The Artistic Self-Image of Artemisia Gentileschi

by

Kevin Rojas Spring 2020

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for a baccalaureate degree in Visual Arts in cursu honorum

Reviewed and approved by:

______Dr. Boshart, Ph.D, Department of Fine Arts Thesis Supervisor

Submitted to the Honors Program, Saint Peter’s University

March 27th, 2020

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Abstract

The connection between art and gender has become much more pronounced in recent years with the rise of feminism, and as a result, there has been much interest in tracing back the origins of this connection, as well as the origins of art which empowers women. Italian Baroque painter Artemisia Gentileschi has been an especially important person of interest in this field; she challenged the limits imposed on women artists of her time, though not without hardship. Several of her artworks remain famous to this day—they are arguably even more famous today than ever before—yet many people do not focus as much on her self-portraits as they do on her history paintings. This thesis is meant to provide some deeper analysis of her self-portraits, as well as some of her other paintings which have been popularly interpreted as containing instances of self-insertion. Artemisia’s self-portraits can be seen as protofeminist works, given the grand and bold manner in which she would image herself. Through her self-portraits and artistic self-insertions, one can come to learn more about Artemisia Gentileschi’s own identity, as well as how she viewed women, and how she viewed the overall society in which she lived. By depicting herself in more creative and allegorical forms, Artemisia was able to take control of her own image and present herself to the world as she viewed herself.

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Table of Contents

Introduction 3

Chapter One 7

Chapter Two 12

Chapter Three 25

Conclusion 32

Illustrations 34

Bibliography 54

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Introduction

Throughout the long history of Western art, women artists have struggled to hold a prominent place and have almost always been overshadowed by their male contemporaries—that is, until the last century. With the advent of the modern period starting from the sixteenth century and moving forward, the barriers placed upon women have slowly been broken down, and female artists have begun to gain much more fame and glory. One woman artist who managed to overcome many of the social hurdles placed upon her was Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–c. 1654).

A renowned Italian Baroque painter and the only female Caravaggista ever known, Artemisia was famous for painting strong women in positions of authority or women taking active roles in shaping their destinies; many of these women she portrayed were either heroines from the Bible, such as Judith, or classical historical figures, such as Cleopatra.

Many of her artworks—including even those that were not explicitly portraits of herself—have been seen as being partly autobiographical by modern art historians, and for this reason, it could be argued that a good number of Artemisia’s artworks are self-portraits. The fact ​ remains, however, that while many of her paintings depicting Biblical heroines or female historical figures remain well-known to this day, some of her self-portraits are largely overlooked, except perhaps her Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting. However, it must be ​ ​ said that Artemisia’s self-portraits are important because they illustrate the way she wanted to be seen in a society in which she held a lesser place due to her gender; in her self-portraits, she imagines herself as highly-esteemed historical figures, or even as allegorical figures from classical literature, to emphasize her masterful ability and grand self-perception—something which was rather bold and innovative for a woman artist of her day. Rojas 4

Artemisia Gentileschi was born in Rome, Italy, in July of the year 1593. Her father,

Orazio Gentileschi, was a famous Baroque painter in his day; his art style largely resembles

Caravaggio’s intensely dramatic style. Orazio, seeing that his young daughter was also gifted in the art of painting, decided to instruct her in painting on his own; as a result, Artemisia’s style resembles that of her father—though her style is much closer to that of Caravaggio in that she usually heightens the drama and increases the use of chiaroscuro in her art, even more so than her own father. Her style is also a little less idealistic than that of Orazio.

However, things took a turn for the worse once Orazio invited one of his artist friends,

Agostino Tassi, to further mentor the then-seventeen year-old Artemisia. In May of 1611, when

Tassi and Artemisia were alone together in her art studio, he took advantage of her and ended up raping her—and he did not stop there. Tassi continued to rape Artemisia over the span of several months, but always managed to silence her by promising to take responsibility for his actions by marrying her—though he never did live up to his promise.1 Artemisia has been documented to have said herself in the rape trial of 1612, “[W]hat I was doing with him, I did only so that, as he had dishonored me, he would marry me.”2 Once Artemisia’s father realized what was happening and concluded that Tassi would not take responsibility, Orazio reported him to the Roman authorities in March of the year 1612, which caused an entire chain of events to ensue in which

Tassi and Artemisia were both taken to court, and Artemisia was asked to testify against Tassi.

The rape trial was highly publicized and caused a huge scandal that year. The authorities did everything they could to assure themselves of the fact that Artemisia was telling the truth, and

1 Elizabeth S. Cohen, “The Trials of Artemisia Gentileschi: A Rape as History,” The Sixteenth Century ​ Journal 31, no. 1 (2000): 49, doi:10.2307/2671289. ​ 2 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art (Princeton, ​ ​ NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), 22. Rojas 5 went so far as to examine her genitals to prove that she was not lying about the sexual assault.3,4

This one event in particular proved to be the most traumatic for the young painter, but even after all the difficulties she faced, she never wavered and stood firm in her testimony. Eventually, it was proven that Artemisia was telling the truth and that Tassi did in fact rape her, and so he was sentenced to prison and exile. However, he was ultimately released from prison after about eight months, and the case was dismissed soon after.5

Many male artists of her time, as well as from before and after her time, would depict themselves or other men in aggrandizing forms. They would paint themselves or other men assuming a pose which denoted confidence or refinement, and they would be wearing luxurious, finely-crafted clothing, situated in sophisticated-looking settings such as vast personal libraries or spacious studies; sometimes the artist would generously improve certain features to make the subject look more conventionally attractive. Artemisia challenged this common theme by also aggrandizing herself in some of her self-portraits, albeit in more creative ways. Sometimes she would carefully insert her own image in her paintings depicting famous scenes and figures from the Bible, thus asserting herself the way a male artist of her time normally would but perhaps with different motives. Whether it be merely a metaphorical self-insertion or an explicit self-insertion, Artemisia’s mirror image is ubiquitous throughout her body of work; her life events, her body, her desires, and even her face can be seen reflected in a number of her works. ​ Artemisia knew herself and her life better than anyone else, and while much of her life may be shrouded in mystery and ambiguity, sadly lost in the extensive scope of time, much of her life events and her inner self have been laid forth in her extensive oeuvre. Her paintings—especially

3 Elizabeth S. Cohen, “The Trials of Artemisia Gentileschi: A Rape as History”: 59-60. 4 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, 21. ​ ​ 5 Ibid, 22. Rojas 6 her self-portraits—all speak for themselves; Artemisia was not afraid to paint women as they are, nor was she afraid to paint women overcoming adversity and oppression. With the artworks and the documents that have been left behind by her and her contemporaries, we can try to figure out who Artemisia Gentileschi really was, and how she viewed herself—both as a woman and as an artist.

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Chapter One

Women during the Renaissance period of Western Europe were beginning to question the oppressive binds placed upon them by society, by state law, and by the Catholic Church, but this centuries-long battle began quietly and slowly. A considerable number of women were beginning to go against all odds to make names for themselves, some of these women being influential writers such as Aphra Behn and Mary Astell, and others being influential artists, such as Lavinia Fontana, the Anguissola sisters, and of course, Artemisia Gentileschi.

Artemisia was trained by her own father, Orazio; he, too, was a famous Baroque painter.

The artistic training she received was presumably much more complete than that of other female artists born in the sixteenth century, as Artemisia demonstrated a great knowledge of the human body in her art even at a young age; she was able to paint nude men and women with great accuracy, and knew how to make their movements look very natural and real. This is made obvious in one of her earliest paintings, the Schloss Weissenstein Susanna and the Elders (1610; ​ see Figure 1 in the Illustrations section). Why she chose to paint a scene from the biblical story of Susanna is unknown. After all, she created this painting when she was only seventeen and still in training, so it is probable that she was not commissioned to create this artwork. It may be tempting to presume that Artemisia might have been motivated to create this painting due to her real-life rape, but this connection is not likely, as many documents assert that she was raped in the year following her creation of this painting, in 1611.6 What actually inspired this artwork may ​ forever remain a mystery, but all in all, it may be best to evaluate this artwork on its own merits for the moment. One thing that definitely stands out about the Schloss Susanna is Susanna’s ​

6 Elizabeth S. Cohen, “The Trials of Artemisia Gentileschi: A Rape as History,” 49. Rojas 8 nude body; she is painted very realistically and convincingly, making Artemisia’s extensive and in-depth artistic learning obvious from only a glance. The anatomy, the shading, and the proportions are all correct. Another particularly impressive thing about the painting is the natural way in which Susanna is shown squirming away from her two assaulters. Judging by this artwork alone, it is easy to tell that Artemisia was a daring and talented artist even in her adolescence.

The fact that she did not shy away from painting nudes, even at such a young age, only adds to her credit.

Throughout Artemisia’s entire body of work, women are almost always her main subjects, and they are usually depicted very naturally without heavy idealization of their bodies.

The women Artemisia paints are often women in positions of power in some form, whether they are powerful because of their social status or because of their actions (e.g., Cleopatra in

Artemisia’s Milan Cleopatra is in a position of power because she is the queen of Egypt [see ​ ​ Figure 2] ; Jael in Artemisia’s Jael and Sisera is in a position of power because she is about to ​ murder Sisera while he sleeps upon her lap, thus exerting control over his fate [see Figure 3]).

Not all of the women Artemisia illustrates are in positions of power, of course (such as the aforementioned Susanna, who is being preyed upon by two older men). Nonetheless, whenever

Artemisia portrays herself (i.e., in her self-portraits), she very commonly depicts herself in some position of power—whether she is presenting herself as a greatly-honored historical figure, or quite simply as a woman with full agency over her life.

While Artemisia does successfully empower the female figures in her art by simply either putting them in positions of high status or giving them full agency over themselves or others’ fates, Artemisia arguably also strengthens her women in the way she paints their bodies. Art Rojas 9 historian Mary D. Garrard has proposed an interesting interpretation of Artemisia’s depiction of women. She asserts:

In the early modern period, when the only female agency that signified was located in the

womb, it is not surprising that some female artists, as if to compensate, depicted female

characters with unusually strong forearms and firm hands, whose agility and grip express

the women’s power to act upon the world. Artemisia, above all, gives us such figures. It

is through their hands that Artemisia’s women take on the world and confront adversity.7

This emphasis on hands is seen throughout Artemisia’s work, and is very clearly seen in her artistic self-depictions, whether they are self-portraits or self-insertions. This strong grip Garrard refers to can be noted in paintings such as Judith Slaying Holofernes (both versions), ​ ​ Self-Portrait as a Lute Player (c. 1614), Lucretia (c. 1621), and Self-Portrait as the Allegory of ​ ​ ​ ​ Painting (c. 1638). The hands Artemisia gives her women—including herself in her self-portraits—are not soft, delicate hands that only serve to add to the gentle grace and beauty of the depicted female subject. They are hands with a function; hands with a purpose. They are realistic hands. When Artemisia paints women—and especially when she portrays herself—she ​ does not paint women whose only purposes are to be aesthetically pleasing figures. She paints women with clear objectives and passions—women with motivations beyond simply being beautiful. Her women have great things to achieve, and so their hands—as well as their overall limbs—are appropriately sculpted by Artemisia to be apt tools for acting upon the world. A small frame, thin limbs, and soft, delicate fingers will not do here; a feathery-light, timid grip will not get anything done in the intense and dramatic world of an Artemisia painting. Whether the

7 Mary D. Garrard, "Artemisia's Hand," in The Artemisia Files: Artemisia Gentileschi for Feminists and ​ Other Thinking People, ed. Mieke Bal (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 1-31, p.5. ​ Rojas 10 painted woman is to successfully murder a genocidal Assyrian general, or whether she simply desires to play the lute masterfully, strong and sturdy limbs—as well as a firm grip—are absolutely necessary. Perhaps Artemisia knew better than any other Italian Baroque painter that women’s hands are not merely for show; they are for doing.

While strong and firm hands may be a greatly important element seen in the majority of

Artemisia’s work, faces play an equally important role, though perhaps not in the same way.

Since most of Artemisia’s paintings center on people, the faces of her subjects (particularly her women) are one of the most important parts to analyze in her work. Most of Artemisia’s women are quite expressive, and let their emotions be shown. Susanna is disgusted and terrified; Judith is determined and merciless; Cleopatra is solemn yet resolute. How about Artemisia herself, in her self-portraits? What sorts of things does her face express? And what kinds of facial features does Artemisia give herself in such works? Moreover, do any of Artemisia’s women share any striking physical similarities to herself?

As can be seen throughout most of her self-portraits, Artemisia seems to typically paint herself with a stern, perhaps even pensive, visage. She does not smile, yet does not look hostile, either. She appears almost neutral in the majority of her self-portraits. But this takes an interesting turn when one then examines certain other works of Artemisia; it soon becomes apparent that a few of the women whom Artemisia depicts often—including Judith and Mary

Magdalene—have similar faces. One could argue that perhaps Artemisia was not so skilled in the creation of faces, and thus she simply gave some of her heroines the same features. However, the similarities between some of the real events of Artemisia’s life and the circumstances of a few of her painted heroines suggest something different. Could it be that Artemisia’s self-portraits are Rojas 11 not the only places where one can find her likeness? Does Artemisia indeed insert her image into several of her other works that are not supposed to be self-portraits?

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Chapter Two

Many art historians constantly point to Artemisia’s rape to explain the recurring themes of female empowerment throughout her oeuvre, as if to suggest that it is because of her rape that she paints strong women, and that it is because of her rape that she paints her own self as a strong woman in her self-portraits. There is truth in this, perhaps, as she was a very passionate artist; furthermore, she did often portray two biblical scenes where women demonstrate resistance in the face of male sexuality—the story of Susanna being sexually harassed by two elders, as well as the notorious story of Judith beheading Holofernes (an assassination which took place during a sexual encounter between the two). However, one should also note that being a female artist back in the seventeenth century was by no means easy. Women who worked in a field usually regarded as better suited to men frequently had to prove themselves to be worthy of being involved in such a career, and many did not achieve the same levels of fame as their male peers did. Their lesser fame could also be partly attributed to the fact that many women who painted in these times were not always as well-trained as male painters (for instance, women training to become artists were not usually allowed to study nude figures), and so their art was perhaps not quite as masterful as it could be. There were quite a few exceptions to this, which can be noted with female painters such as Lavinia Fontana and Sofonisba Anguissola, but back then, the simple matter of one’s gender was often a large indicator of one’s path in life.

Nevertheless, Artemisia was not deterred, for she was a passionate and resilient artist.

Artemisia certainly did a few things differently from most of her female contemporaries; in her self-portraits, she would never present herself with a demure or gentle demeanor, but rather, she would paint herself with a stern facial expression and the same rougher features she Rojas 13 would regularly paint on most of her heroines. Women who had “male-oriented” careers in

Artemisia’s time very often needed to be strong-willed to continue working simply because they were a minority in those days, and therefore, they faced difficulties.

It is perhaps likely that Artemisia’s rape did influence the subject matter she painted after the trial was over, but the extent to which it influenced her art and her outlook on the world is unknown and can never be determined with certainty. It is tempting to view Artemisia’s empowered paintings of herself and other women as a sort of rebellious act against her male aggressors and against the patriarchy. However, one thing to keep in mind is that Artemisia most likely did not have such a progressive outlook on society as the modern feminist would. She was not raised with any female figures who could have taught her such empowering concepts, nor could she read or write very well (she was literate by the time she reached maturity but was never particularly skilled at either reading or writing),8 and hence she most likely did not read a wealth of books during her lifetime—though she was familiar with the Bible due to the religiosity of seventeenth-century Italy. Moreover, several of the most famous paintings she did create were commissioned by wealthy art patrons, and therefore Artemisia did not choose the subject matter for most of her paintings. It is also possible that, because of the attention

Artemisia’s 1612 rape trial attracted, the patrons sought to take advantage of Artemisia’s status as a woman who was notoriously and lamentably “deflowered” by such a fiend, and so they commissioned her to paint about biblical and historical subjects which they assumed would be most relevant to her life. Of course, none of this is meant to suggest that Artemisia was not a strong or empowered woman. Her unique life circumstances may have introduced into the

8 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, 492. ​ ​ Rojas 14

Baroque art world a sort of demand for pictures painted from the authentic perspective of a woman—pictures which effectively told intense, emotional narratives that creatively and symbolically mirrored the hardships the female artist herself endured in real life. Whether one could consider a demand for such art liberating for a Baroque-era female artist is debatable, but if this demand was very much real, then if nothing else, it at least gave young Artemisia an opportunity to introduce her own unique perspective in an otherwise male-dominated field. It is very probable that, early on in her years as a painter, Artemisia took advantage of this publicity the trial gave her and used it to her advantage for her blossoming artistic career. However, rather than cheaply exploit her status as a rape victim for further publicity (as some may be quick to believe), it is probable that she instead wished to creatively assert herself as a woman who, against all odds, fiercely overcame the difficulties imposed on her, thus satisfying this special demand for art from a woman’s perspective.

The truth remains that Artemisia did paint herself in a more grandiose and serious manner than many other female artists of her time, thus demonstrating that she was, in a way, adopting a sort of “masculine” pride in her career. In her self-portraits, she would usually paint herself as female figures from either the Bible, Judeo-Christian history, or from influential Western literature. She has painted herself once as the famous and revered Saint Catherine of Alexandria, and once as the Allegory of Painting (or twice, for there is some controversy regarding her alleged second self-portrait of this theme; this shall be discussed more later). She also painted herself once as an unnamed female martyr (see Figure 6), and once as a lute player. Most other female artists of or before this period who had ever created self-portraits did not imagine themselves as anything other than what they were; this includes Sofonisba Anguissola, Lavinia Rojas 15

Fontana, Judith Leyster, and Catharina van Hemessen. They were all talented painters and strong women as well, but nonetheless, their self-portraits were more straightforward and unsophisticated in content.

That being said, there was one other female Baroque painter who occasionally did portray herself in a way similar to the likes of Artemisia; this person was Elisabetta Sirani, who was born in Bologna some forty-five years after Artemisia was born. Sirani may not have painted as many self-portraits as Artemisia did, but in one of her self-portraits, she does portray herself as the

Allegory of Painting (see Figure 9). That being said, while both women were skillful painters,

Artemisia’s self-portraits are arguably more striking for at least one quality; the sternness and hardness of Artemisia’s painted features—as opposed to the more idealistic softness present in

Sirani’s self-portraits. It is possible that Sirani herself was inspired by Artemisia’s Self-Portrait ​ as the Allegory of Painting, a possibility which is strengthened when one considers her Portrait ​ ​ of a Lady, Half-Length, as Pandora or Artemisia (see Figure 10), which as the title suggests, ​ implicates that Sirani was aware of Artemisia’s artworks and could very well have been influenced by her style to some extent. However, in Sirani’s Self-Portrait as Allegory of ​ Painting, she appears to have painted herself in a more typical manner for a woman of her day, ​ unlike Artemisia’s similar self-portrait. Sirani’s self-portrait looks more delicate and does not seem to display the same confidence or compositional complexity as Artemisia’s self-portrait does; this self-portrait will later be discussed further.

Artemisia’s Self-Portrait as Saint Catherine of Alexandria (c. 1616; see Figure 4) is very ​ ​ similar to her painting Saint Catherine of Alexandria (c. 1618; see Figure 5) in numerous ways. ​ It has been proven that her Saint Catherine of Alexandria was actually originally meant to be ​ Rojas 16 another self-portrait of her assuming the guise of Saint Catherine, but was later altered to simply be a regular portrait.9 It is unknown whether Artemisia’s self-portrait as Saint Catherine was a commission, but it seems likely that it was not. Regardless, the fact that Artemisia chose to portray herself in this manner in one of her very first self-portraits is a very interesting detail.

Perhaps her choice to connect herself to Saint Catherine, who was both a virgin saint and a

Christian martyr, could have come about because Artemisia viewed herself as a strong and virtuous woman like Catherine, who suffered before thousands of curious and judgmental spectators as she proved her case and firmly stood her ground in the face of adversity until, in the end, justice was served and her truth was proven—in other words, due to her long, winding, and scandalous rape trial, Artemisia may have also viewed herself a martyr. Or, perhaps, connecting this self-portrait to her rape is an all too predictable and overly-elaborate interpretation, and such an opinion inappropriately sexualizes this enigmatic self-portrait. As likely as it is that Artemisia might have created this painting as a way of symbolically connecting her 1612 trial to Saint

Catherine’s trials before the cruel and obstinate Maxentius, it is even likelier that Artemisia did not intend for this self-portrait to connect to her rape in any form. In medieval and Renaissance

Europe, Saint Catherine of Alexandria was a popular role model for many young Catholic women due to her resilience, piety, and virtuosity. It is not at all strange for Artemisia to have wanted to connect herself to such a highly-esteemed and beloved female saint. Regardless, of the few women artists who were active during this period, most did not ever connect themselves to any historical figures, and before Artemisia (as far as anyone today knows), no woman had ever painted themselves assuming the guise of Catherine. It was bold—though not irreverent—for

9 Naomi Rea, “Newly Discovered Drawings Beneath a Work by Artemisia Gentileschi Suggest She Often Used Herself as a Model,” Artnet News, March 7, 2019, ​ ​ https://news.artnet.com/art-world/artemisia-gentileschi-uffizi-x-ray-1482973. Rojas 17 anyone, especially a woman, to paint themselves as a saint, and yet Artemisia did so. It is evident that she held herself to some degree of high esteem.

Artemisia’s Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting (c. 1638; shown in Figure 7) has ​ ​ been referred to by Mieke Bal as an “allo-portrait,”10 or in other words, an allegorical portrait. In the artwork, she has painted herself painting. However, there is more to this self-portrait than the mere depiction of her in the act of painting. Mary Garrard writes that “the importance of this deceptively modest work of art lies in its audacious claim upon the core of artistic tradition,” in which Artemisia portrays herself as a “mythic heroine,” a grand representation and personification of visual art––more specifically, painting.11 Many art historians have remarked upon how she has illustrated herself sporting the same physical characteristics of the female personification of Painting (Pittura) as described by Cesare Ripa in his very influential book, the ​ ​ Iconologia.12 These physical attributes include the golden chain Artemisia has painted herself ​ wearing around her own neck, along with the little pendant mask which represents imitation; a garment with “changing colors” which reflects the artist’s painterly skills, which she is seen wearing here; and messy hair which symbolizes “the divine frenzy of the artistic temperament.”13

This work is probably Artemisia’s most celebrated self-portrait. Art historian Judith W. Mann admiringly compares this painting to Annibale Carracci’s Self-Portrait on an Easel (shown in ​ Figure 8), saying, “...[We] can perhaps view the painting—in which virtuoso execution and the cleverness of the concept are paramount—as simply expanding the repertoire of self-imaging in

10 Mieke Bal, “Grounds of Comparison,” in The Artemisia Files: Artemisia Gentileschi for Feminists and ​ Other Thinking People, ed. Mieke Bal (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2005), pp. 129-167, ​ p.139. 11 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, 337. ​ ​ 12 Mary D. Garrard, “Artemisia Gentileschi's Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting,” The Art Bulletin 62, ​ ​ no. 1 (1980): 97, doi:10.2307/3049963. 13 Ibid. Rojas 18 much the same way that Annibale Carracci accomplished in his easel portrait.”14 Mary Garrard remarks upon the impressive skill of Artemisia showcased in this work, writing:

The image that Artemisia created of herself is not as simple as it appears. It was not even

simple to create, since in order to paint herself in near-profile, she would have had to use

a double-mirror. But whether or not we stop to consider how she managed to paint herself

in profile, we nevertheless recognize that the image of the artist in the act of painting (or

rather, about to begin a painting) is a faithful reflection of the actual means by which this

picture was created: the artist looks into the light, bending around the canvas to see her

model, which is her own reflection in a mirror.15

This fascinating self-portrait affords the viewer an interesting look into the creative process of the artist behind the painting. It is a painting that conveys multiple messages aside from its more obvious meaning. Mary Garrard goes on to say that Artemisia’s Self-Portrait as the Allegory of ​ Painting is “not only a comment on the value of the artist’s work as process rather than product; it also tells us something about Artemisia’s idea of artistic inspiration, and her thoughts on the doctrine of imitation.”16

Many male artists of Artemisia’s time or before would simply not depict themselves or other men in such overtly allegorical forms, though it was occasionally seen. One example of the somewhat rarer male “allo-portrait” can be noted in Raphael’s famous fresco The School of ​ Athens, created around the year 1511 (see Figure 11). In this painting, one could actually say that ​ there are several allegorical portraits: the two most famous of these are Raphael’s depictions of

14 Keith Christiansen and Judith W. Mann, Orazio and Artemisia Gentileschi (New York, NY: The ​ ​ Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2001), 418. 15 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, 361. ​ ​ 16 Ibid. Rojas 19

Plato and Heraclitus, who are both painted to resemble Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo, respectively. Raphael also inserts himself into the painting to the far right. The question is, why did Artemisia make most of her self-portraits allegorical portraits in the first place? Why would she rarely paint herself simply as she was? Art historian Gill Perry raises an interesting point:

The conventions associated with allegorical portraiture could, on occasion, provide

women artists with some interesting possibilities of meaning. … Allegory was often used

to elevate or aggrandize female sitters. As women rarely occupied the same professional

or political roles as contemporary male sitters, the conventions for representing male

clients in relation to their political, military, or ecclesiastical rank … were unavailable to

female clients. It has also been argued that allegory can be used to suggest meanings

beyond the simple elevation of a sitter.17

Allegorical portraits of women became very popular in the eighteenth century,18 the century following Artemisia’s lifetime. However, evidently, the beginnings of this type of portraiture began before the eighteenth century, since artists like Artemisia and Elisabetta Sirani were already creating self-portraits (and occasionally portraits of other women) of this kind. The reason this form of portraiture was so popular among women was because, due to the extremely diminutive roles of women in European society prior to the twentieth century, most European women did not enjoy a very high social status, they could not boast very many honorable titles as men could, and they could not enter any career of their own. Therefore, the majority of female portraits could not be realistically embellished very much. In portraits of men, male sitters often flaunted their professional rank and their career achievements, as well as their hard-earned

17 Gill Perry, “Women Artists, ‘Masculine’ Art and the Royal Academy of Art,” in Gender and Art, ed. Gill ​ ​ Perry (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999), pp. 90-107, p.102. 18 Ibid. Rojas 20 wealth. This was something not available to most women back then, unfortunately, as Perry points out. Therefore, portrait artists and women needed to be more creative. Women took a liking to the allegorical portrait form, as it could connect them to a highly celebrated or influential figure in either history or the Bible, or perhaps even fiction; by doing so, women were asserting themselves in a manner most similar to how men would assert themselves for portraits.

This form became a way for women to both elevate themselves and make their portraits appear more intriguing. Artemisia had perhaps seen a few allegorical portraits in her time, but the style was still not extremely popular, so it may be safe to claim that she was among the first painters to popularize this style of portraiture.

One of Artemisia’s last-known purported self-portraits, which was painted in the 1630s

(see Figure 12), has been a subject of controversy among art historians. Some art historians claim it was very likely painted by Artemisia, while some—including Mary Garrard and Judith

Mann—claim it was most likely not painted by her.19, 20 There are a few things about this alleged ​ self-portrait that are indeed a little amiss; perhaps the one thing about this painting that calls the attribution to Artemisia most into question is the appearance of Artemisia’s own face. If one were to overlook the details of her face in this picture, then the viewer would probably not have much of an issue with this attribution.

However, there is indeed something off about the way Artemisia’s face has been painted; it does not seem to resemble the way she painted herself before in the past, nor does it exactly resemble the way she usually paints other women. There are certain facial features which are distinctive of Artemisia’s self-portraits, such as “the wide forehead, full cheeks, ample chin, and

19 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, 86–87. ​ ​ 20 Keith Christiansen and Judith W. Mann, Orazio and Artemisia Gentileschi, 418. ​ ​ Rojas 21 bow lips… .”21 Most of these features are visible here in Artemisia’s face, but her overall physiognomy looks slightly different from the rest of her self-portraits. Of course, this could be attributed to the fact that most of Artemisia’s well-known self-portraits were painted when she was younger (in the 1610s), and the slight difference in style used could suggest that Artemisia was experimenting with her style, but these possibilities remain unconvincing upon close inspection of the artwork in question. Furthermore, it is thought that this portrait was completed sometime in the early 1630s, yet her Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting is believed to have ​ been completed in the latter half of this decade, and it appears more characteristic of Artemisia’s work than the early 1630s portrait. Judith Mann asserts that this portrait could have likely been painted by Simon Vouet,22 which is an understandable connection to make, given the nature of his portraits. Artemisia was a Baroque painter who made use of dark backgrounds, rich colors, and dramatic compositions, but one striking thing about her paintings is that the shadow tones in her portraits tend to be less warm in tone than the reddish shadows seen in this portrait.

Furthermore, the lips on Artemisia’s face here appear to be very plump and colored in a bright scarlet hue—something uncharacteristic of many of her self-portraits. Her cheeks also appear to display a vivid red tone, but in all of her other known self-portraits, her cheeks are either given only a faint rosy hue or no rosy hue at all. Quite a few of these characteristics are more typical of

Vouet’s figures. An example of such characteristics can be seen in his David with the Head of ​ Goliath painting in Genoa, produced sometime around 1620–22 (see Figure 13). David’s full lips are given a bright and sensual red hue, his cheeks are rosy, and his left hand displays a warmth in tone extremely similar to the warm tones seen in Artemisia’s painting hand in the 1630s portrait.

21 Ibid. 22 Ibid. Rojas 22

Furthermore, the folds and creases in certain portions of David’s clothing appear to resemble the folds and creases in Artemisia’s colorful robes. Ultimately, it is safe to assume that the woman depicted in this controversial picture is almost certainly Artemisia, and regardless of the painter’s identity, there is no doubt that this portrait is a marvelous, masterful work. However, while there is still a slight chance that this painting could be a self-portrait by Artemisia herself, such a chance is probably unlikely.

Artemisia’s Self-Portrait as a Lute Player is another striking self-portrait (shown in ​ Figure 14). This painting was created during her Florentine period, which began in 1614 when she moved to Florence with her new husband, Pierantonio Stiattesi, and with whom she only lived for about six years before she returned to Rome alone; Artemisia remained separated from her husband for the rest of her life. But, to return to the self-portrait: one feature about this self-portrait that is rather striking is how sensual it is, compared to her other known self-portraits.

Her breasts, in particular, appear a little more pronounced here. As already mentioned, it is unknown if any of Artemisia’s other self-portraits were commissions or not; however, her

Self-Portrait as a Lute Player most likely was a commission, perhaps from one of Artemisia’s ​ ​ wealthy and admiring male patrons. Judith Mann posits that the mysterious commissioner may have been Cosimo II de’ Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany,23 who was one of Artemisia’s most devoted art patrons during her stay in Florence; the picture is documented to have first been located in the Medici inventory,24 further strengthening Mann’s claim that Cosimo was perhaps the one who commissioned this piece. The erotic tone to this self-portrait could perhaps have been requested by Cosimo himself, but it is more likely that it was a result of the fact that, as

23 Ibid, 322. 24 Ibid, 324. Rojas 23

Mann explains, “Young female musicians were portrayed by such painters as Gerrit van

Honthorst and Dirck van Baburen, often with overt erotic connotations. The inclusion of musical instruments in seventeenth-century pictures, for example, has been associated with allusions to lust and sexuality.”25 The Wadsworth Atheneum’s curatorial narrative of the painting echoes a similar idea, stating, “Her low-cut bodice and direct gaze create an erotic overtone that was appropriate to the traditional association of music and love. It also hints at Artemisia’s reputation as a seductive woman.”26

One must wonder if Artemisia herself was aware of the connection between music and sensuality and purposely alluded to it in this work. Such a possibility is highly likely, considering that Caravaggio—one of Artemisia’s strongest influences—employed similar visual themes in some of his artworks, such as his well-known painting The Musicians (shown in Figure 15). ​ Artemisia herself was probably not averse to the idea of portraying herself in a more seductive manner so long as it was her choice. Furthermore, the inclusion of a lute—or any musical instrument, for that matter—would cause Artemisia to appear as a more well-rounded artistic individual; a visual representation of the arts and the humanist tradition. In this sense,

Self-Portrait as a Lute Player is perhaps akin to her Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, ​ ​ though one could argue whether her Lute Player self-portrait is as empowering as her Allegory of ​ ​ Painting work. After all, it does appear that Artemisia’s sexuality in this painting, while displayed out of Artemisia’s own consenting will, still serves the male gaze—and this in itself makes the painting stand out from the majority of her other paintings, which do not seem to be ​

25 Ibid. 26 “Self-Portrait as a Lute Player,” Wadsworth Atheneum Collection (Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art), accessed February 12, 2020, http://argus.wadsworthatheneum.org/Wadsworth_Atheneum_ArgusNet/Portal/public.aspx?lang=en-US&g _AABJ=gentileschi, curatorial narrative. Rojas 24 meant to be directed toward the male gaze. Again, perhaps Artemisia made the picture this way because it was for a male patron who admired her greatly, or perhaps the patron actually requested her to depict herself in such a sensual manner.

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Chapter Three

It is a well-established theory that Artemisia used her own image as the foundation for many of the women she would paint. Her reasons for this are unknown, but there is a lot of speculation among art historians as to why so many of the women she would paint were physically based on her own appearance. Perhaps the simplest explanation is to say that her own image was the easiest model for her to use. However, one could also argue that perhaps she wanted to insert her own image in some of her paintings—especially her history and religious paintings.

The paintings that have probably been most heavily cited as making use of her self-image as a powerful means of self-expression are both versions of Judith Slaying Holofernes (see ​ Figures 16 and 17); it should also go without saying that these are among her most famous artworks of all time. It is not surprising that many people, even art historians, frequently make reference to this work when speaking about the artworks in which Artemisia may have possibly inserted herself. In the mind of anyone who has read even a little of her biography, it is very easy to make connections between her gruesome depictions of Judith assassinating Holofernes and her real-life rape by Agostino Tassi. At this point, the forming of such a connection could even be considered clichéd as there are countless articles written addressing this very subject. It is enticing to believe that Artemisia painted Judith bloodily murdering the genocidal Assyrian general in a fit of passion over the way Tassi “deflowered” her, during a time when women held little rights and were considered spoiled goods once they had been violated by a man. The truth, however, is that both these paintings, as well as virtually all of Artemisia’s other paintings depicting Judith, were commissions meant for wealthy art patrons. Perhaps anger did inspire ​ Rojas 26

Artemisia when she was painting her Naples Judith Slaying Holofernes, which was painted ​ ​ sometime around 1612—about one year after her rape. Some sources even say this painting could have been painted around the time that she was still being sexually violated by Agostino

Tassi, considering how he had sex with her not once, but multiple times (and, of course, he ​ always lured her into bed by deceiving her into thinking that he would soon marry her, which he ultimately never did). Therefore, the notion that Artemisia was at least somewhat inspired by her real-life rape in her creation of the Naples Judith Slaying Holofernes (and the Florence Judith as ​ ​ well, for that matter) is probably not entirely mistaken and could very well be possible. The wrath and violence present in this artwork are tangible, made more intense by Artemisia’s masterful use of tenebrism—which is strongly reminiscent of Caravaggio’s artworks—as well as the generous amounts of blood she painted splattering out of Holofernes’s impaled neck. One can certainly sense a righteous fury in her Judith paintings, and Artemisia did a marvelously frightening job at instilling these artworks with such a heavy atmosphere of anger. However, it is not certain (and may never be known) to what extent Artemisia was inspired by her real-life rape and how it may have influenced her Judith paintings.

Moreover, there are numerous other things which may have affected her during her work on her Judith pieces, such as a desire to prove her skill and worth in the once male-dominated field of art. While claiming that Artemisia wholeheartedly subscribed to feminist ideologies would be erroneous, it is perhaps not incorrect to assume that she wished to assert her unique female perspective in an artistic world otherwise led by men, as well as prove herself to be just as talented—if not more so—than the majority of her male contemporaries. Furthermore, maybe

Artemisia figured that a painting (in this case, the Naples Judith) which could draw connections ​ ​ Rojas 27 to her real-life scandal could attract more publicity to her work. Whatever her intentions were, the two versions of Judith Slaying Holofernes were indeed popular and remain widely famous ​ today.

Another painting in which Artemisia may have inserted herself, though this is one that appears to be often overlooked in this regard, is her Seville Mary Magdalene as Melancholy ​ (which is also the name of a later version of this artwork; see Figures 18 and 19). Mary Garrard suggests that—unlike in a similar previous painting she made during her stay in Florence, the

Pitti Mary Magdalene (shown in Figure 20)—Artemisia does not embellish this figure of ​ Magdalene with too many exotic or luxurious accessories, and instead paints her in more humble attire, seated on a simple chair, wearing no makeup, slumping melancholically.27 Instead of portraying this Magdalene figure with “rouged” cheeks,28 a lavish golden dress suggestively slipping off one shoulder, and “sensuously long, delicate fingers”29—all of which she did with the Pitti Mary Magdalene to please her patrons, the powerful Medicis, who had exquisite ​ Florentine tastes and “an ambience of sophistication and and displayed wealth”30—it seems she chose to paint this Magdalene more true to her own ideas. Her style in the Seville Magdalene recalls her earlier style seen in the Schloss Weissenstein Susanna and the Elders, in which ​ ​ women are painted without heavily made-up faces, shadows are darker and more intense, and people generally appear less adorned by expensive clothing and accessories; earthier tones are also used, as opposed to the brighter, more sensual colors she uses in the Pitti Magdalene and in

27 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi Around 1622: The Shaping and Reshaping of an Artistic Identity ​ (Los Angeles, CA: University of California, 2001), 39. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid, 38. 30 Ibid. Rojas 28 her other Florence works, such as Judith Slaying Holofernes, Self-Portrait as a Lute Player, and ​ ​ ​ ​ Self-Portrait as a Female Martyr. ​ How exactly did Artemisia insert herself into Mary Magdalene as Melancholy? Garrard ​ ​ suggests that Artemisia perhaps identified with Magdalene because of her reputation as a sexual sinner who, ashamed of her lascivious lifestyle, resigns her promiscuous ways in order to become a devoted follower of Christ. This reputation Magdalene gained in Christianity—mainly in Western Christianity—is due to a popular misconception started by the early Church which conflated Mary Magdalene with several other women mentioned in the Gospels, including Mary of Bethany and an unnamed sinner woman who washed the feet of Jesus with her hair. While such erroneous ideas about Magdalene were due to the early Church’s conflation of her to several other women, Artemisia may have not known that the perception of her having been a sexually promiscuous woman was incorrect, since such misconstructions about Magdalene have persisted all through the centuries—even after the Church attempted to correct its error—thanks to books like the Golden Legend greatly contributing to these misconceptions. Nevertheless, it is ​ possible that this Mary Magdalene was a figure with whom Artemisia identified due to her own somewhat-marred reputation, having been a victim of rape. In regard to the Seville Penitent ​ Magdalene, Garrard posits: ​ … I would argue that this slipped chemise and partially exposed breast indeed refer to the

Magdalen’s erotic past, yet not as sinner but as sexually abused woman. … It is a vestige

of her rough sexual handling by men, a signifier of her consequent abject, debased state.31

31 Ibid, 39. Rojas 29

Artemisia was not as free to depict the figure of the penitent Mary Magdalene as she probably would have preferred when she was painting for the Medici family; she had to appeal to their luxuriant and sensual tastes, and while she adapted well to Florence’s artistic scene during her short stay there, the art she produced during this time was perhaps a little distant from her own vision.

Artemisia reverted to her original style around the time that she returned to Rome in

1620, and this is where she produced these two melancholic paintings of Mary Magdalene (the

Seville Magdalene, and the Museo Soumaya Magdalene, specifically). This time around, instead of portraying her in the sensual manner of her Florentine works, Artemisia portrayed her in a deep state of depression. Perhaps now Artemisia was free to artistically express a sort of connection she felt with the figure of Mary Magdalene (at least, the sexual sinner Magdalene as interpreted by the early Church); after all, both Artemisia and she had been involved in sexually intimate acts with men to whom they were not married, and even though, in Artemisia’s case, the sex in which she engaged was not consensual and was entirely initiated by Tassi, she still faced controversy and social stigmatization over having been “deflowered” (though not to the extent that her artistic career or respectability suffered severely, obviously; her reputation did recover significantly after the conclusion of her lengthy trial32). Both Mary Magdalene as sexual sinner and Artemisia Gentileschi, though they were both highly esteemed—Mary for having been such a devout follower of Christ, and Artemisia for being such an incredible painter—still carried the weights of their pasts which, in the public eye, seemed to overshadow everything else about them. Even now, unfortunately, both women are largely remembered for their sexuality: Mary

32 Elizabeth S. Cohen, “The Trials of Artemisia Gentileschi: A Rape as History,” 72. Rojas 30

Magdalene is still often incorrectly portrayed as a penitent prostitute in modern pop culture, and

Artemisia is still infamous for having been raped early in her life. It is likely that Artemisia painted Magdalene as a “sexually abused” woman in her two Mary Magdalene as Melancholy ​ artworks as a means of expressing her own inner turmoil, her own sufferings in regards to her tumultuous past. It could be possible that Artemisia’s rape had still left her emotionally vulnerable even over a decade later; perhaps memories of her rape plummeted her into a depressive state. It is ultimately incorrect to state that Artemisia’s paintings of Mary Magdalene ​ as Melancholy are self-portraits, but it would not be wholly wrong to assume that Artemisia sought to express and insert herself into these paintings. Perhaps these melancholic portrayals of the Magdalene were, in a deeper sense, “allo-portraits.”

The majority of people largely remember Artemisia as having been a strong woman who painted other strong women, and while such a simple assessment is mostly true, it does not capture the whole of Artemisia’s character or oeuvre. She was a human, and just like any other human being, she had moments of vulnerability. She had no qualms about portraying women in times of weakness, such as in her Mary Magdalene as Melancholy pieces, or her paintings of the ​ bathing Susanna being sexually harassed. Artemisia never portrayed women who were weak, but in addition to her more famous artworks in which she depicts women heroically asserting themselves or taking charge, she also acknowledged that even some of the most celebrated female figures from the Bible have moments of fragility when they are faced with difficult circumstances. Nevertheless, while some of these women certainly do have moments of vulnerability, none of them ultimately succumb to their fears: Mary Magdalene (as sexual sinner) soon renounces her past life of promiscuity and luxury to become a full disciple of Jesus; Rojas 31

Susanna, though she is fearful of the two men ogling her as she bathes, stands firm and does not let herself be defeated by the two elders who wish to ruin her. It is indeed true that Artemisia

Gentileschi mainly portrayed empowered women in her art—including even herself—and moreover, she portrayed these women very boldly and heroically; but it is important to remember that she was just as capable of portraying these same strong women in more delicate and poignant moments—of course, without entirely draining them of their agency. Artemisia was not an immovable blade of steel; like all human beings, she and her painted heroines occasionally faltered when met with challenging situations and decisions, yet they always managed to pick themselves up again and keep on living true to themselves.

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Conclusion

Artemisia Gentileschi knew her own worth. Merely by looking at her self-portraits, it is easy to see that she held herself in high regard, at least to a moderate degree. To depict oneself as one of Christianity’s most celebrated saints, or as a sensuous and highly cultured lute player, or as the very allegory of painting, la Pittura—all this requires a level of confidence and creativity ​ ​ that Artemisia certainly possessed, and by no means was she shy about displaying such high levels of confidence, creativity, and above all, talent. In fact, her career depended on it; much in the same way that many male artists of her time had to show off their skills to gain any amount of fame and patronage, Artemisia also had to resort to such measures. The livelihoods of artists back in the seventeenth century depended on such methods of self-promotion (and this still stands true for many artists today). In a letter addressed to a Sicilian patron of hers named Don

Antonio Ruffo, Artemisia complained, “...[A] woman’s name raises doubts until her work is seen.”33 Such a concise sentence delivers so many sentiments. It is very possible that Artemisia, having been a woman herself, saw certain value and worth in women that most men around her failed to see, and she was tired of constantly being doubted by male patrons; she was weary of having to work twice as hard as a male painter in order to prove herself. She knew the worth of women was much greater than what men of her society often believed, and she knew her own worth, as well.

It did not matter what success she had already achieved; she did not have the privilege of male artists like Michelangelo, Titian, or Raphael who, after becoming so widely renowned throughout Italy and much of Europe, immediately secured the trust and confidence of nearly all

33 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi Around 1622: The Shaping and Reshaping of an Artistic ​ Identity, 106. ​ Rojas 33 the wealthy patrons for whom they worked, far and wide. Artemisia had to continually prove to others that she had all the same skill as any competent male painter of her age. She struggled to have others view her in the way she viewed herself, and though she did so relentlessly, like any human being, she would occasionally grow worn out. The worth she probably sensed in other women, as well as in herself, can be said to have manifested itself in her work, whether it be visible in the way she painted women’s hands (hands with “purpose”), women’s legs (strong, sturdy legs), women’s expressions, or the way she represented and decorated her own image. To say that Artemisia Gentileschi was a feminist in the modern sense of the word is erroneous, yes, but to say that she was not empowered and that she did not care for the recognition of other ​ women—the recognition of womankind’s many impressive achievements throughout history, and even in their everyday lives—is perhaps even more erroneous.

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Illustrations

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FIGURE 1. Artemisia Gentileschi, Susanna and the Elders, 1610, oil on canvas, 170 x 119 cm ​ ​ ​ (67 x 47 in), Schloss Weissenstein, Pommersfelden, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Susanna_and_the_Elders_(1610),_Artemisia_Gentiles chi.jpg. Rojas 36

FIGURE 2. Artemisia Gentileschi, Cleopatra, c. 1611 or 1622, oil on canvas, 118 x 181 cm (46 ​ ​ ​ x 71 in), Amedeo Morandotti, Milan, https://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/full.php?ID=121601.

FIGURE 3. Artemisia Gentileschi, Jael and Sisera, 1620, oil on canvas, 86 x 125 cm (34 x 49 ​ ​ ​ in), Szépművészeti Múzeum, Budapest, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Giaele_e_Sisara.JPG

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FIGURE 4. Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as Saint Catherine of Alexandria, c. 1616, oil ​ ​ ​ on panel, 71 x 71 cm (28 x 28 in), National Gallery, London, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Artemisia_Gentileschi_-_Self-Portrait_5365FXD.jpg.

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FIGURE 5. Artemisia Gentileschi, Saint Catherine of Alexandria, c. 1618, oil on canvas, 77 x ​ ​ ​ 63 cm (30 x 25 in), Uffizi, Florence, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Artemisia_Gentileschi_-_St_Catherine_of_Alexandria _-_WGA8560.jpg.

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FIGURE 6. Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as a Female Martyr, c. 1615, oil on panel, 32 x ​ ​ ​ ​ 25 cm (12.5 x 10 in), private collection, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Artemisia_Gentileschi_Selfportrait_Martyr.jpg.

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FIGURE 7. Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, c. 1638, oil on ​ ​ ​ canvas, 98.5 x 75 cm (39 x 30 in), British Royal Collection, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Self-portrait_as_the_Allegory_of_Painting_(La_Pittur a)_-_Artemisia_Gentileschi.jpg.

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FIGURE 8. Annibale Carracci, Self-Portrait on an Easel, c. 1603-04, oil on panel, 42.5 x 30 cm ​ ​ ​ (17 x 12 in), State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, https://bit.ly/2vQDoMj.

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FIGURE 9. Elisabetta Sirani, Self-Portrait as Allegory of Painting, c. 1658, oil on canvas, 114 x ​ ​ ​ 85 cm (45 x 33.5 in), Pushkin Museum, Moscow, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Elisabetta_Sirani_Autorretrato_Museo_Pushkin_Mosc u.jpg.

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FIGURE 10. Elisabetta Sirani, Portrait of a Lady, Half-Length, as Pandora or Artemisia, ​ ​ ​ between 1638 and 1665, oil on canvas, 92 x 75 cm (36 x 30 in), private collection, https://arthistoryproject.com/artists/elisabetta-sirani/portrait-of-a-lady-half-length-as-pandora-or- artemisia/.

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FIGURE 11. Raphael, The School of Athens, 1511, fresco, 500 cm x 7.7 m (16.4 x 25.2 ft), ​ ​ ​ Palazzo Apostolico, Vatican City, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%22The_School_of_Athens%22_by_Raffaello_Sanzio _da_Urbino.jpg.

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FIGURE 12. Unknown artist, Portrait of Artemisia Gentileschi as Pittura, 1630s,34 oil on ​ ​ ​ canvas, 98 x 74.5 cm (38.5 x 29 in), Palazzo Barberini, Rome, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gentileschi-autoretratBarberini.jpg.

34 Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi Around 1622: The Shaping and Reshaping of an Artistic ​ Identity, 61. ​ Rojas 46

FIGURE 13. Simon Vouet, David with the Head of Goliath, c. 1620-22, oil on canvas, 121 x 94 ​ ​ ​ cm (48 x 37 in), Musei di Strada Nuova, Genoa, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Simon_Vouet_-_David_with_the_Head_of_Goliath_-_ Google_Art_Project.jpg.

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FIGURE 14. Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as a Lute Player, c. 1614, oil on canvas, 77.5 x ​ ​ ​ 72 cm (30.5 x 28 in), Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Artemisia_Gentileschi_-_Self-Portrait_as_a_Lute_Pla yer.JPG.

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FIGURE 15. Caravaggio, The Musicians, c. 1595, oil on canvas, 92 x 118.5 cm (36 x 47 in), ​ ​ ​ Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Caravaggio_-_I_Musici.jpg.

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FIGURE 16. Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes, c. 1612, oil on canvas, 159 x ​ ​ ​ 125.5 cm (62.5 x 49 in), Museo di Capodimonte, Naples, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Artemisia_Gentileschi_-_Judith_Beheading_Holoferne s_-_WGA8563.jpg.

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FIGURE 17. Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Slaying Holofernes, c. 1620, oil on canvas, 100 x ​ ​ ​ 162.5 cm (39 x 64 in), Uffizi, Florence, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Judit_decapitando_a_Holofernes,_por_Artemisia_Gen tileschi.jpg.

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FIGURE 18. Artemisia Gentileschi, Mary Magdalene as Melancholy, c. 1622-25, oil on canvas, ​ ​ ​ 122 x 97 cm (48 x 38 in), Catedral de Santa María de la Sede, Seville, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Artemisia_Gentileschi_%E2%80%94_Conversione_de lla_Maddalena_(Maria_Maddalena_penitente.jpg.

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FIGURE 19. Artemisia Gentileschi, Mary Magdalene as Melancholy, c. 1625, oil on canvas, ​ ​ ​ 136 x 100 cm (54 x 39.5 in), Museo Soumaya at Plaza Carso, Mexico City, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:3415_Mar%C3%ADa_Magdalena_como_melancol% C3%ADa.jpg.

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FIGURE 20. Artemisia Gentileschi, Mary Magdalene, c. 1617, oil on canvas, 146.5 x 108 cm ​ ​ ​ (58 x 42.5 in), Palazzo Pitti, Florence, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Artemisia_Gentileschi_Mary_Magdalene_Pitti.jpg.

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Christiansen, Keith, and Judith W. Mann. Orazio and Artemisia Gentileschi. New York, NY: ​ ​ The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2001.

Cohen, Elizabeth S. “The Trials of Artemisia Gentileschi: A Rape as History.” The Sixteenth ​ Century Journal 31, no. 1 (2000): 47-75. doi:10.2307/2671289. ​ Garrard, Mary D. Artemisia Gentileschi Around 1622: The Shaping and Reshaping of an ​ Artistic Identity. Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press, 2001. ​ Garrard, Mary D. Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art. ​ Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991.

Garrard, Mary D. “Artemisia Gentileschi's Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting.” The Art ​ Bulletin 62, no. 1 (1980): 97-112. doi:10.2307/3049963. ​ Garrard, Mary D. “Artemisia’s Hand.” In The Artemisia Files: Artemisia Gentileschi for ​ Feminists and Other Thinking People, edited by Mieke Bal, 1-31. Chicago, IL: ​ University of Chicago Press, 2005.

Perry, Gill. “Women Artists, ‘Masculine’ Art and the Royal Academy of Art.” In Gender and ​ Art, edited by Gill Perry, 90-107. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999. ​ Rea, Naomi. “Newly Discovered Drawings Beneath a Work by Artemisia Gentileschi Suggest Rojas 55

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“Self-Portrait as a Lute Player.” Wadsworth Atheneum Collection. Wadsworth Atheneum

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x?lang=en-US&g_AABJ=gentileschi.