Anomaly
A boy of about ten stands before the canvas. He bends his knees, lifts his head, and gazes upward as if trying to decipher what the dog is looking at. This moment is part of one of the most celebrated works in world art, the painting Antonio Saura once called the most beautiful in existence, a truth many critics have echoed through the years.
Within the dim glow of the Prado Museum’s rooms housing Goya’s Black Paintings, the space is intimate, almost subterranean. The walls of Quinta del Sordo, where Goya created these pieces during a four-year stretch, hold a mystery that continues to invite fresh interpretations from new viewers, especially the international visitors who find themselves drawn to the paintings’ enigmatic atmosphere.
The collection consists of fourteen oil paintings, each steeped in chiaroscuro and shadow. They were created on the walls of the artist’s retreat on a hill in the former Carabanchel Bajo, near the Segovia Bridge. The works retain more questions than certainties, a reflection of their fragile existences and the turbulent history they have endured.
Baron Frédéric Émile d’Erlanger, a notable figure among visitors to the museum and a member of a prominent Belgian banking family, acquired these paintings after purchasing Quinta in 1873. Fifty years later, the works were still considered deeply unsettling, and their path to public display at the Paris Universal Exhibition of 1878 marked a turning point in their public reception.
Two Birds in Flight
Scholars like Miguel Hermoso, a doctor of Art History and professor at the Complutense University of Madrid, describe the initial reception of the works as dismissive and almost anomalous. Yet today they are linked with movements such as surrealism and expressionism, and they have become part of the broader conversation about 20th-century art, even if their original context does not mirror such associations.
After years of tension over ownership and funding, the Prado Museum became the custodian of the works in 1881. The process of removing frescoes from the Quinta proved delicate and problematic; when the elements and details were transferred to canvas, some information was inevitably lost in the process, a reminder of the fragility inherent in deconstructing murals for study and display.
Even before the dismantling period, the Quinta’s walls showed signs of aging: painted plaster, cracks, patches, and later restorations bore witness to a long history of alteration and repainting that predated the move to the museum. The site itself sits on a hill near the edge of Madrid, a short distance from the old structure that once housed Goya’s bold experiments in oil and pigment on walls that refused to yield their secrets easily.
Part of the work known as Veneto’s Sabbath, with Francis of Goya attributed to the period 1820 to 1823, is preserved in the Prado, offering a focal point for study and reflection on the painter’s late style and the dramatic intensity that characterizes these pieces.
Experts have discussed the technical challenges of removing wall paintings. The practice was known to be risky, and the transfer of fresco-like elements to canvas was rarely flawless. In Goya’s case, the wall itself presented a tougher test than most oil works, and valuable fragments of information have been lost to time. As Hermoso notes, the loss could amount to substantial portions of the original image during the transfer process.
Photographs taken before the Quinta’s dismantling in the 1970s by Jean Laurent became crucial evidence. They were initially taken to support the sale of the works, yet they now serve as vital references for scholars attempting to reconstruct the original compositions and assess what changes occurred during the conservation journey. These images reveal a curious anomaly in the frame: a sunken dog and two birdlike spots that seemed to point toward a narrative that the viewer might never fully reconstruct. The dog appears to watch the birds intently, suggesting a hidden clue awaiting discovery.
Also in the collection, comments from the Madrid-based Spanish Cultural Heritage Institute and other scholars emphasize that Laurent’s footage provides a window into the original, sometimes distant, aspects of the paintings. In many cases, what survives bears little direct relation to the intent or detail of the initial work. This tension between preservation and interpretation is a recurring theme in the study of Goya’s Black Paintings and similar masterpieces.
Two birds in flight capture a recurring motif: the dog’s gaze toward moving birds implies freedom and motion that may have existed in the original composition. Some experts argue that the dog’s attention to the birds signals a broader metamorphosis in art history, a shift from strict representation to an expression of movement, life, and possibility that resonates with later artists who celebrated the idea of liberation in form and subject matter. In contrast, others insist that the dog’s moment of stillness in the frame communicates a deeper, quiet reflection on suffering, mortality, and the human condition.
Hermoso offers that the unknowns persist largely because the photographs date from decades after the works themselves were created, and the photographs inevitably present limited detail. The resulting ambiguity invites ongoing discussion about the precise arrangement and meaning of the pieces, a reminder of how fragile and elusive meaning can be when viewed through the lens of time and conservation practice.
For broader context, observers note that Goya’s most unsettling and dramatic works exist beside luminous landscapes and pastoral scenes from the same era, a juxtaposition that highlights the artist’s range and willingness to explore stark contrasts. The Prado’s Technical Documentation Office, later guided by conservator Carmen Garrido, has contributed to a careful, methodical understanding of the paintings without simplifying the experience they offer to viewers.
What remains clear is that Goya’s dog and its companions are not simply relics of a past technique. They mark a moment when art began to push beyond straightforward depiction, venturing into a space where emotion, interpretation, and ambiguity can coexist. For enthusiasts of Goya, a contemporary tribute by Madrid-based artist Marco Prieto resonates with the sense of place near the Quinta del Sordo site, as new artwork continues to connect the historical with the modern, even if the precise birds one sees cannot always be clearly discerned from the current view.