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| Caradosso Foppa Allegorical Figures of Justice, Science and Might before 1527 bronze medallion National Gallery of Art, Washington DC |
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| Caradosso Foppa Allegorical Figure of Architecture ca. 1506 bronze medallion National Gallery of Art, Washington DC |
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| Caradosso Foppa Portrait of architect Donato Bramante ca. 1514 bronze medallion National Gallery of Art, Washington DC |
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| Caradosso Foppa Marine Scene ca. 1500 bronze plaquette National Gallery of Art, Washington DC |
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| Gandhara Culture Head of Buddha 1st century BC - 3rd century AD schist Harvard Art Museums |
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| Gandhara Culture Frieze with Dragons and Rider 3rd century AD schist National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Gandhara Culture Standing Bodhisattva 3rd century AD schist National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Gandhara Culture Umbrella Bearer 3rd century AD schist Asian Art Museum, San Francisco |
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| Benjamin West The Pilgrim mourning his Dead Ass ca. 1773-77 oil on canvas Museum of Fine Arts, Houston |
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| Benjamin West Portrait of Ann Inglis ca. 1757 oil on canvas Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington |
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| Benjamin West Study for Thetis bringing Armor to Achilles ca. 1805-1806 drawing New Britain Museum of American Art, Connecticut |
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| Benjamin West Self Portrait ca. 1776 oil on canvas National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa |
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| James McNeill Whistler Self Portrait 1859 etching and drypoint National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| James McNeill Whistler Drouet, Sculpteur 1859 drypoint Art Gallery of Greater Victoria, British Columbia |
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| James McNeill Whistler Just Becquet, Sculpteur 1860 etching Loeb Art Center, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York |
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| James McNeill Whistler The Wine Glass 1858 etching Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney |
from Letter to Lord Byron
So if ostensibly I write to you
To chat about your poetry or mine,
There's many other reasons: though it's true
That I have, at the age of twenty-nine
Just read Don Juan and I found it fine.
I read it on the boat to Reykjavik
Except when eating or asleep or sick.
Now home is miles away, and miles away
No matter who, and I am quite alone
And cannot understand what people say,
But like a dog must guess it by the tone;
At any language other than my own
I'm no great shakes, and here I've found no tutor
Nor sleeping lexicon to make me cuter.
The thought of writing came to me to-day
(I like to give these facts of time and space);
The bus was in the desert on its way
From Möthrudalur to some other place:
The tears were streaming down my burning face,
I'd caught a heavy cold in Akureyri,
And lunch was late and life looked very dreary.
Professor Housman was I think the first
To say in print how very stimulating
The little ills by which mankind is cursed,
The colds, the aches, the pains are to creating;
Indeed one hardly goes too far in stating
That many a flawless lyric may be due
Not to a lover's broken heart, but 'flu.
But still a proper explanation's lacking;
Why write to you? I see I must begin
Right at the start when I was at my packing.
The extra pair of socks, the airtight tin
Of China tea, the anti-fly were in;
I asked myself what sort of books I'd read
In Iceland, if I ever felt the need.
I can't read Jefferies on the Wiltshire Downs,
Nor browse on limericks in a smoking-room;
Who would try Trollope in cathedral towns,
Or Marie Stopes inside his mother's womb?
Perhaps you feel the same beyond the tomb.
Do the celestial highbrows only care
For works on Clydeside, Fascists, or Mayfair?
– W.H. Auden (1936)