Elizabeth Peyton Ben Drawing 2001 oil on board Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh |
Frank Nitsche GOB-25-2002 2002 oil on canvas Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Karen LaMonte Reclining Dress Impression 2009 cast glass Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia |
Neo Rauch Rückkehr 2004 oil on paper Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh |
Gé-Karel van der Sterren Untitled 2007 oil and acrylic on canvas Museum De Lakenhal, Leiden |
Joe Zucker Black Volcano 2005 acrylic paint poured into wooden compartments on panel Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Bernard Schultze Tropical Monuments 2000 oil on canvas Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Kim Krause Found Credo: Study for Scroll 2002 acrylic and ink on paper Cincinnati Art Museum, Ohio |
Herbert Brandl Untitled 2001 oil on canvas Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna |
Johannes Wohnseifer Dead in 2002 2003 acrylic on aluminum Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Candida Höfer Hotel Philadelphia III 2000 C-print Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Gerhard Richter Eleven Panes 2003 glass and wood Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Jörg Immendorff Untitled 2005 oil on canvas Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna |
Diango Hernández Sailors 2016 mural in acrylics Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Diango Hernández Sailors 2016 mural in acrylics Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
Diango Hernández Sailors 2016 mural in acrylics Museum Ludwig, Cologne |
The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
Although I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.
Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny;
Ere Time transfigured me.
Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny;
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me.
There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
That has transfigured me.
There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.
– W.B. Yeats (1893)
That has transfigured me.
– W.B. Yeats (1893)