Author: Yvo Reinsalu

 Robert Campin (1378/9 – 1444), ‘Portrait of a young woman, c. 1435, Oil on oak, 40.6 × 28.1 cm, The National Gallery, London

This portrait is a striking example of the refined realism associated with Robert Campin, also known as the Master of Flémalle. Current scholarship suggests that it is plausible this work is indeed by Campin, the leading artist of his era in Tournai. Campin’s reputation as a master of detail and subtle emotion is evident in the delicate modelling of the woman’s face, the intricate folds of her headwear, and the quiet introspection captured in her expression. This painting demonstrates his skill in rendering texture and lifelike presence—qualities that influenced his pupils and profoundly shaped early Netherlandish painting. Yet, while records confirm Campin’s prominence in the Burgundian Netherlands and the impact of his workshop, none of his paintings are definitively documented, leaving his legacy to be pieced together through stylistic analysis.

The Tournai school was once a vibrant centre of artistic activity, whose works were celebrated across Europe for their intricate craftsmanship. However, political upheavals and the shifting focus of art centres led to the near-erasure of Tournai’s artistic heritage. As a result, art historical narratives have traditionally favoured better-documented artistic centres like Bruges and Ghent, pushing Tournai’s contributions to the periphery.

Today, only a few surviving works offer glimpses into this lost world. This portrait is a rare testament to Tournai’s artistry, hinting at what may have been lost in the annals of art history. Had more of Tournai’s creations endured, our understanding of early Netherlandish traditions might have been broader, capturing more of the diversity and richness of the Northern Renaissance. Thus, this portrait symbolises the fragmented legacy of an influential school, inviting a deeper exploration of its place in art history.

 Attributed to Michelangelo Merisi Caravaggio (1573- 1610), Ecce Homo, 1605-1609 ?, Oil on canvas, 128 x 103 cm, Palazzo Bianco, Genoa

This ‘Ecce Homo’ in Genoa, attributed to Caravaggio, has been the subject of many scholarly debates.  Initially regarded as a damaged copy, the painting was identified as a potential Caravaggio work in the mid-20th century. The painting had suffered significant degradation, with parts nearly rotten, leading to invasive relining and conversation-restoration, which may explain its uneven quality.

Believed to have been painted between 1605 and 1609, the painting displays numerous characteristic elements of Caravaggio’s technique, including ‘pentimenti’ (visible corrections), spontaneous brushwork, and incisions used for outlining and revising the composition during the painting process. These features strongly suggest that the work is not a copy. 

Despite many supportive arguments, some scholars highlight issues such as poor preparation, the simplified depiction of Pilate, and the unusually large hands, suggesting that a follower may have executed the artwork. Artists such as Santi di Tito (1536–1603), Lionello Spada (1576–1622), and Bartolomeo Manfredi (1582–1622) have been proposed as possible authors, all of whom were known to imitate Caravaggio’s style at various points in their careers.

The recent discovery of another composition of ‘Ecce Homo’ in Madrid, confirmed as a late work by Caravaggio, has further complicated the debate. Although both paintings share the same subject, the Madrid version differs stylistically from the Genoa painting. This raises questions about whether both works could be by the same artist. However, given Caravaggio’s known tendency to break with his stylistic conventions, both versions may be his, though Caravaggio’s oeuvre is notoriously inconsistent.

Even if the Genoa painting is ultimately attributed to a follower, its historical and artistic significance probably remains. Regardless of authorship, the painting reflects Caravaggio’s profound influence on Baroque art and stands as a testament to his enduring legacy in shaping the visual language of the period.

Roman Schools, 161–169 AD, Bust of a Man, Possibly Lucius Verus, marble sculpture, H: 58 cm (without base), 73 cm with base, W: 50 cm, David Aaron, London, Frieze Masters Fair, London, 11 October 2024

Lucius Verus (130 – 169 AD) was co-emperor of Rome with Marcus Aurelius (121 – 180 AD). Adopted by Emperor Antoninus Pius (86 – 161 AD) as part of a succession plan, he ruled alongside Marcus Aurelius, marking one of Rome’s few joint emperorships. Verus led successful military campaigns, notably against the Parthian Empire, bringing more wealth to Rome. Known for his luxurious lifestyle and love of the arts, he was less engaged in administrative affairs, often leaving governance to his co-ruler. He died in 169 AD, and many sculptures dedicated to him have already been circulating during his lifetime. Remembered as a lavish and charismatic figure, his image, often depicted with flowing hair and a full beard, has been immortalised in sculpture, symbolising his era’s elegance and martial success.

 Jan Provoost (1465-1529), Annunciation, 1500-1510, Oil on oak,258 x 202 cm (central panel), Palazzo Bianco, Genoa

By the early 16th century, Bruges had lost much of its political and economic power, overshadowed by the rise of Antwerp. Nevertheless, the Bruges school continued to produce exceptional-quality artworks, blending local traditions with international influences. Jan Provoost, a leading figure of the time, travelled extensively, even as far as Jerusalem, and is known to have been friends with Albrecht Dürer.

The central panel of this altarpiece depicts the Annunciation, a pivotal event in Christian theology, where the Archangel Gabriel informs the Virgin Mary that she will conceive and bear the Son of God, as recounted in Luke 1:26–38. With her hand raised in hesitation, Mary symbolically expresses her initial uncertainty before accepting her role in salvation history. This moment represents the transition between the Old and New Testaments. Above Mary, the Holy Spirit, represented as a dove, symbolises divine intervention and the miraculous conception of Christ, as described in Luke 1:35.

Unusual but not entirely uncommon for a work of this calibre, a cat is depicted in the corner of the scene. Cats were often seen as protectors because they hunted pests, creatures frequently associated with evil. In medieval Christian legend, it was believed that a cat gave birth simultaneously with Mary. This led to the occasional depiction of cats in Nativity or Annunciation scenes, symbolising both protection and the duality of nature.

Two significant saints are flanking the central Annunciation scene: Saint Peter and Saint Elisabeth of Hungary. Saint Peter, holding the keys to the kingdom of heaven, represents the authority of the Church and connects the Annunciation to the foundation of Christian doctrine. On the right, Saint Elisabeth of Hungary, daughter of the King of Hungary and widow of the Landgrave of Thuringia, is shown with a crown reflecting her royal status, emphasising her role as a saint of humility and nobility.

Jacopo Robusti Tintoretto (1518-1594), Portrait of Scipio Clusone with a dwarf valet, c. 1561, Oil on canvas, 124×149 cm, Palazzo Spinola, Genoa

Power in Venice wasn’t just worn, it was staged. Tintoretto the Elder sets Captain Scipio Clusone in gleaming armour while a dwarf valet steadies his feathered helmet, turning status, service and spectacle into one sharp composition. The portrait depicts a distinguished captain from the Clusone family of Verona serving the Republic of Venice. His family’s heraldic sign, displayed in the upper right corner of the painting, confirms Clusone’s identity. This portrayal emphasises both his nobility and his role as a military leader, lending him an aura of prestige and command.

The composition includes a dwarf valet painted with remarkable detail and dressed elegantly. This figure holds Clusone’s feathered helmet, symbolising his role as an attendant. The valet’s clothing and armed stiletto reflect his unique position within the noble household, enhancing the painting’s social narrative.

Tintoretto paints the armour, textiles and accessories with disciplined economy: engraved steel, the feathered helmet, and the tactility of fabric and skin are rendered in crisp, measured strokes. Recent restoration has clarified the colour structure, revealing layered glazes and carefully managed light that produce a controlled glow and convincing depth. Venice’s vast international trade supplied its workshops with rare materials and new ideas, fostering a more experimental colour-led practice. Within this plural ‘school’, Tintoretto and Titian (c.1488/90–1576) made colour and light serve as structural elements rather than mere ornament. This approach proved decisive for later generations, especially in early Baroque art, when Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640) and Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641) drew on their handling for models of affect, sheen and atmospheric staging.

 Agnolo di Cosimo, called il Bronzino (1503- 1572), Portrait of Andrea Doria (1466- 1560) as the God of the Sea, c. 1545-46,  Oil on canvas, 115 x 53 cm, Villa del Principe / Palazzo di Andrea Doria, Genoa

This portrait of Andrea Doria as Neptune goes beyond typical depictions of state figures, serving as a multi-layered political allegory. Strategically positioned on the Mediterranean, the Genoese Republic was frequently caught between rival powers such as Spain, France, and the Ottoman Empire. Doria’s service to Emperor Charles V helped secure Genoa’s independence through strategic alliances. As a naval commander, Doria’s campaigns against the French and Ottoman forces were significant, but it was his efforts against Barbary pirates that ensured the safety of Genoa’s merchant fleet, which was vital to the city’s economy.

In the 16th century, North African pirates devastated the Mediterranean coasts, rendering large areas uninhabitable. Only walled cities like Genoa provided refuge from raids and enslavement. Doria’s naval victories were crucial for securing maritime routes and ensuring Genoa’s survival and prosperity.

The portrait captures Doria in his old age, reflecting on his decades-long career. Bronzino’s allegorical portrayal symbolises Doria’s command over the seas and his essential role in protecting Genoa’s trade routes. Andrea Doria is depicted in heroic nudity as Neptune, holding an oar instead of Neptune’s traditional trident. This detail sets the portrait apart from Bronzino’s earlier version for Paolo Giovio’s Museum of Famous Men in Milan. The design, which became iconic, also inspired a monumental fountain commissioned from Baccio Bandinelli (1493–1560) for Genoa, although it was never transported from Carrara and remains there to this day.

San Donato Church in Genoa is a distinguished example of twelfth-century Ligurian Romanesque architecture, its design reflecting both the solidity and refinement characteristic of the style. The façade, built from local limestone, is marked by a black-and-white banded portal and an architrave re-used from a Roman structure, a detail that underscores the continuity between the city’s classical past and its medieval present. Although the church has undergone several reconstructions, its original character has been preserved through the careful incorporation of surviving medieval fabric. The destruction of later additions during the Second World War left the core Romanesque structure largely intact, allowing its early form to be read with unusual clarity.

One of its most distinctive features is the octagonal bell tower, or nolar tower, integrated directly into the body of the church—an arrangement rare in Genoa. The tower is enriched with sawtooth friezes and a triple register of bifore and trifore windows, lending vertical rhythm to its mass. Within, the church follows a basilican plan with three naves, each ending in its own apse. The arcades are supported by twelve columns, six of them monolithic shafts of Roman origin reused from the earlier building, while the others, fashioned in alternating black and white stone and capped with Romanesque capitals, belong to later phases of construction, particularly those dating to the closing decades of the twelfth century. The pillars that uphold the tiburio also belong to the earliest fabric, providing a structural link to the building’s first phase.

Among the works preserved within is the Madonna del Latte by Barnaba da Modena, painted in the fourteenth century. Barnaba (c. 1328–1386) was among the leading figures of the early Genoese school, his style blending Lombard, Tuscan, and Byzantine influences. His impact endured well into the fifteenth century, shaping the work of local painters and securing his place in the city’s artistic lineage.

Galleria degli Specchi in Genoa’s Palazzo Reale stands as a finely judged adaptation of Versailles’ celebrated Hall of Mirrors to an Italian, and specifically Genoese, setting. From the late seventeenth century the Galerie des Glaces at the Palace of Versailles, commissioned by King Louis XIV and designed by Jules Hardouin-Mansart (1646–1708) with decorative schemes by Charles Le Brun (1619–1690), had redefined the standards of ceremonial architecture in Europe. Its mirrored walls, gilded stuccoes, and mythological cycles became a model eagerly emulated by courts and aristocratic households from Madrid to St Petersburg.

In Genoa, the Durazzo family sought to capture this aura of magnificence when, between about 1720 and 1730, they commissioned Domenico Parodi (1672–1742) to design their own Galleria degli Specchi. Parodi adopted Versailles’ essential vocabulary of repeated mirrors, rich gilding, and a carefully orchestrated play of reflected light, but he tempered it with Ligurian sensibilities. The proportions were adapted to the palazzo’s existing structure, and the decorative programme was enriched with local motifs that linked the gallery to Genoa’s artistic traditions.

The work was completed by Lorenzo De Ferrari (1680–1744), whose frescoes introduced a sequence of mythological scenes that, like Le Brun’s paintings at Versailles, conveyed allegorical messages of power, virtue, and cultural sophistication. His fluid brushwork and luminous palette created a ceiling scheme that both complemented the architecture and animated the mirrored surfaces below.

The finished gallery combined the theatrical splendour of the French model with the refinement of Genoese craftsmanship. It became not merely an echo of Versailles but a statement of the city’s patrician wealth and cosmopolitan taste, asserting Genoa’s place within the network of Europe’s great aristocratic cultures.

The church’s location along Via della Maddalena in Genoa, an area long steeped in a scandalous history, subtly intertwines with the figure of Mary Magdalene, whose legend of repentance and redemption casts a reflective shadow over the surrounding streets. The church’s presence seems to suggest an unspoken dialogue between the sacred and the worldly. In the days of the Genoese Republic, the Church was linked to some bizarre customs. Registered courtesans, identifiable by their mandated yellow attire, were required to attend Sunday Mass here. On Saint John’s Day, 24 June, they also had to join the city’s religious procession, following behind the image of Mary Magdalene, their symbol.

In 1480, the 12th-century chapel became a Commenda, a church placed under the management of a monastic or knightly order. In 1572, it was already elevated to parish status and entrusted to the Theatine fathers. However, within a few years, the Theatines moved to a larger basilica, and in 1576, Pope Gregory XIII assigned the church to the Somaschi fathers, who remain responsible for it today. This order, founded by St. Jerome Emiliani, began improving the church’s structure, with Andrea Ceresola, known as Vannone, taking over in 1585 and completing the main body by 1587. Vannone’s contribution resulted in a single-nave church. In 1635, a major renovation redesigned the interior, dividing the nave into three sections with twin columns and adding a high dome above the transept.

Artists heavily decorated the church during the 17th and 18th centuries. Sebastiano Galeotti (1656–1746) frescoed the dome, nave, presbytery, and apse, including the ‘Glory of Santa Maria Maddalena’ in 1729. Sigismondo Betti (1700–1783) painted the transept frescoes in 1737 depicting St. Jerome Emiliani. Other significant contributors included Giovanni Battista Parodi (1674–1730), Paolo Gerolamo Piola (1666–1724), Giovanni Battista Casone (1655–1728), and Domenico Parodi (1672–1742), who contributed frescoes like the ‘Marriage and Nativity of the Virgin’ and the ‘Assumption’. Giuseppe Palmieri (1674–1740) and Giacomo Antonio Boni (1688–1766) worked on the ‘Trinity and Angels’ and Passion themes.

The entrance hall’s frescoes and decorations exemplify complex political allegory, reflecting the turbulent political landscape of the 16th century. The seaside entry features scenes of the historically presiding seven Roman kings, symbolising the importance of leadership and historical lessons. This allegorical theme captures the political anxieties of the time: the Doria family, representing Genoa’s leaders, had to build strong international alliances to maintain the Genoese Republic’s independence and security.

Perino del Vaga (1501–1547), invited by Andrea Doria in 1527, began decorating Villa del Principe in Genoa in 1529, drawing on Giulio Romano’s style from Mantua’s Palazzo Te. Completed around 1530, the frescoes depict mythological and historical themes, enriched with arabesques and stucco.

During this era, the Doria family emerged as influential leaders, navigating uncharted political waters that could easily lead to catastrophe. Their role as peacemakers in Genoa, particularly Andrea Doria (1466–1560), is celebrated through the frescoes depicting the Triumph of Lucius Emilius Paulus, the Roman general who expelled the Gauls—an allusion to the French expulsion from Genoa, facilitated by Doria’s military and diplomatic efforts to secure independence through a new alliance with Spain.

The choice of the seven Roman kings illustrates the complexities of governance. Each king symbolised virtues and vices that shaped Roman society, a reminder of the nature of power amid shifting alliances. Faded lunettes of Mars and Venus’s seven kings and pendentives suggest divine influence in politics, blending mortal and divine destinies.