
The Virgin and Child (Ugolino)
The Child reaches up to grasp the edge of his mother's veil. Ugolino followed Duccio more closely than anyone else did.

The Child reaches up to grasp the edge of his mother's veil. Ugolino followed Duccio more closely than anyone else did.

A young man glances up from his guitar mid-song. Greuze usually painted tearful moral lessons, and here he simply does not.

Overbeck and the Nazarenes lived almost as monks in Rome and painted deliberately like the Italians before Raphael. This is the program.

Painted on the wall of a friar's cell at San Marco, stripped of gold and ornament so that it settles the mind rather than dazzles.

One of the Impressionist canvases he owned hangs on the wall behind him. Caillebotte's money and his bequest kept the movement alive.

The whole coast reduced to a few flat zones of color and some quick line. Picasso old, settled in the south, and enjoying himself.

A steward tastes from a bowl and a portly servant tends the jars, and the miracle goes by almost without anyone noticing.

Christ's fingertips cross out of the human part of the picture and blur into light, which is the whole event in one detail.

Christ turns up dressed as a pilgrim with a staff and a traveler's pouch, and the two disciples still have no idea who he is.

Christ stands to place the host on each tongue exactly as a priest does at Mass, in a bare cell-like room with stools.

The head arrives on a platter inside a serene sunlit loggia full of well-dressed Florentines, many of them the family who paid.

Late Botticelli, with the early lightness gone tense. He had fallen under Savonarola's spell and his religious pictures never relaxed again.

Christ strides into the cave to pull Adam out by the hand, treading on a chained Satan as he goes.

Christ kneels with the basin and Peter, flustered, raises a hand to his own head. Some of the others are already loosening their sandals.

Angels dart and grieve around the cross while the Magdalene, hair loose, kneels to embrace its foot. A leaf from a travelling altarpiece.

The feast on the left, the severed head delivered on the right, both staged in a colonnade built with Masaccio's new perspective.

Elizabeth sinks down and clasps the pregnant Mary. Ghirlandaio ran the busiest workshop in Florence, and a boy named Michelangelo apprenticed there.

The tiny kneeling figures in the corners are the Nuremberg family who paid for it, inserted so they could share in the grief.

Coins and cards on the table and a great deal of sidelong glancing. Somebody is being cheated, and the intrigue may not be financial.

An inscription gives his age as ninety-three. Dürer drew him in Antwerp and used the head soon after for a Saint Jerome.

Dossi swapped Apollo's ancient lyre for a modern viol, and Daphne is already sprouting into laurel in the far distance.

Christ stands with his eyes lowered while the faces around him are twisted into snarls. Matsys made ugliness do the moral work.

Every apostle is named in gold and Judas sits apart with a darkened halo, which makes the panel a teaching aid as much as a picture.

Rubens worked this out in Rome while studying Caravaggio, a rehearsal for the great Descent he would paint back home in Antwerp.

Hundreds of minutely painted fish, baskets and hagglers. They called him Velvet Bruegel for exactly this kind of finish.

The shepherd carries the twins home to his wife with the she-wolf still nearby. Rome's founding myth as a foundling story.

Munch painted this while under treatment in a clinic, and the crucified figure hemmed in by leering faces is not hard to read.

Bacon used the shape of the cross as an armature for meat rather than religion, with a snarling animal fixed on top.

The angel comes down to stop the knife, in the deep reds and blues Chagall used for his late cycle of biblical paintings.

Christ in vivid red is hauled by a rope through the gate of a white, many-towered Jerusalem while children scamper at the edge.

Christ rises with his banner while an unearthly dawn detonates behind him in bands of orange and scarlet over black crags.

Servants stoop over the great stone jars in the foreground to draw out wine that was water a moment ago.

A soldier drags Christ out through the city gate by his robe, the diagonal of the cross cutting against a bristling line of lances.

Six angels lean in along the throne with their heads tilted, which turns a rigid Byzantine formula into something nearly intimate.

The Virgin lies on the hillside and turns to lay her son in the manger, looking at his face. No gold, just a cold blue sky.

The Child lies on the ground giving off his own light across the straw and his mother's face. One of the first paintings lit from inside.

Serene, elegant nudes about to ruin everything. It faces Masaccio's Expulsion across the same chapel, calm before the Fall against anguish after.

Gilded hems, fluttering wings, a walled garden behind. Lippi was a friar with a worldly streak and it shows in the ornament.

Only the Virgin and Saint John below the cross, and a river winding past a walled town. Early Bellini, carrying feeling in the light.

Painted on a refectory wall so the monks dined at the end of the same table. Leonardo would blow the arrangement apart a few years later.

Perugino taught Raphael, and the poise, the airy arcade and the soft Umbrian valley here pass almost unchanged into the pupil's work.

Owls carried centuries of symbolism in the north, but Dürer's is mostly just an owl, looking back at you with its talons over a ledge.

Thousands are clubbed and thrown off cliffs, and Dürer paints himself walking calmly through the middle of it holding a banner with his name.

A milkmaid, a herdsman and two cows, and almost nothing happening. One of the first prints to take peasants as a subject worth the burin.

Gabriel kneels at the right and points across at a Virgin drawing back in surprise, with a stretch of classical ruin between them.

Joseph reaches up to pull down dates from a palm while Saint Francis kneels at the side, added for the chapel that ordered it.

A cucumber nose, a peach cheek, a garlic-clove ear, and Arcimboldo's own name woven into the collar of plaited straw.

A head of pears and pomegranates crowned with grapes, sitting in a split wooden barrel bound with willow hoops. The season of the wine harvest.

Rosebud lips, a lily for a nose, and hair made of tulips and peonies. The freshest and most delicate of the four seasons.

Two fingers raised in a gesture reaching back to Byzantium, one hand on a crystal orb, the face long and sorrowful and unmistakably his.

A few sweeps of brush and brown ink, most of the paper left bare, and the whole weight of a sleeping head is there.

Venus in a pearly sea with nymphs, tritons and putti all around, made entirely to delight and not at all to instruct.

Hercules, poisoned and raving, grabs the boy by the hair and one leg and throws him. Canova almost never carved anything this violent.

An old man on two sticks, with Aun aprendo written underneath. Goya drew it in exile and failing health, near the end.

Degas turned from dancers to financiers, catching heads bent close over documents in the crush of the Paris exchange.

A family at breakfast, posed so stiffly in the glare that the comfortable room turns faintly airless. Every surface is built from dots.

Provençal women at a hilltop well above a blue bay, the dots loosening into curves and the science giving way to pleasure.

One puff of steam drifts across a curving shoreline, the modern world putting a small mark on a landscape that had none.

A doll-like figure by a still pool under a tower with a clock face. Ernst had been looking hard at de Chirico's empty squares.

Two heavy young men press close together over a letter, and the intimacy is usually read as a memorial to Apollinaire.