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| Edward Steichen Ruth St Denis on Stage 1922 gelatin silver print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Edward Steichen John Barrymore as Hamlet 1922 gelatin silver print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Emil Otto Hoppé Ted Shawn in Dance Costume 1922 gelatin silver print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Otto Dix Lady 1922 watercolor and gouache on paper Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena, California |
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| Otto Dix Portrait of Dr Heinrich Stadelmann 1922 oil on canvas Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto |
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| Joseph Kleitsch The Oriental Shop 1922 oil on canvas Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento, California |
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| Jessie Willcox Smith Children's Book Week 1922 lithograph (poster) Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington |
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| Mabel Alvarez Carmen 1922 oil on canvas Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento, California |
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| Amédée Ozenfant Still Life with Bottles 1922 oil on canvas Los Angeles County Museum of Art |
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| Harold Cazneaux Dame Nellie Melba 1922 gelatin silver print Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Lionel Lindsay Romantic Garden 1922 wood-engraving National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Percy Leason Flowers 1922 oil on board Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
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| Eric Pape The Slave Market 1922 pastel on board Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento, California |
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| Wassily Kandinsky Small Worlds I 1922 lithograph National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Madeleine Vionnet Evening Gown 1922 beaded silk Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto |
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| Madeleine Vionnet Evening Gown 1922 beaded silk Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto |
Vionnet's dress manifestly defies physical reality. How can that fragile tube of silk support all those heavy glass beads without puckering or sagging and without throwing all those razor-edged deco squares out of alignment? Very like the simple-seeming muslins worn in the previous century by Jane Austen's women, a sturdy skeletal structure of some sort must have been constructed and concealed beneath this smooth, effortless exterior.
from Canzone
Dear flesh, dear mind, dear spirit, dearest love,
In the depths of myself blind monsters know
Your presence and are angry, dreading Love
That asks its images for more than love;
The hot rampageous horses of my will,
Catching the scent of Heaven, whinny: Love
Gives no excuse to evil done for love,
Neither in you, nor me, nor armies, nor the world
Of words and wheels, nor any other world.
Dear fellow-creatures, praise our God of Love
That we are so admonished, that no day
Of conscious trial be a wasted day.
In the depths of myself blind monsters know
Your presence and are angry, dreading Love
That asks its images for more than love;
The hot rampageous horses of my will,
Catching the scent of Heaven, whinny: Love
Gives no excuse to evil done for love,
Neither in you, nor me, nor armies, nor the world
Of words and wheels, nor any other world.
Dear fellow-creatures, praise our God of Love
That we are so admonished, that no day
Of conscious trial be a wasted day.
Or else we make a scarecrow of the day,
Loose ends and jumble of our common world,
And stuff and nonsense of our own free will;
Or else our changing flesh may never know
There must be sorrow if there can be love.
Loose ends and jumble of our common world,
And stuff and nonsense of our own free will;
Or else our changing flesh may never know
There must be sorrow if there can be love.
– W.H. Auden (1942)