993), 240-252
Haselstein, Ulla, ‘Gertrude Stein’s Portraits of Matisse and Picasso’, New Literary History, 34.4, (2003), 723-743
Hoffman, Michael J., ‘Gertrude Stein’s “Portraits”‘, Twentieth Century Literature, 11.3, (1965), 115-122
Lubar, Robert S., ‘Unmasking Pablo’s Gertrude: Queer Desire and the Subject of Portraiture’, The Art Bulletin, 79.1, (1997), 56-84
Merrill, Cynthia, ‘Mirrored Image: Gertrude Stein and Autobiography’, Pacific Coast Philology, 20.1/2, (1985), 11-17
North, Michael, The Dialect of Modernism: Race, Language, and Twentieth-century Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994)
Pavloska, Susanna, Modern Primitives: Race and Language in Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, and Zora Neale Hurston (London: Routledge, 2000)
Perloff, Marjorie, The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981)
Picasso, Pablo and Stein, Gertrude, Correspondence: Pablo Picasso and Gertrude Stein, ed. by Laurence Madeline, trans. by Lorna Scott Fox (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008)
Schwartz, Robert, ‘The Power of Pictures’, The Journal of Philosophy, 82.12, (1985), 711-720
Siraganian, Lisa, ‘Out of Air: Theorizing the Art Object in Gertrude Stein and Wyndham Lewis ‘, Modernism/modernity, 10.4, (2003), 657-676
Stein, Gertrude, The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas (New York: Vintage, 1990 )
–––––Picasso (New York: Dover, 1984 )
–––––Portraits and Prayers (New York: Random House, 1934)
–––––’Portraits and Repetition’, in Lectures in America (Boston: Beacon Press, 1957), p. 165-206
Steiner, Wendy, Exact Resemblance to Exact Resemblance: The Literary Portraiture of Gertrude Stein (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978)
Stimpson, Catharine R., ‘The Somagrams of Gertrude Stein’, Poetics Today, 6.1/2, (1985), 67-80
 Mabel Dodge, ‘Speculations, or Post-Impressionism in Prose’, in Critical Essays on Gertrude Stein, ed. by Michael J. Hoffman (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1986), p. 27.
 Karin Cope, ‘Painting After Gertrude Stein ‘, Diacritics, 24.2/3, (1994), 190-203 (p. 191).
 See Ellen G. Friedman, ‘Where Are the Missing Contents? (Post) Modernism, Gender, and the Canon’, PMLA, 108.2, (1993), 240-252.
 Wendy Steiner, Exact Resemblance to Exact Resemblance: The Literary Portraiture of Gertrude Stein (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978), p. 160.
 Stein later published the monograph, Picasso (1938), but it is the two word portraits that this essay will focus upon.
 Susanna Pavloska, Modern Primitives: Race and Language in Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, and Zora Neale Hurston (London: Routledge, 2000), p. 4.
 Lucy Belloli, ‘The Evolution of Picasso’s Portrait of Gertrude Stein’, The Burlington Magazine, 141.1150, (1999), 12-18 (p. 13).
 Perloff argues that even analytic cubism contains ‘representational traces’, see Marjorie Perloff, The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), p. 71.
 Gertrude Stein, Picasso (New York: Dover, 1984 ), p. 16.
 Perloff, The Poetics of Indeterminacy, p. 72.
Michael North, The Dialect of Modernism: Race, Language, and Twentieth-century Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 61.
 See, for example, Michael J. Hoffman, ‘Gertrude Stein’s “Portraits”‘, Twentieth Century Literature, 11.3, (1965), 115-122; Steiner, Exact Resemblance to Exact Resemblance, pp. 64-130.
 Ulla Haselstein, ‘Gertrude Stein’s Portraits of Matisse and Picasso’, New Literary History, 34.4, (2003), 723-743 (p. 724).
 Ibid., p. 727.
 Gertrude Stein, ‘Portraits and Repetition’, in Lectures in America (Boston: Beacon Press, 1957), p. 165-206.
 Gertrude Stein, The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas (New York: Vintage, 1990 ), p. 57.
 Robert S. Lubar, ‘Unmasking Pablo’s Gertrude: Queer Desire and the Subject of Portraiture’, The Art Bulletin, 79.1, (1997), 56-84 (p. 64).
 Gertrude Stein, Portraits and Prayers (New York: Random House, 1934), p. 17.
 For a reading of Stein which suggests she did not care about readers’ interpretation, see Lisa Siraganian, ‘Out of Air: Theorizing the Art Object in Gertrude Stein and Wyndham Lewis’, Modernism/modernity, 10.4, (2003), 657-676 (p. 664).
 Earl Fendelman, ‘Gertrude Stein among the Cubists’, Journal of Modern Literature, 2.4, (1972), 481-490 (p. 486).
 Marianne DeKoven, ‘Gertrude Stein and Modern Painting: Beyond Literary Cubism’, Contemporary Literature, 22.1, (1981), 81-95 (p. 81).
 Catharine R. Stimpson, ‘The Somagrams of Gertrude Stein’, Poetics Today, 6.1/2, (1985), 67-80 (p. 68).
 L. T. Fitz, ‘Gertrude Stein and Picasso: The Language of Surfaces ‘, American Literature, 45.2, (1973), 228-237 (p. 231).
 Stein, Portraits and Prayers, p. 18.
 Cynthia Merrill, ‘Mirrored Image: Gertrude Stein and Autobiography’, Pacific Coast Philology, 20.1/2, (1985), 11-17 (p. 15).
 Hoffman, ‘Gertrude Stein’s “Portraits”’, p. 117.
 Pablo Picasso and Gertrude Stein, Correspondence: Pablo Picasso and Gertrude Stein, ed. by Laurence Madeline, trans. by Lorna Scott Fox (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), p. 17.
 Haselstein, ‘Gertrude Stein’s Portraits of Matisse and Picasso’, p. 735.
 Ibid., p. 736.
 Stein, Portraits and Prayers, p. 21.
 Perloff, The Poetics of Indeterminacy, p. 77.
 Stein, Portraits and Prayers, p. 22.
 Stein, Portraits and Prayers, p. 23.
 Stein, The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, p. 53.
 Ibid., p. 14.
 Robert Schwartz, ‘The Power of Pictures’, The Journal of Philosophy, 82.12, (1985), 711-720 (p. 713).
 Stein, Portraits and Prayers, p. 25.