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Venetian Painting in the Early Renaissance

A woman holding a baby, who stands on her lap, is flanked by two men in a deep landscape in this horizontal painting. At the center of the composition, the woman sits behind a stone ledge. Her pale-skinned, oval face tips to our left, and she looks down and to our right with brown eyes. She has a long, straight nose, round cheeks, a slight double chin, and her pale lips are closed. A white cloth drapes over a translucent veil that covers her forehead. Her indigo-colored dress is edged with gold writing and ornamental designs against a red and black background. A parchment-brown cloth is tied as a belt under her bust. The nude child with notably pale skin stands on one of her knees, and she holds his other foot with one hand. Her other hand braces his chest, and he holds onto that thumb. His other hand is held up with the thumb and first two fingers raised toward the man to our left, at whom he looks. A halo, drawn as a thin gold line, encircles his blond curls. He has chubby cheeks and thighs but looks seriously at the man to our left. Both men have tanned skin, and they face inward, almost in profile. They are shown from about the hips up on the far side of the stone ledge. The man to our left is balding with a long, white beard. Wrinkles line his forehead and cheeks. He looks off to our right with shadowed eyes, and he has a hooked nose. He wears a tan garment under an ultramarine-blue cloak, which drops from one shoulder and wraps around his hips. He holds one hand to his chest and the other palm up. To our right, the second man looks to our left with deep-set eyes. He has high cheekbones, a straight nose, and his lips are parted. Copper-brown hair falls in shaggy curls to his shoulders, and he has a full, red beard. His hands are together in prayer in front of his chest, and a tall thin stick with a narrow crossbeam to make a cross is tucked into one elbow. His voluminous, carnation-pink robe almost covers a brown, shaggy garment beneath. Beyond the group, rocky cliffs lead back to a castle-like structure to our left and grassy, tree-dotted hills roll into the distance to our right. Pale gray and white clouds drift across a violet-purple and blue-streaked sky across the top quarter of the composition. The artist signed the work as if he had carved into the stone ledge in front of Mary: “IOANNES BAPTISTA PINXIT.”


In the mid-1400s, Venice was the most powerful city in Italy, made rich by nearly a thousand years of commerce, mostly in goods from the East. Its navy ruled the Mediterranean as if it were a Venetian lake. By the end of the fifteenth century, however, the city's fortunes had begun to change. Venice lost both territory and trade after the fall of Constantinople in 1453. Later, Portuguese naval exploration around the tip of Africa drew still more traffic away from Venetian-controlled overland routes. Increasingly the city's future lay with the West. Despite the renown of its ambassadors and spies, however, Venice's position weakened.

Venice nevertheless maintained its prestige and legendary splendor. Venetian artists first established an international reputation during these years. Grounding their art in the senses, they appealed to the eye -- and the spirit -- through brilliant color, glowing light, and the beauties of nature. Long ties with Byzantium had left a lingering preference for gold mosaics and iconlike images of the Virgin, but by the 1470s Venetian painters had absorbed the renaissance innovations of Florence and central Italy. Through the city's preeminence in the oriental trade for spices and luxury goods, Venice's artists had always enjoyed access to the finest and most costly pigments. Greater contact with northern Europe now introduced them to the new technology of oil painting, which had recently been perfected in the Low Countries.

Oil paints are slow drying and can be blended. Built up in translucent layers, they capture and reflect light in a way that the flat opaque colors of tempera paints cannot. Italian artists were quick to adopt the new medium, and in the works of Venetian painter Giovanni Bellini its full potential was realized. There, for the first time, is found the sensuous, luminous color that would characterize Venetian painting for centuries to come.

Cima da Conegliano, Italian, c. 1459 - 1517 or 1518, Madonna and Child with Saint Jerome and Saint John the Baptist, c. 1492/1495, oil on panel, Andrew W. Mellon Collection, 1937.1.33

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Shown from the waist up, a young woman embraces a baby in this vertical painting. They both have peachy skin, reddish-blond hair, and round faces. The woman is angled to our left and almost takes up the height of the painting. She looks down with gray eyes through lowered lids, under slender, arched brows. She has a straight nose and her pale pink lips are closed. Barely visible, a thin dotted white line spans her brow. A few loose, copper-colored tendrils frame her face under an azure-blue mantle that drapes over her head, shoulders, and arms. Under the mantle she wears a brick-red robe with a stylized, plant-like pattern in gold on the upper bodice and the cuff we can see. Her left elbow, on our right, rests on a sage-green ledge that runs along the bottom edge of the composition, and that hand dangles over the child’s leg. Her other hand curves around the baby’s back. The child is turned to our right to face the woman. He is wrapped in a cloak the same red as the woman's robe, and it has a thin gold border. He sits on a kelly-green cushion resting along the left side of the ledge. His head is turned to gaze off to our right with large hazel eyes under thin brows. He has a button nose and a rosy flush around his small pink mouth, which is slightly open. His right hand dips into the woman’s neckline while the other arm embraces her neck. His right leg stretches out toward her so one pudgy foot peeks out from under the red cloth. The horizon of the landscape behind them comes halfway up the painting. Sloping fields are dotted with trees. Low hills are ice blue in the hazy distance along the horizon, and the sky above is nearly white near the mountains, deepening to pale blue along the top edge.

Antonello da Messina probably painted this work during his eighteen-month visit to Venice, at which time, it was once thought, he introduced Venetian artists to oil paints. It is now known that they were using oils well before Antonello's arrival. For many years Italian merchants returning from business in the Low Countries had brought home Netherlandish oil paintings. An eager market for these highly detailed and naturalistic works already existed -- probably this prospect led Antonello north to Venice in the first place -- and Venetian painters themselves were experimenting with the new medium. Nevertheless, Antonello does seem to have exerted a strong influence: Venetian painting simply looked different after his stay than it had before. Probably his contribution was to teach techniques for using oils. Before his arrival Venetian painters had sometimes applied oils in alternating layers with tempera or brushed them on with the same short parallel strokes they used for opaque colors. These practices effectively blocked the full ability of oil paint to capture and reflect light, which is achieved only when translucent pigments are built up in thin, blended layers.

Antonello da Messina, Italian, c. 1430 - 1479, Madonna and Child, c. 1475, oil and tempera on panel transferred from panel, Andrew W. Mellon Collection, 1937.1.30

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Shown from the waist up, a young woman holds a baby up against her chest in this vertical painting. They both face us and have pale skin. The woman holds the baby against the right side of her chest, to our left, and she tips her slender, oval face toward him. She looks out at us with hazel eyes under thin, arched brows. She has a long nose, smooth cheeks, and a pale pink, bow mouth. The neckline and the cuffs of her garnet-red gown peek out from beneath a dark, spruce-blue, gold-edged mantle that covers her head and wraps around her body. One forearm rests along a surface marbled in red, brown, and tan. With her other hand, she supports the chest of the baby, who wears a long, white robe. The sleeves and hemline are pushed up to reveal his pudgy arms and the leg we can see. The infant has wavy, reddish-brown hair, delicate features, and large, green eyes under faint brows. His head also tilts to our left, and he gazes off in that direction. His exposed left leg, on our right, dangles over the woman’s arm, his toe nearly brushing the tabletop. His other leg is tucked within the folds of her robe. The long fingers of her free hand curl around the child’s hidden leg. The pair are warmly lit from the upper left and set against a dark, earth-brown background.

Giovanni Bellini painted half-length images of the Virgin and Child throughout his long career. This one, with its somber color and avoidance of decoration, resembles the focused intensity of an icon. The austerity of this image, which markedly contrasts with the city's celebrated luxury, is a legacy of Byzantine art, a tradition that was reinforced when displaced Greek artists immigrated to Venice following the fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks in 1453.

The Virgin possesses the ethereal geometry of a Byzantine madonna. Compare her delicate, oval face and arched brows, long nose and small chin, with the more robust features of Antonello's Mary. In contrast, Bellini's Virgin seems removed from everyday existence. Although the child moves actively in her arms, his focus seems distant, directed perhaps to his future suffering and death on the cross. The featureless background and the front parapet separate the holy figures from our own world. Their presence is not a physical but a spiritual one, and their image compels and concentrates the viewer's meditation. Mary and Jesus seem to glow with interior illumination.

Giovanni Bellini, Italian, c. 1430/1435 - 1516, Madonna and Child, c. 1480/1485, oil on panel, Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1939.1.352

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Shown from the chest up, a clean-shaven young man with pale, peachy skin looks off to our left against a cloudy sky in this vertical portrait painting. His body is angled to our left, and he gazes in that direction with dark eyes under thick, arched brows. He has a long nose, smooth cheeks, and a hint of a five-o-clock shadow around his closed, peach-colored lips. Chestnut-brown hair is covered by a black headdress with two long tails. One end drapes over the front of his right shoulder, farther from us, and the other end hangs down his back. He wears a brick-red garment that falls in vertical pleats from a high collar. A white undergarment peeks out from the top of the neckline, and the collar is fastened with a small clasp at the throat. Behind him, tan-colored clouds float across a blue sky.

Beginning in the mid-1300s, an official portrait of each new doge, the elected head of the Venetian republic, was hung in the room where the city's governing council met. Paintings commissioned by Venice's religious confraternities sometimes also included likenesses of the society's leading members. Single portraits of private individuals, however, were virtually unknown until the 1470s. Venetians credited their new popularity to Bellini. His portraits spawned such demand for likenesses of family members that his contemporaries reported it common to see the faces of four generations in a single household.

The individualized features of this young man are carefully defined but do not reveal much about his personality. In fact, all of Bellini's portraits of young men share a reserved dignity but deny a more penetrating look into the sitter's character.

Venetian men of both the patrician and the citizen classes wore a long, simple black robe, a small black hat, and a stole over the shoulder or sometimes, as here, over the head. Red gowns worn by senators were also prescribed for certain ceremonial occasions.

Giovanni Bellini, Italian, c. 1430/1435 - 1516, Portrait of a Young Man in Red, c. 1480, oil and tempera on panel, Andrew W. Mellon Collection, 1937.1.29

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A bearded and balding man with deeply tanned skin, dressed only in a strip of robin’s egg-blue fabric around his shoulders and hips, sits reading a book on a rock at the entrance to a craggy cave, in front of a landscape in this vertical painting. In the lower right corner of the composition, the man, Saint Jerome, faces our left in profile, his head bowed toward the open book propped on the rock near the knee farther from us. His hair and beard are parchment white, and he has a prominent brow ridge, a long, hooked nose, and sunken cheeks. His arms and legs are sinewy and his torso is muscled. The blue cloth is knotted over his left shoulder and wraps around his hips. A lion lies next to Saint Jerome in lower right corner, his face toward us with his mouth open. There is a rectangular pool lined with blocky, cream-white stones at Saint Jerome’s feet, to our left. The cave behind him, to our right, has a jagged, narrow, vertical entrance, and there are rocky outcroppings above and to our left, over the pool. A stone arch spans the top edge of the painting, enclosing the scene below. Other animals appear around Saint Jerome, including a lizard near the pool; a squirrel on the grassy top of the cave entrance; and a black bird in the barren branches of a tree growing from the rocks above the cave. On the far side of the pool, two rabbits, white and brown, touch noses on a grass-topped, low, rocky wall. There is a hill with two dark green bushes beyond that. In the distance, a cluster of tan-colored, stone buildings, some in ruins, spread down a hillside to the water’s edge. Across the water to our right, deep in the distance, white buildings line the horizon, which comes about two-thirds of the way up this painting. A few puffs of white clouds float along the waterline against a vivd, azure-blue sky above.

Saint Jerome is often depicted on small devotional panels like this one. Because he had translated the Bible into Latin, the saint was a favorite of Renaissance humanists and was often shown reading in a study. Other depictions showed him in the wilderness, living as a hermit and beating his breast in penance. Here the two types are combined.

In fact, the elderly saint and his lion companion, shifted to the lower right, occupy only a small area of the painting. The landscape commands center stage, filled with a distant view and abundant life, all washed with a radiant light. Many of the plants and animals have various symbolic meanings—the rabbits, for example, could serve as reminders of lust or Christian meekness. Rather than intending that we "read" them as symbols, perhaps Bellini means us to see them simply as part of a vast and rich nature.

Perhaps, paradoxically, it was because Venice was so intensely urban—it was a largely artificial environment constructed on pilings and scant marshy ground—that its artists developed into such evocative landscape painters. Their approach, in contrast to contemporaries elsewhere, was more intuitive than scientific: they responded to, rather than recorded, nature.

Giovanni Bellini, Italian, c. 1430/1435 - 1516, Saint Jerome Reading, 1505, oil on panel, Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1939.1.217

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Close to us, a bearded, balding man leads a donkey carrying a woman and child to our right against a hilly landscape in this horizontal painting. All three people have pale, peachy skin and halos. The man has a gray beard and hair, and wears a royal-blue tunic under a ruby-red robe. He leans on a walking stick and looks back at the donkey. The woman riding the donkey wears a blue and gold brocade-like cloak covering her head and body. She has a straight nose, small pink lips, and she looks toward the infant she holds close to her body. The baby wears a white garment and reaches for the woman’s face with one hand as he turns to look over his shoulder toward us. The path they walk on is lined with grass and detailed plants. A river runs parallel to the path a short distance away. The horizon line comes about two-thirds of the way up the painting is lined with green trees, blue mountains, and a few buildings to our left. Wispy white clouds sweep across an azure-blue sky streaked with peach near the horizon.

Mary and Joseph's flight with Jesus to escape Herod's slaughter of the Hebrew babies is recounted in the gospel of Matthew. The subject is often found on predellas, the small scenes at the base of altarpieces, but this painting is too large to be a predella panel. Nor is it likely to have been the central section of an altarpiece—those were usually meditative, devotional images rather than narrative ones like this. Perhaps it was made for a religious confraternity. Such scuole were among the most important patrons of Venetian painters. They commissioned Carpaccio's best-known works—large bustling scenes that are full of anecdotal detail and provide valuable information about life in Renaissance Venice. Here, the distant village and covered boat gliding past offer a hint of Carpaccio's delight in storytelling.

While Bellini began to use layered oil glazes to soften the edges of his forms, the younger Carpaccio continued to favor a harder (and increasingly old-fashioned) line. In this case, though, it enhances his narrative purpose: hard contours accentuate the gait of the ass and the long stride of Joseph, and they help frame the Virgin and Child in a way that almost enthrones them on their humble mount. In contrast, the luminous undersides of the clouds reveal the influence of Bellini's treatment of light.

Vittore Carpaccio, Italian, c. 1465 - 1525/1526, The Flight into Egypt, c. 1515, oil on panel, Andrew W. Mellon Collection, 1937.1.28

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Never completed, this painting was probably intended to be cut into three separate sections following the lines of the architecture and then used in the predella of an altarpiece. Located closer to the viewer's eye than an altarpiece's central panel, predellas were usually decorated with a series of small narrative scenes recounting events from the life of Christ, the Virgin, or the saints.

At the left, Mary appears to be about four years old. She enters the temple to undertake a life of service in fulfillment of a vow made by her aging parents. The broken column alludes to a legend that earthquakes rocked the temple when Christ was born. In more general terms the column symbolizes how Christ's birth will usher in a new era of Grace to replace the Old Testament Law. In the center, Mary is wed to Joseph. He was identified as God's choice to be her husband when the rod he held -- and which is still in his hands -- sprouted with new life. At the right, the Archangel Gabriel announces to Mary that she will bear the son of God.

Benedetto Diana, Italian, c. 1460 - 1525, The Presentation and Marriage of the Virgin, and the Annunciation, 1520/1525, oil on panel,  Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1961.9.70

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Mother of the emperor Constantine, Saint Helena journeyed to the Holy Land, where she found the True Cross, the cross of the crucifixion, which she holds here. Scenes of saints in landscape settings like this were something of a specialty of the artist.

Cima had moved to Venice by the mid-1480s but always remained in close contact with his hometown of Conegliano on the mainland. The town's castello and other landmarks appear in the background of this small devotional panel. Almost all of Cima's paintings include idyllic landscapes that recall the mountainous region of his home.

Cima formed his artistic style early in life and never deviated from it. Even though his clear colors and meticulous detail became a bit old-fashioned, his work remained popular with Venetian patrons, especially the more conservative ones. In the 1490s, when Bellini became occupied with decorations for the doge's palace, Cima became the leading painter of altarpieces in Venice. He is sometimes referred to as a "rustic" Bellini for his direct and ingenuous figures, which he posed with greater casualness than Bellini, relaxing the imposing symmetry of Bellini's compositions. The informality and greater sense of movement exhibited by Cima's figures influenced Titian and other Venetian artists of the next generation.

Cima da Conegliano, Italian, c. 1459 - 1517 or 1518, Saint Helena, c. 1495, oil on panel, Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1961.9.12

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