
The Sermon on the Mount
Painted on the wall of a friar's cell at San Marco, stripped of gold and ornament so that it settles the mind rather than dazzles.

Painted on the wall of a friar's cell at San Marco, stripped of gold and ornament so that it settles the mind rather than dazzles.

John stands lost in his book, wrapped in red cloth massed like masonry. One wing of an altarpiece now scattered across five cities.

Christ stands to place the host on each tongue exactly as a priest does at Mass, in a bare cell-like room with stools.

Late Botticelli, with the early lightness gone tense. He had fallen under Savonarola's spell and his religious pictures never relaxed again.

The feast on the left, the severed head delivered on the right, both staged in a colonnade built with Masaccio's new perspective.

Dante had been dead nearly two centuries, so this is not a likeness but a verdict, struck in profile like a coin.

Serene, elegant nudes about to ruin everything. It faces Masaccio's Expulsion across the same chapel, calm before the Fall against anguish after.

Only the Virgin and Saint John below the cross, and a river winding past a walled town. Early Bellini, carrying feeling in the light.

Antonello carried the Netherlandish oil technique south to Venice, and Giovanni Bellini responded with a Crucifixion almost identical to this one.

A corridor of opened graves runs down the middle, the saved dancing into a garden on the left, the damned driven into fire on the right.

Every hair, every glassy tear, every bead of blood, pushed hard against the front of the picture and made to carry feeling rather than skill.

Fra Angelico inherited a Gothic frame begun years earlier and filled it with deep sunlit space instead of gold, which is the whole story.

The angels crowd in like inquisitive children. One of the first paintings to put the Virgin and saints in a single shared space.

Soldiers throw dice for Christ's robe on a paved Golgotha. This panel was sawn off an altarpiece by Napoleon's looters and never returned.

She sits in profile against a hedge of carnations with butterflies going past, a sprig of juniper on her sleeve punning on her name.

Christ crowns his mother at the top of a flight of steps that recede convincingly into depth, which is the new thing here.

Sebastian takes his arrows with the composure of a statue, tied to a Roman column in a field of accurately ruined antiquity.

Mantegna carved the rock like an engraver while Judas already leads the soldiers down the road. His brother-in-law Bellini painted the same scene, softer.

A red cap, a parapet, and a gaze that meets yours. Antonello brought the Netherlandish portrait into Italy and killed off the profile.

The princess has the dragon on a leash made from her own belt, and a spiral storm cloud winds up behind the saint.