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| Linda McCartney Grace Slick 1977 photolithographic print Victoria & Albert Museum, London |
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| Irving Penn Frozen Food (with String Beans), New York 1977 dye imbibition print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Leland Rice Fred Spratt Studio 1977 C-print Minneapolis Institute of Art |
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| Gary Sutton Blue 1977 C-print Minneapolis Institute of Art |
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| Victor Landweber Ishi Bar, San Francisco Airport 1977 C-print Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Leonard Freed Crowd of Basques before copy of Picasso's Guernica 1977 gelatin silver print Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Larry Fink Boy standing on his Head 1977 gelatin silver print Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Paul Caponigro Stonehenge with Puddles 1977 gelatin silver print Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio |
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| Sol LeWitt Untitled 1977 gelatin silver print Princeton University Art Museum |
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| Sandy Porter Townscape, Courtyard, Queensgate 1977 gelatin silver print Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Arthur Taussig Wall 1977 C-print Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Stephen Shore Untitled (series, The Gardens at Giverny, France) 1977 C-print Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Stephen Shore Untitled (series, The Gardens at Giverny, France) 1977 C-print Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Richard Schmidt A Day at the Beach 1977 gelatin silver print Minneapolis Institute of Art |
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| Bill Petrowiak Untitled 1977 gelatin silver print Minneapolis Institute of Art |
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| John Lueders-Booth Caratunk, Maine 1977 C-print Art Institute of Chicago |
His eye was caught by the iridescent back of a beetle that had been standing on the windowsill but was now advancing steadily into his room. Two reddish purple stripes ran the length of its brilliant oval shell of green and gold. Now it waved its antennae cautiously as it began to inch its way forward on its tiny hacksaw legs, which reminded Kiyoaki of minuscule jeweler's blades. In the midst of time's dissolving whirlpool, how absurd that this tiny dot of richly concentrated brilliance should endure in a secure world of its own. As he watched, he gradually became fascinated. Little by little the beetle kept edging its glittering body closer to him as if its pointless progress were a lesson that when traversing a world of unceasing flux, the only thing of importance was to radiate beauty. Suppose he were to assess his protective armor of sentiment in such terms. Was it aesthetically as naturally striking as that of this beetle? And was it tough enough to be as good a shield as the beetle's?
At that moment, he almost persuaded himself that all its surroundings – leafy trees, blue sky, clouds, tiled roofs – were there purely to serve this beetle which in itself was the very hub, the very nucleus of the universe.
– Yukio Mishima, Spring Snow, translated by Michael Gallagher (Knopf, 1972)