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| Henri Béchard Climbing the Great Pyramid ca. 1860-80 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Willem Witsen Portrait of Lise Jordan with veil ca. 1890-95 gelatin silver print Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Anonymous photographer Magnolia blossoms ca. 1910-25 gelatin silver print Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Giacomo Caneva Piazza Navona, Rome 1850 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
A prophecy from the year 1855: "Only a few years ago, there was born to us a machine that has since become the glory of our age, and that day after day amazes the mind and startles the eye. This machine, a century hence, will be the brush, the palette, the colors, the craft, the practice, the patience, the glance, the touch, the paste, the glaze, the trick, the relief, the finish, the rendering. A century hence, there will be no more bricklayers of painting: there will be only architects – painters in the full sense of the word. And are we really to imagine that the daguerreotype has murdered art? No, it kills the work of patience, but it does homage to the world of thought. When the daguerreotype, this titan child, will have attained the age of maturity, when all its power and potential will have been unfolded, then the genius of art will suddenly seize it by the collar and exclaim: Mine! You are mine now! We are going to work together."
– from a journal article of 1855 by A.J. Wiertz, quoted by Walter Benjamin in The Arcades Project, translated by Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin for Harvard University Press, 1999
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| Roger Fenton Portrait of a young woman with a letter ca. 1856 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Jacques de Lalaing Standing model, draped before 1914 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Eadweard Muybridge Woman walking with basket on head 1887 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Henneh & Kent Portrait of Mabel Boscowen 1860s photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Leonel Ricci La Danseuse de Corde ca. 1880-88 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Herman Stafhell & Co. Portrait of a young woman ca. 1870-80 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Godfried de Jong Portrait of a young man after 1874 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Frederik Gräfe Collection of Musical Instruments assembled by Johan Coenradus Boers ca. 1899 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| William, Earl of Craven View of Ashdown ca. 1855 photograph Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
"'Wouldn't you like to see a picture or two that you might care to buy?' . . . Titorelli dragged a pile of unframed canvases from under the bed: they were so thickly covered with dust that when he blew some of it from the topmost, K. was almost blinded and choked by the cloud that flew up. 'Wild Nature, a heathscape,' said the painter, handing K. the picture. It showed two stunted trees standing far apart from each other in darkish grass. In the background was a many-hued sunset. 'Fine,' said K., 'I'll buy it.' K.'s curtness had been unthinking and so he was glad when the painter, instead of being offended, lifted another canvas from the floor. 'Here's the companion picture,' he said. It might have been intended as a companion picture, but there was not the slightest difference that one could see between it and the other; here were the two trees, here the grass, and there the sunset. But K. did not bother about that. 'They're fine prospects,' he said. 'I'll buy both of them and hang them in my office.' 'You seem to like the subject,' said the painter, fishing out a third canvas. 'By a lucky chance I have another of these studies here!' But it was not merely a similar study, it was simply the same wild heathscape again. The painter was apparently exploiting to the full this opportunity to sell off his old pictures. 'I'll take that one as well,' said K. 'How much for the three pictures?' 'We'll settle that next time,' said the painter . . . 'I must say I'm very glad you like these pictures, and I'll throw in all the others under the bed as well. They're heathscapes every one of them – I've painted dozens of them in my time. Some people won't have anything to do with these subjects because they're too somber, but there are always people like yourself who prefer somber pictures.'"
– from The Trial (1925) by Franz Kafka, translated by Willa and Edwin Muir (1935)
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| Charlotte M. Endicott Thorn Mountain Jackson, New Hampshire 1899 cyanotype Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
'"'Wouldn't you like to see a painting that I could sell you?' . . . From beneath the bed the painter dragged a pile of unframed paintings so deeply covered in dust that when the painter tried to blow it away from the one on top, the dust whirled up before K.'s eyes, and for some time he could scarcely breathe. 'A landscape of the heath,' said the painter, and handed K. the painting. It showed two frail trees, standing at a great distance from one another in the dark grass. In the background was a multicolored sunset. 'Nice,' said K., 'I'll buy it.' K. had spoken curtly without thinking, so he was glad when, instead of taking it badly, the painter picked up another painting from the floor. 'Here's a companion piece to that picture,' said the painter. It may have been intended as a companion piece, but not the slightest difference could be seen between it and the first one: here were the trees, here was the grass, and there the sunset. But that made little difference to K. They're nice landscapes,' he said, 'I'll take both of them and hang them in my office.' 'You seem to like the subject,' said the painter, and pulled out a third painting, 'luckily enough, I have a similar one right here.' It was not merely similar, however, it was exactly the same landscape. The painter was taking full advantage of the chance to sell his old pictures. 'I'll take that one too,' said K. 'What do I owe you for the three of them?' 'We'll talk about that next time,' said the painter, 'you're in a hurry now and we'll be keeping in touch, after all. By the way, I'm glad you like the paintings; I'll throw in all the pictures I have under here. They're all heath landscapes, I've painted a lot of heath landscapes. Some people are put off by paintings like these because they're too somber, but others, and you're among them, have a particular love for the somber.'"
– from The Trial (1925) by Franz Kafka, translated by Breon Mitchell (1998)