ART HISTORY Journey Through a Thousand Years

“Where Wilt Thou Take Thy Stand?”

Week Six: Late &

Giovanni Bellini - Iconoclasm in the Netherlands in the Sixteenth Century –The History of Mannerism - , Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror – - Better Grace Than Any Woman of Our Time – The Life of Sofonisba Anguissola – Woman’s Work = Veronese – Veronese’s Interrogation – Bronzino’s “Portrait of Eleonora of Toledo With her Son Giovanni”

Jacopo : “The Last Supper,” 1592-1594, Oil on Canvas, Basilica di San Giorgio Maggiore, , Italy

Amy Steedman: “Giovanni Bellini” From Knights of Art (1907)

Bust of Giovanni Bellini By Luigi Borro, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=70560236

Almost all the stories of the lives of the painters which we have been listening to, until now, have clustered round , the City of Flowers. She was their great mother, and her sons loved her with a deep, passionate love, thinking nothing too fair with which to deck her beauty. Wherever they wandered she drew them back, for their very heartstrings were wound around her, and each and all strove to give her of their best. But now we come to the stories of men whose lives gather round a different centre. Instead of the great mother-city beside the Arno, with her strong towers and warlike citizens, the noise of battle ever sounding in her streets, and her flowery fields encircling her on every side, we have now Venice, Queen of the Sea. No warlike tread or tramp of angry crowds disturbs her fair streets, for here are no pavements, only the cool green water which laps the walls of her marble palaces, and gives back the sound of the dipping oar and the soft echo of passing voices, as the gondolas glide along her watery ways. Here are no grim grey towers of defence, but fairy palaces of white and coloured marbles, which rise from the waters below as if they had been built by the sea nymphs, who had fashioned them of their own sea- shells and mother-of-pearl. There are no flowery meadows here, but instead the vast waters of the lagoons, which reach out until they meet the blue arc of the sky or touch the distant mountains which lie like a purple line upon the horizon. Here and there tiny islands lie upon its bosom, so faint and fairylike that they scarcely seem like solid land, reflected as they are in the transparent water. But although Venice has no meadows decked with flowers and no wealth of blossoming trees, everywhere on every side she shines with colour, this wonderful sea-girt city. Her white marble palaces glow with a soft amber light, the cool green water that reflects her beauty glitters in rings of gold and blue, changing from colour to colour as each ripple changes its form. At sunset, when the sun disappears over the edge of the lagoon and leaves behind its trail of shining clouds, she is like a dream-city rising from a sea of molten gold—a double city, for in the pure gold is reflected each tower and spire, each palace and campanile, in masses of pale yellow and quivering white light, with here and there a burning touch of flame colour. She seems to have no connection with the solid, ordinary cities of the world. There she lies in all her beauty, silent and apart, like a white sea-bird floating upon the bosom of the ocean. Venice had always seemed separate and distinct from the rest of the world. Her cathedral of San Marco was never under the rule of , and her rulers, or doges, as they were called, governed the city as kings, and did not trouble themselves with the affairs of other towns. Her merchant princes sailed to far countries and brought home precious spoils to add to her beauty. Everything was as rich and rare and splendid as it was possible to make it, and she was unlike any other city on earth.

\ Vittore Carpaccio, Miracle of the Relic of the Cross at the Ponte di Rialto, c. 1496

So the painters who lived and worked in this city of the sea had their own special way of , which was different to that of the Florentine school. From their babyhood these men had looked upon all this beauty of colour, and the love of it had grown with their growth. The golden light on the water, the pearly-grey and tinted marbles, the gay sails of the galleys which swept the lagoons like painted butterflies, the wide stretch of water ending in the mystery of the distant skyline—it all sank into their hearts, and it was little wonder that they should strive to paint colour above all things, and at last reach a perfection such as no other school of painters has equalled. As with the Florentine artists, so with these Venetian painters, we must leave many names unnoticed just now, and learn first to know those which shine out clearest among the many bright stars of fame.

Gorgione: “The Three Philosophers” (1508)

Palma Vecchio: “La Bella,” 1518-1520, Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, oil on canvas

Andrea : “The Judgement of Midas” c. 1548-50, Oil on Canvas, Kensington Palace,

In the beginning of the fifteenth century, four hundred years ago, when Fra Filippo Lippi was painting in Florence, there lived in Venice a certain Jacopo Bellini, who was a painter, and who had two sons called Gentile and Giovanni. The father taught his boys with great care, and gave them the best training he could, for he was anxious that his sons should become great painters. He saw that they were both clever and quick to learn, and he hoped great things of them. 'Never do less than your very best,' he would say, as he taught the boys how to draw and use their colours. 'See how the Tuscan artists strive with one another, each desiring to do most honour to their city of Florence. So, Gentile, I would have thee also strive to be great; and thou, Giovanni, endeavour to be even greater than thy brother.' But though the boys were thus taught to try and outdo each other, still they were always the best of friends, and there was never any unkind rivalry between them. Gentile, the eldest, was fond of painting story pictures, which told the history of Venice, and showed the magnificent doges, and nobles, and people of the city, dressed in their rich robes. The Venetians loved pictures which showed forth the glory of their city, and very soon Gentile was invited to paint the walls of the Ducal Palace with his historical pictures. Now Venice carried on a great trade with her ships, which sailed to many foreign lands. These ships, loaded with merchandise, touched at different ports, and the merchants sold their goods or took in exchange other things which they brought back to Venice. It happened that one of the ships which set sail for Turkey had on board among other things several pictures painted by Giovanni Bellini. These were shown to the Sultan of Turkey, who had never seen a picture before, and he was amazed and delighted beyond words. His religion forbade the making of pictures, but he paid no attention now to that law, but sent a messenger to Venice praying that the painter Bellini might come to him at once. The rulers of Venice were unwilling to spare Giovanni just then, but they allowed Gentile to go, as his work at the Ducal Palace was finished. So Gentile took his canvases and paints, and, setting sail in one of the merchant ships, soon arrived at the court of the Grand Turk. He was received with every honour, and nothing was thought too good for this wonderful painter, who could make pictures which looked like living men. The Sultan loaded him with gifts and favours, and he lived there like a royal prince. Each picture painted by Gentile was thought more wonderful than the last. He painted a portrait of the Sultan, and even one of himself, which was considered little short of magic.

Gentile Bellini: Sultan Mehmed II, 1480; oil on canvas; National Gallery, London Thus a whole year passed by, and Gentile had a most delightful time and was well contented, until one day something happened which disturbed his peace. He had painted a picture of the dancing daughter of Herodias, with the head of John the Baptist in her hand, and when it was finished he brought it and presented it to the Sultan. As usual, the Sultan was charmed with the new picture; but he paused in his praises of its beauty, and looked thoughtfully at the head of St. John, and then frowned. 'It seems to me,' he said, 'that there is something not quite right about that head. I do not think a head which had just been cut off would look exactly as that does in your picture.' Gentile answered courteously that he did not wish to contradict his royal highness, but it seemed to him that the head was right. 'We shall see,' said the Sultan calmly, and he turned carelessly to a guard who stood close by and bade him cut of the head of one of the slaves, that Bellini might see if his picture was really correctly painted. This was more than Gentile could stand. 'Who knows,' he said to himself, 'that the Sultan may not wish to see next how my head would look cut off from my body!' So while his precious head was still safe upon his shoulders he thought it wiser to slip quietly away and return to Venice by the very first ship he could find. Meanwhile Giovanni had worked steadily on, and had far surpassed both his father and his brother. Indeed, he had become the greatest painter in Venice, the first of that wonderful Venetian school which learned to paint such marvellous colour. With all the wealth of delicate shading spread out before his eyes, with the ever- changing wonder of the opal-tinted sea meeting him on every side, it was not strange that the love of colour sank into his very heart. In his pictures we can see the golden glow which bathes the marble palaces, the clear green of the water, the pure blues and burning crimsons all as transparent as crystal, not mere paint but living colour.

Giovanni Bellini: “A Sacred Allegory”

Giovanni did not care to paint stories of Venice, with great crowds of figures, as Gentile did. He loved best the Madonna and saints, single figures full of quiet dignity. His saints are more human than those which Fra Angelico painted, and yet they are not mere men and women, but something higher and nobler. Instead of the angels swinging their censers which the painter of San Marco so lovingly drew, Giovanni's angels are little human boys, with grave sweet faces; happy children with a look of heaven in their eyes, as they play on their little lutes and mandolines.

Giovanni Bellini: The Virgin and Child between two Saints, Prado Museum, .

But besides the pictures of saints and angels, Giovanni had a wonderful gift for painting portraits, and most of the great people of Venice came to be painted by him. In our own National Gallery we have the portrait of the Doge Loredan, which is one of those pictures which can teach you many things when you have learned to look with seeing eyes. So the brothers worked together, but before long death carried off the elder, and Giovanni was left alone. Though he was now very old, Giovanni worked harder than ever, and his hand, instead of losing power, seemed to grow stronger and more and more skilful. He was ninety years old when he died, and he worked almost up to the last. The brothers were both buried in the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, in the heart of Venice. There, in the dim quietness of the old church, they lie at rest together, undisturbed by the voices of the passers-by in the square outside, or the lapping of the water against the steps, as the tides ebb and flow around their quiet resting-place.

Giovanni Bellini: St. Francis in Ecstasy, 1480; oil and tempera on panel; Frick Collection, New York.

Dr. Saskia Beranek: “Iconoclasm in the Netherlands in the Sixteenth Century” From smARThistory (2019)

Pieter Jansz. Saenredam, Interior of Saint Bavo, Haarlem, 1631, oil on panel, 82.9 x 110.5 cm (Philadelphia Museum of Art)

Different church interiors — Calvinist (Protestant) and Catholic

In by seventeenth-century Dutch artist Pieter Saenredam, the interiors of Calvinist churches often appear as blank, sterile spaces with white walls, clear glass windows, and a notable lack of decoration. We know from his meticulous preparatory drawings that Saenredam was a precise artist, and although he sometimes did make changes to the interiors he represented, they were by and large emblematic of what Dutch Calvinist sacred space was like. By contrast, Pieter Neefs’s contemporary paintings of Flemish Catholic religious spaces — which contain a profusion of small altars and devotional artwork — reflect a distinctly different attitude about decoration, materiality, and piety. The difference between Calvinist and Catholic churches persists to this day.

Pieter Neefs, Interior of a Gothic Church, 1606, oil on copper, 38 x 56 cm

Breaking idols

Some of these differences can be attributed to two intertwined events of the sixteenth century that transformed the Low Countries (a lowland region in northern Europe that includes Belgium and the Netherlands): the prioritization of the written word in the theological reforms of the Protestant Reformation and the Iconoclasm (or Beeldenstorm) of 1566. The word “iconoclasm” refers to any deliberate destruction of images[…] Here, iconoclasm specifically refers to the events of 1566 in an area that we now know as Belgium and the Netherlands. Prior to 1566, most churches in this region would have been largely encrusted with ornament: guilds commissioned altarpieces for their chapels while private patrons donated memorial paintings, endowed tomb sites, and donated elaborate shrines or ritual vessels. Piety was made visible in the material culture of the church, paralleling a northern European explosion in personal devotional artwork in the form of manuscripts, prints, carved boxwood shrines and prayer beads, and small paintings.

Protestant change

The sixteenth century was a time of significant religious change. According to legend, in 1516, Luther nailed his 95 Theses to a church door in Wittenberg and criticized what he perceived as corrupt practices within the Catholic Church. Following Luther, numerous other Northern European reformers shifted away from the Catholic Church centered in Rome. Among other more systemic and doctrinal issues, the reformers also had complicated relationships with religious imagery. Controversy over the nature of religious images was not new in the sixteenth century. The same tension had rocked the in the eighth and ninth centuries. Like the earlier Byzantine case, strict reformers believed images were inherently sinful. The northern humanist Desiderius Erasmus noted that the physical veneration of an object made it an active agent and turned it into an idol, pushing the objects and images traditionally at the heart of northern European piety into the zone of the idolatrous. Therefore, to use an image as part of your prayers creates idols — the very sin [which seemed to be] explicitly condemned in the Second Commandment, which reads: “You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself a graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them or serve them; for I the LORD your God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments.” Exodus 20:3

Lucas Cranach the Elder, Portrait of Martin Luther as an Augustinian monk, 1520 engraving, 14.4cm × 9.7cm (Rijksmuseum, )

Luther himself was not entirely anti-image, stating that if there was no sin in the heart, there was no risk in seeing images with your eyes. However, the faithful needed to remove the roots of sin in themselves; they needed to worship God and not a material object which takes the place of God. Luther later clarified that what the second commandment prohibited was images of God; images of saints or crucifixes were not condemned by him as they serve as memorials. By 1566, the debate about the line between “an image of a religious figure or story that aided in devotional practice” and “an idolatrous object which took the place of God in the sinful heart of the viewer” had been heavily contested for close to fifty years. The precise nature of the debate varied widely based on location, and violence against images erupted at different times in different cities throughout Germany, Switzerland, The Netherlands, Belgium, and England. The debate about the nature of images seems abstract and it is impossible to know to what extent the theological details were the motivations of any specific iconoclast. In the case of the Beeldenstorm of 1566, we can focus on a few factors to more closely examine one particular case and the intersection of tensions that led to violence. Studying the Beeldenstorm is complicated by the fact that it took many different forms depending on the local conditions and the range of responses to both religious and political circumstance.

European territories under the rule of the Philip II of Spain around 1580, with the Spanish Netherlands in light green (public domain)

Church, state, and other complex issues Debates over religious imagery occurred at the same time as other complex disputes. Political tensions were running high. At the time, most of the land that now constitutes The Netherlands and Belgium was the Spanish Netherlands — an assortment of territories brought together through marriages and dynastic alliances and owing fealty to the King of Spain. Through the abdication of the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain, Charles V, in 1556 and the ascension of Philip II to the throne of Spain, Netherlanders were becoming increasingly unhappy. The Spanish Crown supported [a] Catholic identity and agenda and vigorously pursued heretics (anyone not practicing Catholicism in line with the teachings of the Church in Rome). The Spanish Inquisition existed specifically to [search] out those who [spread non- Catholic influence, and while their methods were certainly not as brutal as the popular “Black Legend” would have the modern day reader believe, there certainly were some inquisitors whose ways were much more troubling.] We tend to think of the Inquisition as something confined to the Iberian peninsula (Spain and Portugal), it also had a significant impact on Northern Europe. A branch of the Inquisition operated there which was overseen by (the illegitimate daughter of Philip II who had been appointed regent and reported to her father). In response to petitions filed by the local nobility, Margaret ended the Inquisition in 1564 in an attempt to broker peace and avoid outright rebellion. […] The tensions surrounding religious persecution were made worse by several bad harvests, prolonged and widespread famine, particularly harsh winters, and new taxes.

“Hedge preachers” as rebellious leaders

Religious, political, and economic issues were closely intertwined. To a Flemish Protestant, the Spanish Catholic Crown represented religious and political oppression. This was made worse by the widening cultural and linguistic gap between the Spanish Crown and its Flemish subjects. These tensions were brought to a boil by hagenprekers, or “hedge preachers,” wandering figures who whipped up anti-Spanish and anti-Catholic sentiment in sermons held outdoors, and usually outside of city walls and therefore beyond easy jurisdiction.

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Sermon of Saint John the Baptist, 1566, 95 × 160.5 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, )

Several scholars have argued that Pieter Bruegel’s painting, “The Sermon of Saint John the Baptist,” represents this biblical event as if it were happening in the current political climate. John the Baptist, here cast as a hedge preacher, almost disappears into the crowd; Jesus, who he is introducing, is even less noticeable. Typically for Bruegel, the crowd of people gathered to listen to the speaker are from all walks of life and dressed in contemporary Flemish clothing.

One face stands out in the crowd because he unexpectedly faces the viewer: a man in a black hat having his palm read in the foreground. He would have been identifiable to contemporary viewers as dressed in a Spanish mode, and fortune telling would have been seen as corrupt and popish. […]

Iconoclastic riots

The hedge preachers were at least partially responsible for the ignition of the Beeldenstorm, the sudden outbreak of violence against religious images that began in the summer of 1566 and spread throughout the Low Countries. In response to their anti- Catholic preaching, violence began in West Flanders and radiated outward. In some towns, it was outright mob violence: groups of people burst into churches, smashing windows and sculptures. In other cities, the destruction of religious images was systematic and either openly or covertly supported by the local government. In some cases, the iconoclasts and the local Catholic Church officials negotiated for the survival of certain artworks.

Altar retable of the Jan van Arkel chapel, Utrecht Cathedral (Domkerk). Found behind a false plaster wall during restoration activities in 1919. Dated 15th century, defaced during the Beeldenstorm (photo: Sailko, CC BY 3.0)

It was a fever that spread throughout the Low Countries, leaving few towns untouched by the sudden explosion of anti-image sentiment. According to Alistair Duke, the destruction of images functioned as a ritualistic act intended to prove to both Catholics and Protestants that the images were powerless. If images were indeed sacred conduits that connected the faithful to God, they would defend themselves; since it was possible to destroy them, they were therefore earthly vanity and merely distractions from truth. To destroy the objects and ritually humiliate them was to reject the broader political and religious structures they represented, as well. Sculptures were torn down from their niches, windows were smashed, and altars and shrines were disassembled and burned. When the sculptures were part of the fabric of the building and could not be easily removed, the heads of the figures were hacked off. Examples reflecting this kind of violence remain visible in churches throughout the Northern Low Countries inside previously Catholic, now Protestant churches.

Jan Luyken, Beeldenstorm, 1566, etching, 27cm × w 34.8cm (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

Iconoclasm in 1566 was not just the result of doctrinal disagreement about the nature of religious imagery and the interpretation of biblical text. It was instead a response to intertwined issues of politics, religious [control,,] and economic factors. It was one spark that helped ignite the flames of the Eighty Years War, a war that ultimately resulted in the split between the northern Calvinist provinces of the Dutch Republic and the southern Catholic province that remained connected to Spain. As much as the violence of the Beeldenstorm itself may have been short-lived, the broader cultural and historical changes that cascaded as a result had permanent and far-reaching consequences.

360° Tour: St. Peter’s Basilica From The Vatican Website

Please follow this link to a glorious virtual tour of St. Peter’s Basilica, the largest church in Christendom and the heart of Vatican City, and explore the glorious architecture of the sixteenth century!

Link to tour: http://www.vatican.va/various/basiliche/san_pietro/vr_tour/index-en.html

Cristina Motta: “History of Mannerism” From Useum

Mannerism is an artistic style and movement that developed in Europe from the later years of the Italian High Renaissance, around the 1520s, to the end of the 16th century when Baroque started to replace it. In that period, after the death of , art experienced a period of crisis. The work of the Renaissance masters Leonardo, and Raphael was credited with having arrived at a formal perfection and an ideal beauty difficult to overcome. Renaissance artworks were perfectly composed up to the last detail, thanks to artists having mastered anatomy, light and perspective. This led young artists to believe that there was nothing worth pursuing in art that had not been achieved yet. From this point of view, Mannerism was born with the aim to develop a new kind of art that worked in a new direction, without pretending to imitate nature anymore, but instead was turned against the traditional artistic canon. This new style over the years became a distortion of the Renaissance perfection and an exaggeration of the previous movement's qualities. Even Michelangelo himself turned to Mannerism in the last years of his activity, especially in his Last Judgment fresco painted in the Sistine Chapel between 1536 and 1541.

Additionally, the virtuosity, the technical artificiality over the composition and the exaggerated representation of moods and intense subjects of Mannerism reflected the Italian and European historical and social period of the 16th century. The most recent scientific discoveries [such as heliocentrism and the new findings of the scientific method, and] geographical discoveries [such as the discovery of the New World…] created in men an insecurity, instability and uncertainty that Mannerism managed to express in art. Painters began to think that the laws of art such as the rational basis of balance and harmony were no longer sufficient to illustrate a world that had been torn from its axis.

Mannerism can be divided in two periods: Early Mannerism and High Mannerism. Early Mannerism, which see the collaboration of some Italian artists such as Pontormo and Rosso Fiorentino in Florence, and Giulio Romano and Parmigianino in Rome, is the initial phase of Mannerism when artists aimed to react against the Renaissance tradition exaggerating the style of painting. The earliest experimental phase of Mannerism, known for its "anti-classical" forms, lasted until the first half of the century. […] Dr. Beth Harris and Dr. Steven Zucker: "Parmigianino, Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror" From Smarthistory, (2015)

Follow this link to a short video explaining a very creative and fun self-portrait that shows off Mannerism’s obsession with being extremely natural and yet very unnatural at once!

Link to Video: https://smarthistory.org/parmigianino-self-portrait-in-a-convex-mirror/

Amy Steedman: “Titian” From Knights of Art (1907)

Titian, Self-Portrait, c. 1567; , Madrid.

We have seen how most of the great painters loved to paint into their pictures those scenes which they had known when they were boys, and which to the end of their lives they remembered clearly and vividly. A Giotto never forgets the look of his sheep on the bare hillside of Vespignano, Fra Angelico paints his heavenly pictures with the colours of spring flowers found on the slopes of Fiesole, Perugino delights in the wide spaciousness of the Umbrian plains with the winding river and solitary cypresses. So when we come to the great Venetian painter Titian we look first with interest to see in what manner of a country he was born, and what were the pictures which Nature mirrored in his mind when he was still a boy.' At the foot of the Alps, three days' journey from Venice, lies the little town of Cadore on the Pieve, and here it was that Titian was born. On every side rise great masses of rugged mountains towering up to the sky, with jagged peaks and curious fantastic shapes. Clouds float around their summits, and the mist will often wrap them in gloom and give them a strange and awesome look. At the foot of the craggy pass the mountain-torrent of the Pieve roars and tumbles on its way. Far-reaching forests of trees, with weather-beaten gnarled old trunks, stand firm against the mountain storms. Beneath their wide-spreading boughs there is a gloom almost of twilight, showing peeps here and there of deep purple distances beyond. Small wonder it was that Titian should love to paint mountains, and that he should be the first to paint a purely landscape picture. He lived those strange solemn mountains and the wild country round, the deep gloom of the woods and the purple of the distance beyond. The boy's father, Gregorio Vecelli, was one of the nobles of Cadore, but the family was not rich, and when Titian was ten years old he was sent to an uncle in Venice to be taught some trade. He had always been fond of painting, and it is said that when he was a very little boy he was found trying to paint a picture with the juices of flowers. His uncle, seeing that the boy had some talent, placed him in the studio of Giovanni Bellini.

Portrait of a Man in a Red Cap - Titian c. 1519

Titian: “The Virgin and Child with the Infant Saint John and a Female Saint or Donor” c. 1530, Oil on canvas, National Gallery, London, UK

But though Titian learned much from Bellini, it was not until he first saw Giorgione's work that he dreamed of what it was possible to do with colour. Thenceforward he began to paint with that marvellous richness of colouring which has made his name famous all over the world. At first young Titian worked with Giorgione, and together they began to fresco the walls of the Exchange above the Rialto bridge. But by and by Giorgione grew jealous. Titian's work was praised too highly; it was even thought to be the better of the two. So they parted company, for Giorgione would work with him no more. Venice soon began to awake to the fact that in Titian she had another great painter who was likely to bring fame and honour to the fair city. He was invited to finish the frescoes in the Grand Council-chamber which Bellini had begun, and to paint the portraits of the Doges, her rulers. These portraits which Titian painted were so much admired that all the great princes and nobles desired to have themselves painted by the Venetian artist. The Emperor Charles V. himself when he stopped at Bologna sent to Venice to fetch Titian, and so delighted was he with his work that he made the painter a knight with a pension of two hundred crowns.

Titian: Equestrian Portrait of Charles V,

Fame and wealth awaited Titian wherever he went, and before long he was invited to Rome that he might paint the portrait of the Pope. There it was that he met Michelangelo, and that great master looked with much interest at the work of the Venetian artist and praised it highly, for the colouring was such as he had never seen equalled before 'It is most beautiful,' he said afterwards to a friend; 'but it is a pity that in Venice they do not teach men how to draw as well as how to colour. If this Titian drew as well as he painted, it would be impossible to surpass him.' But ordinary eyes can find little fault with Titian's drawing, and his portraits are thought to be the most wonderful that ever were painted. The golden glow of Venice is cast like a magic spell over his pictures, and in him the great Venetian school of colouring reaches its height. Besides painting portraits, Titian painted many other pictures which are among the world's masterpieces. He must have had a special love for children, this famous old Venetian painter. We can tell by his pictures how well he understood them and how he loved to paint them. He would learn much by watching his own little daughter Lavinia as she played about the old house in Venice. His wife had died, and his eldest son was only a grief and disappointment to his father, but the little daughter was the light of his eyes.

Titian: “Portrait of Clarissa Strozzi”

We seem to catch a glimpse of her face in his famous picture of the little Virgin going up the steps to the temple. The little maid is all alone, for she has left her companions behind, and the crowd stands watching her from below, while the high priest waits for her above. One hand is stretched out, and with the other she lifts her dress as she climbs up the marble steps. She looks a very real child with her long plait of golden hair and serious little face, and we cannot help thinking that the painter's own little daughter must have been in his mind when he painted the little Virgin.

Titian: Presentation of the Virgin by Titian - Accademia – Venice CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=51967365

“The Presentation of the Virgin” Detail

Titian lived to be a very old man, almost a hundred years old, and up to the last he was always seen with the brush in his hand, painting some new picture. So, when he passed away, he left behind a rich store of beauty, which not only decked the walls of his beloved Venice, but made the whole world richer and more beautiful.

Giorgio Vasari: “Better Grace Than Any Woman of Our Time” From Lives of the Most Eminent Artists

The renowned biographer of the artists of the Renaissance, , held a female painter, Sofonisba Anguissola, in high esteem. Vasari wrote of Sofonisba, [With much credit to herself, likewise, has Madonna Lucrezia, the daughter of Messer Alfonso Quistelli della Mirandola, and now the wife of Count Clemente Pietra, occupied herself with drawing and painting, as she still does, after having been taught by Allessandro Allori, the pupil of Bronzino; as may be seen from many pictures and portraits executed by her hand, which are worthy to be praised by all. But Sofonisba of , the daughter of Messer Amilcaro Anguisciuola, has laboured at the difficulties of design with greater study and better grace than any other woman of our time, and she has not only succeeded in drawing, colouring, and copying from nature, and in making excellent copies of works by other hands, but has also executed by herself alone some very choice and beautiful works of painting. Wherefore she well deserved that King Philip of Spain, having heard of her merits and abilities from the Lord Duke of Alba, should have sent for her and caused her to be escorted in great honour to Spain, where he keeps her with a rich allowance about the person of the Queen, to the admiration of all that Court, which reveres the excellence of Sofonisba as a miracle… Another drawing by the hand of Sofonisba, containing a little girl laughing at a boy who is weeping because one of the cray-fish out of a basket full of them, which she has placed in front of him, is biting his finger; and there is nothing more graceful to be seen than that drawing, or more true to nature. Wherefore, in memory of the talent of Sofonisba, who lives in Spain, so that Italy has no abundance of her works, I have placed it in my book of drawings. We may truly say, then, with the divine Ariosto, that—

Le donna son venute in eccellenza Di ciascun’ arte ov’ hanno posto cura. [Women have achieved excellence In every art they have given care to.]”

“The Life of Sofonisba Anguissola” From “My Daily Art Display” (2012)

“Self-Portrait,” 1558, by Sofonisba Anguissola, Institut Neerlandais, Paris

Let me introduce you to a female artist, whom I am ashamed to admit, I had never heard of, but whom Giorgio Vasari, the Italian biographer of artists, made the following comment: “…[She] has shown greater application and better grace than any other woman of our age in her endeavours at drawing; she has thus succeeded not only in drawing, colouring and painting from nature, and copying excellently from others, but by herself has created rare and very beautiful paintings…” [Our] featured artist today is the Italian Renaissance painter Sofonisba Anguissola. Her Christian name came from a strong family connection to ancient Carthaginian history and her parents named their first daughter after the tragic Carthaginian figure who lived and committed suicide during the Second Punic War. Sofonisba Anguissola was born in Cremona, a city in the region of Northern Italy, around 1532. Her father was Amilcare Anguissola and her mother was Bianca Ponzone. Both parents came from affluent and noble families and they lived a privileged and affluent lifestyle. Sofonisba was the oldest of seven children. She had one brother, Asdrubale and five sisters, Elena, Lucia, Europa, Minerva and Anna Maria. All of her sisters except Minerva became artists. Having come from such an advantaged family background was somewhat unusual for of the sixteenth century, as any of note, tended to be daughters of impoverished artists. The family wealth coupled with the father’s belief that all females should be educated ensured that Sofonisba received an all-round and extensive education, including studying drawing and . The fact that she came from a wealthy and privileged background did not however avoid the restrictions imposed by the Italian art establishment, [because it was common at the time for artists to view nude models, both dead for the purpose of studying internal anatomy, and alive – most master artists felt it was important to be considerate of the modesty of female painters, and so could not admit them to such studies.] With those obstacles in mind, Anguissola decided to concentrate on portraiture using female models, which were accessible to her, and instead of historic settings she concentrated on having her sitters shown in homely and unceremonious settings. Self- portraits and portraits of family members were her most frequent subjects and it was not until much later in life that she turned to paintings incorporating religious themes.

Self-portrait with Bernardino Campi by Sofonisba Anguissola (1550)

At the age of fourteen Sofonisba and her sister Elena attended the studio of Bernardino Campi, the Italian Renaissance religious painter and portraitist who was based in Cremona. She pictorially recorded the time she was with Campi in her double portrait depicting her mentor painting a portrait of her. The work, entitled Bernardino Campi Painting Sofonisba Anguissola, was completed by her during her last year as his pupil in 1550, when she was just eighteen years old. After Campi, Sofonisba studied under the Italian artist , often known as il Sojaro, and continued being tutored by him for three years, eventually leaving him when she was twenty-one years of age. In 1554, Anguissola journeyed to Rome, where she spent her time sketching various scenes and people. The highlight of her stay in the Italian capital was when she was introduced to the great Master himself, Michelangelo Buonarotti. We know the two met as in the Buonarrotti Archives held in Florence there is a letter, dated May 1557, from Sofonisba’s father Amilcare to Michelangelo in which he writes thanking him for spending time with his daughter: “…honourable and thoughtful affection that you have shown to Sofonisba, my daughter, to whom you introduced to practice the most honourable art of painting…”

Asdrubale Bitten by a Crayfish by Sofonisba Anguissola (c.1554)

Intrigued by her artistic talent[,] Michelangelo asked her to sketch him a picture of a weeping boy and the result was her sketch entitled Asdrubale Bitten by a Crayfish. Sofonisba rose to the challenge and sketched her young brother, Asdrubale, being bitten and being comforted by one of his sisters. Michelangelo was so impressed with the drawing that he gave her some sketches from his notebook and asked her to copy them in her own style. She complied with his request and the results of her efforts again astounded the Master and because he recognised how artistically talented she was, for the next two years, he agreed to mentor her. Again we have been made aware of the high regard in which Michelangelo held Sofonisba’s work as in a letter dated May 1558, (held in the Buonarrotti Archives) her father wrote to Michelangelo thanking him for praising his daughter’s artwork:

“…[you were] kind enough to examine, judge, and praise the paintings done by my daughter Sofonisba…”

In 1558, aged twenty-six, Sofonisba Anguissola left Rome and went to and it was here she received a commission to paint a portrait of Ferdinand Alvarez de Toledo, the Duke of Alba. The sitter was so pleased with the resulting painting that he recommended her to Philip II, the King of Spain. Court officials invited Sofonisba to come to Madrid and be part of the Spanish court. This fact alone is clear evidence of Sofonisba’s artistic talent and her success, as it would have been unheard of that such a powerful leader as Philip II would countenance an insignificant artist being invited to join and live at the Spanish court and paint for his new Queen. Late in December 1559 she arrived in the Spanish capital and took up her role at the Spanish court as a as well as being one of the attendants to the , the Infanta Isabella, and later as a lady-in-waiting to her mother, Philip’s new queen, his third wife, (the Queen consort, Isabel of Spain) who was an accomplished amateur portrait painter. This shared love of art between Sofonisba and Elisabeth flourished and Sofonisba would often offer artistic advice and give the queen some artistic tuition. Sofonisba soon received many official commissions to paint portraits of the king and queen’s family and courtiers. These were very different to her earlier portraiture work which were very informal as Philip and his wife wanted the portraits he had commissioned Sofonisba to paint to show the wealth and power of the sitters by paying attention to background and peripheral objects such as fine and sumptuous clothing, jewelled adornments and priceless furnishings. This type of portraiture took time and skill but the finished products were always well received by the sitters. Her artistic talents were also recognised by another powerful leader, Pope Pius IV who asked Sofonisba to paint a portrait of the Queen consort, Isabel, and have it sent to him. Giogio Vasari in his book, Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori, ed architettori (Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects) quotes a letter the pontiff sent Sofonisba thanking her for the painting and praising her work. In the letter he wrote:

“… Pius Papa IV. Dilecto in Christo filia. We have received the portrait of our dear daughter, the Queen of Spain, which you have sent… We thank you and assure you that we shall treasure it among our choicest possessions, and commend your marvellous talent which is least among your numerous qualities - Rome, 15 October 1561…”

In 1571 Sofonisba married Don Francisco de Moncada, who was the son of the Prince of Paterno, Viceroy of . King Philip II facilitated the marriage, and paid her dowry of twelve thousand pounds. She remained at the Spanish court for a further seven years after which time, and with Philip’s permission, she and her husband left Madrid and travelled to , Sicily. They arrived in Palermo in 1578 but sadly her husband died the following year. The year following her husband’s death, Sofonisba decided to visit her family back in Cremona and embarked on a sea passage from Palermo to . She never made it back home as she fell in love with the young captain of the ship and the couple married shortly after, in January 1580, in . Sofonisba was forty-seven years of age and was much older than her seafaring husband. The couple settled down at the seaport of Genoa and with her husband’s money, along with a pension from Philip of Spain, the pair had a comfortable lifestyle and Sofonisba had her own quarters including an art studio within her husband’s family’s large house. Her reputation as an accomplished artist spread throughout Europe and she received many visits from young aspiring painters. The couple moved to Palermo and were visited in 1624 by the Flemish painter, , who at the time was twenty-five years old and travelling around the island of Sicily recording his travels in words and sketches in his diary. At the time, Sofonisba was ninety-two years old and van Dyck sketched Sofonisba sitting in a chair. All around the sketch he wrote notes in Italian, a rough translation of which is:

“…portrait of the painter Signora Sofonisba, done from life in Palermo in the year 1624, on 12 July: her age being 96 years, still with her memory and brain most quick, and most kind, and although she has lost her sight because of her old age, she enjoyed to have paintings put in front of her, and with great effort by placing her nose close to the picture, she could make out a little of it…”

It is interesting to note that according to van Dyck, Sofonisba was 96 years old in 1624 and this of course would make her birth date 1528 which is some four years earlier than the date given in a number of reference books.

Page from van Dyck’s sketchbook

Van Dyck recorded in his diaries that her eyesight was weakened (it is thought she suffered from cataracts) but for a lady of 92 (or 96!) she was still mentally alert. She had completed her last work in 1620 and had become a patron of the arts. On November 16th 1625, Sofonisba died in Palermo aged 93. On her birth centenary seven years later, her husband had a plaque placed on her tomb which read: “…To Sofonisba, my wife…who is recorded among the illustrious women of the world, outstanding in portraying the images of man… Orazio Lomellino, in sorrow for the loss of his great love, in 1632, dedicated this little tribute to such a great woman…” Sofonisba was not only appreciated in her own lifetime but continues to be appreciated in modern society albeit I had to admit her name was new to me, which gives you some idea as to my artistic knowledge! [Below is an] early self portrait by Sofonisba Anguissola which she completed in 1556 and is entitled Self-portrait at the Easel Painting a Devotional Panel. It is housed at the Museum-Zamek in the town of Lancut in south-east Poland.

Self-portrait at the Easel Painting a Devotional Panel by Sofonisba Anguissola (1556)

This is one of many self portraits by the artist, which she sent as gifts to prospective patrons as she could not respectably enter into competition with male artists for paid commissions. Around this time, there was a highly respected author, , the count of Casatico, an Italian courtier and diplomat, who held great sway with the public with regards manners at the court and how one should behave if of noble birth. The book, which had a widely circulated publication in 1528, was entitled The Courtier. In a way it was also a torch-bearer for women’s equality as it advocated the same education for aristocratic women as that offered to aristocratic men and one can only presume that Sofonisba’s father had read the book and agreed with its conclusions as he made sure that his daughters were not only educated in , classical literature, history, philosophy, math, and sciences, but also that they were schooled in the courtly arts, such as music, writing, drawing, and painting. Castiglione had written in his book about how aristocratic women of the court should dress. He wrote: “…she should always dress herself correctly and wear clothes that do not seem vain and frivolous…” […]

Dr. Lauren Kilroy-Ewbank: “Woman’s Work” From From “Sofonisba Anguissola,” smARThistory (2016)

Sofonisba Anguissola, Self-Portrait at the Easel, 1556, oil on canvas, 66 x 57 cm (acut Castle) In the 1556 self-portrait (above), Sofonisba shows herself in the act of painting, applying mixed pigments to a canvas that depicts the Virgin and Christ Child tenderly kissing. She gazes outward—as if we have just interrupted her in mid-stroke. Her expression is calm and reserved. A maulstick (a common device used to support the artist’s hand) held in her left hand supports her right hand as she touches the brush to the canvas.

Sofonisba Anguissola, Self-Portrait, 1554, oil on poplar wood, 19.5 x 12.5 cm (Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna)

The artist wears a simple black dress—possibly to connote modesty and virtue. Her simple fashion embodies the woman of court, as outlined by Baldassare Castiglione in his Book of the Courtier (1528): I wish this [Court] Lady to have knowledge of letters, music, painting, and to know how to dance and make merry; accompanying the other precepts that have been taught the Courtier with discreet modesty and with the giving of a good impression of herself. And thus, in her talk, her laughter, her play, her jesting, in short, in everything, she will be very graceful, and will entertain appropriately, and with witticisms and pleasantries befitting her, everyone who shall come before her. [3] Some of Sofonisba’s other self-portraits, such as one where she holds a small book (left), even include inscriptions like “Sophonisba Angusola virgo seipsam fecit 1554” (The virgin Sofonisba Anguissola made this herself in 1554) to identify herself as a chaste, virtuous woman. The inclusion of a painting of the Virgin Mary and Christ child in the 1556 self-portrait further reflects on Sofonisba’s virginity. While Mary feeding, kissing, or embracing Christ as a child were common subjects of this era, it is likely that Sofonisba incorporated this intimate scene between mother and son here to fashion herself as a virtuous woman—one who identifies with the ultimate virtuous woman, the Virgin Mary.

Catharina van Hemessen, Self-Portrait at the Easel, 1548, oil on panel, 32.2 x 25.2 cm (Kumstmuseum, Basel)

Displaying herself in the act of painting associated her with an established tradition of artists depicting themselves—not all of them men. While contemporaneous artists like Titian and Albrecht Dürer painted self-portraits, those that included a painter’s tools of the trade—a canvas, palette, and maulstick—were less common. Examples do exist, however, from the sixteenth century, and artists showing themselves with their tools became increasingly popular over time. Like Sofonisba, Caterina van Hemessen fashions herself at a canvas, holding a maulstick while she paints. A self-portrait by the Dutch artist Joachim Wtewael also shows the artist holding his painter’s tools, most likely applying paint to a canvas outside the picture plane. […] Beyond painting self-portraits, Sofonisba also produced miniatures and group portraits. Many of those completed before her departure for Spain, such as The Chess Game, exhibit members of her family. Sofonisba would not have had access to male models, and drew inspiration from those people she encountered in her daily life like her family.

Sofonisba Anguissola, The Chess Game (Portrait of the artist’s sisters playing chess), 1555, oil on canvas, 72 x 97 cm (National Museum in Pozna) This painting shows the artist’s three sisters (Lucia, Europa, and Minerva) playing chess—an intellectual pursuit—with their governess looking over them. Sofonisba shows an intimate setting with her sisters. The sister to the left, thought to be Lucia, looks out at the viewer after winning the game. Sofonisba displays her virtuosity as a painter here by positioning her figures in a variety of poses. Their gazes also lead our eye around the canvas and eventually back to the artist herself, who occupies the position outside of the canvas. Sofonisba also demonstrates her skill by painting a variety of textures in her sisters’ clothes and the imported carpet under the chessboard.

Sofonisba Anguissola, Self-Portrait, c. 1610 (Gottfried Keller Collection, Bern) Amy Steedman: “Veronese” From Knights of Art (1907)

Veronese: “Self Portrait”

It was in the city of Verona that Paul Cagliari, the last of the great painters of the Venetian school, was born. The name of that old city of the Veneto makes us think at once of moonlight nights and fair Juliet gazing from her balcony as she bids farewell to her dear Romeo. For it was here that the two lovers lived their short lives which ended so sadly. But Verona has other titles to fame besides being the scene of Shakespeare's story, and one of her proudest boasts is that she gave her name to the great Venetian artist Paolo Veronese, or Paul of Verona, as we would say in English. There were many artists in Verona when Paolo was a boy. His own father was a sculptor and his uncle a famous painter, so the child was encouraged to begin work early. As soon as he showed that he had a talent for painting, he was sent to his uncle's studio to be taught his first lessons in drawing. Verona was not very far off from Venice, and Paolo was never tired of listening to the tales told of that beautiful Queen of the Sea. He loved to try and picture her magnificence, her marble palaces overlaid with gold, her richly-dressed nobles, and, above all, the wonder of those pictures which decked her walls. The very names of Giorgione and Titian sounded like magic in his ears. They seemed to open out before him a wonderful new Paradise, where stately men and women clad in the richest robes moved about in a world of glowing colour.

Veronese: “The Conversion of Mary Magdalene,” c. 1548,

At last the day came when he was to see the city of his dreams, and enter into that magic world of Art. What delight it was to study those pictures hour by hour, and learn the secrets of the great masters. It was the best teaching that heart could desire. No one in Venice took much notice of the quiet, hard-working young painter, and he worked on steadily by himself for some years. But at last his chance came, and he was commissioned to paint the ceiling of the church of St. Sebastian; and when this was finished Venice recognised his genius, and saw that here was another of her sons whom she must delight to honour.

These great pictures of Veronese were just the kind of work to charm the rich Venetians, those merchant princes who delighted in costly magnificence. Never before had any painter pictured such royal scenes of grandeur. There were banqueting halls with marble balustrades just like their own Venetian palaces. The guests that thronged these halls were courtly gentlemen and high-born ladies arrayed in rich brocades and dazzling jewels. Men- servants and maidservants, costly ornaments and golden dishes were there, everything that heart could desire.[…]

Paolo Veronese: “The Wedding Feast of Cana”

So the fame of Paolo Veronese grew greater and greater, and he painted more and more gorgeous pictures. But here and there we find a simpler and more charming piece of his work, as when he painted the little St. John with the skin thrown over his bare shoulder and the cross in his hand. He is such a really childlike figure as he stands looking upward and rests his little hand confidingly on the worn and wounded palm of St. Francis, who stands beside him. Although the Venetian nobles found nothing wanting in the splendid pictures which Veronese painted, the Church at last began to have doubts as to whether they were fit as religious subjects to adorn her walls. The Holy Office considered the question, and Veronese was ordered to appear before the council.

Legal Transcript: “Veronese’s Interrogation” From the records of the Venetian Court of Inquisition (1573) “This day, July eighteenth, 1573. Called to the Holy Office before the sacred tribunal, Paolo Galliari Veronese, residing in the parish of Saint Samuel, and being asked as to his name and surname replied as above. Being asked as to his profession: Answer. I paint and make figures. Question. Do you know the reasons why you have been called here? A. No. Q. Can you imagine what those reasons may be? A. I can well imagine. Q. Say what you think about them. A. I fancy that it concerns what was said to me by the reverend fathers, or rather by the prior of the monastery of San Giovanni e Paolo, whose name I did not know, but who informed me that he had been here, and that your Most Illustrious Lordships had ordered him to cause to be placed in the picture a Magdalen instead of the dog; and I answered him that very readily I would do all that was needful for my reputation and for the honor of the picture; but that I did not understand what this figure of the Magdalen could be doing here; and this for many reasons, which I will tell, when occasion is granted me to speak. Q. What is the picture to which you have been referring? A. It is the picture which represents the Last Supper of Jesus Christ with His disciples in the house of Simon.

Paolo Veronese, Dinner (even banquet or feast) in Casa Levi - Oil on canvas of Venetian Mannerism, at Galleries of the Academy of Fine Arts in Venice.

Q. Where is this picture? A. In the refectory of the monks of San Giovanni e Paolo. Q. Is it painted in fresco or on wood or on canvas? A. It is on canvas. Q. How many feet does it measure in height? A. It may measure seventeen feet. Q. And in breadth? A. About thirty-nine. Q. How many have you represented? And what is each one doing? A. First there is the innkeeper, Simon; then, under him, a carving squire whom I supposed to have come there for his pleasure, to see how the service of the table is managed. There are many other figures which I cannot remember, however, as it is a long time since I painted that picture. Q. Have you painted other Last Suppers besides that one? A. Yes.

(Detail)

Q. How many have you painted? Where are they? A. I painted one at Verona for the reverend monks of San Lazzaro; it is in their refectory. Another is in the refectory of the reverend brothers of San Giorgio here in Venice. Q. But that one is not a Last Supper, and is not even called the Supper of Our Lord. A. I painted another in the refectory of San Sebastiano in Venice, another at Padua for the Fathers of the Maddalena. I do not remember to have made any others. Q. In this Supper which you painted for San Giovanni e Paolo, what signifies the figure of him whose nose is bleeding? A. He is a servant who has a nose-bleed from some accident. Q. What signify those armed men dressed in the fashion of Germany, with halberds in their hands? A. It is necessary here that I should say a score of words.

(Detail)

Q. Say them. A. We painters use the same license as poets and madmen, and I represented those halberdiers, the one drinking, the other eating at the foot of the stairs, but both ready to do their duty, because it seemed to me suitable and possible that the master of the house, who as I have been told was rich and magnificent, would have such servants. Q. And the one who is dressed as a jester with a parrot on his wrist, why did you put him into the picture?

(Detail)

A. He is there as an ornament, as it is usual to insert such figures. Q. Who are the persons at the table of Our Lord? A. The twelve apostles. Q. What is Saint Peter doing, who is the first? A. He is carving the lamb in order to pass it to the other part of the table. Q. What is he doing who comes next? A. He holds a plate to see what Saint Peter will give him. Q. Tell us what the third is doing. A. He is picking his teeth with a fork. Q. And who are really the persons whom you admit to have been present at this Supper? A. I believe that there was only Christ and His Apostles; but when I have some space left over in a picture I adorn it with figures of my own invention. Q. Did some person order you to paint Germans, buffoons, and other similar figures in this picture? A. No, but I was commissioned to adorn it as I thought proper; now it is very large and can contain many figures.

(Detail)

Q. Should not the ornaments which you were accustomed to paint in pictures be suitable and in direct relation to the subject, or are they left to your fancy, quite without discretion or reason? A. I paint my pictures with all the considerations which are natural to my intelligence, and according as my intelligence understands them. Q. Does it seem suitable to you, in the Last Supper of our Lord, to represent buffoons, drunken Germans, dwarfs, and other such absurdities? A. Certainly not. Q. Then why have you done it? A. I did it on the supposition that those people were outside the room in which the Supper was taking place. Q. Do you not know that in Germany and other countries infested by heresy, it is habitual, by means of pictures full of absurdities, to vilify and turn to ridicule the things of the Holy Catholic Church, in order to teach false doctrine to ignorant people who have no common sense? A. I agree that it is wrong, but I repeat what I have said, that it is my duty to follow the examples given me by my masters. Q. Well, what did your masters paint? Things of this kind, perhaps? A. In Rome, in the Pope's Chapel, Michelangelo has represented Our Lord, […] St. John, St. Peter, and the celestial court; and he has represented all these personages nude, […] and in various attitudes not inspired by the most profound religious feeling. Q. Do you not understand that in representing the Last Judgment, in which it is a mistake to suppose that clothes are worn, there was no reason for painting any? But in these figures what is there that is not inspired by the Holy Spirit? There are neither buffoons, dogs, weapons, nor other absurdities. Do you think, therefore, according to this or that view, that you did well in so painting your picture, and will you try to prove that it is a good and decent thing? A. No, my most Illustrious Sirs; I do not pretend to prove it, but I had not thought that I was doing wrong; I had never taken so many things into consideration. I had been far from imaging such a great disorder, all the more as I had placed these buffoons outside the room in which Our Lord was sitting. These things having been said, the judges pronounced that the aforesaid Paolo should be obliged to correct his picture within the space of three months from the date of the reprimand, according to the judgments and decision of the Sacred Court, and altogether at the expense of the said Paolo. Et ita decreverunt omni melius modo. [And so they decided everything for the best!].” [However, as it happened, Veronese did not have to alter the painting at all. He merely hanged the title from “The Last Supper” to “The Banquet at the House of Levi,” a different Scriptural event in which Christ was stated to have dined in a house full of sinners and worldly folk. The Inquisition considered this an excellent choice, as it did not detract from the dignity of the Last Supper, but in fact stayed fairly accurate to Scripture, and they informed him that the painting could remain unaltered.]

Dr. Beth Harris and Dr. Stephen Zucker: “ Bronzino, Portrait of Eleonora of Toledo with her son Giovanni" From Smarthistory (2015)

Watch this video through please – the article beneath is optional.

Link to video: https://smarthistory.org/bronzino-portrait-of-eleonora-of-toledo-with-her-son-giovanni/

ATTRIBUTIONS p. 11, Dr. Saskia Beranek, "Iconoclasm in the Netherlands in the Sixteenth Century," in Smarthistory, December 2, 2019, accessed September 28, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/iconoclasm-netherlands/. p. 19, Cristina Motta, “The History of Mannerism,” Useum, Accessed Sept. 29, 2020, https://useum.org/Mannerism/History-of-Mannerism. p. 29, “My Daily Art Display,” ‘Self-portrait at the Easel Painting a Devotional Panel by Sofonisba Anguissola,’ Dec. 12 2012, Accessed Sept. 29, 2020, https://mydailyartdisplay.wordpress.com/2012/12/15/self-portrait-at-the-easel-painting-a-devotional- panel-by-sofonisba-anguissola/ p. 35, Dr. Lauren Kilroy-Ewbank, "Sofonisba Anguissola," in Smarthistory, May 3, 2016, accessed September 28, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/sofonisba-anguissola/.

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