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| Jeff Koons Louis XIV 1986 stainless steel Nasher Sculpture Center, Dallas |
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| Jeff Koons J.B. Turner Engine 1986 stainless steel Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Jeff Koons Winter Bears 1988 painted wood Tate Modern, London |
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| Jeff Koons Art Ad 1988 offset-lithograph (published in Arts Magazine, New York) Moderna Museet, Stockholm |
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| Jeff Koons Art Ad 1988 offset-lithograph (published in Art in America) Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Jeff Koons Art Ad 1988 offset-lithograph (published in Art Forum) Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Jeff Koons Bourgeois Bust - Jeff and Ilona 1991 marble Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Jeff Koons Mound of Flowers 1991 glass Tate Modern, London |
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| Jeff Koons Poodle 1991 painted wood Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Jeff Koons Puppy 1998 glazed earthenware Walker Art Center, Minneapolis |
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| Jeff Koons Inflatable Balloon Flower (Yellow) 1997 polyvinyl chloride (PVC) Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Jeff Koons Puppy 1992 stainless steel, soil and flowering plants Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao |
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| Jeff Koons Pony (Blue) 1999 glass, plastic and stainless steel Tate Modern, London |
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| Jeff Koons Goat (Ice Blue) 1999 glass, plastic and stainless steel Tate Modern, London |
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| Jeff Koons Sandwiches 2000 oil on canvas Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Jeff Koons Niagara 2000 oil on canvas Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Jeff Koons Untitled 2006 C-print Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
from The White Series
One day continuously followed another.
Winter passed. The Christmas lights came down
together with the shabby stars
strung across the various shopping streets.
Flower carts appeared on the wet pavements,
the metal pails filled with quince and anemones.
The end came and went.
Or should I say, at intervals the end approached;
I passed through it like a plane passing through a cloud.
On the other side, the vacant sign still glowed above the lavatory.
My aunt died. My brother moved to America.
On my wrist, the watch face glistened in the false darkness
(the movie was being shown).
This was a special feature, a kind of bluish throbbing
which made the numbers easy to read, even in the absence of light.
Princely, I thought.
And yet the serene transit of the hour hand
no longer represented my perception of time
which had become a sense of immobility
expressed as movement across vast distances.
The hand moved;
the twelve, as I watched, became the one again.
Whereas time was now this environment in which
I was contained with my fellow passengers,
as the infant is contained in his sturdy crib
or, to stretch the point, as the unborn child
wallows in his mother's womb.
Outside the womb, the earth had fallen away:
I could see flares of lightning striking the wing.
When my funds were gone,
I went to live for a while
in a small house on my brother's land
in the state of Montana.
I arrived in darkness
at the airport, my bags were lost.
It seemed to me I had moved
not horizontally but rather from a very low place
to something very high,
perhaps still in the air.
Indeed, Montana was like the moon –
My brother drove confidently over the icy road,
from time to time stopping to point out
some rare formation.
We were, in the main, silent.
It came to me we had resumed
the arrangements of childhood,
our legs touching, the steering wheel
now substituting for the book.
And yet, in the deepest sense, they were interchangeable:
had not my brother always been steering,
both himself and me, out of our bleak bedroom
into a night of rocks and lakes
punctuated with swords sticking up here and there –
– Louise Glück (2014)