Unica Zürn, La Serpenta, 1957

Unica Zürn, Untitled, 1965, Ink and gouache on paper, 65 x 50 cm, Courtesy Ubu Gallery, New York & Galerie Berinson, Berlin

"Touching" (1960) Unica Zürn.

After three ways in the rain image

when waking your counterimage: he,

the magician. Angels weave you in

the dragonbody. Rings in the way,

long in the rain I become yours.

Unica Zürn, Will I Meet You Sometime?

trans. Pierre Joris

Ermenonville 1959

I went to the Judy Chicago retrospective at the New Museum today and really loved the way she/the curators included a kind of mini overview of works by female geniuses throughout history as part of it. These are just a few--I was so excited to see a piece by Unica Zürn in person!

From top:

Emma Kunz, Work No. 003, no date (circa 1940) Ithell Colquhoun, Alcove, 1946 Unica Zürn, La Serpenta, 1957 Georgiana Houghton, The Spiritual Crown of Annie Mary Howitt Watts, 1867 Hilma af Klint, Group IX/UW, The Dove, no. 2, 1915

The mother-cat left behind two large flecks of blood in the black Baron's bedsheets after the birth, and he refused to allow the blood to be washed out because he loved the cats so much. That is what is meant here by ''love's-blood.'' For those who love, time is the bread on which they feed. And that, o forbidden hearts, that is in me, far from death, scattered in the wind. You see, reader, that I cannot bend my thoughts away from death, but when death actually comes to me, then I will lie whimpering with my nose in the dust. Scattered by death into the wind. His hair sieve, that is the time. Bread, from which we feed ourselves. House in the middle, destroy the woman. Through the inner waiting within yourself, you hear time, until time becomes the bread from which the loving feed themselves.

the Trumphets of Jericho, Unica Zürn

Unica Zürn

Unica Zürn, Untitled, 1957

Hans Bellmer

Unica Zürn, Sans titre, pastel sec et gouache sur papier, 1957 [coll. privée, Paris]

Artwork present in "Hexentexte", 1954. Unica Zürn.

She is now able to imagine his gaze, with his eyes radiating a profound and disturbing love.

Unica Zürn, Dark Spring

unica zürn, sans titre, 1958-1959; sanguine, india ink and pencil on paper. anagramma aus der zeile, 1967; ink on cardboard.

I see death's hour hurrying by with bitter mouths. If only it were easy! If only it were like a big sweep that would lift me up to the stars. If only it were finally infinity, in which I would be allowed to live. Please push me, a poor dog tired of suffering, into the emptiness of the end. You are there, whom I would like to see blinded. How often has the fine nerves' dress been shredded, in the terrible impatience with which I await the end of my days. Deeper, still deeper I fall into the already sunken. Without having lived I will die

the Trumphets of Jericho, Unica Zürn