Women of All Walks Legendary Spanish Painter Captured Complex World of Fairer Sex by Gary Tischler Anticipating the exhibition ìGoya: Images of Women,î now at the National Gallery of Art, you might feel that youíre about to find out secrets about the great and idiosyncratic Spanish artist Francisco Goya y Lucientes: that he was a misogynist, a lecher, a hopeless romantic, or something that says, ìThis is what Goya thought of women.î You think youíll be able to tell all this just by looking at the set of 115 paintings, drawings, tapestry cartoons and tapestries. Well, yes, but mostly, no. What this exhibitionócentered on women from all walks of lifeóreveals, like a specific, powerful punctuation, is Goyaís resplendent genius, his clear-eyed view of women. He sees them from all sides: romantic, objective, straight-on, shimmering and grotesque, suffering, wounded, victimized and idealized. The women are dealt with in a very specific frameworkóSpain before and during the Napoleonic invasion, a Spain as socially stratified as any monarchy in Europe in the latter part of the 18th century and the first part of the 19th century. All of the gifts that make him a wonderful portraitist, a savage caricaturist, a master of drawing and a feverish visionary are funneled into this one particular subject. There is no end to the variety of women in this exhibition and no end to the fertile imagination, the kinetic energy of Goya, no matter what he is doing. For the Goyaphile, this is no doubt rich territory. There are tapestry cartoons here that have never been seen before, done when the young Goya first arrived at the Spanish court in Madrid. These are not, of course, cartoons, but full-scale paintings used as a model for the final tapestries to be woven. There are also six silk and wool tapestries. What they show is that Goya knew how to please and be playful, the latter a quality not usually associated with the man who produced ìThe Disasters of War.î Goya went from tapestry cartoons to portraits of aristocratic patrons, most notably Don Luis and his wife, MarÌa Teresa de Vallabriga y Rozas, an Aragonese noblewoman insufficiently noble to allow her husband, the kingís brother, to remain in the line of succession. One of the results, seen for the first time in the United States, is ìThe Family of the Infante Don Luis,î a family portrait that is dramatic for its naturalness, with MarÌa Teresa occupying the focal point, her hair being combed while her husband plays cards. The singular quality of Goyaís portraits is the naturalness, the swift brushworks, the refusal to prettify: MarÌa Teresa, for instance, is never shown as out-and-out beautiful, but sheís always compelling. In fact, the women are never anything less than hauntingóthat goes for the direct eyes of the older Maria Antonia Gonzaga, the Marchioness of Villafranca, Queen MarÌa Luisa matter-of-factly resplendent in court dress, the whimsically small Countess of Chinchon, ThÈrese-Louise de Sureda, stern in green, and the magnificently sensual Isabel de Porcel. The portraits are about character and attitude, and thereís always something going on in those faces. The most popularly famous Goya woman and painting of allóìNaked Majaîóis shuffled into a room and category discreetly described as ìGentlemanís Paintings,î making the works sound like something wrapped in brown paper. One can suppose that a certain amount of scandal and infamy was attached to the painting and its sister work ìClothed Majaîóthe Duchess of Alba has been named as a possible, but not verified, sitter. What is undeniable is that Goya could make flesh sing. As familiar as ìNaked Majaî is up close and personal, it can still hypnotize, although the painting called ìSleepî is every bit its equal in eroticism. In a way, you get the oeuvre of Goya in this exhibitionóhis genius for outrage and fever-eyed protest in his drawings, as exemplified by ìThe Disasters of War,î some of which are included here. These get their full expressions in the Caprichos (aquatint etchings) and later in private drawings, where women are seen murdering sleeping men, suffering horrific execution, being teased, deceived, seduced and suffering the torture of unhappy marriages. The drawings are scathing, an endless outburst of the worst kind of realities, full of savagery and satiric renderings of societal inequities. If the exhibition shows something of a quality or an attitude about Goya regarding women, it is that he saw them whole, as he did his particular world of Spain, which veered from tradition into the modern age of Napoleon with every sort of modern horror that was brought with Napoleon. Goya never blinked: He kept his eyes wide open, which let him see into the realm of dreams and nightmares. In the end, ìGoya: Images of Womenî focuses on a subject, and the subject allows us to see Goyaís gifts in full symphony. ìGoya: Images of Womenî runs through June 2 at the National Gallery of Art, 4th Street at Constitution Avenue, NW, Monday to Saturday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. For more information, please call (202) 737-4215 or visit www.nga.gov. Gary Tischler is a contributing writer to The Washington Diplomat.