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| Peter Hujar Portrait of painter Paul Thek 1967 pigment print Museum Folkwang, Essen |
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| Peter Hujar Loulou de La Falaise 1968 gelatin silver print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Peter Hujar Cindy Lubar as Queen Victoria 1973 gelatin silver print Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Peter Hujar Candy Darling on her Deathbed 1974 gelatin silver print Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri |
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| Peter Hujar Divine 1975 gelatin silver print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Peter Hujar Diana Vreeland 1975 gelatin silver print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Peter Hujar West Side Parking Lots NYC 1976 gelatin silver print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Peter Hujar Charles Ludlam Backstage 1984 gelatin silver print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe Messopotamia 1982 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe Fascination (Jonathan) 1983 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe I Dream of Jeannie (Stephen Tashjian's head) 1983 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe At Home with Michael Walsh 1985 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe Figure Study: Artist at Home 1985 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe Lonely Bird 1985 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe Untitled 1985 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe Untitled 1985 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Mark Morrisroe Sweet Raspberry, Spanish Madonna 1986 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
from Afterword
Reading what I have just written, I now believe
I stopped precipitously, so that my story seems to have been
slightly distorted, ending, as it did, not abruptly
but in a kind of artificial mist of the sort
sprayed onto stages to allow for difficult set changes.
Why did I stop? Did some instinct
discern a shape, the artist in me
intervening to stop traffic, as it were?
A shape. Or fate, as the poets say,
intuited in those few long-ago hours –
I must have thought so once.
And yet I dislike the term
which seems to me a crutch, a phase,
the adolescence of the mind, perhaps –
Still, it was a term I used myself,
frequently to explain my failures.
Fate, destiny, whose designs and warnings
now seem to me simply
local symmetries, metonymic
baubles within immense confusion –
Chaos was what I saw.
My brush froze – I could not paint it.
– Louise Glück (2014)