In 1792, Goya, at 47 already one of Europe's foremost artists, suffered a devastating illness which was to leave him almost deaf. During a long convalescence he read widely on the social and political issues of his day, particularly the French Revolution and the philosophy which inspired it. When he returned to full-time work later in the decade, he was a changed man -- more bitter, more pessimistic about humankind's future, less tolerant of its foibles -- and he prepared to embark upon an artistic mission which would make him not only the artist of his own age but also one for the ages, and, arguably, the father of modern art.

Los Caprichos

The eighty "Los Caprichos" aquatint plates of 1799 were his first foray in this new direction. Satirical graphic art certainly existed before him (Hogarth comes to mind) but never before had anyone dared such a scathing and uncompromising critique of social manners and hypocrisy. The eighty plates, roughly 12 1/2 by 8 3/4 inches in their uncut state, were published in book form at the moderate price of 320 reales at a shop across from Goya's own house in Madrid's "Calle del Desengano" (Street of Disillusion). Not surprisingly, despite Goya's cautious and often ambiguous captions, it was not popular in certain circles, and he was forced to suspend sales, after only 23 copies had been bought. In 1803, facing heat from the political right and liable for prosecution by the Inquisition, Goya was finally rescued by King Carlos IV. The king, who liked Goya personally and was probably too obtuse to recognize that he had painted him as a bumbling idiot, ordered all unsold sets and the original copper plates to be rendered to the Crown, stating publicly that Goya had acted on his orders, thus saving him from the Inquisitors. Image: The sleep of reason produces monsters (El sueño del la razon produce monstruos)

Several sets of short commentaries on each plate were written in the years following publication, some possibly by Goya himself. Given the brevity of the captions and the viewer's probable unfamiliarity with the social milieu depicted, I have included one of these -- the so-called "Prado" Manuscript commentary. Take these for what they're worth, a contemporary's interpretation: only the titles are Goya's and the pictures speak for themselves.

"The Disasters of War" (Los Desastres de la Guerra) are a series of 82 prints created between 1810 and 1820 by Goya. Although he did not make known his intention when creating the plates, art historians view them as a visual protest against the violence of the 1808 Dos de Mayo Uprising, the subsequent Peninsular War of 1808–14 and the setbacks to the liberal cause following the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy in 1814. During the conflicts between Napoleon's French Empire and Spain, Goya retained his position as first court painter to the Spanish crown and continued to produce portraits of the Spanish and French rulers. Although deeply affected by the war, he kept private his thoughts on the art he produced in response to the conflict and its aftermath. He was in poor health and almost deaf when, at 62, he began work on the prints. They were not published until 1863, 35 years after his death. It is likely that only then was it considered politically safe to distribute a sequence of artworks criticising both the French and restored Bourbons. Image: They say yes and give their hand to the first one who comes along. (El si pronuncian y la mano alargan Al primero que llega)

The first 47 focus on incidents from the war and show the consequences of the conflict on individual soldiers and civilians. The middle series (plates 48 to 64) record the effects of the famine that hit Madrid in 1811–12, before the city was liberated from the French. The final 17 reflect the bitter disappointment of liberals when the restored Bourbon monarchy, encouraged by the Catholic hierarchy, rejected the Spanish Constitution of 1812 and opposed both state and religious reform. Since their first publication, Goya's scenes of atrocities, starvation, degradation and humiliation have been described as the "prodigious flowering of rage" as well as the "work of a memory that knew no forgiveness." The serial nature in which the plates unfold has led some to see the images as similar in nature to photography. Los Disparates & La Tauromaquia

Besides "Los Caprichos" and "Los Desastres de la Guerra" Goya did two other series of engraved plates, "La Tauromaquia," published as a volume in 1816, and "Los Disparates" ("Follies" or "Extravagances"), done between 1817 and 1819, but never published in his lifetime. Image: Tit for Tat [One like the other] (Tal para qual)

After the upheaval of the Penisular War against French troops occupying Spain, Goya was seriously strapped for cash. He thus decided to execute a series of aquatint engravings chronicling the history of Spain's most popular sport -- bullfighting. The project must have been somewhat of a relief for him after the years depicting the contemporary horrors of the "Disasters of War" -- a nostalgic return to the memories and enthusiasms of his own youth. The volume, however, did not sell as well as he had hoped, the Spanish book-buying public presumably preferring a less-expensive text-only historical account. Modern audiences, nevertheless, will find it a most pleasurable and convenient way of learning about the history and art of bullfighting. The original Spanish captions are provided, along with an English translation, in the comments. Several other engravings and lithographs by Goya dealing with bullfighting are appended to the set.

Why Goya chose to execute the "Los Disparates" series is unclear. He had just finished the last section of engravings for the "Disasters of War" series in 1816 -- the ones dealing not with the war, but with the evils of the reactionary regime that took power after Napoleon's troops departed -- yet he did not publish them for fear of reprisals. It would appear that the eighteen prints that originally comprised the series (four more were added later by publishers) were intended to satirize the current regime. The imagery is certainly as ghastly and provocative as anything Goya produced, but, over-cautious as a result of his experience with "Los Caprichos," he buries their political message under layers of esoteric reference and symbolism. When they saw the light of day after his death, the publishers decided to give them some context by associating a Spanish proverb with each picture. These appear in the comments, along with my translation into English. Image: Nobody knows himself (Nadie se conoce)