Installation image of Hidden Faces. Photo: Eileen Travell
During the Renaissance in Europe, a remarkable genre of portrait art became known and flourished: that of the so-called hidden portrait. Generally, these portraits were supplemented with a cover that fit over the portrait or a front on the back of the portrait, containing puzzle-like clues, symbols, or a secondary portrait that enhanced the depth of the main work. A new exhibition at the Met unites dozens of these likenesses with their covers to offer a fascinating look at a largely lost art.
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According to curator Alison Nogueira, these portraits served a variety of purposes, from an entertaining centerpiece at a gathering celebrating a woman's engagement, to marking a major trip or commemorating a death. They could even be political propaganda. As evidence of this, Nogueira pointed to a certain hidden portrait, commissioned by painter Lucas Cranach for the celebrated Protestant revolutionary Martin Luther. In 1525, the famous cleric's marriage to the former nun Katharina von Bora Luther caused a stir, as church marriages were largely frowned upon at the time, especially with a woman who had taken her own vows. "Luther was a former cleric, and his wife was a former nun whose release from a convent he had facilitated," Nogueira told me. "So their marriage was considered very controversial."
Luther employed a new strategy to gain acceptance for his marriage and the broader idea of relaxing church traditions surrounding celibacy: he commissioned Cranach-who had long been accused of creating propaganda in support of the Reformation-to linked medals with a pair of portraits of Luther and von Bora. These medals fit into a small box that can be widely distributed, essentially acting as marketing for the idea of Luther and Von Bora's marriage. "The purpose of these portraits was really to reinforce the legitimacy of Luther's marriage," Nogueira said.
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The portraits of Luther and von Bora emphasize that hidden portraits were often important ways to promote communication. Although Luther's was an example of great statesmanship, these works often served much more intimate purposes. For example, that their enigmatic qualities and multiple interpretations can lead to satisfying, meaningful conversations during an evening meeting. They were also commonly used in courtship and became a way to convey intentions as two lovers navigated their way through the various stages of a romance. Because these works provide extensive detail about a sitter's identity, virtues, and purpose, contemporary researchers have used them to glean valuable information about the complexities of lives lived hundreds of years ago.
According to Nogueira, this genre of paintings is believed to have evolved from double-sided medals painted in the Netherlands in the 15th century. As time went on, these works became increasingly elaborate and allegorical, eventually developing a repertoire of images that would be well known in the genre. Hidden portraits spread throughout the 16th century, and the size gradually became smaller and smaller, until they found their way into personal objects such as lockets and watches. Although the tradition largely died out in the 17th and 18th centuries, Nogueira pointed out that it still exists to some extent, citing Gustave Courbet's The Origin of the World as a work that has survived in a covered format into contemporary times .
As the genre flourished, it became strongly associated with the Shakespearean idea that we are all players on the world's stage - or, alternatively, that we all wear a mask at times, especially when our likeness is taken. "It points to the idea of a portrait as a kind of false representation of the sitter," says Nogueira. "On a more philosophical level, there is the idea that everyone has their own mask and that there is a kind of theater of life."
An example of this is Ridolfo Ghirlandaio's Portrait of a Woman, on loan to the Met from the Uffizi Gallery. The cover of this painting features an image of a mask, along with an inscription in Latin that translates to 'to each his own mask'. Ghirlandaio's cover is notable for how physically heavy and imposing the artist has made it feel, like an iron castle gate meant to keep out anyone who isn't wanted. The cover's images of fanciful, dragon-like creatures contribute to the idea of a terrifying gatekeeper, and yet the portrait underneath is strikingly different: a beautiful woman in an elegant dress, a gossamer headpiece that emphasizes her vulnerability. Despite the sitter's vulnerability, however, her closed expression calls back to the portrait's protective cover.
As Nogueira noted, the facial features of the mask Ghirlandaio placed on the cover closely resemble the face of the woman he depicted, bringing up ideas about how the woman in the portrait may mask her true self in different ways. "It's very playful, especially with the self-referential inscription," Nogueira said. "It is one of the most evocative images of the role these portrait covers actually played." A video featured in the Met's exhibition recreates the experience of the portrait's unveiling, showing the audience how, when the panel is removed, the mask on the cover is shown directly above the subject's face.
The genre of covered portraits is still largely unknown and Hidden Faces is partly intended to raise awareness of these fascinating pieces. The exhibition began with Nogueira's examination of a pair of double-sided portraits from the Met's Lehman Collection, which led her to examine the larger European context in which they were created. Once she delved into the genre, she felt it could be a subject for a wonderful exhibition. Although the basis of the show is The Met's collection, work from collections in the US and Europe is also on display. Notably, Hidden Faces is a rare opportunity for audiences to see these portraits united with their covers, as they are often not displayed as such in their home settings.
For Nogueira, this show helps shed light on the fact that portraits are much more than just a physical likeness of the sitter, raising the question of what exactly a portrait is. "These allegories, emblems and symbols were originally an integral part of what we call a portrait," she said. "What we consider a complete portrait is actually a kind of fragment of a larger object that has been lost over time."
