Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes has been attributed with being the last of the Spanish Old Masters, while credited at times with being the father of modern art; not only because of the liberties he took in rendering his subjects and the treatment of space and light, but also for his subversive critique of Spanish society.

Having studied such greats as Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez and Rembrandt van Rijn, and creating reproductions of their work, Goya turned out to be a great romantic painter—both a chronicler and commentator of his era. Additionally, he was the official painter for 4 successive kings, thus witnessing a side of life that many were not privileged to see.  Few artists in the 18^th century were engaged in political critique attacking the hypocrisy rampant in society. xxxxxx

 

Though a contemporary of the influential French artist, Jacques-Louis David, who also made his artistic mark with the historic, Brutus Receiving The Dead Bodies of His Sons, and the Oath of the Tennis Court, at the onset of the French Revolution, Goya rejected the fashionable Neo-Classical artistic approach.  He produced masterpiece paintings throughout his career, albeit a portion of his inventive output is found in his works on paper, evident in the renowned print series of the Caprichos and the Disasters of War.  These phantasmagorical images encapsulated the social zeitgeist of the era—a time of revolution, transformation, and technological advancement.  The Enlightenment contributed to social reform even as the devastating effects of Napoleon’s advance across Europe impacted Spain greatly.

Right: ‘Y no hay remedio’ (And it cannot be helped). Prisoners executed by firing squads, reminiscent of The Third of May 1808. From the ‘Disasters of War’ series. Prado, Madrid.

The name Goya is often affiliated with the word ‘Greatness;’ thus when the Boston Museum of Fine Arts presented the exhibition Goya: Order/Disorder, one might have expected to find a commanding show of superb work.  Instead what one sees at the MFA is an academic exhibition peppered with a few significant paintings but mostly of drawings, prints and lengthy didactic labels.  Traversing this display one feels as if you are walking through an academic textbook organized by thematic chapters.  If this exhibition were at a university art museum, this quality would be a perfectly understandable; however, showcasing it at the MFA makes it a questionable matter!

Organized by two senior museum curators Stephanie Stepanek (curator of prints and drawings), and Frederick Ilchman (curator of paintings and chair of Art of Europe), it contains 170 works, including paintings, prints and drawings that are co-mingled throughout the show.  The exhibition is billed as the largest retrospective of Goya’s work in North America in nearly a quarter century.  However, here is where the first yellow penalty flag is thrown down—how could this exhibition be referred to as a significant retrospective when numerous iconic works are absent?  Missing are such monumental pieces as Carlos IV of Spain and His Family (1800), The Third of May, 1808 (left, collection Museo del Prado, Madrid), La maja desnuda (1800) and La maja vestida (1803-05), as well as The Colossus (1808-12) and Saturn Devouring One of his Children (1819-23). Yes, yes, one expects to see his great pieces at the Prado, however the MFA’s calling this show a retrospective and alluding to it as being the most important show of Goya in 25 years does not add up.  Moreover, when one third of the work in the exhibition, comes from the MFA’s collection [66 pieces], one cannot begin to wonder if mounting a brand-name artistic pageant was a timely way “to draw in the crowds” for the Holiday Season.

As an apparent replacement for the exceptional works mentioned above, it is a collection organized around thematic groupings, referred to by its curator as a “reshuffled retrospective.”  Such thematic displays and revisionist history were especially prevalent at the height of Post-Modernism; unfortunately, as with many such exhibitions, their theoretical rationalization often failed badly.  One might recall Smithsonian American Art’s disastrous exhibition, “The West as America: Reinterpreting Images of the Frontier, 1820-1920,” and its sweeping interpretations for the sake of rectifying the wrongs of pre-Deconstructivist American history.

Right: Frederick Ilchman, the MFA’s curator of paintings and chair of Art of Europe, co-curated “Goya: Order and Disorder” with Stephanie Stepanek.

The curators in Boston assembled thematic groupings so as to delve into Goya’s life instead of focusing on solid work. According to the MFA’s press release, “The curators grouped the works in Goya: Order and Disorder, and its accompanying publication, into eight categories highlighting the significant themes that captured Goya’s attention and imagination.  These included, ‘Goya Looks at Himself,’ ‘Games, Play and Prey,’ ‘In the Balance,’ ‘Other Worlds, Other States—Spirituality and Dreams,’ and ‘Capturing History.’  As with many displays that are oft difficult to amass, the outcome is a heavy-handed assortment of work and gallery walls filled with text.  Back-story material should not become the foundation of an exhibition—well written biographies can and do provide much information about artists and authors.

Early on, Ilchman recognized that this thematic approach could draw criticism and in its defense said, “People might object to a thematic structure and say it’s better to do things chronologically, because you can see the development of an artist’s ideas, but Goya goes back and forth chronologically, and he didn’t just do this for paintings or drawings or prints. They’re linked completely,” said Ilchman. “Since an artist’s mind doesn’t have compartments, why should an exhibition?”  Swaying away from the chronological norm can afford new refreshing insights.  However, it is how one goes about it and what is actually presented that will impact the final display.  Juxtaposing paintings, prints, and drawings to highlight a specific theme can be very successful in bringing about new acumen on an artist’s ideas and career development; yet, when an exhibition lacks his or her significant works, appears forced and requires the viewer to read countless labels and wall text, it is another matter!

Left: The Family of the Infante Don Luis (1784). In a reflexive gesture, Goya appears as the painter, in the lower left. Prado, Madrid.

In order not to be bored with this show, one needed to judiciously scrutinize each room and zero in on only a few works and texts.  Trying to absorb each smallish image on paper and its information became a taxing exercise.  The entrance gallery, Goya Looks at Himself, does hold its own with several significant self-portraits and a notable painting, The Family of the Infante Don Luis, 1784.  This complex group family portrait of King Charles III’s brother depicts 14 notables including Goya who stands confidently at an easel working on a large unidentified canvas.

Right: ‘The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters’ (El sueño de la razon produce monstruos), drawn and etched 1797–98, published 1799. Etching and aquatint with burnishing (first edition). Bequest of Eleanor A. Sayre.

Goya for the most part is best known for depicting the grotesque, the dark side of humanity and the brutality of war.  The collection of Caprichos prints, addressing ignorance and superstition, is an impressively fierce social critique portraying a blend of fantasy and realism.  The scenes throughout this series are entirely imagined, however, were inspired by prevailing circumstances in Spain.  The MFA’s etching of The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters, 1797-99 (El sueño de la razon produce monstruos), is a familiar image in which the artist is sleeping at a desk and a nightmare of monsters looms in the background.

Providing relief from the endless array of drawings, prints, angst, and text is a long gallery filled with his portrayals of friends and aristocratic clients that are direct, psychological and realistic.  Two exceptional likenesses hang here; one is of the Duchess of Alba, (a painting owned by the Hispanic Society of America) newly widowed and the other, Antonia Sarate, a leading actress and mother of the playwright Gil y Zarate, a favorite of Goya’s because of her sel-assured beauty.  The former is a large vertical portrayal of the duchess, centrally positioned, standing stoically in gorgeous, black lace mourning attire with a bright red sash around her waist and stylish, glittering pointed shoes. Erect in the austere Andalusian landscape, she stares emotionless evincing a commanding presence yet, points to the ground where it is inscribed “Solo Goya.”

Left: ‘María del Pilar Teresa Cayetana de Silva Álvarez de Toledo y Silva, Thirteenth Duchess of Alba’ (1797).

Some believe that this enigmatic work hints at the intimate relationship presumed between the artist and the lady.  Curiously, nearby hangs another excellent portrait of her late, handsome husband, the Duke of Alba, who had died the previous year.  Goya’s portrayal of Antonia Sarate, shows a perfectly composed subject on a yellow settee, wearing a fine lace mantilla over a fashionable dress. The detail in this work is extraordinary.  Poised in her private thoughts, her expression reminds one of the mysterious Mona Lisa.

Goya’s fascination with death is captured in a large, bizarre painting, infrequently shown, titled Time [Old Women] (1810-12).  Two aged women ravaged by time sit quietly, clinging to their outdated finery trying to pretend to still be attractive. One holds a mirror inscribed, “Que tal: How goes it; How Do I Look?” Behind the two seated women looms a skeletal figure resembling the angel of death, Azrael, ready to take their souls to the land of the dead.

Right: ‘The Straw Manikin’ (1791-92), oil on canvas, 267 x 160 cm. Museo del Prado, Madrid.

The coupling of the painting The Straw Manikin [sic] (1792), a playful scene of women tossing a doll manikin in the air—with a tapestry interpretation of the same composition—provides an interesting pairing for visual scrutiny and translation.  The former was the cartoon study for the tapestry to be hung in Carlos IV’s office at El Escorial.  Other tapestries made for Charles III’s dining room read merely as pleasing decorative still life imagery.

Despite Goya’s admiration of the Bull Fight, the inclusion of a long row of prints depicting varying bullfight scenes becomes tiresome.  However, the presence of several miniature portraits, especially of his new daughter-in-law in profile, is a jewel capturing her youth and gentle likeness.

Left: ‘Witches in Flight’ (1797-98). 17 x 12″. Museo del Prado, Madrid

Witches’ Sabbath (1797-98) and Witches Flight (1797-98), are highlights in the section focusing on the darker side of life and represent a key subject of Romanticism as found in Weber’s opera “Der Freischutz.” The Duke and Duchess of Osuna were patrons of Goya who supported this kind of work.  The subjects of covens and witches are repeated in his art; they allowed Goya to explore fear and the unknown through ugly and erotic themes.  The witch/good/evil theme metaphorically represents the vicious scuffle among enlightened liberals and of the church and royalist lead state. These early compositions evince a link to the Black Paintings. Most notable from the latter group is the Witches’ Sabbath or The Great He-Goat (1821-23). Albert Boime, in Art in an Age of Counterrevolution, 1815-1848, expressed that “Goya’s depictions of such scenes mocked what he saw as medieval fears exploited by the established order for political and capital gain.

Above: ‘Witches Sabbath or The Great He-Goat’ (1821-23). 55 x 170″. Museo del Prado, Madrid.

In 1966, Susan Sontag published a powerful book of essays, Against Interpretation, concluding that interpretation had become “the intellect’s revenge upon art.” That very stretch of interpretation abounds in this Goya exhibition.  A fine example of that extension is clear in the final section of this show.  Viewers are witness to the paintings Self-Portrait with Doctor Arrieta, 1820, below, right, (a gift of appreciation to the doctor), and The Last Communion of St. Joseph Calasanz, 1819, (a religious commemorative altarpiece), sanctifying the death of this controversial priest who dared to criticize Father Stefano Cherubini’s sexual transgressions in the 1640s.

Undoubtedly, both are outstanding works representing homage to distinct individuals with whom Goya held a special history.  The former is a gift to Dr. Arrieta, who cured Goya from a grave illness, prolonging his life for eight years.  In this portrayal, one sees a frail Goya supported by his doctor/friend, patiently offering him a glass of water.  In the backdrop one perceives spectral figures looming, reminiscent of the nightmarish phantoms observed in his late Pinturas Negras, or “Black Paintings”. The other work, an ecclesiastical commission for an altarpiece in the Saint’s chapel, is of St. Joseph Calasanz, who came from Goya’s hometown of Aragon.  A deep sense of humanity and compassion pervades here depicting the elderly Catholic priest receiving his last Communion with humble dignity before a group of sad devotees.  As David conveyed a personal involvement and empathy when painting the portrait of friend and fellow comrade Marat, Goya perchance sustained a special intensity and religious devotion for this priest who was a fellow Aragonese, canonized in Goya’s lifetime (1767), and was the founder of the religious schools that are said to have provided his education in Saragossa.

Because of the artist’s personal history to these subjects, the curator may have connected the two paintings under the thematic link of life and death. Whilst life and death do underlie each composition, it is nevertheless a bit of a stretch given that the subject matter and intent of each painting differ considerably.

Left: ‘Seated Giant’ (by 1818), aquatint with burnishing and scraping, first state. Katherine E. Bullard Fund in memory of Francis Bullard.

What one can conclude after seeing this show is that Goya was a conventional painter—necessary in order to sustain his court position and please his aristocratic clients.  Conversely, a resourceful expression abounds in his drawings and prints.  Goya’s influential contribution to the legacy of art can be appreciated in the work of such greats as Delacroix, Manet, Degas, Picasso; Otto Dix, Salvador Dali, Francis Bacon and Leon Golub; Robert Gober, the Chapman Brothers and even Tony Oursler.  For a future thematic show of Goya’s works, one might consider juxtaposing a cross-disciplinary range of art by modern and contemporary artists that comment on the terrors and pleasures of humanity.  This, imaginably, could yield a stimulating exhibition where the work will speak for itself!

By: Elaine A. King, Contributing Writer

Elaine is Professor of History of Art, Criticism/Theory & Museum Studies at Carnegie Mellon University, and a freelance curator/critic living in the Washington, DC area.