
Bird in Space
American customs taxed it as industrial metal until Brancusi v. United States in 1928 forced the law to recognize abstract sculpture as art.

American customs taxed it as industrial metal until Brancusi v. United States in 1928 forced the law to recognize abstract sculpture as art.

Three paths run into the wheat and none of them go anywhere. Painted at Auvers in his last weeks, and read too neatly ever since.

One plump bullfinch on a cherry sprig, a poem written beside it. The other Hokusai, quiet and exact, nothing like the wave.

Stolen from the Musée d'Art Moderne in Paris in 2010 and never recovered, so it survives here only as a photograph.

The story runs across the canvas in stages, arrival to departure. A later owner cut Leda's head out in disgust and it was repainted.

The same story at miniature scale, squeezed into a predella panel, and Giotto loses none of the plainness that made it convincing.

Courbet took the nude to the Salon with her hair loose, her body relaxed, and a parrot on her hand instead of a myth.

Nothing in the picture touches anything else. Dalí built it on the physics of the atom, where matter is mostly empty space.

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.

A child holding a white dove with a colored ball at its feet, painted just as Picasso's palette was cooling toward blue.

The swan nips her hand and Leda barely reacts. Cézanne cared about the planes of the body, not the story.