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| Magdalena Abakanowicz Head 1976 molded bast fiber Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
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| Glenys Barton Jean Muir, Fashion Designer 1991 ceramic with glazed slip Scottish National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh |
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| Georg Baselitz Kopfkissen (Pillow) 1987 oil on canvas Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh |
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| Phil Collins Young Serbs (Siniša) 2001 C-print Tate Gallery |
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| Michael Druks Druksland - Physical & Social 1974 lithograph Victoria & Albert Museum, London |
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| Gilbert and George Happy 1980 gelatin silver prints with dye Tate Gallery |
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| Paul Graham Television Portrait (Jack, Bradford) 1989 C-print Tate Gallery |
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| Richard Hamilton Derek Jarman 1996-97 digital print from Polaroid Tate Gallery |
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| Alex Katz Dark Eyes 2000 woodcut Tate Gallery |
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| Scott Kilgour A Sailor 1984 drawing, with added oil paint Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Roy Lichtenstein Head 1980 color woodcut Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Péter Pócs The Situation (weekly newspaper, Hungary) 1989 lithograph (poster) Victoria & Albert Museum, London |
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| Laurie Simmons Untitled (Woman's Head) 1976 gelatin silver print Yale University Art Gallery |
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| Ruth Thorne-Thomsen Head and Plane 1979 gelatin silver print Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri |
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| Lee Wagstaff Head Foreshortened 1999-2000 lithograph Victoria & Albert Museum, London |
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| Tom Wood Dreaming of Colours 1994 oil on panel Yale Center for British Art |
The Singer
"Out of all my tableware, my prized possession is the blue Waterford crystal which dates from about 1790 and is believed to be the only set of its kind in the world. . . . I like to use my things, no matter how precious. I don't want anything to outlast me."
Beverly Sills
When she sings, she is always herself, no role
human enough to take her out of herself,
her voice the voice of only her self.
She knows and doesn't know she knows this.
She sings, if this is song. She cannot think.
She sings, if singing is songless,
for songs have blood, are thought, carry
the singer out of the singer's self,
into the human, the precious intersection,
this tree planted by the true singer, who knows
this song grows slowly, for others, the singer dead
before the self lives in the song's shade.
– William Heyen (1978)