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| Jules Olitski Cadmium Orange of Dr Frankenstein 1962 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski Glow On 1963 acrylic on canvas Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski A 1963 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski High A Yellow 1967 acrylic on canvas Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Jules Olitski Untitled 1967 lithograph Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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| Jules Olitski Bad Boogaloo 1968 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski Green Spread 1968 acrylic on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski Instant Loveland 1968 acrylic on canvas Tate Modern, London |
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| Anonymous Photographer Jules Olitski ca. 1970 gelatin silver print Archives of American Art, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski Graphics Suite #1 1970 screenprint Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Jules Olitski Lysander 1 1970 acrylic on canvas Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Jules Olitski Open Option 1971 acrylic on canvas Brighton and Hove Museums, East Sussex |
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| Jules Olitski Greenberg Variations 1974 steel Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski Samizdat 2 1976 acrylic on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski Self Portrait 1995 drawing National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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| Jules Olitski Ariadne: Orange 2002 pastel on black paper Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
from Spring
Sharp winter melts and changes into spring –
now the west wind, now cables haul the boats
on their dry hulls, and now the cattle tire
of their close stalls, the farmer of his fire.
Venus leads dancers under the large moon,
the naked nymphs and graces walk the earth,
one foot and then another. Birds return,
they flash and mingle in mid-air. Now, now,
the time to tear the blossom from the bough,
to gather wild flowers from the thawing fields,
now, now to sacrifice the kid or lamb
to Faunus in the green and bursting woods,
for bloodless death with careless foot strikes down
the peasant's hut and the stone towers of kings.
Move quickly, the brief sum of life forbids
our opening any long account with hope;
night hems us in, and ghosts, and death's close clay . . .
– Horace (65-8 BC), translated by Robert Lowell (1967)