Saturday, June 7, 2025

Philip Guston

Philip Guston
Head of a Woman
1931
drawing
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC


Anonymous Photographer
Reuben Kadish and Philip Guston with their mural at TB Sanitarium, Duarte, Calif.
ca. 1936
gelatin silver print
(WPA Project)
Archives of American Art, Washington DC

David Robbins
Philip Guston working on New York World's Fair Mural
1939
gelatin silver print
(WPA project)
Archives of American Art, Washington DC

John Cohen
Philip Guston with Mercedes Matter
at the Cedar Tavern in Greenwich Village

ca. 1955
gelatin silver print
National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC

Philip Guston
Native's Return
1957
oil on canvas
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

Philip Guston
Painter III
1960
oil on canvas
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC

Philip Guston
Close-Up
1969
acrylic on linen
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Philip Guston
Caught
1970
oil on canvas
Denver Art Museum

Philip Guston
The Street
1970
lithograph
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Philip Guston
Untitled
1971
oil on paper
Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC

Philip Guston
Transition
1975
oil on canvas
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC

Philip Guston
Bombay
1976
oil on canvas
Walker Art Center, Minneapolis

Philip Guston
Ancient Wall
1976
oil on canvas
Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC

Philip Guston
Cabal
1977
oil on linen
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Philip Guston
Painter (Self Portrait)
1979
lithograph
National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC

Philip Guston
Coat
1980
lithograph
Walker Art Center, Minneapolis

Philip Guston
Untitled
1980
acrylic on paper
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

from McKane's Falls

Come live within me, said the waterfall.
There is a chamber of black stone
High and dry behind my stunning life. 
Stay here a year or two, a year or ten,
Until you've heard it all,
The inside story deafening but true. 

Or false – I'm not a fool.
Moments of truth are moments only,
Eyes burning on the brink of empty beds.
The years wink past, the current changes course.
Ruined by tin-pan blues
The golden voice turns gravelly and hoarse.

Now you've seen through me, sang the cataract,
A fraying force, but unafraid,
Plunge through my bath of plus and minus both,
Acid and base,
The mind that mirrors and the hands that act.
Enter this inmost space . . .

– James Merrill (1976)