Frederick Sandys, 'The Valkyrie and the Raven', 1862

Despite its lack of colour, this woodcut overloads the eye with detail. The art of woodcuts has long been dismissed as a 'primitive' technique yielding limited results, but the work of Sandys and his fellow Victorian artists suggests otherwise. This was a cheap method of reproducing art compared to engraving and etching, that produced very similar results. This particular version of the woodcut by Sandys (now in the RA collection) shows his woodcut reproduced by the engraver Joseph Swain. These delicate, emotive and sensory works were available to the general public, connecting them to this versatile medium for the first time.

The importance of the print culture cannot be underestimated in disseminating works like the one by Sandys. Victorian illustration was a booming method of mass production. The years 1855-75 have been referred to as the 'golden decades' of illustration by key critics in this field, from Harold Hartley to Sarah Phelps. Sandys himself is known to have made about thirty illustrations, and it is entirely likely that this could have been one. The range of these Victorian artists, engaging with painting but also with print culture, preparatory drawings and sculpture, shows how they traversed the boundaries of media and created instability.

Most obviously, the handling of the medium here by Sandys recalls Albrecht Durer. The hair of the female figure flows out like the mane of a lion, billowing in a ferocious wind. Her features reflect her strength as a chosen warrior of Odin, her chin, brow and nose well defined by the skill of the woodcutter, almost masculine. Sandys has even included a townscape in the background, alluding to Northern Renaissance architecture that is revealed under the billowing, dark draperies of the Valkyrie. Sandys has used a combination of horizontal, vertical and diagonal lines spaced apart at varying distances to achieve convincing light and shade. The scene itself is based loosely on a ninth century Norse poem, where a Valkyrie and raven have a conversation about the life and deeds of the first king of Norway, Harald Fairhair. The wide eye of the raven and its open beak implies conversation, but also as if it is warning the figure - ravens in Norse mythology symbolised prophecy and protection. Overall the piece is ambiguous. Though the clouds are clearing in the distance and the town below seems sleeping and peaceful, the pensive expression of the Valkyrie and wide eye of the raven suggests otherwise, and suggest danger approaching.

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Nicola Pisano, 'Adoration of the Magi', Pisa Baptistery Pulpit Panel

In this complex, lively, exciting pulpit panel the eye looks up towards the monumentality of the Virgin, who commands this scene. She is massive and powerful, the largest figure with thick swathes of drapery delineating her forcefully protruding knees out into the viewer's space. Seated but still retaining dominance, she defines the classicising style of Nicola Pisano, witnessed throughout the panels of his pulpit in Pisa. Many writers have described the style - Eloise Angiola for instance, refers to the 'sophisticated understanding of classical prototypes to create heroic human forms' in Nicola's pulpit. Certainly in Pisa the prominent debris from the classical past remained visible and Nicola easily had access to various ancient sarcophagi for direct emulation here. The Virgin's features with her serene expression and curled hair beneath the mantle are in fact quite androgenous. She quickly assumes the position of a monumental Roman Emperor or Senator commanding

Marianne von Werekin, 'Sunrise', 1920

An endless line of men that tug the rope of a small boat soon disappear into murky, burning red waters beyond. Colour is fantastical, mystical and otherworldly, producing an atmosphere far from reality. This is the Symbolist work of Marianne von Werefkin, part of the German Expressionists that worked in Munich from the 1910s. A movement so often dominated by the male names of the time – Kandinsky especially – Werefkin was a vital participant, expanding the range of art produced and displayed, complementing her work with art theory and written sources, as well as creating her own Salon upon her arrival in Munich. It is easy to get lost in biography with a piece such as this. Wasted, human potential seems to be at the heart of this work, signalled by the endless line of men pushing forward towards the edge of the picture plane. There is a sense of struggle and a universality to the suffering through the portrayal of faceless men in similar blue tones. Looking at the date produced of 19

Mark Rothko, 'Light Red over Black', 1957

My eye is not drawn to the painting itself but the title of the painting, 'Light Red Over Black'. We would automatically think that the black is on top of a red background, but Rothko has flipped this around, subverting the title just like he subverting the meaning of what it was to be an artist and what Art actually was. During this time, art was going through rapid changes, with abstract expressionism coming into full force (Rothko, Pollock). But Rothko showed that all this change was for the good, even if for him, it was short lived. The colour red in this painting is searing and the black struggles to fully cover this velvety border, especially at the bottom of the canvas. Unlike the black squares which have a hazy quality to their edges, the red is clear and impregnable. It is hard to figure out what this represents - the Tate has suggested a window perhaps, but if it is a window then what are we looking out into? Perhaps it is night, or perhaps the viewer is catching a

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