Escher's Print Gallery (lithograph) (1956)
A picture of a picture which contains itself. Or is it a picture of a gallery which contains itself? Or of a town which contains itself? Or a young man who contains himself?
At first glance, it is easy to dismiss this piece of art. But on closer inspection, it brings to mind several provoking questions - what is that white patch in the centre, what is so unique about this work? To ponder for some time brings even more conundrums than answers - a memory trapped within a memory, reality encased in a fake-reality?
On a side note, I have been browsing through Douglas Hofstadter's Pulitzer Prize-winning book "Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid", which I chanced across while reading ReadWriteWeb.