Prospect

Anonymous Ferrarese Artist
Portrait of an Aristocratic Family
ca. 1480
oil on canvas
Alte Pinakothek, Munich

Angelica Kauffmann
Woman Reading
1767
etching
Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Braunschweig

Johann Kenckel after Johann Martin Schuster
Académie
ca. 1710-20
mezzotint
Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Braunschweig

Jo Koster
Portrait of artist Geertruida van Hettinga Tromp
ca. 1940
oil on panel
Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands

Fritz Köthe
No Smoking
1964
tempera and oil on canvas
Museum Ludwig, Cologne

Ivan Kramskoy
Portrait of arts patron Vera Tretyakova
1876
oil on canvas
State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

Christen Købke
Part of the Cast Collection at Charlottenborg
1839
oil on canvas
Hirschsprung Collection, Copenhagen

Anton Kolig
Youth and Cupid
1911
oil on canvas
Leopold Museum, Vienna

Alexander Keighley
The Melon Seller
1909
photogravure
Kunstbibliothek, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin

Fernand Khnopff
The Game Warden
1883
oil on canvas
Städel Museum, Frankfurt

Anonymous Lombard Artist
Portrait of a Man holding Gloves
ca. 1550
oil on canvas
Galleria Borghese, Rome

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner
Two Women on a Divan
ca. 1910
drawing (colored chalks)
Städel Museum, Frankfurt

Wassily Kandinsky
In Blue
1925
oil on canvas
Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, Düsseldorf

Alexander Kanoldt
Still Life IV
1925
oil on panel
Kunsthalle Mannheim

Adolf Kaufmann
Oat Field
1906
oil on canvas
Belvedere Museum, Vienna

Anton Koberger (printer)
God supplying Moses with a Plague of Flies
ca. 1479-83
hand-colored woodcut
(Bible illustration)
Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna

Dolabella

     Why would you shift it from yourself on me?

     Can you not tell her you must part? 

Antony                                                  I cannot.

     I could pull out an eye and bid it go,

     And t'other should not weep. O Dollabella,

     How many deaths are in this word 'Depart'!

     I dare not trust my tongue to tell her so:

     One look of hers would thaw me into tears,

     And I should melt till I were lost again. 

Dollabella

     Then let Ventidius:

     He's rough by nature.

Antony                            Oh, he'll speak too harshly;     

     He'll kill her with the news: thou, only thou!

Dollabella

     Nature has cast me in so soft a mould,

     That but to hear a story feigned, for pleasure,

     Of some sad lover's death moistens my eyes,

     And robs me of my manhood. I should speak

     So faintly, with such fear to grieve her heart,

     She'd not believe it earnest. 

Antony                                     Therefore, therefore

     Thou, only thou art fit. Think thyself me,

     And when thou speak'st (but let it first be long),

     Take off the edge from every sharper sound,

     And let our parting be as gently made

     As other loves begin: wilt thou do this?

Dollabella

     What you have said so sinks into my soul

     That if I must speak, I shall speak just so.

Antony

     I leave you then to your sad task: farewell.

     I sent her word to meet you.

                                                         (Goes to the door and comes back)

                                                   I forgot:

     Let her be told I'll make her peace with mine;

     Her crown and dignity shall be preserved,

     If I have power with Caesar. – Oh, be sure

     To think on that. 

Dollabella               Fear not, I will remember.

                                     (Antony goes again to the door and comes back)

Antony

     And tell her too how much I was constrained;

     I did not this but with extremest force.

     Desire her not to hate my memory,

     For I still cherish hers; insist on that.

Dollabella

     Trust me, I'll not forget it.

Antony                                  Then that's all.

                                                                  (Goes out and returns again)

     Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more?

     Tell her, though we shall never meet again,

     If I should hear she took another love,

     The news would break my heart. Now I must go,

     For every time I have returned, I feel

     My soul more tender, and my next command

     Would be to bid her stay, and ruin both.                                   (Exit)

Dollabella

     Men are but children of a larger growth;

     Our appetites as apt to change as theirs,

     And full as craving too, and full as vain.

     And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room,

     Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing;

     But like a mole in earth, busy and blind,

     Works all her folly up and casts it outward

     To the world's open view: thus I discovered,

     And blamed, the love of ruined Antony,

     Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruined.              

– John Dryden, All for Love (1677)