
Pieta (Michelangelo)
The dead Christ lies across his mother's lap. Michelangelo was twenty-four, and signed the sash after hearing it credited to someone else.

The dead Christ lies across his mother's lap. Michelangelo was twenty-four, and signed the sash after hearing it credited to someone else.

The earliest surviving painting built on a single vanishing point, worked out on a wall of Santa Maria Novella with Brunelleschi's help.

When Duccio finished it in 1311 the whole of Siena walked it to the cathedral in procession, with the bells going the entire way.

Two bored cherubs lean on the frame at the bottom, and they floated free of the altarpiece long ago onto everything else.

Titian was barely thirty when Venice saw this go up over the Frari altar, the Virgin swept into a storm of red and blue.

The Virgin lies barefoot and swollen like any corpse. The church that ordered it refused delivery, and Rubens told his duke to buy it.

Gabriel's greeting runs toward Mary in raised gold letters and she twists away from it, her thumb still caught in her book.

Fra Angelico frescoed it at the top of the dormitory stairs, so the friars met it every time they climbed to their cells.

Leonardo painted this cave twice after falling out with the patrons. This is the earlier version, the one that stayed in France.

Van Eyck spared the old canon nothing: the stubble, the swollen hands, the spectacles. His armored saint mirrors the whole room in miniature.

Three generations nest into one shifting pyramid, and Leonardo kept reworking it for years without ever calling it finished.

An ostrich egg hangs from the vault and pulls every sightline down. Federico is shown from the left because a tournament took his right eye.

Gabriel bows to Mary under the loggia while Adam and Eve are driven out of the garden at the left, the sin this undoes.

Where Cimabue and Duccio floated their Madonnas on gold, Giotto gave his weight, a real throne, and a body that presses through the cloth.

The saints share one continuous space instead of separate compartments, and the two kneeling physicians are the name-saints of the Medici who paid.

No halo, no manger, just a candle shielded by a hand and a swaddled baby, and it still reads as a nativity.

The second version, painted to settle a long quarrel with the confraternity. Everyone now has a halo and the angel has stopped pointing.

No angel, no dove, no lily. Mary looks up from her book straight at us, because we are standing where Gabriel ought to be.

Six angels stack up the sides of the throne against gold. Cimabue taught Giotto, and the throne here is just beginning to recede into space.

Four and a half meters tall, the largest panel painted in its century, with six angels kneeling to steady a throne that seems to float.