In Goya's portraits, aristocrats rot behind lace and powder; in his etchings, priests and generals share the same grimace as beasts. Goya’s “Caprichos” flayed hypocrisy with surgical laughter. “The Disasters of War” stripped empire of glory and left bone and silence. Late in life, deaf and disillusioned, he painted on his walls: Saturn consuming his child, witches in midair, faces half-eaten by darkness. Those murals were not madness but prophecy—art seeing further than reason, truth dragged screaming from the pit of the human mind.