The seventeenth-century Italian Baroque artist Artemisia Gentileschi: “I will show you, Illustrious Sir, what a woman can do”

The first time I saw a work by Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1653) was in April 2015 at the Capodimonte Museum in Naples (Italy). I was fascinated by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, better known as Caravaggio (1571-1610), and knew that this museum housed one of his famous works. There was hardly anyone there, and I stumbled upon Artemisia's Gentileschi’s Judith and Holofernes, which was also on display there (fig. 18), quite by accident. But then again, there were many other paintings of this popular seventeenth-century theme in museums in Italy. For a moment I thought, ‘Hey, a female artist!’ And a second later, ‘Wow, a woman painting this theme in such a bloody way!’ But that was it. I didn't yet realize how unique this work was.

In 1977, American art historian Linda Lochlin (1931-2017) wrote a controversial essay entitled Why have there been no great women artists? I read that article almost forty years later- in 2016- during the first course, Art and the Canon, of my MA-program in art history in Amsterdam. I chose the Feminism in Art seminar; I felt that, as a woman of 61, I desperately needed to catch up on this subject. It hit me like a bombshell. Until recently, the history of ancient visual art- art from 1300 onwards- was still being presented to us, students in the second decade of the twenty-first century, as the result of a long line of successive genius men, starting with Giotto (c. 1266–1337). The painter and artist biographer Giorgio Vasari (1511–1574), a pupil of Michelangelo, set the tone for this in 1550 with his book Le Vite de' più eccellenti architetti, pittori, et scultori italiani, da Cimabue insino a' tempi nostri (The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, from Cimabue to Our Times), a second edition which appeared in 1568, revised, expanded, and now also illustrated (fig. 1). For Vasari, Michelangelo (1475–1564) was the greatest of all. And even after the deaths of both men - Vasari, the biographer, and the multi-talented Michelangelo, whom he had so highly praised - Vasari's classification in the Vite continued to dominate the artistic canon.

Fig. 1. Frontispiece of Le Vite by Giorgio Vasari, ed. 1568, engraving

Linda Lochlin made it clear that there would undoubtedly have been brilliant women if the social order since the Middle Ages had not been so focused on women serving their husbands and families in marriage. The choice to devote oneself entirely to art, as men had, was not available to women. Female artists also had no access to art academies and were certainly not allowed to draw (male) nudes. And besides, who would take care of her and the children?

Lochlin also showed that the few female artists we now know from the Renaissance had in common that they were mostly daughters of fathers who were artists. These daughters learned art from their fathers, and their fathers discovered their daughters' talent and helped them develop it. The reason we only rediscovered these women in the 20th century is because they disappeared from history over time and their works were left to gather dust in museum storage rooms. Or because their work was attributed to male colleagues. Because- as was thought from the 19th century onwards - women couldn't paint that well, could they? And yet some of these women were really famous in their own time.

This also applies to the Baroque painter Artemisia Gentileschi. The National Gallery in London acquired one of her works and had never dedicated an exhibition to her before. These were the two reasons for a major exhibition in the fall of 2020, which ended on January 24, 2021. I was definitely going to go, but unfortunately, COVID-19 threw a spanner in the works. As a consolation prize, I purchased the catalog digitally. I really wanted to write about Artemisia Gentileschi.

Artemisia's father was also a painter, and it is thanks to him that Artemisia's talent was able to flourish, but perhaps also in spite of him, because the relationship between father and daughter was not necessarily warm. It is remarkable that at the age of seventeen she already produced a completely mature work: Susanna and the Elders (fig. 2). An exceptional talent, then. And note: this subject takes us into the history of the Baroque, a development initiated by Caravaggio, with his use of stark contrasts between light and dark, with a great deal of drama and contemporary models, very human, as if they had been plucked from the street. It was all new!

Fig. 2. Artemisia Gentileschi, Susanna and the Elders, 1610, oil on canvas, 170 x 121 cm, Pommersfelden, Schloss Weissenstein (fig. 2 in catalogue National Gallery London 2020)

Artemisia is now - 2025 - the most famous female artist of the Italian Baroque period, and much research has been done into her life and work. What's more, Artemisia left behind letters that provide a wonderful insight into who she was and how she worked. What an extraordinary woman and what a life! She was confident, never gave up, and was extremely ambitious. Wouldn't we call her a feminist today?

Artemisia's life
Artemisia was born and raised in Rome. Her mother Prudentia died at the age of thirty in 1605, when Artemisia was twelve. Artemisia was kept at home by her father Orazio to look after her three younger brothers. She did not go to school and watched her father work in his studio. She learned the art and, with her father's help, became skilled in painting. He initiated her into the secrets of painting, including mixing colors and working from a model. Unfortunately, her father was also a violent man, proud but also jealous of his daughter, her talent, and her later success. Their exact relationship remains unclear.

But then it happens: at the age of nineteen (in 1611), Artemisia is raped at home by a family friend and colleague of her father, the painter Agostino Tassi (1580–1644). Tassi turns out to be already married to a woman in Livorno and is therefore unable to marry Artemisia, which could have saved her honor. Without informing his daughter, her father Orazio takes Tassi to court and demands a sum of money from him to use as a dowry for his daughter, so that he can marry Artemisia off to someone else and restore her honor and that of the family. Artemisia is interrogated, but from letters about this lawsuit found in 1876, we know that Artemisia is not believed at first. She is even tortured- her thumbs are literally screwed down on her painting hand - to force a confession. She perseveres and eventually her story is believed. But the rapist Tassi does not have to pay any money: he is found guilty and banished from Rome, but unfortunately the sentence is not carried out and he is allowed to return to Rome.

After the verdict, father Orazio quickly arranges a marriage. The day after the verdict is pronounced that Artemisia marries Pierantonio di Vicenzo Stiattesi (1584 -?), also a painter but he will remain in her shadow in terms of his work. Father Orazio promises him a dowry, which he will pay out in installments. Then, in 1613, the couple flees to Florence to escape all the misery. It was not a happy marriage, but she did have four children in succession, two of whom died shortly after birth. Her son Christofano died at the age of four and a half, which, as one of her letters reveals, made her terribly sad. Only her daughter Prudenzia survived childhood.

In Florence, Artemisia sets up a studio in her father-in-law's house. She enters the highest circles and also the court of Cosimo II de' Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany. There she learns to write, although her skills remain poor and she continues to use professional writers for letters to clients. She writes her personal letters herself. Once in Florence, she learns the manners necessary to move in high society. She also becomes familiar with popular literature, which serves her well in elite circles. Her rise to prominence also began in Florence: she received commissions, was admired and appreciated as a painter and as a beautiful woman. In 1615, she was even nominated as a member of the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno, the art academy, a special position for a woman at that time, which also indicates that she was considered a full colleague of male artists.

With her husband's knowledge, she began an affair with an aristocratic lover, the Roman Francesco Maria Maringhi (1593 - after 1653). Intimate, passionate letters written by her to him have been preserved. Her husband initially took on the role of her agent, but when they left for Rome in 1620, Maringhi took over the management of her business affairs at their mutual request. They remained there for six years. Maringhi was Artemisia's gateway to the elite in Rome, and she received many commissions, not only from princes and cardinals, but also from the Spanish ambassador to the Holy See. In 1627, she made a brief visit to Venice, where she once again managed to occupy a central place in artistic and cultural circles. As a painter and as a person, she was respected, praised, and honored by fellow artists. Colleagues made portraits of her in chalk, oil paint, and as engravings (figs. 3, 4, 5, 7 in chronological order). She was even depicted on a bronze medal and mentioned in contemporary reflections on art (fig. 6).

Fig. 3. Pierre Dumonstier, The Right Hand of Artemisia Gentileschi Holding a Brush, 1625, black and red chalk on paper, 21.9 x 18 cm, London, The British Museum (fig. 17 in the National Gallery London 2020 catalog)

Fig. 4. Simon Vouet (1590–1649), Portrait of Artemisia Gentileschi, c. 1623–6, oil on canvas, Pisa, Palazzo Blu (fig. 16 in the National Gallery London 2020 catalog)

Fig. 5. Anonymous, Portrait of Artemisia Gentileschi, c. 1625, bronze with traces of gilding, diam. 5.35 cm, New York, The Stephen K and Jamie Woo Scher Collection (fig. 18 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

Fig. 6. Jerome David, Portrait of Artemisia Gentileschi (after a self-portrait), c. 1627–8, engraving, 14.1 x 8 cm, London, The British Museum (fig. 19 in the National Gallery London 2020 catalog). The self-portrait no longer exists.

Fig. 7. Joachim von Sandrart (1606–1688), Image from the Academia nobilissimae artis pictoriae, 1683, with portraits of both father Orazio and daughter Artemisia Gentileschi, engraving, 32.7 x 22.5 cm. (image on p. 81 in catalog National Gallery, London 2020)

Despite all this, she was always short of money, as evidenced by letters she wrote to her clients asking for advances. She was now the breadwinner and needed a lot of money to be able to compete at a high level. The clothing required for this alone cost a fortune. In 1630, Artemisia left with her husband and child for Naples, where she once again started her own studio and collaborated extensively with other renowned artists. After a brief trip to London in 1638, where she probably helped her father with a commission from King Charles I, she returned to Naples in 1640. She lived and worked there for another fourteen years until her death in 1654 at the age of 61.

Artemisia's work
In search of clients, she developed a repertoire of scenes from the Old Testament and mythology. These often featured life-size figures of women and ‘portraits’ of heroines from history. In the stories of Susanna and the Elders and David and Bathsheba, artists often chose the moment in the story when the woman's nudity could be considered more or less functional, such as Danaë, who is impregnated by the supreme god Zeus in the form of golden rain, and Cleopatra, who is said to have killed herself with a snake bite. This gave artists the opportunity to excel in depicting the human body from nature: the highest achievement for a painter. But I certainly do not rule out the erotic pleasure of the male artist in seeing and painting a woman's nude body. Wealthy patrons wanted to have such sanctioned nudes - after all, it was a biblical story of a virtue, wasn't it? - hanging in their city palaces, and who knows, perhaps even in their private quarters. Artemisia did nothing different in this respect than her male colleagues: you ask, I deliver (figs. 8, 9, 10, 11, 12).

Fig. 8. Artemisia Gentileschi, Danaë, c. 1612, oil on copper, 41.3 x 52.7 cm, Saint Louis, Saint Louis Art Museum (fig. 4 in catalog National Gallery London 2020). Artemisia was 19 years old at the time. There was demand for this type of work.

Fig. 9. Artemisia Gentileschi, Susanna and the Elders, 1622, signed above Susanna's knee: ARTEMITIA GENTILESCHI LOMI / FACIEBAT. A.D. MDCXXII, oil on canvas, Stamford, The Burghley House Collection (fig. 22 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

Fig. 10. Artemisia Gentileschi, Cleopatra, 1633–5, oil on canvas, 117 x 175.5 cm, private collection (fig. 28 in the National Gallery London 2020 catalog)

Fig. 11. Artemisia Gentileschi, David and Bathsheba, 1636-7, oil on canvas, 265.4 x 209.06 cm, Ohio, Columbus Museum of Art (fig. 33 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

Fig. 12. Artemisia Gentileschi, Susanna and the Elders, with traces of a signature and dated 1652 on the underside of the balustrade, lower left, oil on canvas, 200.3 x 225.6 cm, Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale (fig. 36 in the National Gallery London 2020 catalog)

According to experts, Artemisia used her own face for the female protagonist in half of her works, in her self-portraits of course, but also for the female characters (fig. 13, 14, 15). According to Letizia Treves, curator of the exhibition at the National Gallery in London in 2020, Artemisia's use of her own face in her work was a deliberate act of self-promotion. In figs. 4, 5, 6, and 7 you can see how others have portrayed her. It is quite a challenge to compare these portraits with the way she depicted women in her work, yet there are certainly some similarities here and there. For Artemisia, it was very simple: she only needed a mirror to paint a woman's face. Men had to hire a model for this, something Artemisia found terribly expensive, she writes in letters. Are we not dealing with a very practical woman here? I have not been able to find any evidence of this, but it would not surprise me if Artemisia used the mirror not only to paint her face but also the rest of her body when she needed a nude female body for a painting (figs. 13, 14, 15).

Fig. 13. Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as Saint Catherine of Alexandria, c. 1615–17, oil on canvas, 71.4 x 69 cm, London, National Gallery (fig. 11 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

Fig. 14. Artemisia Gentileschi, Saint Catherine of Alexandria, 1615-17, oil on canvas, 78 x 61.5 cm, Florence, Gallerie degli Uffizi (fig. 12 in catalog National Gallery London 2020). The face resembles that in the Self-Portrait as Saint Catherine. Here and there slightly modified compared to fig. 13, more idealized.

Fig. 15. Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as a Lute Player, 1615–17, oil on panel, 77.5 x 71.8 cm, Hartford, Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art (fig. 10 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

In his contribution to the catalog of the solo exhibition in London, Spanish art historian Francesco Solinas describes Artemisia as ‘opportunistic’ in her pursuit of higher social status, as evidenced by her letters. Exhibition curator Letizia Treves writes in the same catalog that Artemisia deliberately used her femininity as both a weakness and a strength. Artemisia was reportedly very aware of the fact that clients judged her differently than her male colleagues. For example, Artemisia wrote to her client Antonio Ruffo (1610/11-1678) from Messina in Sicily: 'A woman's name raises doubts until one sees her work.' A little later, described by Treves as a ‘falsely diffident tone’: ‘I will no longer bother you with this women's chatter, for the works will speak for themselves’. And a few months later, again to Antonio Ruffo: ‘I will show you, Illustrious Sir, what a woman can do’.

Words such as ‘opportunistic’ and ‘falsely shy’ convey a judgmental tone. According to the dictionary, an opportunist is ‘someone who acts without principles’. ‘Falsely demure’ suggests a certain sophistication that I do not necessarily interpret as something positive. It is always difficult to interpret something from the distant past without bias. It is even more difficult to disregard your own ingrained prejudices about femininity and masculinity. I wonder whether male artists are judged in the same way. To me, her statements paint a picture of a self-aware woman who knows what she is capable of and acts out of well-understood self-interest. No man would fail to do the same, which is perfectly understandable given the fierce competition to secure commissions. There were many other talented painters.

Artemisia rediscovered
Artemisia Gentileschi was rediscovered in 1916 by the famous Italian art historian and Caravaggio specialist Roberto Longhi (1890-1970). His wife, art historian Lucia Lopresti (1895-1985) wrote a novel about her in 1947 under the pseudonym Anna Banti. According to Longhi, both father Orazio and daughter Artemisia were followers of Caravaggio because of their use of pronounced light and dark, which gives their works a great dramatic charge. Orazio knew Caravaggio, and Artemisia may have seen his work in her parish church in Rome, as she was allowed to leave the house before mass. Before Longhi, her work was compared to that of Guido Reni (1575-1642), which has a more classicist appearance and looks somewhat cooler and less dramatic (fig. 16). It was also compared to that of Domenichino (1581-1641, fig. 17). It turned out to be hard to believe that her version of Judith and Holofernes (fig. 18, 20), the work that would make her most famous, had been painted by a woman. That is why it was initially attributed to Caravaggio, to Reni, and to her father. It turned out to be a work by Artemisia Gentileschi!

Fig. 16. Guido Reni, Cleopatra, 1635–1640, oil on canvas, 122 x 96 cm, Florence, Galleria Palatina (Palazzo Pitti), Florence

Fig. 17. Domenichino (Domenico Zampiere), The Sacrifice of Isaac, 1627–28, oil on canvas, 147 x 140 cm, Madrid, Museo del Prado

Susanna and the Elders and Judith and Holofernes
Some of Artemisia's works are often interpreted in terms of her personal life: the violence she suffered, the rape in 1611. This applies, for example, to her first version of Susanna and the Elders from 1610 (see fig. 2). First, a brief summary of the apocryphal (i.e., later added to the Bible) story:

Susanna is spied on and harassed by two elders while bathing in a pond in a pleasure garden. She is accompanied by her maid. Because Susanna does not respond to the men's advances -she is happily married - the two men accuse her of adultery in the garden with a young man. It comes to a public trial, which the young David also attends. He asks the judge to hear the two men separately and asks them under which tree the act of love took place. When the men each named a different type of tree, it was obvious that they were lying. Susanna's honor was saved and the men were stoned to death.

But the rape took place a year later, in 1611! Such a misinterpretation then spreads around the world and remains forever attached to the work and the artist. This is unfortunate, because it detracts from the neutral assessment of her craftsmanship and her compositional interpretation of this theme. Which is quite exceptional. Whereas other male painters often depicted Susanna as if she were causing offense or completely ignoring the elders' insinuations, Artemisia's early interpretation (fig. 2) clearly shows fear and defensiveness, and her later versions show great vulnerability (figs. 9 and 12). And in image 2, there is hardly any pleasant pleasure garden; the surroundings are dark and stony.

Artemisia created four versions of the subject Judith and Holofernes which made her so famous. Two are in a more or less similar composition, as the story was often depicted, and two are very different compositions, with even more emphasis on the women. She created the first work in Rome in 1611/12 and the second in Florence around 1620. The fact that it is Florence can be seen from the clothing: it is in the latest fashion there around 1620. Caravaggio had already made a version, although it is questionable whether Artemisia had actually seen this work. Her father did not allow her to leave the house, and this work by Caravaggio was owned by a banker and not directly accessible. First, the story, which is also apocryphal.

Judith is a pious, beautiful and wealthy Jewish widow who lives in the mountain village of Betulia, which is under siege by the Babylonian general Holofernes. She enters his tent under false pretences. He hopes for a long night of love and therefore sends his servants away. But Judith has other plans. She gets Holofernes drunk and beheads him with the help of her maid, hoping to save her fellow villagers. And she succeeds: his soldiers flee when they realise their leader is dead.

Artemisia depicts not a personal act but a political one, in this case carried out by a woman. It was a subject that was in high demand. Countless variations were painted, and painters tried to outdo each other on subjects like this. Artemisia must have felt that she could not be left behind, regardless of whether this work was made at the specific request of a client, which we do not know. She created both versions after the rape, and the question remains whether her interpretation of the subject can be traced back to that personal experience of violence, the rape. Incidentally, this assumption is eagerly exploited today to ‘sell’ Artemisia. Last year, London auction house Christie's announced the exhibition at the National Gallery on its website with the headline: ‘Artemisia Gentileschi and the theater of revenge’!

If you compare the works of Artemisia (fig. 18 and 20) and Caravaggio (fig. 19), you can see a difference in the way they both depict the subject. Caravaggio's work is beautiful because of the strong light-dark contrasts and is far ahead of its time. But... his Judith seems like a sweetheart, depicted so lovingly that it is hard to imagine she has the strength to commit murder. And her maid is an old woman who barely participates in the beheading. Artemisia's Judith is a sturdy woman who, together with her maid, gives the impression of being quite capable of doing so. She adds power to the composition. This makes the whole thing realistic, much more so than Caravaggio's version. A remarkable fact is that Artemisia's Judith and Holofernes disappeared in the 18th century into the cellars of Grand Duchess Maria Luisa of Tuscany (1745-1792), who found the work too gruesome to contemplate, which was often seen as the function of such a work, in this case to reflect on courage.

Fig. 18. Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Beheading Holofernes, 1611–12, oil on canvas, 159 x 126 cm, Naples, Museo Nazionale di Capodimonte, (fig. 5 in National Gallery catalog 2020)

Fig. 19. Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, Judith Beheading Holofernes, c. 1598, oil on canvas, 145 x 195 cm, Rome, Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica

Fig. 20. Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith Beheading Holofernes, c. 1620, oil on canvas, 147 x 108 cm, Florence, Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence (fig. 6 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

The two other variations Artemisia made on this subject are also remarkable. Note how much originality and drama she adds and how she paints the stark contrasts, for example in the second work by playing with the light from a single candle (fig. 21, 22). For image 20, she was inspired by an earlier work by her father Orazio (fig. 23).

Fig. 21. Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith and her Maidservant, c. 1614–5, oil on canvas, 114 x 93.5 cm, Florence, Uffizi (fig. 8 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

Fig. 22. Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith and her Maidservant with the Head of Holofernes, 1623–5, oil on canvas, 184 x 141.6 cm, Detroit, Detroit Institute of Art (fig. 23 in the National Gallery London 2020 catalog)

Fig. 23. Orazio Gentileschi, Judith and her Maidservant, c. 1608, oil on canvas, 136 x 160 cm, Oslo, The National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design

Finally
Artemisia's interpretations of other subjects such as The Birth of John (fig. 24) and Lot and His Daughters (fig. 25) are, in my opinion, gems of narrative art. It seems as if a story is being told in a nutshell through the arrangement of the various characters and the directions of their gazes, which suggest movement in and through the work. This is something for which the Dutch painter Rembrandt (1606–1669) - Artemisia’s contemporary - is so renowned.

Fig. 24. Artemisia Gentileschi, The Birth of John the Baptist, 1635, signed on a piece of paper at the bottom left: ARTEMISIA / GENTILES, oil on canvas, 184 x 258 cm, Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado (fig. 29 in the National Gallery London 2020 catalog)

Fig. 25. Artemisia Gentileschi, Lot and His Daughters, c. 1636–8, oil on canvas, 230.5 x 182.9 cm, Toledo, Toledo Museum of Art (fig. 32 in catalog National Gallery London 2020)

Meanwhile, a whole circus has developed around Artemisia Gentileschi in the museum world. Her tumultuous life contributes to this, which - as already mentioned - unfortunately stands in the way of a neutral view of her work. But all this has ensured that her work has been brought out of storage. It was only a few years ago that Bathsheba and David was returned to the Palazzo Pitti in Florence. And that Saint Catherine of Alexandria is once again on display in the Uffizi after more than a century in storage. And the art market now smells money.

In the catalog, Sheila Barker quotes Mary Garrard, professor emeritus of art history, who rescued Artemisia from obscurity for the second time in a groundbreaking monograph in 1989. Artemisia had once again fallen into oblivion after Longhi's attention in 1916. According to Garrard, one cannot ignore Artemisia's gender when assessing her work. The female perspective permeates her work. Furthermore, in an essay in 2015, she issues a warning: in the assessment of Artemisia's works in the far past, male prejudice (there were hardly any female art historians at the time) was never far away, not least in the assumption that a woman could never have created these works. From now on, now that her name is profitable and there is still a lot of unsigned work, the opposite applies: we must be careful not to attribute lesser and unsigned work to Artemisia too quickly.

In conclusion: the major exhibition on Artemisia Gentileschi at the National Gallery in London in 2020/2021 does justice to a great female name in Western art history. And promise me that after reading this piece, you will never forget that name!

Disclaimer:
NB. The heatherpicture (fig. 0): Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, c. 1630, oil on canvas, 96.5 x 73.7 cm, Windsor, Royal Collection

Source:
Letizia Treves ed., Artemisia, London, National Gallery Press, 2020, pp. 256 (catalog accompanying the exhibition with the same name held in the fall of 2020 until January 24, 2021).
And my own impressions after 17 years of investigating this subject.

Image credits:
All images are taken from the exhibition catalog, hence the reference to the numbers in the catalogue, except for:
Fig. 0: https://nl.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bestand:Self-portrait_as_the_Allegory_of_Painting_(La_Pittura)_-_Artemisia_Gentileschi.jpg
Fig. 1 : https://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giorgio_Vasari#/media/Bestand:Vite.jpg
Fig. 16 : https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6b/Guido_Reni_-_Cleopatra_-_WGA19301.jpg
Fig. 17 : https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Domenichino_-_The_Sacrifice_of_Isaac_-_WGA06403.jpg
Fig. 19 : https://www.wga.hu/support/viewer/z.html