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Goya
Robert Hughes, who has stunned us with comprehensive works on subjects as sweeping and complex as the history of Australia (The Fatal Shore), the modern art movement (The Shock of the New), the nature of American art (American Visions), and the nature of America itself as seen through its art (The Culture of Complaint), now turns his renowned critical eye to one of art history s most compelling, enigmatic, and important figures, Francisco Jose de Goya y Lucientes.
With characteristic critical fervor and sure-eyed insight, Hughes brings us the story of an artist whose life and work bridged the transition from the eighteenth-century reign of the old masters to the early days of the nineteenth-century moderns.
With his salient passion for the artist and the art, Hughes brings Goya vividly to life through dazzling analysis of a vast breadth of his work. Building upon the historical evidence that exists, Hughes tracks Goya s development, as man and artist, without missing a beat, from the early works commissioned by the Church, through his long, productive, and tempestuous career at court, to the darkly sinister and cryptic work he did at the end of his life.
In a work that is at once interpretive biography and cultural epic, Hughes grounds Goya firmly in the context of his time, taking us on a wild romp through Spanish history; from the brutality and easy violence of street life to the fiery terrors of the Holy Inquisition to the grave realities of war, Hughes shows us in vibrant detail the cultural forces that shaped Goya s work.
Underlying the exhaustive, critical analysis and the rich historical background is Hughes s own intimately personal relationship to his subject. This is a book informed not only by lifelong love and study, but by his own recent experiences of mortality and death. As such this is a uniquely moving and human book; with the same relentless and fearless intelligence he has brought to every subject he has ever tackled, Hughes here transcends biography to bring us a rich and fiercely brave book about art and life, love and rage, impotence and death. This is one genius writing at full capacity about another and the result is truly spectacular.
With characteristic critical fervor and sure-eyed insight, Hughes brings us the story of an artist whose life and work bridged the transition from the eighteenth-century reign of the old masters to the early days of the nineteenth-century moderns.
With his salient passion for the artist and the art, Hughes brings Goya vividly to life through dazzling analysis of a vast breadth of his work. Building upon the historical evidence that exists, Hughes tracks Goya s development, as man and artist, without missing a beat, from the early works commissioned by the Church, through his long, productive, and tempestuous career at court, to the darkly sinister and cryptic work he did at the end of his life.
In a work that is at once interpretive biography and cultural epic, Hughes grounds Goya firmly in the context of his time, taking us on a wild romp through Spanish history; from the brutality and easy violence of street life to the fiery terrors of the Holy Inquisition to the grave realities of war, Hughes shows us in vibrant detail the cultural forces that shaped Goya s work.
Underlying the exhaustive, critical analysis and the rich historical background is Hughes s own intimately personal relationship to his subject. This is a book informed not only by lifelong love and study, but by his own recent experiences of mortality and death. As such this is a uniquely moving and human book; with the same relentless and fearless intelligence he has brought to every subject he has ever tackled, Hughes here transcends biography to bring us a rich and fiercely brave book about art and life, love and rage, impotence and death. This is one genius writing at full capacity about another and the result is truly spectacular.
448 pages, Paperback
First published October 9, 2003
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About the author
Robert Hughes
183 books322 followersRobert Studley Forrest Hughes, AO was an Australian art critic, writer and television documentary maker who has resided in New York since 1970. He was educated at St Ignatius' College, Riverview before going on to study arts and then architecture at the University of Sydney. At university, Hughes associated with the Sydney "Push" – a group of artists, writers, intellectuals and drinkers. Among the group were Germaine Greer and Clive James. Hughes, an aspiring artist and poet, abandoned his university endeavours to become first a cartoonist and then an art critic for the Sydney periodical The Observer, edited by Donald Horne. Around this time he wrote a history of Australian painting, titled The Art of Australia, which is still considered to be an important work. It was published in 1966. Hughes was also briefly involved in the original Sydney version of Oz magazine, and wrote art criticism for The Nation and The Sunday Mirror.
Hughes left Australia for Europe in 1964, living for a time in Italy before settling in London, England (1965) where he wrote for The Spectator, The Daily Telegraph, The Times and The Observer, among others, and contributed to the London version of Oz. In 1970 he obtained the position of art critic for TIME magazine and he moved to New York. He quickly established himself in the United States as an influential art critic.In 1975, he and Don Brady provided the narration for the film Protected, a documentary showing what life was like for Indigenous Australians on Palm Island.
In 1980, the BBC broadcast The Shock of the New, Hughes's television series on the development of modern art since the Impressionists. It was accompanied by a book of the same name; its combination of insight, wit and accessibility are still widely praised. In 1987, The Fatal Shore, Hughes's study of the British penal colonies and early European settlement of Australia, became an international best-seller.
Hughes provided commentary on the work of artist Robert Crumb in parts of the 1994 film Crumb, calling Crumb "the American Breughel". His 1997 television series American Visions reviewed the history of American art since the Revolution. He was again dismissive of much recent art; this time, sculptor Jeff Koons was subjected to criticism. Australia: Beyond the Fatal Shore (2000) was a series musing on modern Australia and Hughes's relationship with it. Hughes's 2002 documentary on the painter Francisco Goya, Goya: Crazy Like a Genius, was broadcast on the first night of the BBC's domestic digital service. Hughes created a one hour update to The Shock of the New. Titled The New Shock of the New, the program aired first in 2004. Hughes published the first volume of his memoirs, Things I Didn’t Know, in 2006.
Hughes left Australia for Europe in 1964, living for a time in Italy before settling in London, England (1965) where he wrote for The Spectator, The Daily Telegraph, The Times and The Observer, among others, and contributed to the London version of Oz. In 1970 he obtained the position of art critic for TIME magazine and he moved to New York. He quickly established himself in the United States as an influential art critic.In 1975, he and Don Brady provided the narration for the film Protected, a documentary showing what life was like for Indigenous Australians on Palm Island.
In 1980, the BBC broadcast The Shock of the New, Hughes's television series on the development of modern art since the Impressionists. It was accompanied by a book of the same name; its combination of insight, wit and accessibility are still widely praised. In 1987, The Fatal Shore, Hughes's study of the British penal colonies and early European settlement of Australia, became an international best-seller.
Hughes provided commentary on the work of artist Robert Crumb in parts of the 1994 film Crumb, calling Crumb "the American Breughel". His 1997 television series American Visions reviewed the history of American art since the Revolution. He was again dismissive of much recent art; this time, sculptor Jeff Koons was subjected to criticism. Australia: Beyond the Fatal Shore (2000) was a series musing on modern Australia and Hughes's relationship with it. Hughes's 2002 documentary on the painter Francisco Goya, Goya: Crazy Like a Genius, was broadcast on the first night of the BBC's domestic digital service. Hughes created a one hour update to The Shock of the New. Titled The New Shock of the New, the program aired first in 2004. Hughes published the first volume of his memoirs, Things I Didn’t Know, in 2006.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 105 reviews
August 25, 2020
(A-) 82% | Very Good
Notes: Hughes gushes over Goya's genius, is an apologist for his lesser works, and castigates Fernando VII as a monstrosity.
Notes: Hughes gushes over Goya's genius, is an apologist for his lesser works, and castigates Fernando VII as a monstrosity.
March 17, 2009
Roberts Hughes is a bad-ass. We know this because
A. He rides a motorcycle (not very well apparently.)
B. He uses words like "piss" and "shit" instead of "urine" and "feces."
C. He's Australian.
D. He calls Hemingway a sissy:
Now, I've never encountered bad-assery in a work of art criticism before, but I think that's what makes this book so special for me. He actually has an attitude toward and is passionate about his subject. Of course, this could have its drawbacks. I once listened to this angry drunk guy go on and on on the subject of the fiscal policy of the FDR administration. He was clearly a bad-ass. I finally had to tell him, "Look, can you fix my sink or am I going to have to call someone else?" However, I think Goya is a subject that lends itself to drunken declamation. Some of his art--especially the etchings--defy easy interpretations and so little of his life is known for sure that gossip and speculation are needed to fill in the blanks. That's where Hughes' bluster is most effective: demolishing the facile theories of less bad-ass critics.
One other thing I learned from this book: 18th century Spain was the most desolate place imaginable geographically, spiritually, intellectually and artistically (except of course for Goya.)
A. He rides a motorcycle (not very well apparently.)
B. He uses words like "piss" and "shit" instead of "urine" and "feces."
C. He's Australian.
D. He calls Hemingway a sissy:
The rituals of the bullring have inspired a deadening mass of kitsch art--and kitsch writing, too, such as Hemingway's Death in the Afternoon.(Who would have thought Papa would end up sounding like such a lady? Perhaps only those who remembered what his style owed to an American lesbian, Gertrude Stein.)
Now, I've never encountered bad-assery in a work of art criticism before, but I think that's what makes this book so special for me. He actually has an attitude toward and is passionate about his subject. Of course, this could have its drawbacks. I once listened to this angry drunk guy go on and on on the subject of the fiscal policy of the FDR administration. He was clearly a bad-ass. I finally had to tell him, "Look, can you fix my sink or am I going to have to call someone else?" However, I think Goya is a subject that lends itself to drunken declamation. Some of his art--especially the etchings--defy easy interpretations and so little of his life is known for sure that gossip and speculation are needed to fill in the blanks. That's where Hughes' bluster is most effective: demolishing the facile theories of less bad-ass critics.
One other thing I learned from this book: 18th century Spain was the most desolate place imaginable geographically, spiritually, intellectually and artistically (except of course for Goya.)
September 22, 2018
Knowing that Hughes is an art critic, I expected this book to be mostly a meditation on the old master’s works, with perhaps some biographical details thrown in. But Hughes has written something much more than that: a book that blends criticism, history, and biography—including some autobiography—into a readable whole. I was most surprised at the lengthy sections on historical background, during which Goya is hardly mentioned. Hughes does a creditable job in covering the relevant period—the Inquisition, bullfighting, belief in witchcraft, the arts scene, the Spanish Enlightenment, the Napoleonic War, and the powerful personages. Indeed, these were arguably the most helpful sections of the book, as they provided the needed context for Goya’s works.
Hughes’s prose is both blunt and incisive, and is most distinguished by his sharp changes in register. One moment he will sound like a scholar, another like a soldier, with little in-between. This strange blend of vulgar everyman and cultured critic works well (mostly), as Goya’s work also blends gritty reality with refined technique. This is what makes Goya such a transitional figure: he straddles the border between the Old Masters and the modern artists. He was also an extremely versatile artist, and it takes a correspondingly versatile critic to do him justice. Luckily, Hughes’s writing is solid whether his topic is politics, etching techniques, or sex.
I have to admit that, though I have been to the Prado many times, I was unfamiliar with much of Goya’s works—above all, Goya’s numerous prints. So it was a pleasure to have Hughes guide me through the numerous glossy reproductions in this book. I knew Goya from his designs for the tapestries in the Bourbon palace of El Escorial, from his frescos for the church of San Antonio de la Florida, for his paintings of aristocrats and royalty, for his haunting black paintings and for his two masterful works on the 2nd and 3rd of May. But I did not know the social satire of the Los caprichos, or the grizzly war reporting of the Los desastres de la guerra, or the mysterious phantasms of Los disparates. The first two especially reveal an entirely different side to Goya: not only the anguished and introverted artist, but also a man of wide social vision and a keen sense of injustice. This is what puts him on a level with Velazquez as an artist, if not as a painter.
Strange to say, though Goya’s work and times emerge from these pages, the man himself does not. Perhaps this is just due to a dearth of material, but Hughes spends surprisingly little space on the personal life of the great artist. And when he does discuss Goya’s life, half the time it is to dispel romantic rumors, such as that he had a liaison with the Duchess of Alba and painted her in La maja desnuda. Another drawback of this book is that Hughes, as a critic, is prone to decisive opinions, not all of them relevant to Goya (such as to insult Hemingway’s prose style, or to state his preference for Dalí’s Soft Construction with Boiled Beans over Picasso’s Guernica). Personally I like an opinionated author, even if I disagree with them, since it creates a dialogue with the text; still many of Hughes easy generalizations about this historical period, for example, must be used cautiously.
Despite these shortcomings, I think this book provides an excellent and memorable overview of this great artist’s life, times, and work.
Hughes’s prose is both blunt and incisive, and is most distinguished by his sharp changes in register. One moment he will sound like a scholar, another like a soldier, with little in-between. This strange blend of vulgar everyman and cultured critic works well (mostly), as Goya’s work also blends gritty reality with refined technique. This is what makes Goya such a transitional figure: he straddles the border between the Old Masters and the modern artists. He was also an extremely versatile artist, and it takes a correspondingly versatile critic to do him justice. Luckily, Hughes’s writing is solid whether his topic is politics, etching techniques, or sex.
I have to admit that, though I have been to the Prado many times, I was unfamiliar with much of Goya’s works—above all, Goya’s numerous prints. So it was a pleasure to have Hughes guide me through the numerous glossy reproductions in this book. I knew Goya from his designs for the tapestries in the Bourbon palace of El Escorial, from his frescos for the church of San Antonio de la Florida, for his paintings of aristocrats and royalty, for his haunting black paintings and for his two masterful works on the 2nd and 3rd of May. But I did not know the social satire of the Los caprichos, or the grizzly war reporting of the Los desastres de la guerra, or the mysterious phantasms of Los disparates. The first two especially reveal an entirely different side to Goya: not only the anguished and introverted artist, but also a man of wide social vision and a keen sense of injustice. This is what puts him on a level with Velazquez as an artist, if not as a painter.
Strange to say, though Goya’s work and times emerge from these pages, the man himself does not. Perhaps this is just due to a dearth of material, but Hughes spends surprisingly little space on the personal life of the great artist. And when he does discuss Goya’s life, half the time it is to dispel romantic rumors, such as that he had a liaison with the Duchess of Alba and painted her in La maja desnuda. Another drawback of this book is that Hughes, as a critic, is prone to decisive opinions, not all of them relevant to Goya (such as to insult Hemingway’s prose style, or to state his preference for Dalí’s Soft Construction with Boiled Beans over Picasso’s Guernica). Personally I like an opinionated author, even if I disagree with them, since it creates a dialogue with the text; still many of Hughes easy generalizations about this historical period, for example, must be used cautiously.
Despite these shortcomings, I think this book provides an excellent and memorable overview of this great artist’s life, times, and work.
Read
July 30, 2011I was reading this book for my book group, and it transpired that the other members were not reading it, or found it too long to finish. But I pushed on, and I'm not sure why exactly, since it seemed like every other page I would put the book down, arguing with the author's very personal point of view. Perhaps I persisted because the impatience or annoyance I felt with Hughes' narrative made the book live for me. Is the view of torture in "Goya's Ghosts" false, since as Hughes says, the holy office was a shadow of its former self in Goya's time? Must we renounce the romantic fantasy of Goya's affair with the duquesa de Alba? Is Goya an enlightened painter, a romantic painter, or a revolutionary painter? Is he a little of all three? Does Hughes know Goya better than anyone else because he fell asleep at the wheel, got in an accident, and awoke much later with most of his bones shattered, in constant pain? Does he understand him better because he is an older man lusting after younger women? Or do I understand him better because I am half deaf? Does Goya elude us all, despite our love for his majas, his bulls, his portraits? That is how I feel after 400 pages of Hughes. I feel I know Hughes much better in all his contradictions, which remind me of those of the infuriating Christopher Hitchen, but Goya less well. Well illustrated, with good thick glossy paper, which is a very good thing for an art book.
May 8, 2017
I'm no art expert - I'm not even sure I know what I like! - but this is a terrific book, written by a first-rate writer about an artist who was off the charts. I learned so much, lots of it about Spain, a fascinating land and in many ways a dark one, too. In these very conformist times of ours - especially in academia - it's refreshing to spend time with a non-conforming writer like Hughes. And Goya was also a non-conformist in a time and place when that carried serious consequences, even of life and death. But in the end the very best thing about the book are the reproductions of Goya's work. There's nothing like it.
January 24, 2020
What an awesome book. I remember Robert Hughes from back in the day. He was the art critic (as well as an artist in his own right) for Time Magazine, when I used to read it religiously. He is also Australian, with rather a tumultuous past (including a five week coma following an accident), and the man has Opinions. So I was ready to hear what he had to say about the Spanish artist Francisco Goya y Lucientes.
But what I was not expecting was such a fascinating account of Spanish history following the empire period and preceding Franco. Because during that period, Spain was dirt poor, just starting to unify its various kingdoms, and its ruler, the very prosaic Carlos III, had decided that the capital should be Madrid, because of its central location. Not that there was much there there except mud. No matter, throw up a palace (and El Prado while we are at it).
But there is something big empty stone rooms need, and that’s something on the wall. Enter Goya. His first important job, as a fledgling artist, was to draw the cartoon to be translated into tapestries. Fortunately, he and the king hit it off well (they both loved hunting and often spent time at that together), and for every courtly Carlos III Lunching Before His Court, there was a Fight At The New Inn, because who does not hang up a massive tapestry of a bloody brawl in the dining hall?
Goya got one brief trip to Italy when he was young, but for the most part was not influenced by, nor even aware of what the rest of the art world was up to, as isolated as he was in Spain, which makes him so quintessentially Spanish. Walking a thin line between what his royal patrons (and the Spanish Inquisition) wished, and what he wanted to say, he created his unique series of etchings, the Caprichios and later the Desastres. And the paintings. Let me quote Hughes on the subject of The Dead Turkey.
Perhaps the world is full of dead turkeys, but not one of them could be deader than Goya’s. It may not stimulate appetite, but there is no doubt that it promotes as much sympathy as any other corpse in art.
Google it. There is no lie.
But what I was not expecting was such a fascinating account of Spanish history following the empire period and preceding Franco. Because during that period, Spain was dirt poor, just starting to unify its various kingdoms, and its ruler, the very prosaic Carlos III, had decided that the capital should be Madrid, because of its central location. Not that there was much there there except mud. No matter, throw up a palace (and El Prado while we are at it).
But there is something big empty stone rooms need, and that’s something on the wall. Enter Goya. His first important job, as a fledgling artist, was to draw the cartoon to be translated into tapestries. Fortunately, he and the king hit it off well (they both loved hunting and often spent time at that together), and for every courtly Carlos III Lunching Before His Court, there was a Fight At The New Inn, because who does not hang up a massive tapestry of a bloody brawl in the dining hall?
Goya got one brief trip to Italy when he was young, but for the most part was not influenced by, nor even aware of what the rest of the art world was up to, as isolated as he was in Spain, which makes him so quintessentially Spanish. Walking a thin line between what his royal patrons (and the Spanish Inquisition) wished, and what he wanted to say, he created his unique series of etchings, the Caprichios and later the Desastres. And the paintings. Let me quote Hughes on the subject of The Dead Turkey.
Perhaps the world is full of dead turkeys, but not one of them could be deader than Goya’s. It may not stimulate appetite, but there is no doubt that it promotes as much sympathy as any other corpse in art.
Google it. There is no lie.
July 20, 2008
One of the greatest successes of Hughes’ Goya is that it escapes one of the most frustrating pitfalls of biography: the urge to turn history into narrative, to make a fictionalization of biography. One can see this in the overabundance of “biopics” in cinema over the past five years or so (“Ray”, ‘Kinsey”, “Adams”, “Good Night and Good Luck”, and on and on and on) – it’s as if no one can trust the facts themselves to be interesting, and have to dress them up in a largely fictional story.
Hughes has no such insecurities – his love for Goya is so profound that it requires no dressing-up. He is quick to point out the places in Goya’s life where documentation fails – he may provide theories for what occurred during those periods, but is always sure to point out where the historical record ends and conjecture begins. Likewise with theories as to Goya’s psychology and motivation – Hughes never pretends to speak for or through Goya.
Goya is also full of important historical context – important for making sense of one of the most powerful social critics of any medium. For example, Hughes points out that the term ‘guerilla’ emerged during the resistance to Napoleon’s invasion of Spain – ‘guerrilla’ literally translated from Spanish as “Little War.” These guerrilla warriors laid the foundations for modern guerilla combat, including a focus on terror and atrocities – a warfare as psychological as it was physical. This was, in many ways, a departure from the ritualized combat of previous European wars – and understanding this backdrop is provide a much richer understanding of Goya’s fantastic “Disasters of War” etchings.
Of course, Hughes’ analysis of the work itself is as sharp as ever. His tendency towards controversial viewpoints can be problematic – his arguments sometimes seem to emerge more from truculence than anything else. Yet his contrariness is always entertaining, and keeps Goya a fascinating read throughout.
Hughes has no such insecurities – his love for Goya is so profound that it requires no dressing-up. He is quick to point out the places in Goya’s life where documentation fails – he may provide theories for what occurred during those periods, but is always sure to point out where the historical record ends and conjecture begins. Likewise with theories as to Goya’s psychology and motivation – Hughes never pretends to speak for or through Goya.
Goya is also full of important historical context – important for making sense of one of the most powerful social critics of any medium. For example, Hughes points out that the term ‘guerilla’ emerged during the resistance to Napoleon’s invasion of Spain – ‘guerrilla’ literally translated from Spanish as “Little War.” These guerrilla warriors laid the foundations for modern guerilla combat, including a focus on terror and atrocities – a warfare as psychological as it was physical. This was, in many ways, a departure from the ritualized combat of previous European wars – and understanding this backdrop is provide a much richer understanding of Goya’s fantastic “Disasters of War” etchings.
Of course, Hughes’ analysis of the work itself is as sharp as ever. His tendency towards controversial viewpoints can be problematic – his arguments sometimes seem to emerge more from truculence than anything else. Yet his contrariness is always entertaining, and keeps Goya a fascinating read throughout.
February 10, 2014
This 2006 beautifully edited paperback bio of the great Spanish painter is a joy and a must-have for art history readers and collectors. Though a paperback, it is a solid one-piece of a a book, with top-quality hard paper and where lots of good-sized paintings are collected throughout. The visual and tact qualities make the book, alone, worth the purchase.
Now the writing. I came across this book after reading Mr. Hughes's previous history of American painting, which left on me such a good impression. I had to look for more from this Australian author. There are two first comments that have to be made: 1 the author writes so well, so fluidly, so devoid of the arrogant academic slang that one has to get hooked on whatever he writes about. The man knows about what he writes, accordingly, he feels no need to take on the act of a typical professor grinding on his subject. And thanks for that. So his story just comes out of himself, it's personal, not anything official, and appropriately so, since few subjects are more relative than art. And 2, the author is opinionated and full of prejudice. That is not good, but not good for the author, of whom I am not concerned in the least; what concerns me are his books, and they are some fine and jolly good ways to spend time and get some knowledge while doing it. On this second point, let's just say that the author lets his books talk as much of himself as of the subject he is dealing with. I find it quite understandable when it comes to arts or politics, because it's all subjective material, no right or wrong analysis, but only a matter of opinion. And I applaud him for his sincerity. His brief statements on all kinds of issues bring out his left-wing political bias but, I believe also, his independent thinking and straightforwardness. He has a thorn in the flesh with religion, though, with Catholicism specifically, and he can't get over it.
The book presents the life and works of Goya. The history of Spain and the life of the artist do not blend, though, Mr. Hughes tries, but cannot make them blend, there's not enough that we know about the man Goya. The author shows very well a lot of works of Goya and uses them to thread the story of his life and times, in a parallel sort of way. The talent is in the author for telling stories that catch the attention of the reader, for picking the bits of life that interested Goya to make his paintings and sketches and which are also the object of our interest. And there's lot of stuff to talk about: Goya painted war scenes, crimes, female bodies, street characters, bullfighting, portraits, monstrouous things, violence and stupidity, sanity and insanity, sainthood and evil. Goya poured himself and as much of Spain into his drawings and paintings, and those are our main source of information. The history, concise as can be, of Spain, that Mr. Hughes presents, is not a matter to produce any polemics, though: he sticks to the official history in the text books (mainly he resorts to Raymond Carr material) without deviating much from traditional discourse. Carlos IV wasn't, however, the cuckolded husband that tradition portrays, if we are to believe more recent studies. The Motín de Esquilache is done away with, also, with the usual and simplistic explanation: that it was a matter of dress code that the people of Madrid rebelled against. Well, yes, but that was the scapegoat for the rising, which would never have taken place if the people of Madrid weren't tickled by the nation's high aristocracy which felt their power skipping through their fingers and going into the hands of foreign ministers like Esquilache.
Hughes is too sympathetic with his hero, Goya. He delivers a self-righteous Goya, an alter-ego of Hughes (all leftists are self-righteous, they are god-less saints), a charitable but unbelievable character: “Goya's immense humanity, a range of sympathy, almost literally “co-suffering.” rivaling that of Dickens or Tolstoy”. At times he is at pains to “explain” away Goya's less likeable actions or attitudes, to excuse him for his -in our modern view- wrong sentiments. I would have liked better that Mr. Hughes used his usual straightforward style and accepted the possibility that Goya might not have been such a politically-correct and laudable person, or even that he might have been quite a dislikeable character deep-down, why not? We have no definitive proof that he was one way or the other. After reading this biography one has an inclination to conclude that Goya was indeed a man of his time, a Spaniard of his time, full of contradictions (he hated violence and oppression but liked bull-fighting, hunting...; he styled himself a patriot and an illustrado but well be called an egotist, fan of Mammon and a Collaborator: “he disliked and despised the new king and his opinions. He never said so”. I am sure he was an old grumpy man, with no patience nor time for fools, a simple feature that already wins for him my sympathy. But Hughes takes his “humanity” too far. He wants to make a caring and lovable Goya in the way of Dickens, but what he presents hints more towards a Franco-like Goya. I'm sure Franco was lovable and caring too, only in a different, more typically Spanish/brutish way, not the British way. If we are to assume that he was a typical Spaniard, only a little more “ilustrado” and sensitive in the modern sense of the word, then he was a brute, a lovable brute, perhaps. Hughes is the one who brings Franco into the book a couple of times by the way, with derrogative intentions, of course. So this thing about characterizing persons as good or bad by having them match your corresponding political heroes or foes is nothing short of unfair and unrealistic. As unrealistic and unfair as to pinpoint everything evil on individual characters (Hitler, Stalin, Franco...) and clear all responsibilities from the hands of the folks, the pueblo, as though they were sheep astray and misled. If Mr. Hughes is in the business of saying who is nice and who is evil he should be fair and blame the whole nation, for what would have been of little Franco without the people who supported him for so many years? And what about silly Hitler without all those nice folks congregated at Nuremberg? And he would be right to blame not only Fernando VII, the clergy, the nobles and so all the way to Franco, but the whole nation of Spain, because this country hasn't been a nation of “nice and well-intentioned” folks for a long long time. But Mr. Hughes takes the shortcut, as self-righteous Leftists do, there's more to gain that way.
Another trait of Goya that puts him in the band of Mr. Hughes's dislikeables is his religiosity. “Twentieth century writers, in their desire to emphasize the modernist rebel in Goya, have often made him out to be irreligious, either an agnostic or an enemy of religion. But this is a crude distortion.” Mr. Hughes arranges somehow to still like the character of Goya in spite of all the evidence that, rather, puts the man among those who are more apt to win his derision, religion being a perfect isthmus test for these kind of occasion. He was a Catholic, admits Hughes, but hey, mind you, “a Catholic without priests”. And thus he is saved from Leftists' Hell. Mr. Hughes's personal commentary on Catholicism comes to the fore in its most crude form in these words: “They (the clergy) were as bad as any modern Catholic priests. They praised chastity but groped boys”. In this case Mr. Hughes does generalize, and quite unfairly, because we are talking about actual crimes, not just behavior or cultural traits. I am not a Catholic and completely understand his point and criticism, but I have to say the author is not being fair. A high percentage of the Spanish population was in the clergy, more in fact than today's hordes of civil servants (funcionarios), being that already a huge number. So the people are, actually, the lawful recipient of Mr. Hughes's derision. Funny and ironic how the author's alleged love for Spain is but a covert and general derision of the nation in general.
An interesting historical piece of data that I have found is that 12,000 Liberal Spanish families went into exile when the French invaders had to leave. That's a lot of unorthodox people leaving, from a country already destitute of enlightenment, tolerance, morals, and plagued with envy, laziness, hypocrisy and thievery. No wonder things only got worse thereon. The best have always left or been made to leave; zero tolerance if you differ.
My attention paused at this comment the autor made when comparing nasty Fernando VII to hated Godoy: “At least you could have some admiration for his [Godoy's] sexual potency.” I just had to smile when I read this. I mean, what on earth has sexual potency got to do with the merits or demerits of anybody?
In spite of all the criticisms I have made of this author I strongly recommend his books, and this one in particular. On matters of art I prefer one strongly opinionated person, capable of holding the interest of the reader with stories and acnedotes that are relevant and interesting to the lay reader, than to read from a sulky or petulant fellow who shows off and lives regularly on the subsidy of some elitist institution or government. Lo cortés no quita lo valiente.
Now the writing. I came across this book after reading Mr. Hughes's previous history of American painting, which left on me such a good impression. I had to look for more from this Australian author. There are two first comments that have to be made: 1 the author writes so well, so fluidly, so devoid of the arrogant academic slang that one has to get hooked on whatever he writes about. The man knows about what he writes, accordingly, he feels no need to take on the act of a typical professor grinding on his subject. And thanks for that. So his story just comes out of himself, it's personal, not anything official, and appropriately so, since few subjects are more relative than art. And 2, the author is opinionated and full of prejudice. That is not good, but not good for the author, of whom I am not concerned in the least; what concerns me are his books, and they are some fine and jolly good ways to spend time and get some knowledge while doing it. On this second point, let's just say that the author lets his books talk as much of himself as of the subject he is dealing with. I find it quite understandable when it comes to arts or politics, because it's all subjective material, no right or wrong analysis, but only a matter of opinion. And I applaud him for his sincerity. His brief statements on all kinds of issues bring out his left-wing political bias but, I believe also, his independent thinking and straightforwardness. He has a thorn in the flesh with religion, though, with Catholicism specifically, and he can't get over it.
The book presents the life and works of Goya. The history of Spain and the life of the artist do not blend, though, Mr. Hughes tries, but cannot make them blend, there's not enough that we know about the man Goya. The author shows very well a lot of works of Goya and uses them to thread the story of his life and times, in a parallel sort of way. The talent is in the author for telling stories that catch the attention of the reader, for picking the bits of life that interested Goya to make his paintings and sketches and which are also the object of our interest. And there's lot of stuff to talk about: Goya painted war scenes, crimes, female bodies, street characters, bullfighting, portraits, monstrouous things, violence and stupidity, sanity and insanity, sainthood and evil. Goya poured himself and as much of Spain into his drawings and paintings, and those are our main source of information. The history, concise as can be, of Spain, that Mr. Hughes presents, is not a matter to produce any polemics, though: he sticks to the official history in the text books (mainly he resorts to Raymond Carr material) without deviating much from traditional discourse. Carlos IV wasn't, however, the cuckolded husband that tradition portrays, if we are to believe more recent studies. The Motín de Esquilache is done away with, also, with the usual and simplistic explanation: that it was a matter of dress code that the people of Madrid rebelled against. Well, yes, but that was the scapegoat for the rising, which would never have taken place if the people of Madrid weren't tickled by the nation's high aristocracy which felt their power skipping through their fingers and going into the hands of foreign ministers like Esquilache.
Hughes is too sympathetic with his hero, Goya. He delivers a self-righteous Goya, an alter-ego of Hughes (all leftists are self-righteous, they are god-less saints), a charitable but unbelievable character: “Goya's immense humanity, a range of sympathy, almost literally “co-suffering.” rivaling that of Dickens or Tolstoy”. At times he is at pains to “explain” away Goya's less likeable actions or attitudes, to excuse him for his -in our modern view- wrong sentiments. I would have liked better that Mr. Hughes used his usual straightforward style and accepted the possibility that Goya might not have been such a politically-correct and laudable person, or even that he might have been quite a dislikeable character deep-down, why not? We have no definitive proof that he was one way or the other. After reading this biography one has an inclination to conclude that Goya was indeed a man of his time, a Spaniard of his time, full of contradictions (he hated violence and oppression but liked bull-fighting, hunting...; he styled himself a patriot and an illustrado but well be called an egotist, fan of Mammon and a Collaborator: “he disliked and despised the new king and his opinions. He never said so”. I am sure he was an old grumpy man, with no patience nor time for fools, a simple feature that already wins for him my sympathy. But Hughes takes his “humanity” too far. He wants to make a caring and lovable Goya in the way of Dickens, but what he presents hints more towards a Franco-like Goya. I'm sure Franco was lovable and caring too, only in a different, more typically Spanish/brutish way, not the British way. If we are to assume that he was a typical Spaniard, only a little more “ilustrado” and sensitive in the modern sense of the word, then he was a brute, a lovable brute, perhaps. Hughes is the one who brings Franco into the book a couple of times by the way, with derrogative intentions, of course. So this thing about characterizing persons as good or bad by having them match your corresponding political heroes or foes is nothing short of unfair and unrealistic. As unrealistic and unfair as to pinpoint everything evil on individual characters (Hitler, Stalin, Franco...) and clear all responsibilities from the hands of the folks, the pueblo, as though they were sheep astray and misled. If Mr. Hughes is in the business of saying who is nice and who is evil he should be fair and blame the whole nation, for what would have been of little Franco without the people who supported him for so many years? And what about silly Hitler without all those nice folks congregated at Nuremberg? And he would be right to blame not only Fernando VII, the clergy, the nobles and so all the way to Franco, but the whole nation of Spain, because this country hasn't been a nation of “nice and well-intentioned” folks for a long long time. But Mr. Hughes takes the shortcut, as self-righteous Leftists do, there's more to gain that way.
Another trait of Goya that puts him in the band of Mr. Hughes's dislikeables is his religiosity. “Twentieth century writers, in their desire to emphasize the modernist rebel in Goya, have often made him out to be irreligious, either an agnostic or an enemy of religion. But this is a crude distortion.” Mr. Hughes arranges somehow to still like the character of Goya in spite of all the evidence that, rather, puts the man among those who are more apt to win his derision, religion being a perfect isthmus test for these kind of occasion. He was a Catholic, admits Hughes, but hey, mind you, “a Catholic without priests”. And thus he is saved from Leftists' Hell. Mr. Hughes's personal commentary on Catholicism comes to the fore in its most crude form in these words: “They (the clergy) were as bad as any modern Catholic priests. They praised chastity but groped boys”. In this case Mr. Hughes does generalize, and quite unfairly, because we are talking about actual crimes, not just behavior or cultural traits. I am not a Catholic and completely understand his point and criticism, but I have to say the author is not being fair. A high percentage of the Spanish population was in the clergy, more in fact than today's hordes of civil servants (funcionarios), being that already a huge number. So the people are, actually, the lawful recipient of Mr. Hughes's derision. Funny and ironic how the author's alleged love for Spain is but a covert and general derision of the nation in general.
An interesting historical piece of data that I have found is that 12,000 Liberal Spanish families went into exile when the French invaders had to leave. That's a lot of unorthodox people leaving, from a country already destitute of enlightenment, tolerance, morals, and plagued with envy, laziness, hypocrisy and thievery. No wonder things only got worse thereon. The best have always left or been made to leave; zero tolerance if you differ.
My attention paused at this comment the autor made when comparing nasty Fernando VII to hated Godoy: “At least you could have some admiration for his [Godoy's] sexual potency.” I just had to smile when I read this. I mean, what on earth has sexual potency got to do with the merits or demerits of anybody?
In spite of all the criticisms I have made of this author I strongly recommend his books, and this one in particular. On matters of art I prefer one strongly opinionated person, capable of holding the interest of the reader with stories and acnedotes that are relevant and interesting to the lay reader, than to read from a sulky or petulant fellow who shows off and lives regularly on the subsidy of some elitist institution or government. Lo cortés no quita lo valiente.
December 24, 2023
3,5. Po ponad 4 miesiąca walki z tą książką - skończyłam.
Nie była zła, don't get me wrong. Ale byłam zmuszona ją przeczytać, a to nie sprzyjało mojej nikłej motywacji, zwłaszcza, że miałam tysiąc innych, ładniejszych i ciekawszych książek.
Jak na książkę biograficzną bardzo przystępna forma; autor posiada tą fascynującą umiejętność wplatania żartów (czasem wysoce niestosownych) w ciętą, wytyczoną, no i dość prostą historię czyjegoś życia. Przyjemnie się to czytało i pomimo mojego ciągłego marudzenia, naprawdę książka mi się podobała.
Myślę, że to najlepsza biografia Goi na polskim rynku. Najlepsza - bo pełna, uwzględniająca kontekst historyczny, tak ważny dla tego malarza i sensu jego twórczości. Jedyne, czego mi brakowało, to jakiegoś finalnego podsumowania jego twórczości, jakiś przemyśleń samego autora, bo jako koneser sztuki (takim się przedstawia) jestem pewna, że mógłby wtrącić swoją ostateczną konkluzję. Tymczasem książka kończy się śmiercią artysty, no i wiadomością o ekshumacji jego zwłok.
Nie no, naprawdę nie było źle.
Nie była zła, don't get me wrong. Ale byłam zmuszona ją przeczytać, a to nie sprzyjało mojej nikłej motywacji, zwłaszcza, że miałam tysiąc innych, ładniejszych i ciekawszych książek.
Jak na książkę biograficzną bardzo przystępna forma; autor posiada tą fascynującą umiejętność wplatania żartów (czasem wysoce niestosownych) w ciętą, wytyczoną, no i dość prostą historię czyjegoś życia. Przyjemnie się to czytało i pomimo mojego ciągłego marudzenia, naprawdę książka mi się podobała.
Myślę, że to najlepsza biografia Goi na polskim rynku. Najlepsza - bo pełna, uwzględniająca kontekst historyczny, tak ważny dla tego malarza i sensu jego twórczości. Jedyne, czego mi brakowało, to jakiegoś finalnego podsumowania jego twórczości, jakiś przemyśleń samego autora, bo jako koneser sztuki (takim się przedstawia) jestem pewna, że mógłby wtrącić swoją ostateczną konkluzję. Tymczasem książka kończy się śmiercią artysty, no i wiadomością o ekshumacji jego zwłok.
Nie no, naprawdę nie było źle.
April 11, 2023
On a crisp, bright day in March 2019 I walked from my rental on the Plaza Mayor to the Prado Museum to see Velazquez's "Las Meninas" and his other works. As I wandered the great rooms looking at one cerebral court painting after another, I turned into another to see paintings so visceral, so disturbing, I stopped in my tracks. Dark scenes of human depravity, dark masses of people on a pilgrimage to hell, men cudgeling each other as both sink into the earth, a giant pulling of the head of his son with his teeth: Francisco Goya's "Pinturas Negras" looked down from the walls at me. Painted for his eyes only near the end of his life, these paintings depicted one who is thoroughly disillusioned with all around him. How, I wondered, did Goya get to this point?
Art critic and historian, Robert Hughes, who also wrote "The Fatal Shore: The Epic of Australia's Founding", one of the best works of nonfiction I have ever read, also turned his eye to Goya. His biography of the Spanish painter is again a masterpiece of criticism and study, not only plumbing the depths of Goya's psyche, but that of late 18th century Spain. Hughes is fearless with a wry humor and has a knack for the historical allusion to show how the world of Bourbon Spain often mirrors our own.
Francisco Goya's indomitable will that served him throughout his life is why we know of him today. While the rest of Western Europe flourished under the Renaissance into the Enlightenment, Spain, hidden behind the Pyrenees, remained backwards and in darkness as it was dominated by the Church, the Inquisition, and leaders who feared new knowledge and liberal values. Despite the fact that Ferdinand and Isabella sent conquistadors to the Americas, their sole focus was on wealth, not learning; at home they expelled Spanish Jews and Muslims, further plundering their own lands as it was the Arab Caliphs who created and maintained the canals and irrigation that made the countryside so lush. People were still burned at the stake into the late 1700's. Education was in shambles, creative thought looked down on, the great artwork hidden away in the royal palace. It was not, to say the least, the best place for a young man with artistic ambitions.
Goya spent the bulk of his early career making and designing tapestries and being passed over by the royal family for a position within the court. It was in part of his connections and his defiance of death (he lived twice as long as a typical Spaniard and died at 82) that he finally became Painter to the King, and he used his political cunning to stay in that position through the reigns of the somewhat enlightened Carlos II, the unimaginative Carlos III, and the despotic, Trump-on-steroids Fernando VII, who after Spain's unlikely defeat of Napoleon, plunged the country into further darkness and despair. Goya became an acute observer of life under the Inquisition as a result of his own despair; early in mid-life he became deathly ill and lost all of his all of his hearing as a result.
An aficionado of the bullfight and a participant of the "majo" (where we get the word "macho") culture, Goya not only had to rebuild his health, but to reassert his masculinity and talent to maintain his reputation while living with a disability. Deafness isolates; one can be both part of and apart from a gathering; it renders one vulnerable and reliant on others and also a prisoner to one's mind. Observation is survival; one must read the room and look for clues in other's tics and behaviors. Through his illness he felt the full force of being subjected to an arbitrary power outside of his control; he knew what it meant to have life upturned. This new insight elevated his art and imbued it with greater psychological depth; he also empathized more with the throne's subjects. He may have been Painter to the King, but his allegiance was to the people.
While he continued to get royal commissions, he also explored the art of etching and created many collections, from the "Capriches" satirizing the double-standards of Spanish life to the "Desartes", the first collection of war journalism that recorded the horrors of war with France and war in general. War, he depicted, was horrible for all involved; the dead were dead, no matter what side they fought on. Even his most famous work of the war, "The Third of May, 1808", does not declare a winner or loser, but reiterates the savagery of war. Regardless that he was an old, deaf man, the ambiguities in his art did not sit well with Fernando VII who demanded complete fealty from all around him. Fernando's restoration and subsequent authoritarian rule, tested Goya's ability to survive. He retired to a farmhouse outside the city and used its walls to paint the madness he saw in the world outside.
These are the paintings that stopped me in my tracks at the Prado two hundred years later.
Art critic and historian, Robert Hughes, who also wrote "The Fatal Shore: The Epic of Australia's Founding", one of the best works of nonfiction I have ever read, also turned his eye to Goya. His biography of the Spanish painter is again a masterpiece of criticism and study, not only plumbing the depths of Goya's psyche, but that of late 18th century Spain. Hughes is fearless with a wry humor and has a knack for the historical allusion to show how the world of Bourbon Spain often mirrors our own.
Francisco Goya's indomitable will that served him throughout his life is why we know of him today. While the rest of Western Europe flourished under the Renaissance into the Enlightenment, Spain, hidden behind the Pyrenees, remained backwards and in darkness as it was dominated by the Church, the Inquisition, and leaders who feared new knowledge and liberal values. Despite the fact that Ferdinand and Isabella sent conquistadors to the Americas, their sole focus was on wealth, not learning; at home they expelled Spanish Jews and Muslims, further plundering their own lands as it was the Arab Caliphs who created and maintained the canals and irrigation that made the countryside so lush. People were still burned at the stake into the late 1700's. Education was in shambles, creative thought looked down on, the great artwork hidden away in the royal palace. It was not, to say the least, the best place for a young man with artistic ambitions.
Goya spent the bulk of his early career making and designing tapestries and being passed over by the royal family for a position within the court. It was in part of his connections and his defiance of death (he lived twice as long as a typical Spaniard and died at 82) that he finally became Painter to the King, and he used his political cunning to stay in that position through the reigns of the somewhat enlightened Carlos II, the unimaginative Carlos III, and the despotic, Trump-on-steroids Fernando VII, who after Spain's unlikely defeat of Napoleon, plunged the country into further darkness and despair. Goya became an acute observer of life under the Inquisition as a result of his own despair; early in mid-life he became deathly ill and lost all of his all of his hearing as a result.
An aficionado of the bullfight and a participant of the "majo" (where we get the word "macho") culture, Goya not only had to rebuild his health, but to reassert his masculinity and talent to maintain his reputation while living with a disability. Deafness isolates; one can be both part of and apart from a gathering; it renders one vulnerable and reliant on others and also a prisoner to one's mind. Observation is survival; one must read the room and look for clues in other's tics and behaviors. Through his illness he felt the full force of being subjected to an arbitrary power outside of his control; he knew what it meant to have life upturned. This new insight elevated his art and imbued it with greater psychological depth; he also empathized more with the throne's subjects. He may have been Painter to the King, but his allegiance was to the people.
While he continued to get royal commissions, he also explored the art of etching and created many collections, from the "Capriches" satirizing the double-standards of Spanish life to the "Desartes", the first collection of war journalism that recorded the horrors of war with France and war in general. War, he depicted, was horrible for all involved; the dead were dead, no matter what side they fought on. Even his most famous work of the war, "The Third of May, 1808", does not declare a winner or loser, but reiterates the savagery of war. Regardless that he was an old, deaf man, the ambiguities in his art did not sit well with Fernando VII who demanded complete fealty from all around him. Fernando's restoration and subsequent authoritarian rule, tested Goya's ability to survive. He retired to a farmhouse outside the city and used its walls to paint the madness he saw in the world outside.
These are the paintings that stopped me in my tracks at the Prado two hundred years later.
Read
December 20, 2019“Artists are rarely moral heroes and should not be expected to be, any more than plumbers or dog breeders are. Goya, being neither madman nor masochist, had no taste for martyrdom. But he sometimes was heroic …. His work asserted that men and women should be free from tyranny and superstition; that torture, rape, despoliation and massacre, those perennial props of power in both the civil and the religious arena, were intolerable; and that those who condoned or employed them were not to be trusted, no matter how seductive the bugle calls and the swearing of allegiance might seem.” (5)
“One of the abiding mysteries of Goya seems to be that so fiery a spirit, so impetuous and sardonic, so unbridled in his imagination, could ever have adapted not just occasionally but consistently, for more than forty years, to the conditions of working for the successive Bourbon courts. … [There was a] once commonplace idea that Goya had somehow managed to install himself at the Spanish court as an underminer of the dignity of the Bourbons. It is a durable fancy because it fits the perennial belief in the subversiveness of art, but it is quite untrue. His portraits of the the Bourbons and their attendant nobles were not, as twentieth century writers have often argued, acts of hostility or satire. Even when he was painting someone he had reason to dislike … he was able to do it, if not with flattery, at least with a reasonable degree of equanimity. Goya the indignant ironist, the protester against death and injustice, mainly appears in his graphic work, which, though publicly (and unsuccessfully) offered for sale during the artist’s lifetime, did not come into being through any act of royal or noble patronage.” (19-20)
“Goya was exceptionally productive. He made some seven hundred paintings, nine hundred drawings, and almost three hundred prints, two great mural cycles, and a number of lesser mural projects. In his time he had a few competitors but no real rivals. He was that rarity, an artist born, raised, and working in a society strikingly short of pictorial talent who attained an astonishing level of achievement without much stimulus from peers.” (22)
“We see Goya through his own eyes at the end of the war, in a life-size head and shoulders on a panel painted in 1815. His head it cocked to one side, and the directness of his gaze suggests that he is seeing himself in the act of painting. There are no mannerisms, no signs of decor, no emblematic costume. His shirt collar is open. His forehead is like a cannonball of flesh and bone, lightly filmed, one senses, with the sweat of concentration. He is a man at work, not a court painter displaying his official position.” (344)
At the end of his life, in his early 80’s: “The old man’s strength and stamina were fading. But the intensity of the marks he made was not. It was as though the pictures were becoming smaller in order to concentrate the same pressure of feeling, of that vitality of touch, living in every line, which the Chinese called ch’i. He would not condescend to make works of art merely to sell them. He still despised self-repetition. … He was truly off on his own now, making for making’s sake…. Sometimes he would do an etching, based on a drawing. One such drawing is the marvelously energetic image of a wildly grinning old troll with horny feet, swinging on a rope, in total disregard of the dignity of age. This translates into one of his last etchings — the same subject, the crazy old barefoot sage, ignoring gravity and cackling to himself like a Zen patriarch absorbed in a private but cosmic joke: Goya himself, high in the air.” (395)
“One of the abiding mysteries of Goya seems to be that so fiery a spirit, so impetuous and sardonic, so unbridled in his imagination, could ever have adapted not just occasionally but consistently, for more than forty years, to the conditions of working for the successive Bourbon courts. … [There was a] once commonplace idea that Goya had somehow managed to install himself at the Spanish court as an underminer of the dignity of the Bourbons. It is a durable fancy because it fits the perennial belief in the subversiveness of art, but it is quite untrue. His portraits of the the Bourbons and their attendant nobles were not, as twentieth century writers have often argued, acts of hostility or satire. Even when he was painting someone he had reason to dislike … he was able to do it, if not with flattery, at least with a reasonable degree of equanimity. Goya the indignant ironist, the protester against death and injustice, mainly appears in his graphic work, which, though publicly (and unsuccessfully) offered for sale during the artist’s lifetime, did not come into being through any act of royal or noble patronage.” (19-20)
“Goya was exceptionally productive. He made some seven hundred paintings, nine hundred drawings, and almost three hundred prints, two great mural cycles, and a number of lesser mural projects. In his time he had a few competitors but no real rivals. He was that rarity, an artist born, raised, and working in a society strikingly short of pictorial talent who attained an astonishing level of achievement without much stimulus from peers.” (22)
“We see Goya through his own eyes at the end of the war, in a life-size head and shoulders on a panel painted in 1815. His head it cocked to one side, and the directness of his gaze suggests that he is seeing himself in the act of painting. There are no mannerisms, no signs of decor, no emblematic costume. His shirt collar is open. His forehead is like a cannonball of flesh and bone, lightly filmed, one senses, with the sweat of concentration. He is a man at work, not a court painter displaying his official position.” (344)
At the end of his life, in his early 80’s: “The old man’s strength and stamina were fading. But the intensity of the marks he made was not. It was as though the pictures were becoming smaller in order to concentrate the same pressure of feeling, of that vitality of touch, living in every line, which the Chinese called ch’i. He would not condescend to make works of art merely to sell them. He still despised self-repetition. … He was truly off on his own now, making for making’s sake…. Sometimes he would do an etching, based on a drawing. One such drawing is the marvelously energetic image of a wildly grinning old troll with horny feet, swinging on a rope, in total disregard of the dignity of age. This translates into one of his last etchings — the same subject, the crazy old barefoot sage, ignoring gravity and cackling to himself like a Zen patriarch absorbed in a private but cosmic joke: Goya himself, high in the air.” (395)
January 8, 2010
I always knew that Goya would be an interesting character. I vaguely recall hearing about how he often parodied his courtly subjects. In reading Goya, I find out this is true and not true. This ambiguity being something that was so common of him. Goya was such a complex man. One thing is for sure, he was adept at ladening his work (which would be controversial even by today's standards, if the layman could interpret art) with social, religious, and sexual innuendos and commentary.
The book is over 400 pages, but is not a painful read. Goya's work is generously sprinkled throughout, which is a good way to explain the art. That being said Goya is not a coffee table book. The book is not as much about his work as about the man. Robert Hughes provides plently of his own personality as well. He is clearly anti-church and has an affinity for Goya because of this. That being said, I did not find him doggedly so. In most cases the institutions of the 18th and 19th century were clearly malificent.
Goya encourages me to read more on these fascinating creatures called artists as this is the first true biography I have read on one.
The book is over 400 pages, but is not a painful read. Goya's work is generously sprinkled throughout, which is a good way to explain the art. That being said Goya is not a coffee table book. The book is not as much about his work as about the man. Robert Hughes provides plently of his own personality as well. He is clearly anti-church and has an affinity for Goya because of this. That being said, I did not find him doggedly so. In most cases the institutions of the 18th and 19th century were clearly malificent.
Goya encourages me to read more on these fascinating creatures called artists as this is the first true biography I have read on one.
September 5, 2017
'Goya' contains sentences on paper so elegant and perfectly lumbering that time stops and the reader loses her breath, but the spell is intermittently broken by the rants of an insufferable blowhard. Perhaps this is what others are talking about when they mention a sort of 'frustrating charm' to reading Hughes, but I find little to enjoy when he seems to genuinely believe that he's operating from a clear sighted, even enlightened perspective. For all his provocation, it is sometimes humorous how frequently he feels the need to vent that his conservative sensibilities have been offended. Like a drunk uncle at a barbecue, it's not that what he's saying is shocking, but that he thinks he's dropping truth bombs when you've heard it all before, many times, from him. If my problems with Hughes' prejudices have clouded my reaction to 'Goya' the book, it is because Hughes only allows us to know Goya the painter, through Hughes. Not only does he block the doorway to the subject, he dresses himself up as the subject and rambles drunk uncle shit at you as you're trying to peer past. He brings a sort of Goya-the-individual to life, but what makes this Hughes-Goya so esteemed I have no idea.
November 24, 2020
Well written but trite
Hughes often has more to say about Spanish history than Goya’s work. Often felt he was writing more of a tour guide than a deep appreciation of one of Spain’s foremost painters. Goya is a legend yet Hughes never manages to communicate why.
Did Hughes really have so little to say about the Black Paintings? Does he really not understand why so many 20th century giants spent hours in front of them (Miro being a particular example)? Great painters are known for their great works yet this book has no focus devoting as much time to minor bullfighting pictures at the end of Goya’s life as to his greatest artistic achievements.
Hughes often has more to say about Spanish history than Goya’s work. Often felt he was writing more of a tour guide than a deep appreciation of one of Spain’s foremost painters. Goya is a legend yet Hughes never manages to communicate why.
Did Hughes really have so little to say about the Black Paintings? Does he really not understand why so many 20th century giants spent hours in front of them (Miro being a particular example)? Great painters are known for their great works yet this book has no focus devoting as much time to minor bullfighting pictures at the end of Goya’s life as to his greatest artistic achievements.
June 22, 2017
Aside from the flip comment about Hemingway's writing in "Death in the Afternoon" having been written by a lady, as he must've been under the influence of lesbian Gertrude Stein (not verbatim but all mentioned in the text), which I found unnecessary and entirely misogynistic, it was a good read. But due to that comment, I'll not be reading Robert Hughes again. Though I learned an immense amount about Goya and Spanish history in a time period I never studied in school, I prefer my literature and personal educational endeavors to not include micro- or macroaggressions against women.
May 11, 2011
a 400 page Goya bio, yeah, not for everyone, and, me not even being close to knowing much about Goya, couldn't tell you how legit this book is, but i sure liked it. For anybody interested in funky ole imperial Spain, culture, painting, Goya in context as a 17th century man, his circumstances and history, plus good Robert Hughes writing. Published by Knopf and in the H. W. Wilson Catalog of essential books, so very well made and edited.
June 23, 2020
I've never, ever been interested in art history. Or much of any history. And yet, it was fascinating. So glad I read it!
October 22, 2025
Je hoort mij niet klagen. Spanje gastland Europalia 2025. Goya in Bozar. Staat op de agenda met stip. En nu vorm ik mij, na het lezen van deze briljante biografie, een beter beeld van de man, zijn kunst en vooral de omgeving waarin hij werkte. Het is zo veel meer dan een boek over de schilder. De verstikkende sfeer, het achterlijke, duistere Spanje met zijn autoritaire, domme machthebbers, het verstikkende katholicisme dat elke gedachte aan vernieuwing smoorde met behulp van de verreikende arm van de inquisitie. Zien we in de strijd tussen de liberalen en de katholieke bourbongezinden uit de tijd van Goya geen prelude op de verwoestende burgeroorlog uit de jaren '30 van vorige eeuw? Toen, net als tijdens het leven van Goya overwon de stilstand...En ik hield van de robuuste stijl van de auteur.
July 21, 2025
Obviously I didn't read it all word for word; I was mainly looking at the art work of Goya and read bits about the history of what made Goya's work be the way they were.
Still kinda weird, but classy for the time frame Goya lived through and how he expressed his feelings. Not sure if I'll even own the Caprichos works because they are all a bit disturbing. Really made me think they should be the kind that are in found in "Scary stories to tell in the dark" but his work is still historic enough to be taught today.
Still kinda weird, but classy for the time frame Goya lived through and how he expressed his feelings. Not sure if I'll even own the Caprichos works because they are all a bit disturbing. Really made me think they should be the kind that are in found in "Scary stories to tell in the dark" but his work is still historic enough to be taught today.
Want to read
December 28, 2016"This is one genius writing at full capacity about another - and the result is truly spectacular."
I expected the above from the review on Goodreads.
AND there it was !!!
Both Men of Passion !!!!
Not only did Robert Hughes LOVE Spain,
he has a genius with words and a sharp, pugnacious personality,
just like Germaine Greer,
...I can think of THEM as Bookends !!! ...
and so for him to want to express himself about Goya,
one of the most tantalising, original, honest and startling of artists,
is like setting alight a fuse from which one can expect a BIG BANG !!!!
Again like Germaine Greer.
Listening to Them whenever they made/make their regular trips back to Australia was/is a Supreme Treat. They always came/come at Whatever Topic from an angle nobody else has considered.
I am straining at the leash to devour this one !!!!
Here in Sydney we just had an exhibition of Spanish Art - "Renaissance to Goya" - of prints and drawings, and although Goya's prints stood out, they were not popular in their day.
We were able to view what WAS popular, and make up our own minds.
For me Goya's surpassed because of their reality, their lack of any sentimentality, their untidiness, their readiness to record actual events. (I refer here to his Bullfighting etchings.)
Of course there were the absolutely ghastly ones of the Napoleonic French Occupation, to one of which he had merely written "I witnessed this."...so one knew the horror was not an exaggeration.
And the parables and supernatural, surreal ones. Has anyone done anything so powerful and unsettling? (The German Expressionist, Otto Dix did comparable etchings of World War One warfare.) The development from the artist of colourful Spanish life is truly remarkable.
Perhaps Robert Hughes is, in his bombastic way, telling us to jump in and make our own Opinion as he has.
One must develop a love of entertaining a readiness for puzzlement.
Great to read someone who gives you a darn good shake, isn't it ?!?!!
Robert died last year.
He had never fully recovered from a dreadful car accident on an Aussie Fishing trip some years ago. Dealing with my own bad back, I feel a link;I can take some courage and inspiration from him.As I'm sure Robert did with Goya'a struggle with his deafness.
What Good Company!! What a Bonus !!!
August 31, 2015
Perhaps no two artists epitomized the essence of early national character better than JMW Turner and Francisco de Goya y Lucientes. They were rough contemporaries who achieved high recognition in nations that warred savagely with each other. England and France thrust Europe kicking and screaming into the modern world over the prostrate body of Spain. Turner commemorated the glorious heroic victories on a grand stage, though not without ambivalence. Goya's cynical camera's eye recorded the incidental savagery and madness of ravening mobs and men defined by hatred and lunacy. Robert Hughes' own sardonic nature and great admiration of Goya's art allows him to create a magnificent and sympathetic portrait of the artist and man in place and time. Indeed, Hughes must rely on historical context and aesthetic criticism in his biography because so little is actually known about Goya. So this biography transects the twilight of Spanish greatness and descends into the horrors of its vivisection to understand Goya's art. It's exhausting reading, but not only does Goya's work become intelligible, it becomes inevitable as does the whole sad trajectory of Spain until the death of Franco. My only quarrel with the biographer is that Hughes used this canvas to express contemporary views that were unnecessary to understanding Goya and his works. He wrote as contemporary critic as well as historical biographer because that is what he is. As Goya's art mirrors his life and times, so does this disquieting, brilliant biography by Hughes.
November 20, 2020
This was one of the best books I’ve read this year. I bought it very long ago (because Goya is one of my favorite painters, if not *the* favorite) and forgot that I even had it, and because it is big and heavy, with colorful illustrations, it was a perfect book to read during the pandemic. So I did, and I was awfully glad to be able to escape to 18th and 19th century Spain and look at, and read about, the pictures of Goya, and Goya himself.
It is quite a subjective book, full of the opinions and thoughts of its author, and I know that some of the reviewers didn’t quite like it, but I did. I was wary at the beginning, but I found the style passionate and engaging without being grating, the historical insights deep and well thought out, and the background and the dramatis personae introduced in engrossing and compassionate way. I especially liked the descriptions of the Spanish royal court, and the characterization of Queen Maria Luisa, who is usually treated very badly by historians. The way Hughes wrote about her, about Godoy, about the Duchess of Alba, and even about Goya’s wife Josefa and other women in his life – I truly appreciated the respect and at the same time the familiarity and warmth.
Now I want to go to the Prado and see all the pictures. And even visit Fuendetodos. Ha! When?...
November 26, 2024
I enjoyed learning about Goya, but I especially enjoyed getting to know his paintings. The talk we had at the book club was just phenomenal, and having his work projected in front of us in high resolution (using mostly Wikipedia) was so helpful. Here are the questions one of our members came up with:
1. Do you have a favorite Goya work? In one or two sentences, explain why.
2. The life expectancy in Europe around 1800 was 30 to 40 years and Goya lived to 82. How could such a long life have allowed for his evolution as an artist?
3. How might Goya’s long-term deafness have affected his worldview and his art?
4. How effectively did Goya balance his courtly commissions with his persona artistic impulses? Was he a sellout?
5. What modern comparison could we make for the satire of the Caprichos?
6. The “Disasters of War” series is a less comprehensive view of war than current media provides, but they are arguably more vivid. How do we account for the horrific nature of these prints?
7. Many of Goya’s major works were not seen by the public until many years after his death. How can imagery survive—and even strengthen—over time?
8. In our age of total media saturation, when any visual media can be accessed at will and even conjured by AI, is it possible to be moved by an image anymore? In an Age of Slop, where does Goya fit?
1. Do you have a favorite Goya work? In one or two sentences, explain why.
2. The life expectancy in Europe around 1800 was 30 to 40 years and Goya lived to 82. How could such a long life have allowed for his evolution as an artist?
3. How might Goya’s long-term deafness have affected his worldview and his art?
4. How effectively did Goya balance his courtly commissions with his persona artistic impulses? Was he a sellout?
5. What modern comparison could we make for the satire of the Caprichos?
6. The “Disasters of War” series is a less comprehensive view of war than current media provides, but they are arguably more vivid. How do we account for the horrific nature of these prints?
7. Many of Goya’s major works were not seen by the public until many years after his death. How can imagery survive—and even strengthen—over time?
8. In our age of total media saturation, when any visual media can be accessed at will and even conjured by AI, is it possible to be moved by an image anymore? In an Age of Slop, where does Goya fit?
April 11, 2011
OK, if you're an Art History Fan & not that familiar with Goya then this book is a must-read. I actually didn't know about this book when it came out and it was a "surprise find" at my local Library. While cruising the Art Section I came across this thing. At first I was attracted by the book cover design & the simple word on the spine, "GOYA". Then I noticed it was written by Robert Hughes ( who really gets on my nerves sometimes, you know, the way he trashes Andy Warhol every chance he gets, ha! ) but I thought he is a pretty decent Writer so this book might not be too bad. Plus, I have always loved the work of Goya & wanted to learn more about this Artist.
It's basically a total biography of Goya, from birth to death & everything in between! It's all very well written & heavily researched. But the wonderful part is that there are plenty of photos of his many sketches & paintings to enjoy. Plus, each artwork is so meticulously written about that it gives you a better understanding on their meaning & what, maybe, the Artist was trying to say. Which really means a lot because, at times, Goya's work is extremely political. It also puts the work into historical reference & you get a way better point of view.
It's basically a total biography of Goya, from birth to death & everything in between! It's all very well written & heavily researched. But the wonderful part is that there are plenty of photos of his many sketches & paintings to enjoy. Plus, each artwork is so meticulously written about that it gives you a better understanding on their meaning & what, maybe, the Artist was trying to say. Which really means a lot because, at times, Goya's work is extremely political. It also puts the work into historical reference & you get a way better point of view.
January 30, 2013
I finished this book this morning. It is a beautiful hard-bound book including high quality, full-color reproductions of Goya's work. Each chapter covers a phase in the great artist's life. Hughes tends to set up each chapter like this: first he give historical context, outlying the cultural and Geo-political world that Goya lived in, complete with interesting anecdotes and portraits of Spanish royalty etc.; then he give biography, explaining how Goya fit into the context; then he discusses Goyas work from that period in a critical voice that is insightful and inspiring.
I did not expect to read the whole book word-by-word. I expected to skim and look at the pictures. But I'll be damned if the book is not just infectiously well-written. I learned a lot about Goya and Spain, and I have a much deeper appreciation of Goya's incredible body of work.
I did not expect to read the whole book word-by-word. I expected to skim and look at the pictures. But I'll be damned if the book is not just infectiously well-written. I learned a lot about Goya and Spain, and I have a much deeper appreciation of Goya's incredible body of work.
April 20, 2018
Remarkable, lively, informative. Hughes fills this work with historical background to complement the artistic analysis. Learned a lot and enjoyed the process. Goya's humanity was thoroughly explored and many of the stereotypes about his supposed atheistic rebelliousness were convincingly debunked. He was clearly someone who mistrusted the masses in some ways but also could appreciate bullfighting when many intellectuals were rejecting the brutality of this spectacle. He had a lifelong attachment to bullfighters and their sport/art. His images of the Peninsular war with the French were his crowning achievement and showed the horrors of war in ways never previously shown. Excellent book.
March 1, 2025
Goya, 1746-1828, was one of the most important Spanish painters of his time. In addition to painting members of court, he also painted and etched scenes from the Peninsular War in which Napoleon’s army invaded Spain, the series named “Disasters of War” as well as those imprisoned and tortured by the Inquisition, scenes in asylums and scenes of ordinary life. Hughes gives us a comprehensive biography of Goya, the times in which he lived and most prominently his art. The book is sympathetic and insightful of an artist whose work is itself engaging and poignant.
March 10, 2024
Robert Hughes is a respected art critic and has written one of the greatest nonfiction books of all-time in The Fatal Shore. So I was pleased to see he had written a book length work on Spanish artist Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes-simply known to us today as Goya. It follows the man and his development over time until his death at he age 82. Thus, there are some 60 odd years of working life to discuss. He avidly describes what life was like in 17th and 18th century in Madrid. It is an impressive overview of one of the greatest artists of all time.
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July 24, 2011I just wrote a paper on Goya and it was by far the the most paper I've ever wrote. In fact , I'm not satisfied with it all.
I find it funny that Napoleon said : " a picture is worth a thousand words " It is was no other than Napoleon who was known for shutting down the press and subversive activities.
I believe Goya did allot of damage to Napoleons image with is paintings.
Napoleon said, the winners write the history books which he is right. He didn't mention paintings and artwork.
I find it funny that Napoleon said : " a picture is worth a thousand words " It is was no other than Napoleon who was known for shutting down the press and subversive activities.
I believe Goya did allot of damage to Napoleons image with is paintings.
Napoleon said, the winners write the history books which he is right. He didn't mention paintings and artwork.
January 15, 2015
Phenomenal, enthralling biography of Goya, chock full of reproductions - many in full color - of a wonderful variety of his works, covering his entire, long and storied career. A joy and thrilling to read, and savor. Hughes keeps the painter's life in historical comtext, adding background where needed, but not excessively. A wonderfully balanced and terrifically well written book, which I was sad to finish.
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