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| Harold Stevenson The New Adam 1962 oil on linen (nine panels) Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Eva Gonzalès Morning Awakening 1876 oil on canvas Kunsthalle Bremen |
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| Philippe Halsman Martha Graham 1946 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Gustave Klumpp Relaxing Nudist 1972 oil on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Paul Resika Nymph and Poodle 1961 lithograph Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Sam Taylor-Wood Soliloquy III 1998 C-print Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Sam Taylor-Wood Soliloquy I 1998 C-print Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Francis Bacon Sphinx III 1954 oil on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jean-Antoine Watteau Study of a Woman from the Back ca. 1717-18 drawing British Museum |
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| Cigoli (Lodovico Cardi) Figure of Christ ca. 1596 drawing (study for painting, Feast in the House of Simon) Morgan Library, New York |
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| Eikoh Hosoe Man-and-Woman-#24- 1960 gelatin silver print National Museum of Asian Art, Washington DC |
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| Jan Gossaert Adam and Eve before 1532 drawing Städel Museum, Frankfurt |
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| Kees Timmer Felis onca ca. 1953 oil on canvas Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam |
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| Elmer Bischoff Study of a Woman ca. 1950 charcoal on paper Archives of American Art, Washington DC |
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| Benedikt Thola Foreshortened Corpses before 1572 drawing Kupferstichkabinett, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden |
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| Robert Barnes Macbeth's Visitor 1999 oil on canvas Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
from Hecuba
Ilion, o my city,
no longer will you be named among the cities
never taken: lost in the Greek stormcloud,
speared, sacked,
your wreath of towers hacked
from your head: sorry, fouled,
in the smoke and the ash strain,
sad city
I shall not walk in you again.
Ruin came at midnight.
We were in our room, sleep-eyed, happy,
tired, with the dancing over
and the songs for our won war,
everything over, my husband resting,
his weapons hung on the wall,
no Greeks to be seen any more,
the armed fleet
lost from our shores and gone.
I was just doing my hair
for the night, and the golden mirror
showed me my own face there
calm and still with delight,
ready for love and sleep.
And then the noise broke out in the streets
and a cry never heard before:
'Greeks,
Greeks, it is ours.' (They said.) 'Finish the war:
break kill burn:
end it, and we can go home.'
Out of our bed, half naked
like any Dorian girl
I ran for the sanctuary
of Artemis' shrine. No use, I never made it.
I saw my husband die.
They have taken me over the sea.
I look back at my city.
Greek
ships hasten for home, taking me
with them, foredone
with sorrow and pity.
Curse Helen, curse
Paris, the fatal pair
whose love came too dear,
who married to destroy
my people my marriage and me,
whose marriage burned Troy,
May she never tread Greek ground.
I hope she never makes it over the sea.
I hope she is wrecked and drowned.
She ruined me.
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