
Parthenon Sculptures (Elgin Marbles)
The goddesses of the east pediment wear drapery so wet it clings. Elgin took the marbles to London in 1801 and Greece wants them back.

The goddesses of the east pediment wear drapery so wet it clings. Elgin took the marbles to London in 1801 and Greece wants them back.

A steam tug hauls a Trafalgar warship off to be broken up. Turner refused to sell the picture and left it to the nation.

A couple joins hands in a Bruges bedroom, and the mirror behind them catches two visitors at the door. Van Eyck signed the wall above it.

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

England ignored it, but the Paris Salon awarded it a gold medal in 1824 and sent Delacroix back to rework his own canvases.

Bacchus leaps from his chariot toward Ariadne while Theseus's ship slips off the horizon, painted for a duke's private chamber in Ferrara.

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.

The king kills lions released into an arena to prove he can protect his people, and the dying animals are carved with startling tenderness.

Two men pose with globes, sundials and a lute with a broken string, and a smear on the floor turns into a skull from the side.

Over ten meters long and tied from perhaps twenty-six million knots, woven for a shrine and inscribed with a longing line of Hafiz.

Some blooms burst with petals and others have gone to seed, all yellow on yellow, painted to decorate the house where Gauguin was to come.

Warhol silkscreened a publicity photo fifty times just after Monroe died, bright on one half and smudging away to nothing on the other.

One disciple grips his chair to stand and the other throws his arms wide, while a fruit basket teeters off the edge toward us.

Three flayed creatures crane and scream on orange grounds. Shown as the war ended in 1945, they made Bacon's reputation overnight.

The oba wore it at his hip, its crown made of tiny Portuguese heads. A British expedition looted it from Benin in 1897.

Working men bathe on the bank while factory chimneys smoke across the river, the figures given the weight of a classical frieze.

The old painter holds his brushes and palette, and behind him two large arcs are drawn on the wall that nobody has explained.

A girl with a reptile's body offers a honeycomb and Time pulls back a curtain. The cold puzzle was probably a gift for the French king.

The wary, straight-on gaze is what a painter sees in a mirror, which is why this is probably van Eyck looking at himself.

An old man works the ropes without knowing the young man in the bushes is looking straight up her skirts. A slipper flies off.

Picasso pulled her out of the screaming mother in Guernica and gave her the face of Dora Maar, his lover and a photographer.

Black lines, white ground, three primary colors and nothing else. Mondrian spent decades taking painting down to this and called it Neo-Plasticism.

Lichtenstein blew a single war-comic panel up to mural scale across two canvases, Ben-Day dots, caption box and all.

Bellini painted the brocade thread by thread and turned the official portrait from a profile on a coin into a man met face to face.

Erasmus rests his hands on a book whose edge is inscribed The Labors of Hercules, his own joke about how much scholarship costs.

He is neither laughing nor a cavalier. The lace and gold thread on that sleeve were flicked on in a few confident strokes.

The second version, painted to settle a long quarrel with the confraternity. Everyone now has a halo and the angel has stopped pointing.

Saint Ursula is on the quay somewhere, but the real subject is the light coming up the water between the palaces at dawn.

The sun sits low over a glassy harbor and floods everything. Turner admired it so much he insisted his own work hang beside it.

Part boiler, part elephant, with a tusked hose coming out of its head. Ernst took the shape from a photograph of an African grain bin.

Red-clad hunters and dogs funnel into a black wood toward a single vanishing point. One of the earliest night scenes on an Italian panel.

Picasso's classical calm breaks here into something jagged and violent, the limbs flung out almost crucified, set off by the death of an old friend.

Mars sleeps the sleep of the spent lover while satyrs make off with his lance, one blowing a conch in his ear without waking him.

Blake's Urizen leans out of the sun with a golden compass to measure the void, and Blake was not sure whether to admire him.

Pissarro painted these boulevards from a hotel window over and over, but only once after dark, the gaslight smeared across wet pavement.

The princess has the dragon on a leash made from her own belt, and a spiral storm cloud winds up behind the saint.

Lazarus heaves upright still wrapped in his shroud while the crowd recoils from the smell. Michelangelo supplied drawings to help beat Raphael.

Marie-Thérèse asleep beside a sculpture of her own head and a philodendron, from the year Picasso could seemingly do nothing wrong.

Mantegna carved the rock like an engraver while Judas already leads the soldiers down the road. His brother-in-law Bellini painted the same scene, softer.

A red cap, a parapet, and a gaze that meets yours. Antonello brought the Netherlandish portrait into Italy and killed off the profile.