This study aims to overturn 20th-century criticism that cast the English virtuosi of the 17th and early 18th centuries as misguided dabblers, arguing that they were erudite individuals with solid grounding in the classics, deep appreciation for the arts and sincere curiosity about the natural world.

The two volumes are an in-depth examination of a lost painting tradition. The books examine how the physical properties of natural and mineral pigments such as azurite, lapis lazuli, malachite, or cinnabar used by artists of the European Renaissance shaped a painting process in which each painting required a thorough plan or composition which began with the geometry of the format (i.e. the proportion of height to width of a rectangle). Volume 1 presents the artist as a painter-craftsman with the preparation of natural colour from rocks and crystals and their application in appropriate binding mediums. The difference in colour quality between natural mineral pigments and modern synthetic paint is examined. Chapters include comprehensive step-by-step instruction for the contemporary artist and conservation scientist on how to prepare and paint with the incomparably luminous colours of the Renaissance palette, as well as the preparation of historical painting supports and grounds. Volume 2, the artist as a creative intellectual, links the painter's craft with the creative process and elucidates the degree of compositional planning starting with the painting's rectangular format. The demonstrated evidence for the application of Euclidean geometry is based upon exact measurements of painted surfaces on panels, X-radiographs, and infrared images from paintings. The final chapter concludes with the reasons for the demise of this painting tradition and how industrialization and the standardization of art materials led to a new painting tradition from the nineteenth century.

Johannes Vermeer's luminous paintings are loved and admired around the world, yet we do not understand how they were made. We see sunlit spaces; the glimmer of satin, silver, and linen; we see the softness of a hand on a lute string or letter. We recognise the distilled impression of a moment of time; and we feel it to be real. We might hope for some answers from the experts, but they are confounded too. Even with the modern technology available, they do not know why there is no evidence of any preliminary drawing; why there are shifts in focus; and why his pictures are unusually blurred. Some wonder if he might possibly have used a camera obscura to capture what he saw before him. The few traces Vermeer has left behind tell us little: there are no letters or diaries; and no reports of him at work. Jane Jelley has taken a new path in this detective story. A painter herself, she has worked with the materials of his time: the cochineal insect and lapis lazuli; the sheep bones, soot, earth, and rust. She shows us how painters made their pictures layer by layer; she investigates old secrets; and hears travellers' tales. She explores how Vermeer could have used a lens in the creation of his masterpieces. The clues were there all along. After all this time, now we can unlock the studio door, and catch a glimpse of Vermeer inside, painting light.

Although his popularity is eclipsed by Rembrandt today, Peter Paul Rubens was revered by his contemporaries as the greatest painter of his era, if not of all history. His undeniable artistic genius, bolstered by a modest disposition and a reputation as a man of tact and discretion, made him a favorite among monarchs and political leaders across Europe—and gave him the perfect cover for the clandestine activities that shaped the landscape of seventeenth-century politics. In Master of Shadows, Mark Lamster brilliantly recreates the culture, religious conflicts, and political intrigues of Rubens’s time, following the painter from Antwerp to London, Madrid, Paris, and Rome and providing an insightful exploration of Rubens’s art as well as the private passions that influenced it.

How the picturing of insects inspired new ideas about art, science, nature, and commerce

Today we associate the Renaissance with painting, sculpture, and architecture—the “major” arts. Yet contemporaries often held the “minor” arts—gem-studded goldwork, richly embellished armor, splendid tapestries and embroideries, music, and ephemeral multi-media spectacles—in much higher esteem. Isabella d’Este, Marchesa of Mantua, was typical of the Italian nobility: she bequeathed to her children precious stone vases mounted in gold, engraved gems, ivories, and antique bronzes and marbles; her favorite ladies-in-waiting, by contrast, received mere paintings. Renaissance patrons and observers extolled finely wrought luxury artifacts for their exquisite craftsmanship and the symbolic capital of their components; paintings and sculptures in modest materials, although discussed by some literati, were of lesser consequence. This book endeavors to return to the mainstream material long marginalized as a result of historical and ideological biases of the intervening centuries. The author analyzes how luxury arts went from being lofty markers of ascendancy and discernment in the Renaissance to being dismissed as “decorative” or “minor” arts—extravagant trinkets of the rich unworthy of the status of Art. Then, by re-examining the objects themselves and their uses in their day, she shows how sumptuous creations constructed the world and taste of Renaissance women and men.