Our Top Eight Famous Dog Paintings

As mentioned above, the oldest known representation of a dog isn’t a painting, but a mosaic discovered in the House of the Tragic Poet in the ruins of Pompeii. The house got its name from a different mosaic – one in which actors prepare to perform a tragedy – but the house’s most well-known artwork stars a dog. On the floor of the main entrance, an intimidating black dog stands sentry over the Latin inscription Cave Canem, which translates to “Beware of dog.”

lArt historians believe that the Cave Canem mosaic served the same purpose thousands of years ago as similar signs do today: to warn people about the presence of a dog on their property. More insightfully, it provides a window into the type of relationships the ancient Romans had with their canine companions. Seen as guardians and protectors who could defend their households from threats, dogs weren’t just used for hunting, but were integrated into life at home. Even the people who brought us “Gladiator” couldn’t resist a good snuggle sesh.

“A lone dog, partially submerged in an undefined space, gazes upward with an expression of forlorn hope or despair.”

Ask ChatGPT to describe Francisco Goya’s stark portrait of a dog, and this is what you’ll get. We mean…the bot’s not wrong? Whoever you ask, this painting is inscrutable. The subject of “The Dog” is nowhere recognizable – whether it’s somewhere liminal or physical is up to the beholder. Art historians have attributed many meanings to this Old Master’s enigmatic work – ranging from existential dread to an allegory of neglect. For a more hopeful read, may we suggest that it evokes the feeling of longing you have when you look at an out-of-reach snack?

“The Dog” is part of Goya’s "Black Paintings" series, so named because of the dark pigments and doleful subject matters he favored at the time. The paintings in this series were originally murals that Goya painted directly on the walls of his house, "la Quinta del Sordo." Notably, Goya never intended for these works to be displayed: They were like large-scale diary entries, and he painted them while living alone during a time of emotional, mental, and physical distress. However, in 1873, the Baron Émile d'Erlanger acquired the house and had Goya’s murals transferred to canvas. The murals lost a large amount of paint in the process, but were ultimately sent to the Prado Museum, where they’ve been on view since 1889.

All of the artists mentioned above created famous paintings of dogs, but little is known about their personal relationships with pups off the canvas. Not so David Hockney, a doyen of the pop art movement who is widely considered to be one of the most influential British artists of the 20th and 21st centuries.

Known for his paintings of sun-drenched Los Angeles’ bungalows and their well-heeled (though often nude) poolside inhabitants of the ‘60s and ‘70s, Hockney turned to a different set of muses later in his career. Between 1993 and 1995, he painted and sketched hundreds of images of his beloved dachshunds, Stanley and Boodgie. This period culminated in a show of 45 paintings of his pups at Salts Mill, in Hockney’s home town of Bradford, England. “Dog Days” was Hockney’s biggest show since a Los Angeles retrospective in 1988. Joyful and intimate, the portraits were not for sale – and Hockney’s love and admiration for his dogs was apparent with every brushstroke. Here’s Hockney on his pups and the inspiration behind “Dog Days:”

In the same way that “A Friend in Need” is burned into the American psyche, “His Master’s Voice” is an image that everyone has seen – even if they’re not sure where or when.

The painting features a dog named Nipper listening intently – and rather quizzically – to a gramophone. It became widely recognized as the logo for the Victor Talking Machine Company, and later for RCA Victor.

The original painting, by English artist Francis Barraud, got off to an inauspicious start. Recognizing its commercial potential, Barraud attempted to sell the work to various phonograph companies. There were no bites until William Barry Owen, the American founder of the Gramophone Company in England, offered to buy the painting as long as Barraud agreed to modify it to show one of the Gramophone Company’s disc machines. He did, and the rest is history.