Okay so today I wanted to dig into something I’ve always found kinda disturbing but fascinating – Goya’s Black Paintings. You know, the super messed-up ones he painted right on his own house walls. Been seeing images like that “Saturn Devouring His Son” everywhere lately, decided to finally figure out what that was all about.
Diving Into The Deep End
Started simple. Just sat down with my laptop, maybe too much coffee, and pulled up pictures of all the Black Paintings. First thought? Pure nightmare fuel. Seriously. Old dudes eating their kids, women laughing weirdly, crowds looking lost and terrified. Felt dark, really dark. Like, heavier than just horror movie stuff.
Googled why Goya did this. Turned out he was an old, deaf guy by this point. Had lived through war in Spain, the government flipping upside down. Sounded miserable. Painted these directly on the walls of his country house, Quinta del Sordo (“Deaf Man’s Villa” – figures). Not for show, not for sale. Just… for himself? That got me thinking differently.
Trying To Make Sense Of The Madness
I wanted to feel it, not just read about it. So I tried something stupid: grabbed a sketchbook and tried drawing my own version of “The Dog” – that one with the little dog sinking into sand or whatever it is. Just felt trapped. Didn’t try to make it look good, just tried to feel how it might have felt painting this weird, hopeless scene. Mine looked like mud smears, obviously. But it kinda drove home how personal and raw this must have been for him.
Went back down the research rabbit hole:
- Not Fairies & Magic Anymore: This dude used to paint kings and queens and pretty, whimsical scenes for fancy people. The Black Paintings are a total 180. No happy endings here.
- Symbols Everywhere: Kept seeing bats, weird demons, fighting figures. It feels chaotic, like his head was spinning. Old Gods eating children (“Saturn”), women grinning like monsters (“Two Old Men”). Doesn’t feel like just bad dreams. Feels like the world crumbling.
- Maybe He Wasn’t Crazy? Okay, painting demons on your walls looks nuts. But reading about his life – the wars, political chaos, illness, deafness – honestly? Maybe this was his only way to scream. It wasn’t “madness” for art’s sake; it felt more like surviving hell.
The Big Realization (& a Weird Connection)
Watching a doc about it, the camera slowly moved across “The Witches’ Sabbath”. Instead of just seeing monsters, I suddenly saw exhaustion. An old man sitting in the middle of demons, looking tired. Maybe that was Goya? Watching Spain fall apart, feeling powerless, seeing monsters everywhere? Felt less like horror and more like… brutal honesty.
It hit me kinda hard. My younger brother went through a rough patch a couple years back, anxiety so bad it trapped him. He couldn’t tell anyone. Felt like he was drowning. Seeing Goya’s stuff… it felt similar. Painting was his way of letting the madness out, trapping it on the wall so maybe it didn’t eat him alive inside.
Wrapping My Head Around It
Finished my sketchbook page – looked like garbage! But I felt different. These paintings? They aren’t just spooky decorations. They’re like a raw diary from a guy drowning in fear, anger, and helplessness. He used symbols, sure, but it comes off terrifyingly real.
Still gives me chills. But now I get it more. It’s not just about being dark and edgy. It feels like a genuine howl into the void from someone who saw way too much shadow. Learned my lesson too: DON’T try to copy Goya right before bed. Seriously. Bad idea.
