Joan Mitchell Brush 1981 lithograph National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Joan Mitchell Little Weeds I 1992 etching and aquatint National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Joan Mitchell Little Weeds II 1992 etching and aquatint National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Joan Mitchell Bedford II 1981 lithograph National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Candida Höfer Campo Santo, Pisa 1985 C-print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Candida Höfer Museum Karlshorst, Berlin III 1991 C-print Queensland Art Gallery, Brisbane |
Candida Höfer Natural History Museum, London II 1990 C-print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Candida Höfer Sorbonne, Paris 1989 C-print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Fernand Léger Sculptures Polychromes 1953 lithograph (exhibition poster) Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
Fernand Léger Fernand Léger - Galerie Beyeler 1964 lithograph and letterpress (exhibition poster) National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Fernand Léger Le Bonheur (étude) ca. 1953 lithograph National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Fernand Léger Paysage 1948 lithograph National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Georges Barbier Robe de Chambre 1913 pochoir National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Georges Barbier Blouse Japonaise en soie sur une Jupe plissée 1913 pochoir National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Georges Barbier Deux Heures du Matin 1923 pochoir National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Georges Barbier Sortilèges: Robe de soir de Gustave Beer 1922 pochoir National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
from The Quest
This is an architecture for the odd;
Thus heaven was attached by the afraid,
So once, unconsciously, a virgin made
Her maidenhead conspicuous to a god.
Here on dark nights while worlds of triumph sleep
Lost Love in abstract speculation burns,
And exiled Will to politics returns
In epic verse that makes the traitors weep.
Yet many come to wish their tower a well;
For those who dread to drown, of thirst may die,
Those who see all become invisible:
Here great magicians, caught in their own spell,
Long for a natural climate as they sigh
"Beware of Magic" to the passer-by.
– W.H. Auden (1940)