🎨 Conversion of Saint Paul (c.1601), Cerasi Chapel No spectacle. Just a man, a horse, and blinding light. Saul falls, arms open in surrender. Not drama, but collapse. Conversion as something inward, inevitable. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

We’ve teamed up with @storiesfromtheart.bsky.social to bring you something a little different... 🎨✨ This isn’t just a giveaway — it’s a challenge! 🤔💡 Think you really know your art? Let’s find out. Enter now at gleam.io/WEDRv/art-he... We will announce the winner on April 6th! ⏳🎉

We’ve teamed up with @artherstory.bsky.social on a giveaway! Think you really know your art? Let’s find out. Enter now: gleam.io/WEDRv/art-he... 🔗 Don’t wait! Every action (from following profiles to answering questions) earns you points 🏆 The winner is announced on 6th April! ⏳🎉

🎨 Conversion of Saint Paul (c.1601), Rome — the original Cerasi version. Crowded, explosive: Saul thrown to the ground as heaven breaks in. Horse rearing, angel descending. Too dramatic for the chapel? Perhaps. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 Crucifixion of Saint Peter (c.1601), Rome No spectacle — just men straining to raise the cross, an ageing body nailed to wood. Peter twists toward the light. Triumph through endurance, not glory. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 The Martyrdom of St Matthew (c.1600), Contarelli Chapel Chaos erupts at the altar — sword raised, saint falling. No serene martyrdom, only violence mid-breath. An angel descends as panic fractures the crowd. Belief under attack. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #SacredArt

🎨 The Calling of St Matthew (c.1600), Contarelli Chapel A tavern, coins on the table — and Christ’s quiet gesture. Light cuts through dust and doubt. Which man is Matthew? Caravaggio leaves the moment suspended between call and choice. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 Narcissus (c.1599), Rome — attribution debated. A youth bends over dark water, trapped in a perfect circle of longing. No world beyond the reflection. Not vanity as spectacle, but melancholy — identity undone by desire. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 David and Goliath (c.1599), Prado The battle is over. No triumph — just a boy in shadow holding a giant’s head. Little blood, heavy silence. Violence has passed; the burden remains. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #OldMasters

🎨 Judith Beheading Holofernes (c.1598), Rome Caravaggio captures the instant of action — blade in flesh, blood arcing. Beauty, horror, power shifting in a breath. Rome knew execution. He paints it unflinchingly. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

Among new exhibitions by women artists opening this month in London and Belgium: Michaelina Wautier at the Royal Academy Cecily Brown at the Serpentine Gallery Dutch and Flemish women artists 1600-1750 at the MSK in Ghent Our March round-up: art-exhibitions.blogspot.com/2026/02/new-...

🎨 Portrait of Maffeo Barberini (c.1598) A future Pope, not yet crowned. No splendour — just biretta, letter in hand, mind at work. Caravaggio gives us intellect over spectacle; ambition lit from the dark. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 Martha and Mary Magdalene (c.1598), Detroit Two sisters, mid-conversion. A mirror, orange blossom, discarded cosmetics. Sanctity unfolds in dialogue — not ecstasy. Sacred history, startlingly modern. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #WomenInArt

🎨 John the Baptist (c.1598), Toledo — attrib. disputed. Caravaggio? Perhaps. Youthful, vulnerable, no drama — just vine, thorns, lamb. Prophecy without spectacle. Sanctity made human. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtDebate

🎨 Sacrifice of Isaac (c.1598?) Attribution disputed Authorship matters, but so does influence. Even uncertainty tells us something about how profoundly Caravaggio reshaped biblical drama. What do you see? Caravaggio or Cavarozzi? #AttributionDebate #BiblicalDrama #ArtMysteries #LookingCloser

🎨 St Catherine of Alexandria (c.1598) Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid Caravaggio shows the moment before suffering. No blood. No miracle. Just resolve. Sanctity here isn’t spectacle. It’s moral strength, calm and imitable. #WomenOfFaith #SacredPortraits #InnerStrength #ArtInFocus

🎨 The Fortune Teller (c.1597) Louvre, Paris We see the theft. He does not. Caravaggio flips the power dynamic: male vulnerability, female control. The real illusion isn’t the trick, it’s our belief we’re detached observers. #PowerAndGaze #GenderInArt #VisualDeception #BaroquePainting

🎨 Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto (c.1597) Villa Ludovisi, Rome Caravaggio’s only ceiling painting, and NOT a fresco. Heavy bodies. Strained anatomy. Gods who dominate space through force, not perfection. Divinity, rendered physical. #CeilingArt #RadicalPerspective #MythologicalBodies #VisualDrama

🎨 Portrait of a Courtesan (Fillide) (c.1597) Destroyed, 1945 Not idealised. Not apologetic. Just presence. Caravaggio grants dignity where society refused it and asks whether virtue has anything to do with class at all. #LostArt #Portraiture #WomenAndPower #ArtAndIdentity

🎨 Medusa (c.1597) Uffizi, Florence Caravaggio paints himself as the severed head. Blood still flowing. Consciousness intact. Perseus disappears. What remains is the victim… staring back at us, uncompromising. Violence without consolation. #MythReimagined #ViolenceInArt #DarkArt #SelfPortrait

🎨 Rest on the Flight into Egypt (c.1597) This is Caravaggio at his most unexpected. No threat. No violence. Just rest. Music replaces drama. Nature listens. Even the world seems to pause and breathe. #SacredQuiet #ArtAndMusic #HolyFamily #MuseumMoments

🎨 Penitent Magdalene (c.1597) Doria Pamphilj No ecstatic repentance. No divine light. Just a woman sitting quietly with her grief. Caravaggio makes repentance internal (and disturbingly real) by painting a saint from lived experience. #SacredRealism #WomenInArt #CounterReformation #ArtHistory

🎨 Bacchus (c.1596) Uffizi, Florence Caravaggio invites us to indulge… and then reminds us that indulgence rots. Overripe fruit. Curling leaves. Fragile glass. A god who offers wine already turning. Pleasure, yes. But never without consequence. #EarlyBaroque #StillLife #ArtAndDecay #Caravaggio

🎨 Basket of Fruit (c.1596) No humans. No story. Just fruit. Blemished. Overripe. Curling. Decay hovering on the edge. A simple basket, unstable. Fragility made visible. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #StillLife #OldMasters

🎨 Lute Player (c.1596) Alone at the table. Absorbed. Soft lips. Lowered gaze. Music as desire, fragility, and fleeting beauty. Objects echo youth, sound, and creation. Tactile, ephemeral, real. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 Boy Bitten by a Lizard (c.1596) A hand in fruit. A hidden lizard. Sudden pain. Startled gaze. Desire collides with danger. Fruit, flowers, rose, jasmine - life’s beauty, fleeting. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #OldMasters

🎨 St. Francis of Assisi in Ecstasy (c.1595) No spectacle. No triumph. A man collapsed. Vulnerable. Supported by a tender angel. Light reveals faith, not drama. Darkness surrounds. Sanctity made human. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ReligiousArt

🎨 Musicians (c.1595) Intimacy, not spectacle. Soft flesh. Parted lips. Sorrowful love songs. Music as desire, performance, and restraint. Cupid reaches for grapes. A violin lies unused. They look at us. Waiting. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 Cardsharps (c.1594) Innocence. Apprenticeship. Mastery. Signals exchanged. Marked cards felt through cut gloves. A dagger within reach. No moral sermon, just tension, conspiracy, and street-level realism. We see the trick. He doesn’t. And we say nothing. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

As some of you may know, this year @storiesfromtheart.bsky.social and I are collaborating with @artherstory.bsky.social. In honour of this collaboration, my monthly blog posts will all be spotlighting female artists! January focuses on Rachel Ruysch: gksihat.com/rachel-ruysch/

🎨 Fortune Teller (c.1594) A new subject. A new tension. Trust against illusion. Curiosity against control. He watches her face. She watches his hand and lifts his ring. Not allegory. Not myth. Just a human exchange, observed from life. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 Boy with a Basket of Fruit (c.1593) Beauty without allegory. Vitality without innocence. Bare shoulder. Parted lips. A charged gaze. The fruit is lush but flawed. Overripe. Spotted. Curling. Perhaps he offers fruit. Perhaps he offers himself. #Caravaggio #OldMasters #BaroqueArt

🎨 Young Sick Bacchus (c.1593) A god, unwell. Likely a self-portrait. Pale skin. Weak posture. Suspicious eyes. Abundance already turning. Caravaggio strips myth of perfection and leaves us with decay, vulnerability, and a god who knows he’s being watched. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt #ArtHistory

🎨 Boy Peeling Fruit (c.1592–93) Caravaggio’s earliest Roman work. Quiet. Intimate. Observed from life. A boy absorbed in time itself. Sweet fruit untouched. Bitter fruit chosen. Not a scene to enter, but to study. A lesson held at arm’s length. #Caravaggio #OldMasters #ArtHistory

🎨 Chalk Portrait of Caravaggio (c.1621), Ottavio Leoni The original bad boy of art. Sex workers on altars, filthy feet in holy spaces, himself as a severed head. Arrogant. Provocative. A genius who made the divine brutally human. #Caravaggio #BaroqueArt

How often did Artemisia paint herself? Models were costly and frowned upon for female artists, so many, like her, used self-portraits as both practicality and promotion. This was a bold act of empowerment, asserting her identity and strength in a male-dominated world.

We end with Artemisia’s later Susanna and the Elders, signed faintly at the balustrade. Here, Susanna is no longer vulnerable but assertive—resisting with courage and dignity. This final version reflects Artemisia’s growth, portraying female strength and resilience against injustice.

Though Artemisia’s signature appears, this small, intimate painting’s authorship is debated. Its softer style may reflect a deliberate shift inspired by Guido Reni to suit a patron’s taste. The Virgin, in red, hangs a rosary before the Christ Child, their tender gaze revealing deep maternal love.

This Susanna is shown descending a stone stairway, shielding herself from two leering elders. The scene is tense and claustrophobic. Artemisia reused figure studies from earlier works, linking Susanna’s head to St. Catherine and other figures from her previous paintings.

Venus reclines nude on a bed draped in deep blue fabric, with Cupid nuzzling her shoulder. The rich drapery and golden bedding create a tender, maternal mood. Gentileschi’s Venus is sensuous yet grounded, engaged with her child, while diagonal lines guide the viewer’s gaze across the scene.

Artemisia’s final depiction of Lucretia shows the assault’s raw moment. In a dark chamber, Lucretia lies on a claw-footed bed as Tarquinius grips her knee, dagger raised. A servant pulls back the curtain exposing the crime. The scene’s intensity echoes Titian but feels more immediate and charged.

Apollonia shows the elderly deaconess in calm resolve, holding a single tooth in metal tweezers, a chilling symbol of her torture. Emerging from shadows, she gazes heavenward, dressed in mauve velvet and pearls. It reflects Artemisia's late style focused on women’s strength amid suffering.

Painted in London for Queen Henrietta Maria, this Susanna and the Elders shows Susanna descending a stone stairway, shielding herself from two leering elders. The scene is tense and claustrophobic. Artemisia reused figure studies from earlier works.

Inspired by Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia, Artemisia painted this in London in 1638. Though not a true self-portrait, it’s deeply self-referential, showing her with a sull mask, gold chain, and worn hands. Her initials sit beneath the palette, capturing the artist’s raw, introspective presence.

The next year, Artemisia revisits Bathsheba mid-bath, upper body exposed and draped in a yellow gown. She combs her red hair while a maid dries her legs. The dark background highlights Bathsheba, with no King David present. This version, painted c.1640–45, remains in a private collection.

From the Second Book of Samuel, this scene shows Bathsheba bathing as King David spies on her. Artemisia focuses on Bathsheba’s calm poise, while David is a tiny, distant figure. The work reflects Bolognese classicism over Caravaggio’s tenebrism. Artemisia revisited this subject multiple times.

Saint Proculus, Deacon of Pozzuoli, is shown here with his mother, Saint Nicea. Both hold martyrs’ palms, gazing upward in divine presence. Set in a vaulted interior with a tiled floor, this rare architectural detail adds solemnity, making the scene sacred and reflective within Artemisia’s work.

Artemisia’s second painting for Pozzuoli Cathedral’s choir stalls, The Adoration of the Magi, shows Mary as a tender, approachable figure presenting her child to the richly dressed kings. Dramatic skies and detailed fabrics highlight her skill, while a glowing star adds intimacy to the scene.

Artemisia painted this work for Pozzuoli Cathedral’s choir stalls during renovations. It shows Saint Januarius, saved from wild animals in the amphitheatre, with a kneeling Proculus. Though damaged by fire in 1964, Artemisia’s signature was found beneath the lion’s tail, affirming her legacy.

Based on Genesis, Artemisia depicts Lot fleeing sinful Sodom with his wife and daughters. His wife turns to salt for disobedience, shown in the background. Believing they’re alone, his daughters get him drunk to preserve their line. The painting explores survival, sin, and psychological tension.