Kurt Schwitters

Kurt Schwitters
Das Arbeiterbild
1919
assemblage with oil paint on panel
Moderna Museet, Stockholm

Kurt Schwitters
Merz. Collage 'Tell'
ca. 1919-20
collage on paper
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

Kurt Schwitters
Merzbild 31B, Radiating World
1920
collage with gouache on board
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

Kurt Schwitters
Merzz. 53, Red Bonbon
1920
collage on paper
Guggenheim Museum, New York

Kurt Schwitters
Mz. 163 with Woman, Spraying
1920
collage on paper
Guggenheim Museum, New York

Kurt Schwitters
Mz. 199
1921
collage with gouache on paper
Guggenheim Museum, New York

Kurt Schwitters
Mit Spinne
1921
collage on paper
Moderna Museet, Stockholm

Kurt Schwitters
Merzbild Maraak, Variation I
1930
assemblage with oil paint on board
Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice

Kurt Schwitters
Composition
1936
collage on paper
Moderna Museet, Stockholm

Kurt Schwitters
Milwaukee
1937
collage on paper
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

Kurt Schwitters
Construction on a Sheep Bone
ca. 1945
painted bone, plaster and wood
Abbot Hall Art Gallery, Kendal, Cumbria

Kurt Schwitters
Flight
1945
assemblage with oil paint on board
Abbot Hall Art Gallery, Kendal, Cumbria

Kurt Schwitters
Untitled (Togetherness)
ca. 1945-47
painted plaster and stone
Tate Modern, London

Kurt Schwitters
Pink Dream
1946
collage on paper
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

Kurt Schwitters
Untitled
1947
collage with gouache on paper
Abbot Hall Art Gallery, Kendal, Cumbria

Kurt Schwitters
Horizontal
1947
collage on paper
Moderna Museet, Stockholm

from From the Cupola 

      Ah and should discernment's twin

            tyrants adamant

      for their meal of pinks and whites

be who call those various torches in

                  help me love

      This is nothing I shall want

      We see according to our lights

      When as written you have lapsed

            back into the god

            darts and wings and appetites

what of him the lover all eclipsed

                  by sheer love

      Shut my eyes it does not good

      Who will ever put to rights

      Psyche, hush. This is me, James.

            Writing lest he think

      Of the reasons why he writes –

Boredom, fear, mixed vanities and shames;

                  Also love.

      From my phosphorescent ink

      Trickle faint unworldly lights

      Down your face. Come, we'll both rest.

            Weeping? You must not.

      All our pyrotechnic flights

Miss the sleeper in the pitch-dark breast.

                  He is love:

      He is everyone's blind spot.

      We see according to our lights.

– James Merrill (1966)