Skip to main content
Collections Menu
Image Not Available for One Hundred Original Woodcuts by Posada
One Hundred Original Woodcuts by Posada
Image Not Available for One Hundred Original Woodcuts by Posada

One Hundred Original Woodcuts by Posada

Artist (Mexican, 1852 - 1913)
Date1947
ClassificationsBook
MediumColor woodcut
DimensionsObject (Book): 9 1/8 x 6 11/16 x 1/4 in. (23.2 x 17 x 0.6 cm)
Credit LineGift of Jack Lord
Object number1973.23
16. The Ladies. The women of our times/ Are much like filbert nuts./ Of a hundred, one is good;/ And ninety and nine are empty.
16. The Ladies. The women of our times/ Are much like filbert nuts./ Of a hundred, one is good;/ And ninety and nine are empty.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
94. Calavera of the Policeman. So strict in vigilance,/ So rigorous in duty,/ That he passed scoundrels by./ They made his job a good one!/ This, then, is the bony one;/ He ran this way and that./ And today the only sound he hears is,/ “Rest in peace, amen.”
94. Calavera of the Policeman. So strict in vigilance,/ So rigorous in duty,/ That he passed scoundrels by./ They made his job a good one!/ This, then, is the bony one;/ He ran this way and that./ And today the only sound he hears is,/ “Rest in peace, amen.”
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
15. The Jurist. “The law imparts justice,”/ Says the gowned-one with aplomb./ But, oh! how justice is unhinged,/ When you haven’t got the price.
15. The Jurist. “The law imparts justice,”/ Says the gowned-one with aplomb./ But, oh! how justice is unhinged,/ When you haven’t got the price.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
18. Conundrum of the Chair. A chair like this/ People would not fight over./ Which chair is it that causes struggle?/ Why, Man! The Presidential one!
18. Conundrum of the Chair. A chair like this/ People would not fight over./ Which chair is it that causes struggle?/ Why, Man! The Presidential one!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
9. Little Calavera. Run, Skinny, run./ Water is always harmful,/ Even in a bath./ After one is fifty/ He should not even wash.
9. Little Calavera. Run, Skinny, run./ Water is always harmful,/ Even in a bath./ After one is fifty/ He should not even wash.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
26. The Power of Verse. This happened— it is true— /Yet no one will believe it;/ A fool began to read/ My verses at a funeral—/ And the Living fell down dead,/ And the Dead began to run!
26. The Power of Verse. This happened— it is true— /Yet no one will believe it;/ A fool began to read/ My verses at a funeral—/ And the Living fell down dead,/ And the Dead began to run!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
95. Sharp Trader. Speak not of “honesty”;/ All talk through their hats— / And so do you!/ Let the buyer beware.../ One must live,/ And, you are a cheat!
95. Sharp Trader. Speak not of “honesty”;/ All talk through their hats— / And so do you!/ Let the buyer beware.../ One must live,/ And, you are a cheat!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
40. High Cost of Living. Prices rise higher and higher;/ My salary no longer stretches,/ To play the market is one thing—/ Marketing, quite another.
40. High Cost of Living. Prices rise higher and higher;/ My salary no longer stretches,/ To play the market is one thing—/ Marketing, quite another.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
63. Chanticler. Don’t you wish you were a rooster/ Who has a lot of hens?/ With each her little chickens—/ And not one do you support?
63. Chanticler. Don’t you wish you were a rooster/ Who has a lot of hens?/ With each her little chickens—/ And not one do you support?
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
62. Mess Call. Mess Call! Mess call!/ You shameless ones in barracks/ Now your “grub” awaits you;/ But if war should come—/ You’ll find a change!
62. Mess Call. Mess Call! Mess call!/ You shameless ones in barracks/ Now your “grub” awaits you;/ But if war should come—/ You’ll find a change!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
51. On Losing a Job. I was a quack, a shyster,/ A bureaucrat, and a poet./ Now I am not worth a cent;/ I am one of those sad unemployed.
51. On Losing a Job. I was a quack, a shyster,/ A bureaucrat, and a poet./ Now I am not worth a cent;/ I am one of those sad unemployed.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
76. The Grim Reaper. Come! Let’s flee!/ But no one can escape;/ Death has to be, / And some go more cheaply than the rest.
76. The Grim Reaper. Come! Let’s flee!/ But no one can escape;/ Death has to be, / And some go more cheaply than the rest.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947