When Of course there are mermaids first appeared in print, it delighted readers with its sly humor and gentle subversion of Victorian norms. Charles Dana Gibson, best known for creating the iconic "Gibson Girl," here turns his sharp eye to the world of fantasy, blending the everyday with the impossible. The title itself, with its matter-of-fact certainty, hints at the playful skepticism of the era—when science and myth often collided in the public imagination.

The work’s exact date and medium remain uncertain, but its style unmistakably belongs to the late 19th or early 20th century, when illustrated magazines brought such images into thousands of homes. In this scene, a group of elegant men and women gather at the edge of a rocky shore, their attention fixed on a figure half-hidden among the waves—a mermaid, unmistakable by her flowing hair and fish’s tail. The moment Gibson chooses is one of revelation and disbelief: the onlookers’ postures range from curiosity to polite skepticism, while the mermaid herself appears both coy and self-assured. The artist’s trademark pen-and-ink linework captures the crisp detail of fashionable dress and the shimmer of water, blurring the line between reality and fantasy.

Unlike the tragic mermaids of John William Waterhouse or the threatening sirens of earlier art, Gibson’s creature is approachable, even witty—a reflection of his era’s fascination with both progress and the persistence of wonder. The original publication context of Of course there are mermaids is not fully documented, but works like this were typically created for illustrated periodicals such as Life or Harper’s Weekly, where Gibson was a regular contributor. As with many of his drawings, the piece would have been reproduced as a print, reaching a wide audience and influencing popular ideas about femininity and fantasy. Today, original Gibson drawings are prized by collectors and held in major American museums, though this particular work’s whereabouts are unclear.

It stands as a testament to Gibson’s wit and his ability to capture the spirit of his time—balancing skepticism with a lingering hope that, just maybe, the impossible might still be true.