
Las Meninas
The Infanta and her maids fill the room, but Velázquez has put himself at his easel and the king and queen in a mirror behind.

The Infanta and her maids fill the room, but Velázquez has put himself at his easel and the king and queen in a mirror behind.

More than eight hundred figures crowd five meters of scroll, and Chinese painters have been copying and forging it for nine hundred years.

Munch said an infinite scream was passing through nature, and put two figures on the bridge behind who walk on without noticing.

A militia company surges out of the shadow with a dog barking and a girl glowing among the men. Varnish, not night, made it dark.

Seurat spent two years building this riverbank out of tiny dots of unmixed color, applying optical theory to a crowd standing oddly still.

Manet worked from a real barmaid named Suzon and put her reflection in the wrong place, which people have been arguing about ever since.

Two lovers kneel wrapped in a single gold robe, rectangles patterning his side of it and circles hers, on a meadow of flowers.

A naked woman picnics with two clothed men and looks calmly out at us. The Salon refused it, so it hung with the rejects.

A court lady steps between a lunging bear and the emperor. What survives is a later copy, crowded with the seals of everyone who owned it.

Fourteen of Renoir's friends linger over the wreckage of lunch above the Seine, his future wife among them, cooing at a dog on the table.

Thirty-two canvases, one for every variety Campbell's then sold, hung in a row like stock on a supermarket shelf.

Two saints lower a nobleman into his grave while his soul slips through a tear in the sky. The mourners are El Greco's own neighbors.

Cézanne used local farmhands as models and painted several versions, stripping the old tavern subject down until only two men and a bottle remain.

Five figures wheel in a ring against blue and green, reduced to three colors and the strain of holding hands at speed.

A lion sniffs at a sleeper in the desert without waking her. Rousseau was a customs officer who never took a lesson.

A kitchen maid pours a thin stream of milk in ordinary daylight, given the weight and stillness usually reserved for saints.

Sunlight comes through the trees in patches over a Montmartre dance floor, a big ambitious canvas given over entirely to a Sunday afternoon.

Courbet gave an ordinary village funeral the scale reserved for kings and saints, and the critics were furious about it.

Nudes lounge and pipe and dance in a ring in a glade of colors nothing in nature has, a Fauve idyll from 1906.

Vermeer never sold this one. The model poses as Clio, muse of history, with a great map of the Netherlands filling the wall behind.