It’s hard to imagine a time when images of our faces were not only rare and expensive, but almost considered sacred objects. But in 15th- and 16th-century Europe, portraits were often concealed behind curtains, affixed to folded diptychs, and slid behind mirrors, out of everyday sight so they could be admired on special occasions.The exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art ends July 7 Hidden Faces: Renaissance Portraits This underappreciated tradition is explored, tracing the practice from its origins in ancient Rome to its later iterations as portable keepsakes, like the lockets we still wear around our necks.
“We knew the images were intended to be conversation pieces and have a sense of mystery,” said exhibition curator Alison Manges Nogueira. allergy. The exhibition features more than 60 objects, many of which have painted covers that serve as introductions to the portraits they obscure. “As you see more of them, you start to realize how special they are.”
hidden face Opening with a double portrait, this medium figures prominently in the exhibition. Rogier van der Weyden’s artwork, created around 1460, would have spun on a hook and chain, but here it is displayed on a pedestal where visitors can view it from all angles. The subject was Francesco d’Este, the favorite son of the Italian Duke. He holds a ring and hammer (either jousting prizes or symbols of his power), and the reverse of the portrait bears his family’s coat of arms. This is a fitting introduction to the exhibition, emphasizing the function of these ancillary artworks as vehicles for conveying messages about the patron’s status and observance of Renaissance virtues.
As a result, allegorical paintings of chastity and masculinity abound. The latter was sometimes expressed through scantily clad male figures, common woodland creatures in medieval European art known as “wild men”. Two 15th-century German portraits show him on the cover, almost naked, holding a coat of arms. Nogueira said the depictions symbolize the continuation of the family lineage.
Not surprisingly, female portrait covers were designed to display an entirely different set of virtues. “The Fable of Chastity” by Dutch artist Hans Memling,“(1479-80), a female figure emerges from a mountain of crystal rock above a waterfall and two circling lions. The whereabouts of the associated portrait are unknown, but according to the catalog it may depict a woman named Barbara , as the eponymous saint was covered in rocks to protect her from her father.
While some parables are easy to explain, others are shrouded in mystery. Nogueira points to Lorenzo Lotto’s 1505 cover, which shows a blonde woman reclining on a tree stump between two satyrs, a hovering cherub pouring cool water over her chest.
“The image seems to depict the triumph of virtue over vice, but it’s not entirely clear,” Nogueira said. “What tradition does the female figure come from? Is she from a 14th-century love poem? Does she refer to ancient literary traditions?
Elsewhere in the play, other biographical hints pale into insignificance. The reverse of a mid-15th-century portrait of Guillaume Fillastre, bishop and advisor to the court of Burgundy, shows prickly holly leaves and a Latin slogan that translates as “I hate biters.” Stuff,” a satirical take on the subject’s intellectuals. critic. In another work by the 15th-century Italian artist Jacometto, a Venetian woman wears a yellow scarf, a legal requirement to indicate her profession as a prostitute.The Latin abbreviation painted on the back translates to ““A prostitute devotes herself to debauchery, dissipation, and lasciviousness,” and the adjacent verse is likely an allusion to the Assyrian text, which means, “Indulge your desires and find pleasure in your feasts, knowing that you are only mortal. Die, you There would be no joy.
hidden face This is the first time that a Renaissance painting of this type has been the subject of a museum exhibition. Personalized images such as emblems will lose their meaning to subsequent owners, and some covers are viewed simply as protective coverings, causing them to become damaged. Many covers are completely missing. Scholars know, however, that the practice is widespread. The historical inventory cites the presence of the cover, and in at least one case detailed in the exhibition catalog, the absence of the cover is specifically noted.
As the centuries passed, the hidden portraits became portable keepsakes, sometimes distributed as wedding gifts. Nogueira points out that the concept of ambiguous hanging artworks hasn’t completely disappeared either: Gustave Courbet’s scandalous The Origin of the World (1866), for example, was shown behind a curtain for the first time. The curator calls the exhibition’s Renaissance material “a small part of a larger tradition.”
One cover in particular speaks with stunning clarity to the tradition of hidden portraiture, as well as our current obsession with selfies. The Cover with a Mask (c.1510) by the Florentine artist Ridolfo Ghirlandaio, which once graced the painting of the daughter of a famous Florentine merchant that now hangs next to it, bears the Latin inscription: “Everyone has his own mask.” ”
“It talks about the idea that everyone wears a mask — that everyone wears a mask — or the drama of life, which is a philosophical concept. But there’s also the idea that portraiture is a technique,” Nogueira said . “What’s even more interesting in the context of the exhibition is that the cover is playful and self-referential – it also speaks to the function of all portrait covers.”
