
Starry Night
Van Gogh painted the churning sky and its eleven stars from a window of the asylum at Saint-Rémy, partly from memory.

Van Gogh painted the churning sky and its eleven stars from a window of the asylum at Saint-Rémy, partly from memory.

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.

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.

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.

The strap fell off her shoulder in the 1884 version, Paris was scandalized, her family demanded it come down, and Sargent repainted the strap.

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

The background ripples around his head like a current in the same blue-green as his suit, and his beard burns red against it.

Van Gogh set up outside and painted the terrace on the spot after dark, pleased that he had used no black at all.

Van Gogh wanted a room where a man could ruin himself or go mad, and got it with red walls and a green ceiling.

Van Gogh loved the cypress and compared it to an Egyptian obelisk, then set one flaming up the right side of a Provençal field.

One white iris stands alone among a whole bed of blue-violet ones, the blades twisting and crowding right up to the edge of the canvas.

A basket of colored wool sits in the front, the Seine glitters behind, and the whole thing is about how good an afternoon can be.

Three Breton women in white caps kneel at a wooden cross in an autumn field, everything flattened into blocks of color like stained glass.

Gaslights along the Arles quay drop long quivering reflections into the water, the Great Bear overhead, a couple walking arm in arm below.

Van Gogh made the faces deliberately coarse and the browns deliberately muddy, wanting it clear that these people had dug the meal themselves.

Seurat painted this to prove the dots could handle a nude, and hung his own Grande Jatte on the studio wall behind them.

Two women with parasols on a clifftop in Normandy, the grass and their dresses going the same direction as the wind.

He stands in bathing trunks with his hands on his hips, built out of planes and given the same weight as a mountain.

The hills buckle and heave in the same thick strokes he gave his skies, so that the rock ends up moving too.