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Great Works: 50 Paintings Explored
The best of Tom Lubbock, one of Britain's most intelligent, outspoken and revelatory art critics, is collected here for the first time.
There are electrifying insights - using Hitchcock's Suspicion to explore the lighting effects in a Zurbarán still life, imagining three short films to tease out the meanings of El Greco's Boy Lighting a Candle - and cool judgements - how Vuillard's genius is confined to a single decade, when he worked at home, why Ingres is really 'an exciting wierdo'.
Ranging with passionate perspicacity over eight hundred years of Western art, whether it's Giotto's raging vices, Guston's 'slobbish, squidgy' pinks, Géricault's pile of truncated limbs or Gwen John's Girl in a Blue Dress, Tom Lubbock writes with immediacy and authority about the fifty works which most gripped his imagination.
There are electrifying insights - using Hitchcock's Suspicion to explore the lighting effects in a Zurbarán still life, imagining three short films to tease out the meanings of El Greco's Boy Lighting a Candle - and cool judgements - how Vuillard's genius is confined to a single decade, when he worked at home, why Ingres is really 'an exciting wierdo'.
Ranging with passionate perspicacity over eight hundred years of Western art, whether it's Giotto's raging vices, Guston's 'slobbish, squidgy' pinks, Géricault's pile of truncated limbs or Gwen John's Girl in a Blue Dress, Tom Lubbock writes with immediacy and authority about the fifty works which most gripped his imagination.
- GenresArtNonfictionEssays
216 pages, Hardcover
First published November 22, 2011
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
February 18, 2019
When I was a college student, I took an art history class. Before the first class began, I was excited about it. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a bust - at least for me. The way it was set up was, memorize certain artists and dates, and recognize certain works and know what you're supposed to see in them. Anything else you might see was a no go. I was turned off by that format. It seemed like a memorization game, and a game I had no interest in playing.
Over he years, I've tended to find my own way in the world of art (and in music and literature). The downside of that is that there are large gaps (historical and otherwise) in my knowledge of art, which I regret. Usually, though, when there's a downside, there's also an upside. The upside here is that I've discovered worlds of pleasure and enjoyment that I might never have experienced if I had pursued art in a more academic way.
Which brings me to Tom Lubbock's book, Great Works. The format of the book is that fifty paintings are displayed, with an accompanying two page text by Mr. Lubbock after each work.
(I should mention that the texts are taken from newspaper columns that Mr. Lubbock wrote over a period of years. I should also mention that the newspaper, the Independent is (or was when Mr. Lubbock's columns were written) unlike any newspaper I know in the U.S. I don't know of any U.S. newspaper that would publish anything like Tom Lubbock's columns.)
Mr. Lubbock makes connections that I would never think of - connecting a still life by Juan Sanchez-Cotan with a great story about Tallulah Bankhead; pointing out the way in which Pietro Longhi makes use (or non-use, in this case) of perspective to create social and emotional effects in a painting; commenting that Hopper's Early Sunday Morning "is a view without a viewer" - I can't imagine a more telling comment.
If by some miracle, Tom Lubbock had taught that art history class I took (he'd have been too young to have done so), or if his book had been used as a text (it hadn't been written yet), my path through the worlds of art might have been a very different one. The good news for me is that Great Works has helped to teach me to see paintings in very different ways than I had done so before. For that reason alone, Great Works has a place of honor on my bookshelves.
I have to give a tip of the cap and many thanks to my Goodreads friend Tony, whose review tipped me off to Great Works and led me to buy a copy. Here's his review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Over he years, I've tended to find my own way in the world of art (and in music and literature). The downside of that is that there are large gaps (historical and otherwise) in my knowledge of art, which I regret. Usually, though, when there's a downside, there's also an upside. The upside here is that I've discovered worlds of pleasure and enjoyment that I might never have experienced if I had pursued art in a more academic way.
Which brings me to Tom Lubbock's book, Great Works. The format of the book is that fifty paintings are displayed, with an accompanying two page text by Mr. Lubbock after each work.
(I should mention that the texts are taken from newspaper columns that Mr. Lubbock wrote over a period of years. I should also mention that the newspaper, the Independent is (or was when Mr. Lubbock's columns were written) unlike any newspaper I know in the U.S. I don't know of any U.S. newspaper that would publish anything like Tom Lubbock's columns.)
Mr. Lubbock makes connections that I would never think of - connecting a still life by Juan Sanchez-Cotan with a great story about Tallulah Bankhead; pointing out the way in which Pietro Longhi makes use (or non-use, in this case) of perspective to create social and emotional effects in a painting; commenting that Hopper's Early Sunday Morning "is a view without a viewer" - I can't imagine a more telling comment.
If by some miracle, Tom Lubbock had taught that art history class I took (he'd have been too young to have done so), or if his book had been used as a text (it hadn't been written yet), my path through the worlds of art might have been a very different one. The good news for me is that Great Works has helped to teach me to see paintings in very different ways than I had done so before. For that reason alone, Great Works has a place of honor on my bookshelves.
I have to give a tip of the cap and many thanks to my Goodreads friend Tony, whose review tipped me off to Great Works and led me to buy a copy. Here's his review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
February 13, 2019
(Thank you Goodreads Giveaways).
This book is about 50 paintings by 50 artists, each accompanied by personal reflections by Lubbock, a critic who died just this year. The 'reflections' all consider the paintings but in the context of events, styles or histories.
So the odd Painter's Table by Philip Guston, something I would never hang in my dining room, is considered first by examining Pinkstinks, the slogan of a campaign in 2009 opposing the use of the color 'pink' for girls.
How does Daumier paint motion into the human body? Take your clothes off. Yes, all of them. And stand in front of a mirror. Contort yourself. Have someone try, just try, to trace you.
Which "little patch of yellow wall" in Vermeer's View of Delft was Proust talking about in Vol. 5 of Remembrance of Things Past? How is Zurbaran like Alfred Hitchcock? How did Tallulah Bankhead upstage a rival actress without even being on stage? And what does that have to do with the quince, cabbage, melon and cucumber in Sanchez-Cotan's painting of the same name? Masaccio's Adam had his penis exposed for 300 years, then had it covered by leaves for almost 300 more. It's back out in the open now and Lubbock, having looked at it a lot, tells us what it means.
Here is my favorite painting in the bunch, The Dog by Goya:
I was unaware of this piece. But I found it really moving. And I disagree with Lubbock's analysis of meaning. (Am I allowed to do that?). Lubbock notes that there appears to be another shadowy 'figure' above and to the right of the dog. And then he tells us to disregard it. Really? How could we, now? Why would we? I mean, Goya didn't put it there for nothing. But Lubbock is right that the 'figure' appears differently depending on which reproduction you view:
In the reproduction in the book, the 'figure' is barely detectable and maybe appears to be two figures, scraggly like Picasso's Don Quixote, making me think of two soldiers, worn down by war, or a mother and child maybe, walking away, hopeless.
In any event, the painting seemed dystopian to me. Full of sadness. Maybe at the individual, personal level, the dog pining over the one who meant so much and is now gone. But maybe for me at a more historical or allegorical level, as if humanity itself is gone, or could be.
It made me think once again of Saramago's dog Constant in Seeing and listening to Niels-Henning Orsted Pedersen's Those That Were and the feeling I've always had whenever someone I've loved has gone away.
This book is about 50 paintings by 50 artists, each accompanied by personal reflections by Lubbock, a critic who died just this year. The 'reflections' all consider the paintings but in the context of events, styles or histories.
So the odd Painter's Table by Philip Guston, something I would never hang in my dining room, is considered first by examining Pinkstinks, the slogan of a campaign in 2009 opposing the use of the color 'pink' for girls.
How does Daumier paint motion into the human body? Take your clothes off. Yes, all of them. And stand in front of a mirror. Contort yourself. Have someone try, just try, to trace you.
Which "little patch of yellow wall" in Vermeer's View of Delft was Proust talking about in Vol. 5 of Remembrance of Things Past? How is Zurbaran like Alfred Hitchcock? How did Tallulah Bankhead upstage a rival actress without even being on stage? And what does that have to do with the quince, cabbage, melon and cucumber in Sanchez-Cotan's painting of the same name? Masaccio's Adam had his penis exposed for 300 years, then had it covered by leaves for almost 300 more. It's back out in the open now and Lubbock, having looked at it a lot, tells us what it means.
Here is my favorite painting in the bunch, The Dog by Goya:
I was unaware of this piece. But I found it really moving. And I disagree with Lubbock's analysis of meaning. (Am I allowed to do that?). Lubbock notes that there appears to be another shadowy 'figure' above and to the right of the dog. And then he tells us to disregard it. Really? How could we, now? Why would we? I mean, Goya didn't put it there for nothing. But Lubbock is right that the 'figure' appears differently depending on which reproduction you view:
In the reproduction in the book, the 'figure' is barely detectable and maybe appears to be two figures, scraggly like Picasso's Don Quixote, making me think of two soldiers, worn down by war, or a mother and child maybe, walking away, hopeless.
In any event, the painting seemed dystopian to me. Full of sadness. Maybe at the individual, personal level, the dog pining over the one who meant so much and is now gone. But maybe for me at a more historical or allegorical level, as if humanity itself is gone, or could be.
It made me think once again of Saramago's dog Constant in Seeing and listening to Niels-Henning Orsted Pedersen's Those That Were and the feeling I've always had whenever someone I've loved has gone away.
March 11, 2025
My experience is so very similar to my GR friend Paul Secor’s that I would rather not waste time paraphrasing. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Lubbock is worth reading. His insights have expanded my appreciation.
“When we were at school,” Hopper remembered, “we debated debated what a room looked like when there was no one to see it….”
“Early Sunday Morning has the look of a scene that isn’t being looked at. It’s without any particular focus. The eye just scans along it; and nothing in it suggests a human eye observing, noticing, taking and interest. The pole and the hydrant, thing that might stand out as creature-like – a man and a dog, almost – refuse to become protagonists. They are merely two inanimate interrupting fixtures that catch and break the light….There is no point at which the picture gets excited. Nor is it assertively blank, in a surreal or alienated way. It is simply, calmly there. With you or without you, the silent street goes on.”
I have that picture on my wall and often think about what might happen next in that scene.
I was disappointed that this collection did not include Lubbock’s thoughts on Cezanne. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Lubbock is worth reading. His insights have expanded my appreciation.
“When we were at school,” Hopper remembered, “we debated debated what a room looked like when there was no one to see it….”
“Early Sunday Morning has the look of a scene that isn’t being looked at. It’s without any particular focus. The eye just scans along it; and nothing in it suggests a human eye observing, noticing, taking and interest. The pole and the hydrant, thing that might stand out as creature-like – a man and a dog, almost – refuse to become protagonists. They are merely two inanimate interrupting fixtures that catch and break the light….There is no point at which the picture gets excited. Nor is it assertively blank, in a surreal or alienated way. It is simply, calmly there. With you or without you, the silent street goes on.”
I have that picture on my wall and often think about what might happen next in that scene.
I was disappointed that this collection did not include Lubbock’s thoughts on Cezanne. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
January 31, 2012
This is a book that lives up to its cover. Its short essays originally appeared in the Independent and they are models of insight & concision. Each painting gets a full page (the reproductions are excellent), and the accompanying essay another two or three – i.e., brief enough so you can't get bored. Almost without exception they are are eye-opening. Lubbock's a master of setting perspective and providing context. The one on Daumier begins "Here's an exercise for you. Take off your clothes." then illuminates the ambiguities of contour. The writing is direct, even earthy, without trying to be trendy. There's no Artforum jargon or straining for sublimity. In fact, the essays are curious throughout about how comedy shows up in fine art.
Each essay concludes with a capsule biography of the artist and some of these are gems. Gerhard Richter "is a technical wizard, with a genius for self-effacement – and so his work acquires the mystery and authority of something that has appeared from nowhere." The small clay working models of Degas "are the greatest sculptures of the nineteenth century." As for Miro after 1940, "the trademark style is set, and endlessly, pointlessly repeated for decades." Gwen John "joined the Catholic Church and painted a series of portraits of a long-dead nun."
Equally unpredictable are the choices themselves. While Lubbock chooses the Proustian "View of Delft" for Vermeer, we get Pollock's "Stenographic Figure" (cartoon lines of energy, instead of the drips) and Paul Nash's "Event on the Downs" instead of his more famous war paintings. Albrecht Altdorfer's battle painting "Alexander's Victory" recalls John Keegan's The Face of Battle but it reminded me of the infinity of CGI warriors in Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings."
It took me a couple slow months to make my way through the book. Each painting appeared as a minor revelation and I had no urge to hurry. Lubbock died last year; I'm sorry I've only now discovered his work.
Each essay concludes with a capsule biography of the artist and some of these are gems. Gerhard Richter "is a technical wizard, with a genius for self-effacement – and so his work acquires the mystery and authority of something that has appeared from nowhere." The small clay working models of Degas "are the greatest sculptures of the nineteenth century." As for Miro after 1940, "the trademark style is set, and endlessly, pointlessly repeated for decades." Gwen John "joined the Catholic Church and painted a series of portraits of a long-dead nun."
Equally unpredictable are the choices themselves. While Lubbock chooses the Proustian "View of Delft" for Vermeer, we get Pollock's "Stenographic Figure" (cartoon lines of energy, instead of the drips) and Paul Nash's "Event on the Downs" instead of his more famous war paintings. Albrecht Altdorfer's battle painting "Alexander's Victory" recalls John Keegan's The Face of Battle but it reminded me of the infinity of CGI warriors in Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings."
It took me a couple slow months to make my way through the book. Each painting appeared as a minor revelation and I had no urge to hurry. Lubbock died last year; I'm sorry I've only now discovered his work.
June 12, 2024
Meh, this was alright but just that, alright.
The 50 "great works" explored for me were hit and miss, as were the accompanying essays describing them or indeed having nothing much to do with them.
I languidly browsed this one but it didn't ignite any flame of interest or passion.
Pretty boring really!
The 50 "great works" explored for me were hit and miss, as were the accompanying essays describing them or indeed having nothing much to do with them.
I languidly browsed this one but it didn't ignite any flame of interest or passion.
Pretty boring really!
December 29, 2011
I won this book from the Goodreads Giveaway program. It was incredible!
The book is a collection of Lubbock's art critique column from his series on Western Art. He covers everything from the pre-Renissance to painters who are still working. It's a unique look at the art. I really enjoyed Lubbock's interesting view and commentaries on the paintings chosen for this book. Always coming at the pieces from a unique point of view, these short critiques where funny, interesting and thought provoking. I especially enjoyed the piece about duck hunting and the bed. I would highly recommend this book to anyone who has ever walked into an art gallery, stared at a piece of art for a long time and though, huh, wonder what they were trying to say with this. While Lubbock's answer may not be the authoritarian answer, he does a wonderful job of thinking about pieces, drawing in examples from a host of other sources, movies, philosophy, literature, and making you think about what exactly the artist was trying to convey with their piece.
The book is a collection of Lubbock's art critique column from his series on Western Art. He covers everything from the pre-Renissance to painters who are still working. It's a unique look at the art. I really enjoyed Lubbock's interesting view and commentaries on the paintings chosen for this book. Always coming at the pieces from a unique point of view, these short critiques where funny, interesting and thought provoking. I especially enjoyed the piece about duck hunting and the bed. I would highly recommend this book to anyone who has ever walked into an art gallery, stared at a piece of art for a long time and though, huh, wonder what they were trying to say with this. While Lubbock's answer may not be the authoritarian answer, he does a wonderful job of thinking about pieces, drawing in examples from a host of other sources, movies, philosophy, literature, and making you think about what exactly the artist was trying to convey with their piece.
June 19, 2020
This was something different from my usual reading fare. A book to dip into, which I did over a number of weeks when our library books couldn't be returned. Some of the paintings in the book were familiar to me; many were not. Lubbock analyses each work and talks about what makes it distinctive. This provided visual and intellectual pleasure.
August 27, 2012
Varied selection of artists were chosen and this is interesting. However, the selection of representative works could have been better. For example, the Hopper is not one of his leading works.
April 11, 2022
"Great Works" is a book to revisit indefinitely, a bookshelf staple for any art lover.
The first page of nearly all of Lubbock's evocative essays has you doing a double-take, wondering if the designer mis-matched the painting and text. The opening is always somehow out of left-field - be it a drawing exercise, an interview with Hitchcock, self-immolation or the word "lobster" written six times over. No matter how much you doubt the essay will help comprehend the painting next to it, by the end of each exploration you end up feeling like you truly "get it".
This is what sets "Great Works" apart from much of art criticism. Lubbock's writing seems barely bothered with the medium, the material or the method, straight up disinterested in showing off knowledge. Instead he revels in guiding you to a unique perspective that is without exception deeply human. Indiscriminate of era or movement, the essays make even the most distant painting relatable - not through an all-encompassing analysis, but by peeking at it through an emotional keyhole.
"Great Works" is exactly what it claims to be - even if you have to remind yourself, that it's the paintings the title's referring to.
The first page of nearly all of Lubbock's evocative essays has you doing a double-take, wondering if the designer mis-matched the painting and text. The opening is always somehow out of left-field - be it a drawing exercise, an interview with Hitchcock, self-immolation or the word "lobster" written six times over. No matter how much you doubt the essay will help comprehend the painting next to it, by the end of each exploration you end up feeling like you truly "get it".
This is what sets "Great Works" apart from much of art criticism. Lubbock's writing seems barely bothered with the medium, the material or the method, straight up disinterested in showing off knowledge. Instead he revels in guiding you to a unique perspective that is without exception deeply human. Indiscriminate of era or movement, the essays make even the most distant painting relatable - not through an all-encompassing analysis, but by peeking at it through an emotional keyhole.
"Great Works" is exactly what it claims to be - even if you have to remind yourself, that it's the paintings the title's referring to.
August 12, 2023
This is a book about complexity and specificity in painting. Lubbock makes idiosyncratic choices and always highlights a new aspect, but he works within the standard forms of art criticism, is always illuminating and never repeats himself. He often employs an engaging tactic of first discussing an interesting subject, apparently unconnected with the work at hand, then brings the two together. The book and reproductions are on the small side but large enough to get the point across. It is nicely printed with an elegant and beautiful typeface.
February 3, 2020
I love this kind of book, in which the author points out all the things I'm too unobservant to see in a painting. I just wish he had picked better paintings.
December 24, 2025
Tom Lubbock, the former Art critic of The Independent, gives an interesting short essay on his greatest fifty paintings and its artist.
May 9, 2012
I received this book from Good Reads.
It is a lovely book with beautiful artwork.. What makes it special is the descriptions of what the autour sees or feels about each work of art. As a result you see a totally different view of each..Wonderful book for a cofee table or to spark some intresting discussions
It is a lovely book with beautiful artwork.. What makes it special is the descriptions of what the autour sees or feels about each work of art. As a result you see a totally different view of each..Wonderful book for a cofee table or to spark some intresting discussions
Want to read
September 10, 2016I won this book from First Reads. Looks like a good book. Thank you.
Want to read
December 20, 2011Won this book in a Goodreads giveaway.
December 31, 2016
It's lovely to peruse some works of art, and I learnt a lot reading the narrative that comes with them. Now I understand art a little more.
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews