How This Giant by Goya Shook the Art World — Twice

The giant dominates the scene, shrouded in twisting clouds. Below him small figures scatter like pieces on a battlefield, swept up in a chaos that feels both real and imagined. You are looking at Goya's vision of war, a conflict whose shadow stretches across centuries. In June 2008, the Prado Museum in Madrid made an announcement that shook the art world. Manuela Mena, head of the Goya department, revealed that the Colossus, the painting of a giant looming over the mountains, was no longer considered a work by Goya and was almost certainly painted by someone else. Asencio Julia, a close friend and collaborator of Goya. The news sparked intense debate among researchers and art historians, statements were released, articles were written and the painting underwent repeated scrutiny, from pigment and adhesive analysis to comparisons with Goya's black paintings in terms of technique, subject and composition. And finally, the Prado Museum brought to an end the decade-long battle it had sparked, in a major scandal. In 2021, it officially re-attributed the painting to Francisco de Goya. This is the story of the Colossus, also known as El Coloso, the Giant, El Gigante, El Panico or La Tormenta, a work Goya created during the Peninsular War and in which the curse of war is still alive in its very soul. The giant dominates the centre. Mountains rise around his legs, covering them up to the thighs, while clouds twist and coil, almost alive. One arm is raised, fist clenched at shoulder height, ready for combat. Below, a dark valley stretches, with crowds fleeing in every direction, along with herds of cattle, all except one donkey, standing still. Juan Luna suggested that this donkey symbolises our inability to grasp the horrors of war. Painted during the Peninsular War, the giant's stance and the chaos below hint at allegory. Scholars debate endlessly. Is he advancing or rooted firmly to the earth? And where is the enemy? There's none to be seen. The technique itself recalls Goya's black paintings, originally painted on the walls of his home, the Quinta del Sordo. Black dominates, punctuated by small strokes of colour, applied with a palette knife. The giant's placement is deliberately ambiguous. He may be standing behind the mountains, or sunk into the earth up to his knees. A visual trick we also see in Goya's Saturn, devouring his son, where the legs are obscured, or in the half-drowned dog, where the figure seems buried up to its neck, or hidden behind a mound of earth. The atmosphere of this painting strongly recalls works by German artists of the storm and stress movement, the early phase of Romanticism. Here, the giant is separated from the foreground by a mountain range, creating depth. He faces left, his back to the viewer, forming a diagonal line that contrasts with the direction of the fleeing crowd. This is Romantic composition at its core. Unlike neoclassical works, where everything points to a central focus, Goya scatters movement toward the edges, reflecting chaos and energy. Some suggest the mountains hide the enemy army. Perhaps the giant confronts invading French forces, embodying Spain's defenders, echoing Juan Bautista Arriaza's poem Recuerdos del Dos de Mayo. Caricatures of giants and Hercules in myth hint that the giant may represent the Spanish monarchy resisting Napoleon. Another view, Ferdinand VII, arrogant and incompetent, with mountains amplifying his pride. Some experts even suggest the giant's eyes are closed, symbolising blind violence. How did Goya even imagine this giant? X-rays show clear similarities to the Farnese Hercules from Hendrik Galtzius' engravings and Zurbarán's labours of Hercules. But the real question is, why a giant, right in the middle of war? What was Goya trying to say? What did it mean to Goya? In 1808, Spain fell under Napoleonic control. Ferdinand VII and Charles IV were forced to abdicate. Joseph Bonaparte took the throne under the Bayon Constitution. Most Spaniards rejected this. A bloody struggle erupted, lasting until Napoleon's defeat in 1814, one of Europe's first national wars of liberation. This resistance inspired Goya's most dramatic works. The 2nd of May and the 3rd of May depict violent uprisings in Madrid and their brutal suppression. Goya aimed, in order to preserve, with the brush, the most remarkable and heroic actions, of our glorious insurrection against the tyrants of Europe. These paintings reflect real events. But the Colossus. This giant is imaginary, yet terrifying in presence. What inspired Goya to create it? The key might be in its light, a diagonal glow likely sunset. Fractured light splinters across mountain peaks, echoing Gongura's famous dubious daylight, in the fable of Polyphemus and Galatea. Clouds curl around the giant tinted crimson, echoing Juan Bautista Arias' patriotic poem, The Prophecy of the Pyrenees. Clouds encircle his waist, tinted by the crimson of the setting sun. Every detail seems poetic, no accident. Arias' 1810 poem imagines Spaniards as a giant rising from the Pyrenees to confront Napoleon. Scholar Nigel Glendinning notes such patriotic poetry was widely known, even memorised including by Goya. The giant familiar in patriotic imagination clearly influenced Goya's creation. This is especially evident in the etching titled The Giant, created between 1814 and 1818, belonging to the post-war period. During this time, Goya began working on two series, The Disasters of War, a collection of 82 prints created between 1810 and 1820, which Goya himself titled The Fatal Consequences of the Bloody War Waged in Spain Against Bonaparte and Other Fearsome Fantasies. The Prisoners, a series of three works depicting imprisoned men with indistinct faces, shackled with iron chains, portrayed in states of distress. These images are believed to have been created between 1810 and 1815, around the time Goya began The Disasters of War series. But in this etching of The Giant, now considered a fourth member of the Prisoners series, The Giant is shown sitting rather than standing in a dark and desolate landscape, with a half-moon in the upper corner. The Giant's seated posture and the night's darkness evoke loneliness rather than the aggression seen in the painting. This print clearly has no direct connection to the theme of war. It's unclear whether The Giant's eyes are closed in the print, but he seems to be listening to something, perhaps a symbol of Goya's own desire to hear, as he had been deaf since 1793, or perhaps the vigilant posture of The Giant reflects the alertness of someone who is deaf, blind, or both. The researcher Jesusa Vega describes the relationship between this etching and the painting as follows. The Giant moves from resistance or defence, proud and erect, to slumped melancholy, reflecting the mood of many Spaniards. A collective feeling shared by its creator. And this is why every painting tells the story. As I searched for other echoes of The Colossus, I stumbled upon an animation by Gustavo Baia, a stunning reimagining that breathes new life into Goya's Silent Giant. I've added the link in the description. It's a piece that stays with you long after you've seen it. Thank you for walking through this world of shadows, giants, and unanswered questions with me. Share your thoughts in the comments. Every perspective adds a new layer to that story. And if this video spoke to you in any way, don't forget to like, subscribe, or simply pass it along to someone who might find this looming giant as haunting and beautiful as we did. See you next time.