
Hunters in the Snow
Three hunters come home over the hill with one thin catch while villagers skate below. Bruegel painted it for a series on the months.

Three hunters come home over the hill with one thin catch while villagers skate below. Bruegel painted it for a series on the months.

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

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

Eleven centimeters of limestone from beside the Danube, once tinted red, with a woven cap covering the whole head and no face at all.

The tower is already leaning as it goes up, and Bruegel drew the cranes and ramps in enough detail that you could nearly build it.

Two men carry the porridge in on an unhinged door, the bagpiper eyes it hungrily, and the bride sits idle under her paper crown.

Every whisker set down separately, and in the dark eye a studio window is reflected. Dürer signed an animal study as a finished work.

Zeus arrives as a shower of gold and the old nurse scrambles to catch the coins in her apron while Danae simply reclines.

A study for an altarpiece that later burned, so the drawing has outlived the painting it was made to serve.

Jupiter has turned himself into a grey cloud, and a dim face and hand come out of the mist to hold her.

Around two hundred children playing some eighty different games, no adults anywhere, and no particular place for the eye to start.

Death stands at the left in a patterned robe holding a club, watching a heap of sleeping people who have not noticed him.

The serpent stands upright against the tree with a near-human face, and every leaf in the garden is catalogued one by one.

Saul sprawls on the ground with his arm up while the white horse rears above him with something close to ballet in it.

A head made of cracked bark and bare twigs, standing for the dying year and, flatteringly, for a Habsburg dynasty that stays evergreen.

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

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

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

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