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| Hans Namuth Jackson Pollock at work 1950 gelatin silver print Archives of American Art, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Clyfford Still 1951 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Elaine and Willem de Kooning 1953 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Lee Krasner ca. 1958 gelatin silver print Archives of American Art, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Frank O'Hara and Larry Rivers 1958 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Lee Krasner in the Studio 1962 gelatin silver print Archives of American Art, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Josephine and Edward Hopper 1964 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Mark Rothko 1964 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Larry Rivers 1965 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Josef Albers 1971 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth James Rosenquist 1980 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Andy Warhol 1981 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Leo Castelli 1982 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Ellsworth Kelly 1983 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth David Salle 1986 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Andrew Wyeth 1986 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Helen Frankenthaler 1987 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Hans Namuth Sam Francis 1989 C-print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
from Ode 29, Book 3, paraphrased in Pindarique Verse
Sometimes 'tis grateful to the Rich, to try
A short vicissitude, and fit of Poverty:
A savoury Dish, a homely Treat,
Where all is plain, where all is neat,
Without the stately spacious Room,
The Persian Carpet, or the Tyrian Loom,
Clear up the cloudy foreheads of the Great.
The Sun is in the Lion mounted high,
The Syrian Star
Barks from afar;
And with his sultry breath infects the Sky;
The ground below is parched, the heav'ns above us fry.
The Shepherd drives his fainting Flock,
Beneath the covert of a Rock;
And seeks refreshing Rivulets nigh:
The Sylvans to their shade retire,
Those very shades and streams, new shades and streams require;
And want a cooling breeze of wind to fan the raging fire.
Thou, what befits the new Lord Mayor,
And what the City Faction dare,
And what the Gallique Arms will do,
And what the Quiver-bearing Foe,
Art anxiously inquisitive to know.
But God has, wisely, hid from human sight
The dark decrees of future fate;
And sown their seeds in depth of night;
He laughs at all the giddy turns of State;
When Mortals search too soon, and fear too late.
– Horace (65-8 BC), translated by John Dryden (1685)