This is a study 
            of how much pain can be communicated by a human face. It has the features 
            of a specific person, Dora Maar, whom Picasso described as "always 
            weeping". She was in fact his close collaborator in the time 
            of his life when he was most involved with politics. 
          Let your eyes 
            wander over the sharp surface and you are led by the jagged black 
            lines to the picture's centre, her mouth and chin, where the flesh 
            seems to have been peeled away by corrosive tears to reveal hard white 
            bone. The handkerchief she stuffs in her mouth is like a shard of 
            glass. Her eyes are black apertures. When you are inside this picture 
            you are inside pain; it hits you like a punch in the stomach. 
          Picasso's insistence 
            that we imagine ourselves into the excoriated face of this woman, 
            into her dark eyes, was part of his response to seeing newspaper photographs 
            of the Luftwaffe's bombing of Guernica on behalf of Franco in the 
            Spanish civil war on April 26, 1937. This painting came at the end 
            of the series of paintings, prints and drawings that Picasso made 
            in protest. It has very personal, Spanish sources. In May 1937 Picasso's 
            mother wrote to him from Barcelona that smoke from the burning city 
            during the fighting made her eyes water. The Mater Dolorosa, the weeping 
            Virgin, is a traditional image in Spanish art, often represented in 
            lurid baroque sculptures with glass tears, like the very solid one 
            that flows towards this woman's right ear. Picasso's father, an artist, 
            made one for the family home. 
          This painting 
            takes such associations and chews them to pulp. It is about the violence 
            that we feel when we look at it, about translating the rawest human 
            emotion into paint. Its origins lie in the tortured figures of Picasso's 
            Guernica (1937), whose suffering is calculated to convey you beyond 
            the photographs of the bombing to sense momentarily what it was to 
            be there. In Guernica there is a screaming woman holding her dead 
            baby, her tongue a dagger pointing at heaven. The baby's face is a 
            cartoon of death. Picasso followed Guernica with his series of Weeping 
            Woman paintings in which the woman's mourning continues, without end. 
            She cries and cries. In different versions the Weeping Woman's face 
            is crushed to an abject lump, twisted out of recognition. 
            
          Extract from 
            an article by Jonathan Jones, May 13, 2000, The Guardian