Gender Portrayals in Renaissance and Baroque Art (And Why They Matter)
Modern ideas of masculinity and femininity as portrayed in visual media, such as film and visual artwork, may sometimes feel very distant and different than the portrayals that appear in the artwork of the Renaissance period and the Baroque era. But if one examines pieces from each time period, by both male and female artists, one may notice that there are similarities to be seen in both the past and the present. In some cases, these paintings may actually subvert expectations about gender portrayals, or appear to go beyond what a modern artist might be willing to portray on a screen or canvas.
Before diving into these paintings, however, it is important to recognize that any portrayal of gender — whether in the past or present — is subject to both the artists’ personal discretion and the social and cultural landscape which surrounds the artist. For instance, one may see a feminine figure depicted in a painting from the Renaissance period, and they may exhibit more traditional, stereotypical feminine features — a modest dress, certain beauty standards, and other such indicators.
However, these portrayals are not necessarily made lesser than their modern counterparts by use of these more traditional features. They may be better thought of as products of their time, and worth studying for what they do offer by way of subverting or falling into gender portrayal expectations, rather than what they don’t by not adhering to one’s own modern expectations.
A good starting point for this examination may be with Italian Renaissance painter Sofonisba Anguissola. She has a number of self-portraits, as well as paintings of other figures. In one such self-portrait, entitled “Self-Portrait at the Spinet,” she sits at a piano, fingers ready to play. She gazes directly at the viewer, wearing a black garment with a high neckline and frills at the collar and sleeves. Her mouth appears to be curved in a slight smile; she seems very proud of herself for being able to play the instrument, and in gazing at the viewer is perhaps inviting them to listen.
This painting of a woman portraying herself is rather rare for this time period; it was not common for women to be taught to paint, much less that they would be recognized for any true talent they may have possessed. As such Sofonisba’s portraits present an interesting opportunity to look at the image of how a female artist chooses to portray herself in this time. Her choice of dress in the self-portrait, for instance, appears to be of a modest style that would have been suitable for someone of her rank in society.
It would be a very different painting if she had chosen to portray herself in something more suited to a modern style, such as a dress with a lower neckline, or a garment which had shorter sleeves. In addition, her action of playing the piano suggests that she intends to be the center of the attention; she wishes to be seen by the viewer, and acknowledged for her talent — both in playing the piano as the subject of her self-portrait suggests, and in painting, as the act of creating this work suggests as well.
For an interesting male portrayal, one may look to Renaissance painter Albrecht Dürer. In a piece titled, “Lamentation over the Dead Christ,” one sees the figure of Jesus having been taken down from the cross after his crucifixion. He serves as the center, with a man holding his head up, women and other onlookers gathered around, and in the background of the painting one sees Jesus’ empty cross and the crosses of the two other men who were crucified alongside him.
There are many portrayals of Jesus being lifted down from the cross, and all generally show Christ as being limp in people’s arms or clearly weakened. However, Dürer’s image of Christ seems different; the usually recognizable symbol of Christ’s right hand holding three fingers up — that is, his pointer, middle finger, and thumb — is still there, but his wrist is limp. His fingers are visible in the familiar position, but his wrist is pointed down, suggesting he may have just breathed his last. In addition, there is no halo around him, or any noticeable or significant light source shining on him, as is often the case in this and other images of Christ.
This suggests a portrayal of Jesus more as a man, rather than a heavenly person of God. This depiction of Christ seems to also present an image of masculinity that differs from what may have been the standard ideal of the time. Christ’s nearly naked figure is not particularly muscled, and in fact he looks rather thin and emaciated. There is no blood visible despite the injury to his side he would have biblically suffered by this point. In fact, there are no visible injuries at all to Christ unless one looks closely at his feet and hands — one may then see small holes meant to show the wounds from the nails used to hang him to the cross. The “hero” of the painting, as it were, is made to look pure — that is, without blemish or dirt or blood — at the moment of his death.
It may be useful to compare this image to that of female Baroque artist Artemisia Gentileschi, and her painting called, “Judith Beheading Holofernes.” The work depicts one woman holding the man Holofernes down on his bed, while another woman holds a sword to his neck. There is a wide variety of motion expressed in the painting, from Holofernes’ arm reaching to push the woman holding him down away, to the same woman pushing back at him, and the woman holding the sword — Judith, one may infer by the title — appears to be in the act of moving the blade through his neck.
There are many differences between these two works. Perhaps most noticeably, Gentileschi’s portrait features blood. Blood streaks down from Holofernes’ neck and down his white bedsheets, down beyond the borders of the painting. His eyes are also open, as opposed to Christ’s being closed in Dürer’s painting. His eyes remaining open suggests that he is still alive, still fighting for life, whereas Christ is already dead.
These two contrasting masculine images may be a product of their artists; a male artist may not wish to portray a male victim in a gruesome manner, whereas a female artist may wish to portray a male victim bloody and fighting for his life. Perhaps there is a degree of separation between the gender of artist and victim — for instance, in a more modern context a male would probably cringe at the sight of footage of another male being kicked in the crotch, whereas a female viewer might also cringe, but not with the same degree of internal pain.
The figure of Judith is also dressed much differently than the other women in Dürer’s work; her dress’ neckline is such that her collarbone is visible, and indeed a small portion of her cleavage is visible, though nothing that would constitute nudity. This presents an image of freedom, of power, of control; Judith defies traditional dress norms, while also performing an action which might normally be reserved for a male figure — not only is she murdering a man, but she is doing so in a gruesome way that requires a large amount of physical strength.
Another object of comparison may be Jan van Eyck’s “The Arnolfini Marriage.” This famous painting features a man and a woman, presumably his wife, holding hands in what appears to be a bedroom. Both figures are dressed in fine clothing, and the woman has a modest gown on that covers her arms, shoulders, and has a high neckline. Her head is also covered by a veil, though not her face; it may be inferred from the title that this means they have just been married and the woman has removed her veil from her face, as a common custom at that time would have been to keep the woman’s face covered during the ceremony. This portrayal of both a male and female figure seems to fit neatly into expectations for the time period, and provides a contrast to that of Dürer’s Christ or Gentileschi’s depiction of Judith. Van Eyck’s figures are depicted more naturally and at ease, rather than the intense motion of Gentileschi’s work.
However, as one looks at the finer details of Van Eyck’s painting, one notices a mirror in the background. Around the circular reflective surface are several smaller circles, each depicting one of the stations of the cross. This an image of death, and it is not the only one to be seen in this painting; the fruit sitting on the windowsill is rotting, part of the chandelier appears to look like skulls, and it has been speculated that the woman had actually been dead for about a year before this painting was finished.
It may be that Van Eyck is trying to portray not just a husband and wife, but the marriage of life — depicted as the living man — and death, seen as the woman. This would fit well with the images of the stations of the cross, as the story of Jesus’ crucifixion is traditionally one of death and rebirth; Jesus dies so as to destroy death, and rises after three days. That too is a portrayal of life and death, and the two forces appear to be joined in Van Eyck’s painting; one may not be able to exist without the other, or perhaps they exist in a cycle like the circular depiction of the stations of the cross.
Whatever the case, this portrayal of a male and female figure appears to subvert expectations in a metaphorical sense rather than a literal one; both figures who seem to represent life and death are portrayed in modest clothing that fits in with the time period, but the subversion comes from their internal, metaphorical meaning. One may be hard-pressed to find a similar life-and-death portrayal which features its figures in such natural, calm poses.
For a final look at different portrayals of male figures, one may look to artist Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio — or Caravaggio for short. His works entitled, “The Supper at Emmaus,” and “Raising of Lazarus,” both feature male figures depicted in positions that seem different than what one may expect.
For instance, in “Raising of Lazarus,” instead of a triumphant light shining on the toned body of Lazarus as he emerges from his tomb, one sees a man still lying in his loved one’s arms. The lighting is purposely poor, so as to give the viewer the sense of being in his tomb with him. Jesus is also there, pointing at him as he — as the biblical story goes — commands him to rise from the dead. Lazarus himself appears weak, frail, and his arms are stretched out and seem limp. A small amount of light does shine on his body, but it appears that Lazarus is not especially muscled; he appears more akin to how Dürer’s Christ was; frail, limp, and in a vulnerable position.
This vulnerability of a male figure provides a subversion of expectations of gender portrayals; in modern film and visual art, one may not see many depictions of a male character in a vulnerable state. He may not cry or show many emotions besides anger, and it may be rare for him to be emotionally or physically vulnerable to others, such as being held or carried as Lazarus is. It is also interesting that Lazarus, like Dürer’s Christ, shows no sign of injury or blood in his state of death.
The other Caravaggio work, “The Supper at Emmaus,” depicts part of the biblical story of Jesus’ supper in a town called Emmaus. In the story, Jesus returns after having been resurrected, and appears unbeknownst to some of his followers. The painting depicts the moment in the story in which after Jesus has blessed the food, his followers suddenly recognize him as Jesus. In the story, Jesus then vanishes, but Caravaggio appears to hold the moment of realization in place, frozen in time to be further examined.
In the painting, one sees Jesus on the side of the table opposite the viewer. One hand is outstretched as if beckoning — though perhaps he is still in the act of blessing the food. Across from him is a man whose back is turned to the viewer. His hands grip the arms of his chair as he appears to be in the act of rising to his feet from shock. The man to his right has his arms stretched out wide, and one hand reaches to touch Jesus’ shoulder. Another man stands to the left of Jesus, looking at him intently. There is also an open place in the table to the right of the man in the chair; perhaps this is the viewer’s place, and Jesus offers them a seat at the table to join in his meal — this is a common metaphor for heaven. The idea being that heaven is not unlike a table at a feast, and that all are welcome to join at the table; there is always room, for everyone.
It seems that Caravaggio wishes to portray a Jesus figure that invites the viewer to the table. It is interesting to note that Caravaggio has added nothing to the table that suggests any particular type of person that may join. There is no chair at that space, it is simply empty with some food sitting in front of it. It is purposely nondescript, a blank surface in which any viewer may place themselves. This image of Jesus is also beardless, and there is no halo around him; he appears to be a normal man, not a person of God. He also has very long hair, and without a beard may appear to possess somewhat feminine qualities in his face, while still portraying a masculine figure. This seeming androgyny suggests that Christ is neither male nor female, yet in this resurrected form inhabits qualities of both.
It is not common in modern visual media to see a male figure portrayed like this — much less a portrayal of Jesus Christ. It is often much more the case that Christ is depicted as presenting a very masculine form, bearded and with short hair. Depending upon the artist, he may also be often depicted as having pale skin that is less akin to what he would have been more likely to have — that is, a darker skin tone, being traditionally from Nazareth in Israel.
Caravaggio’s portrayal of Jesus, therefore, may present an interesting opportunity to see the figure of Christ in a different light; no longer is he strictly a male figure, or strictly a person of God, seemingly distant from humanity. Instead he is a man who invites all — even the viewer — to come and sit and eat with him. In doing so, he leaves himself open to whoever would sit with him, and that too is a position of vulnerability that is not often seen in modern visual media.
These Renaissance and Baroque artists help provide many different portrayals of male and female figures, and in doing so they offer a different vision of the society and culture of the times in which they lived and worked. It allows the viewers to see into the minds of the artists, to know that perhaps they did not think in terms of the binaries which modern culture appears to be moving away from, and that their ideas of what a female character is able to do in a painting or how a male figure may be depicted can subvert one’s expectations. This subversion may give the viewer hope that perhaps they in the modern era are not so very far away from their ancestors, and that those artists of long ago are not so different from them after all.
Sources:
Sofonisba Anguissola. Self Portrait at the Spinet (Self Portrait at the Clavichord). c. 1555–56. Artstor, library.artstor.org/asset/SCALA_ARCHIVES_1039779765
Albrecht Dürer. Lamentation over the Dead Christ. c. 1498. Artstor, library.artstor.org/asset/SCALA_ARCHIVES_1039930115
Artemisia Gentileschi. Judith Beheading Holofernes. 1611–1612. Artstor, library.artstor.org/asset/SCALA_ARCHIVES_10310198025
Jan van Eyck. The Arnolfini Marriage. 1434 A.D.. Artstor, library.artstor.org/asset/AWSS35953_35953_31695374
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. Raising of Lazarus. 1608–09. Artstor, library.artstor.org/asset/SCALA_ARCHIVES_1039488327
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1571–1610. The Supper at Emmaus. 1601. Artstor, library.artstor.org/asset/ANGLIG_10313768457
