
The Flagellation of Christ
Christ is scourged in the middle distance while three men talk in the foreground, indifferent. Nobody has settled who they are or why.

Christ is scourged in the middle distance while three men talk in the foreground, indifferent. Nobody has settled who they are or why.

The trees behind Christ turn from bare to leafing across the panel. In 1944 a British officer held his guns rather than shell the town.

Not the betrayal but the blessing of the bread, staged in a Flemish hall on one of the earliest correct vanishing points in the north.

An angel drops steeply from the corner and its light is the only light in the tent. One of the first true night scenes in painting.

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.

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

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