Vincent Fecteau Untitled 2008 painted papier-mâché Art Institute of Chicago |
Toots Zynsky Vellutino 2008 glass Wichita Art Museum, Kansas |
Vera Greenwood Big (Dead) Bird 2008 digital C-print Ottawa Art Gallery, Ontario |
Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel Evening Gown and Bolero 2008 sequined silk and silk tulle National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne |
Carrie Mae Weems Untitled 2008 gelatin silver print NSU Art Museum, Fort Lauderdale, Florida |
Barbara Kruger Untitled 2008 C-print NSU Art Museum, Fort Lauderdale, Florida |
Jack Bishop Cash + Carry 2008 oil on canvas Beaverbrook Art Gallery, Fredericton, New Brunswick |
Marlene Dumas For Whom the Bell Tolls 2008 oil on canvas Dallas Museum of Art |
Lawrence Finn The Theological Basis of Colonial Genocide 2008 linocut National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
Koos Breukel Lucian Freud 2008 pigment print Kunstmuseum, The Hague |
Chantal Joffe Kristen 2008 oil on board NSU Art Museum, Fort Lauderdale, Florida |
Max Hayslette Corbusier in Paris, 1933 2008 oil on canvas Huntington Museum of Art, Huntington, West Virginia |
Sam Gilliam Destiny 2008 screenprint Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington |
Eleanor Lindsay-Fynn Come (series, Colour Me In) 2008 C-print Beaverbrook Art Gallery, Fredericton, New Brunswick |
Hellen van Meene Untitled #0321 2008 C-print McNay Art Museum, San Antonio, Texas |
Lili Holzer-Glier Double M Rodeo, Ballston Spa, New York 2008 C-print Loeb Art Center, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York |
Schoolchildren
Here are all the captivities, the cells are as real,
but these are unlike the prisoners we know,
who are outraged or pining or wittily resigned
or just wish all away.
For these dissent so little, so nearly content
with the dumb play of dogs, with licking and rushing;
the bars of love are so strong, their conspiracies
weak like the vows of drunkards.
Indeed, their strangeness is difficult to watch:
the condemned see only the fallacious angel of a vision,
the condemned see only the fallacious angel of a vision,
so little effort lies behind their smiling,
the beast of vocation is afraid.
But watch them, set against our size and timing
their almost neuter, their slightly awkward perfection;
for the sex is there, the broken bootlace is broken:
the professor's dream is not true.
Yet the tyranny is so easy. An improper word
scribbled upon a fountain, is that all the rebellion?
A storm of tears wept in a corner, are these
the seeds of a new life?
– W.H. Auden (1937)