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| Kelly Fearing Fleeing Man with Owl and Moon 1965 oil paint and silver leaf on panel McNay Art Museum, San Antonio, Texas |
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| Reinier Lucassen Pin Up (Spring in the Tyrol) 1965 acrylic on canvas Kunstmuseum, The Hague |
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| Arthur Siegel State Street, Chicago 1965 dye imbibition print Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Betty Parsons Winter 1965 oil on canvas Weatherspoon Art Museum, Greensboro, North Carolina |
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| Alex Katz Ada and Neil, Maine (Study for Lawn Party) 1965 oil on board Portland Museum of Art, Maine |
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| Edna Andrade Space Frame C 1965 oil on canvas McNay Art Museum, San Antonio, Texas |
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| Helen Frankenthaler Air Frame 1965 screenprint Loeb Art Center, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York |
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| Leonard Freed Bayer Werke in Leverkusen, West Germany 1965 gelatin silver print Loeb Art Center, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York |
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| Barbara Hepworth Contrapuntal Forms (Mycenae) 1965 marble Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Roy Lichtenstein Reverie 1965 screenprint Wichita Art Museum, Kansas |
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| Robert Motherwell Lyric Suite 1965 ink on paper McNay Art Museum, San Antonio, Texas |
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| Robert Motherwell Lyric Suite 1965 ink on paper McNay Art Museum, San Antonio, Texas |
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| Nathan Oliveira Standing Figure 1965 watercolor on paper Weatherspoon Art Museum, Greensboro, North Carolina |
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| A.R. Penck Methode Fertigzuwerden 1965 oil on linen Hall Collection, Schloss Derneburg, Germany |
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| Maija Isola for Marimekko (Finland) Kaivo 1965 panel of screen-printed cotton Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Andy Warhol Liz 1965 screenprint Lowe Art Museum, University of Miami |
from Horae Canonicae
VI. COMPLINE (part I)
Cease to require attention,
As, seizing its chance, the body escapes,
Section by section, to join
Plants in their chaster peace which is more
To its real taste, now a day is its past,
Its last deed and feeling in, should come
The instant of recollection
When the whole thing makes sense: it comes, but all
I recall are doors banging,
Two housewives scolding, an old man gobbling,
A child's wild look of envy,
Actions, words, that could fit any tale,
And I fail to see either plot
Or meaning; I cannot remember
A thing between noon and three.
Nothing is with me now but a sound,
A heart's rhythm, a sense of stars
Leisurely walking around, and both
Talk a language of motion
I can measure but not read: maybe
My heart is confessing her part
In what happened to us from noon till three,
That constellations indeed
Sing of some hilarity beyond
All liking and happening,
But, knowing I neither know what they know
Nor what I ought to know, scorning
All vain fornications of fancy,
Now let me, blessing them both
For the sweetness of their cessations,
Accept our separations.
– W.H. Auden (1954)

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