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Philip Guston Head of a Woman 1931 drawing Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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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 |
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David Robbins Philip Guston working on New York World's Fair Mural 1939 gelatin silver print (WPA project) Archives of American Art, Washington DC |
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John Cohen Philip Guston with Mercedes Matter at the Cedar Tavern in Greenwich Village ca. 1955 gelatin silver print National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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Philip Guston Native's Return 1957 oil on canvas Phillips Collection, Washington DC |
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Philip Guston Painter III 1960 oil on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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Philip Guston Close-Up 1969 acrylic on linen Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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Philip Guston Caught 1970 oil on canvas Denver Art Museum |
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Philip Guston The Street 1970 lithograph Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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Philip Guston Untitled 1971 oil on paper Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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Philip Guston Transition 1975 oil on canvas Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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Philip Guston Bombay 1976 oil on canvas Walker Art Center, Minneapolis |
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Philip Guston Ancient Wall 1976 oil on canvas Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC |
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Philip Guston Cabal 1977 oil on linen Whitney Museum of American Art, New York |
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Philip Guston Painter (Self Portrait) 1979 lithograph National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC |
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Philip Guston Coat 1980 lithograph Walker Art Center, Minneapolis |
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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)