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| Lovis Corinth In the Morning 1900 oil on canvas Alte Nationalgalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin |
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| Johann Vincent Cissarz To a new Renaissance! 1900 lithograph (poster) Kunstbibliothek, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin |
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| Maurice Denis Sinite parvulos venire ad me 1900 oil on canvas Clemens Sels Museum, Neuss, Germany |
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| Edward Chalmers Leavitt The French Bouquet 1900 oil on canvas Portland Museum of Art, Maine |
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| Gabriel Max The Botanists ca. 1900 oil on canvas Frye Art Museum, Seattle |
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| Odilon Redon Woman wearing Hennin Headdress 1900 lithograph Loeb Art Center, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York |
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| Darío de Regoyos Bathing in Rentería 1900 oil on canvas Museo de Bellas Artes de Bilbao |
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| John Singer Sargent Dorothy 1900 oil on canvas Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Paul Berthon Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands 1901 lithograph Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Massachusetts |
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| Eugène Carrière Portrait of Madame Auguste Bonheur 1901 oil on canvas Musée des Augustins de Toulouse |
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| Walter Dean On the Deep Sea 1901 oil on canvas Farnsworth Art Museum, Rockland, Maine |
-1901-lithograph-(poster)-Kunstbibliothek-Staatliche-Museen-zu-Berlin.jpg) |
| Thomas Theodor Heine Die Weite Welt 1901 lithograph (advertising poster for magazine) Kunstbibliothek, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin |
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| John La Farge Design for Stained-Glass Window 1901 watercolor on board Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Massachusetts |
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| George Minne Portrait of Jacques Francquaert 1901 marble Neue Pinakothek, Munich |
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| Laurits Andersen Ring Winter Day at Vinderød 1901 oil on canvas Fuglsang Kunstmuseum, Lolland, Denmark |
from The Rock
I
Seventy Years Later
It is an illusion that we were ever alive,
Lived in the houses of mothers, arranged ourselves
By our own motions in a freedom of air.
Regard the freedom of seventy years ago.
It is no longer air. The houses still stand,
Though they are rigid in rigid emptiness.
Even our shadows, their shadows, no longer remain.
The lives these lived in the mind are at an end.
They never were . . . The sounds of the guitar
Were not and are not. Absurd. The words spoken
Were not and are not. It is not to be believed.
The meeting at noon at the edge of the field seems like
An invention, an embrace between one desperate clod
And another in a fantastic consciousness,
In a queer assertion of humanity:
A theorem proposed between the two –
Two figures in a nature of the sun,
In the sun's design of its own happiness,
As if nothingness contained a métier,
A vital assumption, an impermanence
In its permanent cold, an illusion so desired
That the green leaves came and covered the high rock,
That the lilacs came and bloomed, like a blindness cleaned,
Exclaiming bright sight, as it was satisfied,
In a birth of sight. The blooming and the musk
Were being alive, an incessant being alive,
A particular of being, that gross universe.
– Wallace Stevens (1954)