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| Lovis Corinth Basket of Flowers with Amaryllis and Calla Lilies 1918 oil on canvas Galerie Neue Meister (Albertinum), Dresden |
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| El Lissitzky Beat the Whites with the Red Wedge! 1918 lithograph Frye Art Museum, Seattle |
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| Arvid Fougstedt Two Harlequins 1918 drawing Moderna Museet, Stockholm |
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| Lester George Hornby Fighting Yank - The Marne 1918 etching Wichita Art Museum, Kansas |
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| Vilmos Huszár Composition in Gray 1918 oil on canvas Kunstmuseum, The Hague |
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| Joseph Christian Leyendecker Order Coal Now 1918 lithograph (poster) Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Max Liebermann Row of Birches, Wannseegarten 1918 oil on canvas Hamburger Kunsthalle |
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| Jacques Lipchitz Man and Guitar - Black, Gray, Red and White 1918 ink and colored chalks on paper Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia |
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| Kasimir Malevich Pamphlet Cover, issued in Russian by Congress of Committees on Rural Poverty 1918 lithograph Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Joan Miró Portrait of Joaneta Obrador 1918 oil on canvas Art Institute of Chicago |
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| Amedeo Modigliani Girl with Blue Eyes 1918 oil on canvas McNay Art Museum, San Antonio, Texas |
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| Piet Mondrian Composition with Grid 1918 oil on canvas Museum of Fine Arts, Houston |
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| Edvard Munch Girls on Bridge 1918 woodcut, zincograph and lithograph Dallas Museum of Art |
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| Pablo Picasso Angles and Curves 1918 watercolor and ink on paper Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia |
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| Egon Schiele Portrait of Victor Ritter von Bauer 1918 oil on canvas Belvedere Museum, Vienna |
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| Gil Spear Workers: Lend Your Strength to the Red Triangle: YMCA 1918 lithograph (poster) Dallas Museum of Art |
from Talking to Myself
Spring this year in Austria started off benign,
the heavens lucid, the air stable, the about
sane to all feeders, vegetate or bestial:
the deathless minerals looked pleased with their regime,
where what is not forbidden is compulsory.
Shadows of course there are, Porn-Ads, with-it clergy,
and hubby next door has taken to the bottle,
but You have preserved Your poise, strange rustic object,
whom I, made in God's Image but already warped,
a malapert will-worship, must bow to as Me.
My mortal manor, the carnal territory
allotted to my manage, my fosterling too,
I must earn cash to support, my tutor also,
but for whose neural instructions I could never
acknowledge what is or imagine what is not.
Instinctively passive, I guess, having neither
fangs nor talons nor hooves nor venom, and therefore
too prone to let the sun go down upon Your funk,
a poor smeller, or rather a censor of smells,
with an omnivore palate that can take hot food.
– W.H. Auden (1971)