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When sketches for the pendentives were rejected by the Cathedral, Goya was told to submit his designs to his brother-in-law to be approved. Goya was appointed court painter to Charles IV in but a serious illness in winter left him completely deaf. His health problems led to a change in his artistic style, with the Rococo themes of his early work being replaced with a dark form of expressionism. He painted a portrait of her shortly after his passing, in which she posed as a maja.

Monika Zgustova

The painting was commissioned by the Duchess herself, but Goya kept it for himself for 15 years. The artist is also regarded as one of the finest printmakers in the history of art and produced four well-known print portfolios in his lifetime, which were Tauromaquia, Caprichos, Proverbios and the Disasters of War. Whilst some of these Francisco Goya art works were humorous and satirical, others were horrifying and grotesque. The Disasters of War etchings and the paintings 2 May and 3 May were inspired by the Napoleonic occupation of his country.

Frescoes were painting on the walls of his home around and were eventually known as the Black Paintings. The artist was said to on the verge of insanity when they were produced. The paintings are regarded as highly influential on movements like surrealism and expressionism.

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I kept a lookout for Mama although I knew that her triumphant entrance would put an end to my pleasure at being the center of attention. And the fact is that Mother always became the focus of attention because she was the most beautiful, the most elegant and refined, the kind of woman for whom, when she entered a salon, the musicians stopped playing, so dazzled were they.

And then I made a firm resolution that would be the aim of my life: to stop the music playing when I entered a salon. My grandfather bid the guests welcome. He looked so fine! How proud I was to have him. I thought that when I was grownup, I would marry only a general, strong and good-looking, who would proudly wear the uniform that makes men look so beautiful. But quite the opposite happened: they married me to a man who was neither strong nor good-looking, and who wore no uniform. I think that if my grandfather wore his gala uniform on the day of my birthday, it was only to make things pleasant for me, to make me happy, because as a rule he never dressed with the pomp that was customary in Madrid, but in a simpler fashion.

I suppose that this was out of respect for the authors who were banned in Spain, and who I also imagined dressed in a simple, humble fashion, all those French encyclopedists: Diderot, d'Alembert, Voltaire, and, above all, grandfather's great friend Jean-Jacques Rousseau. The guests were now in the salons and we had only to wait for my parents. People formed groups and conversed, and I told myself that when I was grown-up, beautiful, and admired, I too would make people wait for me.

Father came in with a very large packet, and I grumbled that I didn't want a present of any kind. I wanted Mama and nothing else. He put me in my place with a severe look, gave me a kiss, and told me that I was already a young lady, that I was eight years old, and that I had to behave myself like a great lady and stop grumbling like a badly brought-up girl.

And he kissed me again and promised me that Mama would come to my birthday party, that she would be only a little late, and that we were not to wait for her for dinner. He pronounced this last sentence in a clear, loud voice so that all those present could hear. Everyone behaved as if nothing untoward had happened, but I noticed that their indifference was feigned and that they felt sorry for me. My father gave me that enormous packet: "De Maman! I ran upstairs to my chamber, threw the packet into a corner and, with my head under the pillow, I thought that if my mother wasn't coming, then I didn't want to see anyone at all.

Goya's Glass - By Monika Zgustova

After a while grandfather came in, made me sit on his knees, wiped away my tears, and held me tight. Then he himself took the packet and opened it. An enormous doll appeared on my lap, with blue-gray eyes like those of my mother. I thought that she had sent me a puppet to take her place for good. Once in the dining room, I placed the doll on my mother's chair and ordered the maid to pour wine in its glass and serve food on its plate. After dinner I went into my mother's chamber; I wanted to paint the doll's face.

I spread cream on its eyebrows until they disappeared completely, powdered its face, and drew high brows using black eyeliner, which gave it the expression of permanent and cold surprise that my mother so often wore.

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I straightened the hair of the wig and powdered it until it was white, and at the back of the neck I tied her hair up in a little net. I was happy with my creation. Now I had my mama. I have just taken a nap.

book launch ::Goya`s Glass ::Instituto Cervantes de New York

I have reached the stage at which anything tires me, even memories. Consuelo, my chambermaid and confidante of many years, never stops giving orders and hopping about all over the place. With small, sunken eyes, a potato nose, and fingers like chunks of wood. The lady nobles do not want their portrait to be painted by anyone but him and they pay him their weight in gold, not so much for the portraits, which are excellent, to be certain, but rather for He has cured the infertility of more than one Madrid lady. But I think the only women who really attract him are the majas and the manolas.

What's more, he's a regular of the dubious districts with the poor light in which the street girls wander. And our noble ladies cannot resist the temptation of tasting a man with a reputation such as his. At that moment I made a violent gesture to shut up Consuelo so as not to hear any more gossip, but nonetheless a little worm of curiosity had begun to nibble away at my heart.

No, I certainly wouldn't do as those silly noble ladies had done; I wouldn't let him paint my portrait. But what if I commissioned a portrait of my husband, playing the violin or the harpsichord? My curiosity was getting the best of me, but I told myself that I wouldn't stoop to believe the tittle-tattle of the servants and I forgot about the whole business. Where was I? Ah, yes, the doll: my mother's puppet. But it was truly my mother, it had to be, there was no other with me on the day of my birthday.

I bathed before going to bed while the mama-puppet sat on a chair by my side. I dried myself and she followed me with her eyes. I put on a nightshirt and picked her up in my arms, very carefully so as not to tousle her hair. I even smelled her: it was she. Then I stretched out in bed, she sat on the mattress, and I rested my head in her lap, playing with her hair, which had become unfastened, playing with the brooch, the ring.

Now my hand rested on her head. I went to sleep. Just for a little while, but happily, because Mama was keeping me company. I put her head on the pillow next to my own and tucked myself in. It was cold and the fireplace wasn't lit. I gave her a big hug.

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I covered myself with her arm. She dried my cheeks. Within her embrace the tears poured out of me like water from a fountain overflowing from rainfall. When I woke up, her arm was around my waist. I pressed myself against her and the brooch stuck my chest.

Paquita Salas entrega el Goya a Actriz Revelación - #Goya2018

Then I saw that name by the light of the candle, written in reverse on my skin. Print Email Share. Don't miss intelligence crucial to your job and business! Packaging news and trends. Packaging machinery. Contract Packaging. Looking for leading suppliers? Berlin Packaging. Glenroy Inc. Independent Can Co. Sealed Air Corporation. Studio One Eleven. Follow Us.