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| Andy Warhol Boot ca. 1955 ink, gouache and collage on paper National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Andy Warhol Elvis I and II 1963-64 screenprints, with added acrylic and spraypaint Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto |
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| Andy Warhol Henry Gillespie 1985 screenprint, with added acrylic Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide |
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| Andy Warhol Campbell's Soup II - Cheddar Cheese 1969 screenprint National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
-I-Saw-You-1978-gelatin-silver-print-National-Gallery-of-Australia-Canberra.jpg) |
| Duane Michals I Saw You (series, Homage to Cavafy) 1978 gelatin silver print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
-He-Was-Unaware-1978-gelatin-silver-print-National-Gallery-of-Australia-Canberra.jpg) |
| Duane Michals He Was Unaware (series, Homage to Cavafy) 1978 gelatin silver print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
-I-Could-Read-It-Clearly-1978-gelatin-silver-print-National-Gallery-of-Australia-Canberra.jpg){kind=spacer} |
| Duane Michals I Could Read It Clearly (series, Homage to Cavafy) 1978 gelatin silver print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
-Just-to-Light-his-Cigarette-1978-gelatin-silver-print-National-Gallery-of-Australia-Canberra.jpg) |
| Duane Michals Just to Light his Cigarette (series, Homage to Cavafy) 1978 gelatin silver print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Ben Quilty Self Portrait - The Executioner 2015 oil on linen Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Ben Quilty New Bird 2017 oil on linen Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide |
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| Ben Quilty The Last Supper 2017 oil on linen Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Ben Quilty Khodayar Amini 2017 oil on linen Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide |
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| Judy Cassab L'Homme au Mouton, Musée Picasso, Paris 1989 drawing Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Judy Cassab Musée Picasso, Paris 1994 etching and aquatint Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Judy Cassab Renoir Bust and Shadow 1991 hand-colored etching Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Judy Cassab Portrait of Judy Barraclough 1955 oil on panel Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
from For the Time Being
But then we were children: That was a moment ago,
Before an outrageous novelty had been introduced
Into our lives. Why were we never warned? Perhaps we were.
Perhaps that mysterious noise at the back of the brain
We noticed on certain occasions – sitting alone
In the waiting room of the country junction, looking
Up at the toilet window – was not indigestion
But this Horror starting already to scratch Its way in?
Just how, just when It succeeded we shall never know:
We can only say that now It is there and that nothing
We learnt before It was there is now of the slightest use,
For nothing like It has happened before. It's as if
We had left our house for five minutes to mail a letter,
And during that time the living room had changed places
With the room behind the mirror over the fireplace;
It's as if, waking up with a start, we discovered
Ourselves stretched out flat on the floor, watching our shadow
Sleepily stretching itself at the window. I mean
That the world of space where events re-occur is still there,
Only now it's no longer real; the real one is nowhere
Where time never moves and nothing can ever happen:
I mean that although there's a person we know all about
Still bearing our name and loving himself as before,
That person has become a fiction; our true existence
Is decided by no one and has no importance to love.
Before an outrageous novelty had been introduced
Into our lives. Why were we never warned? Perhaps we were.
Perhaps that mysterious noise at the back of the brain
We noticed on certain occasions – sitting alone
In the waiting room of the country junction, looking
Up at the toilet window – was not indigestion
But this Horror starting already to scratch Its way in?
Just how, just when It succeeded we shall never know:
We can only say that now It is there and that nothing
We learnt before It was there is now of the slightest use,
For nothing like It has happened before. It's as if
We had left our house for five minutes to mail a letter,
And during that time the living room had changed places
With the room behind the mirror over the fireplace;
It's as if, waking up with a start, we discovered
Ourselves stretched out flat on the floor, watching our shadow
Sleepily stretching itself at the window. I mean
That the world of space where events re-occur is still there,
Only now it's no longer real; the real one is nowhere
Where time never moves and nothing can ever happen:
I mean that although there's a person we know all about
Still bearing our name and loving himself as before,
That person has become a fiction; our true existence
Is decided by no one and has no importance to love.
– W.H. Auden (1941-42)