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| Sarah Lucas Summer (Self Portrait) 1998 digital print Tate Gallery |
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| Francis Bacon Head 1951 oil on canvas Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
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| John Maxwell Head 1936 watercolor, gouache and ink Scottish National Gallery, Edinburgh |
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| Theo van Doesburg Self Portrait ca. 1928 oil on canvas Centraal Museum, Utrecht |
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| Joseph Stella Self Portrait ca. 1925 drawing Philadelphia Museum of Art |
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| Frederick William MacMonnies Head of a Man 1884 drawing Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
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| Alexandre Falguière Head of a Wounded Soldier ca. 1870 bronze Yale University Art Gallery |
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| Otto Bache Mummified Head of James Hepburn, 4th Earl of Bothwell, third husband of Mary, Queen of Scots 1861 oil on canvas Scottish National Gallery, Edinburgh |
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| Jacques-Louis David Young Woman with a Turban ca. 1780 oil on canvas (tête d'expression) Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
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| Jean-Baptiste Greuze Head of Caracalla ca. 1768 drawing (study for painting) Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
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| Pietro Antonio Novelli Head of a Woman ca. 1760 drawing Scottish National Gallery, Edinburgh |
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| Hardouin Coussin after Rembrandt Head of a Young Man ca. 1750 etching Philadelphia Museum of Art |
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| follower of Gianlorenzo Bernini Head of Proserpina ca. 1650-1700 terracotta Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
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| Isaac Oliver Head of a Woman ca. 1600 drawing Yale Center for British Art |
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| Hans Baldung Study of a Head 1541 hand-colored woodcut and letterpress Philadelphia Museum of Art |
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| Anonymous Italian Artist Head of a Son of Laocoön 16th century plaster cast Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna |
Another Postponement of Destruction
Banging out the kitchen door, I kicked
before I saw it a thick glass baking dish
I'd set outside for dogs the night before.
It skidded to the top step, teetered, tipped
before I saw it a thick glass baking dish
I'd set outside for dogs the night before.
It skidded to the top step, teetered, tipped
into an undulating slide from step
to step, almost stopped halfway down, then lunged
on toward the concrete, and I froze to watch it
splinter when it hit. Instead, it kissed
the concrete like a skipping stone, and rang
to rest in frost-stiffened grass. Retrieving it,
I suddenly felt my neck-cords letting go
of something like a mask of tragedy.
I washed the dish and put it in its place,
then launched myself into a rescued day.
– Henry Taylor (1996)