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

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

The lyrical Bosch, all calm light and wide landscape, except for the small insect-demon with a human face tending a fire in the corner.

Not the desert hermit but the Doctor of the Church, in cardinal's red with one long hand resting on his own translation of the Bible.

The horse and the groom take up most of the canvas and neither notices anything. The miracle happens entirely inside the man on the ground.

The same story at miniature scale, squeezed into a predella panel, and Giotto loses none of the plainness that made it convincing.

Saul sprawls on the ground with his arm up while the white horse rears above him with something close to ballet in it.

A child-angel leans toward the sleeping old man, its small fingers glowing translucent where they pass in front of the candle flame.

A white Gothic city, a horse shown daringly from behind, and two hanged men on a gallows in the corner of the fairy tale.

Elephants on impossibly long insect legs carry obelisks and naked women across the plain while the saint holds up a makeshift cross.

No landscape, no story, just a man in patched brown wool holding a skull and one shaft of light finding him in the dark.

Martin cuts his soldier's cloak in half with his sword to give a beggar the other part, dressed by Simone in courtly gold.

Golden rays come off a winged crucified figure in the sky and strike Francis in the hands, feet and side. Giotto signed this one.

Christ as a boy holds a candle for his father and the flame glows red through his fingers, which is the whole subject.

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

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

Flying fish, reading toads and a burning village, and in the middle of it Anthony kneels and blesses a small Christ, entirely undistracted.

Three laborers strain to lever the cross upright with Peter nailed to it upside down. No crowd, no glory, just heavy work in the dark.

Francis steps barefoot from his hermitage into a light coming from the left, and Bellini gives him no seraph and barely any wounds.

Cover one half of the face, then the other, and two expressions emerge, merciful and severe. Sinai was too remote for the iconoclasts to reach.

Caravaggio's first attempt at the subject, turned down by the patron, before he threw out the angels and left one man, one horse and the light.