How to recognise a saint

Look below Peter’s white beard, towards his hands. Grifo di Tancredi has made the keys large and legible against the orange cloak. They give us his name before we have read the label. This panel was once part of an altarpiece, with other sacred figures beside it. [2]

A lantern lights La Tour’s Peter from below. It stands near his bare feet; his hands are pressed together. The rooster recalls the Gospel story in which Peter denies knowing Christ before the bird crows. The rooster identifies the episode; his clasped hands suggest remorse. [19]

Lippo Memmi sets sword and book out clearly. El Greco’s later Paul holds a small sheet of writing instead of a heavy volume. The sword remains, but the letter brings the figure closer to an exchange between people: his fingers rest on the paper while his eyes meet ours. [22] [35]

The little man at the lower right of the Cypriot icon is John Moutoullas, its donor. The much larger figure is John the Baptist, the preacher who came before Jesus. Long hair, a thin body and a scroll are useful clues here. This John should not be confused with John the Evangelist, whose images follow below. [40]

Leonardo gives us very little setting to work with. John’s face and pointing hand emerge from darkness, while the slender cross is barely visible. The upward-pointing finger directs our attention beyond the figure. There is no written scroll to read here. [52]

The Master of Saint Francis shows a young man against gold, his hands gathered at his chest. Centuries later, Victorine Nordenswan paints him in a landscape with a rolled text. Both have the familiar youthful face; neither has an eagle. We need the titles to be sure who they are. [61] [78]

Caravaggio’s Andrew is tied to an upright cross. If you have learnt to look for an X, this painting may seem puzzling. Andrew’s cross did not always take that form. Here the title identifies the saint, and the reaching arms and bindings tell us which part of his story we are seeing. [92]

Andrew has no cross in Simone Martini’s small panel. He inclines his head over a red book, holding it with long fingers. This was part of a portable altarpiece, an object that could be carried and opened for prayer. The grey beard and pale cloak fill much of its narrow space. [80]

James can be hard to find. In Martino di Bartolomeo’s panel, Peter takes the main space while James appears in the small triangle above. Check the edges and upper compartments of an altarpiece before concluding that the saint named in the label is missing. [99] [104]

Tiepolo’s James is impossible to overlook. He rides a white horse above fallen men, a flag rising behind him. The subject comes from a later legend of James fighting the Moors, not from the apostle’s lifetime. The saint has been enlisted as a figure of military victory. [114]

Simone Martini gives Matthew the things he needs to write: a book, a quill and a little inkpot. The quill rests between his fingers, ready for use. The panel originally sat in an altarpiece’s lower row. [119]

Caravaggio makes Matthew’s angel speak. Matthew twists up from his book, one knee still on the stool, as the visitor counts on his fingers. We are watching a writer listen before he puts down the next words. [130]

The lion at Mark’s feet is easy to spot in Vasari’s painting. Its mane comes close to the writer’s bare foot. Mark holds up a book and turns towards the light; the animal beside him is his symbol as an evangelist. [148]

Bryullov’s winged lion rises behind Mark in a triangular design for Saint Isaac’s Cathedral. This was a study for a curved space beneath the dome, where the figures would be seen overhead. [152]

The study records Bryullov’s design. Pyotr Basin was the painter who carried it onto the cathedral surface, a distinction that matters when reading the two artists’ names. [152]

The ox beside the desk in Mälesskircher’s painting identifies the writer as Luke. Shelves, small ink containers and a mirror furnish his room. Then, in Heemskerck’s painting, the same saint has exchanged writing for painting. A later legend credited Luke with a portrait of the Virgin. Here Mary and the child pose at the easel while he holds a palette. Heemskerck made the work for Haarlem’s Guild of Saint Luke, giving it to the guild before his departure for Rome in 1532. [160] [166]

Who is carrying the bread in Vermeer’s painting? That is Martha. Her sister Mary sits lower down, listening to Christ. This Mary is Mary of Bethany. Later Western tradition often joined her story to Magdalene’s, which can make museum titles confusing when you first meet the two women. [184]

Sano di Pietro shows a less familiar story: Martha’s burial. Her body lies in an open tomb. The source is the Golden Legend, a medieval collection in which Saint Fronto dreams that he helps Christ at her funeral. [173]

The jar held by Zannino di Pietro’s Magdalene gives us a straightforward clue to her identity. Caravaggio’s Martha and Mary Magdalene takes more explaining. Mary has a flower and a large mirror; Martha speaks to her, counting on her fingers. The Detroit museum interprets the encounter as a conversion scene. It follows the tradition that connected Magdalene with Martha’s sister. The painting tells us about that tradition, rather than proving that the two Marys were the same historical person. [193] [205]

Joseph is almost hidden behind Mary in the fifteenth-century French panel. His hooded head appears over her shoulder while her bright face draws the eye. Mary is pregnant, with angels nearby. Joseph, her husband and Jesus’s foster father in Christian tradition, has been given a supporting place in the composition. [210]

La Tour brings him forward to a carpenter’s task. Joseph bends over a drill; the young Jesus holds a candle beside the timber. Look at the child’s raised hand, glowing as the light passes through it. The drill and the bent back make this a convincing moment of work, however still the two figures remain. [222]

The bishop in the Russian icon is Nicholas. He blesses with one hand and holds a Gospel book in the other, with smaller saints surrounding him. The short grey beard and high forehead recur in many images, though the inscription is a surer guide than a face alone. [228]

Veronese paints the moment of his consecration. Nicholas is the young man kneeling in green between the clergy; an angel brings the bishop’s insignia from above. Another of his legends tells of gifts to three poor young women. Their gold becomes the three balls often shown beside him, and the gift-giving story helped shape the much later Santa Claus. [240] [235]

Look behind George on the horse. A boy is riding with him, still holding a cup. The icon brings together the familiar dragon and the rescue of the youth of Mytilene. Without the boy, we would miss what makes this particular George different. [248]

Raphael concentrates on the dragon fight. The white horse rears as George drives his lance down, and a woman kneels at the side of the scene. Following the lance from rider to monster is a quick way to make sense of the tangle of bodies. [262]

In the Cypriot fresco, a small figure also sits behind George. The publication World Heritage in Cyprus identifies him as a rescued captive. He is far less noticeable than the saint’s shield and flowing red cloak: in a small image, the second rider is easy to miss. [259]

A wheel beside Catherine is rarely just part of the setting. According to her legend, an attempted execution on a wheel failed; she was later beheaded. Caravaggio puts the broken wheel near her, with a sword at her hand and a palm along the floor. These objects refer to violence that the painting leaves outside the moment we see. [278]

The earlier panel by Donato and Gregorio d’Arezzo tells much more of that story. Catherine stands in the middle, surrounded by twelve episodes from her life. The small scenes help explain the objects that later painters could place beside a single figure and expect viewers to understand. [267]

In the Prado’s Saint Barbara, it is easy to become absorbed in her room: the bench, cushions, book and fire. Then the tower outside the window gives her away. It refers to her imprisonment by her father. In Rubens’s sketch, father and daughter are caught in a pursuit. She flees; he follows with a weapon. The broad strokes and stretched bodies belong to a design for a ceiling painting, where the action would unfold overhead. [285] [296]

Stones identify Stephen through the manner of his death. He was a deacon, remembered as the first Christian martyr. Fra Angelico shows him earlier in the story, standing in yellow and preaching to seated listeners. In Samuel van Hoogstraten’s drawing, raised arms surround a kneeling man. Stephen looks upwards as the crowd closes around him. The thin lines make the movement easier to trace than the individual faces. [302] [314]

Helena was the mother of Emperor Constantine. Christian tradition connects her with the discovery of Christ’s Cross, which is why Cima gives his crowned figure such a large wooden cross to carry. It rises well above her head in the open landscape. [319]

In Veronese’s picture she has fallen asleep, her head resting on her hand. The cross appears above her, carried by angels through an opening. It is easy to look first at the warm folds of her dress and miss that small scene. But it tells us whose dream this is. [324]

The Anthony here is Anthony Abbot, the desert saint. He is different from Anthony of Padua, who is often shown with the Christ child. Fra Angelico gives the abbot a long beard, dark clothes and a staff, fitting the figure tightly into a narrow panel. [336]

Ensor’s Anthony has far too much company. Masks and floating figures crowd around him as he reads. The Antwerp museum points out monsters, alluring women and even a harlequin offering sausages. Enlarge the pale painting and look around the edges of the seated figure: the temptations are much less restrained than the man with his book. [351]

Look for the blue head covering behind Christ in Filippino Lippi’s Pietà. That is Nicodemus, identified here by the part he takes in the burial story and by the collection’s title. There is no single personal emblem to settle the name for us. [358]

Henry Ossawa Tanner chooses an earlier event: Nicodemus visiting Christ at night. Blue surrounds the two figures in this small rooftop study. [375]

The Smithsonian relates Tanner’s subject to his memories of African American worship after emancipation, when night meetings continued an older practice. The meeting at night could therefore hold a meaning beyond its biblical setting. [375]

Arrows are the quickest clue to Sebastian. They may pierce his body, lie nearby or be held in a hand. His legend does not end with the archers: he survives their attack and is cared for. Tanzio da Varallo paints that aftermath. An angel draws out an arrow while a second figure supports Sebastian’s weight. [383]

Redon removes the surrounding figures. The body is pale against a light blue sky, and the arrows look as fine as twigs. Colour spreads through the flowers at his feet. You still recognise Sebastian, but you have to look quite closely to see the wounds. [386]

Jerome’s lion has a story. In the legend, the saint removes a thorn from its paw and gains a loyal companion. Lorenzo Monaco puts the animal in the study, looking up at him beside the desk. Jerome is known for his work on the Latin Bible, so the books belong here as much as the lion does. [389]

In Dürer’s print, the lion rests beside Jerome out in a rocky landscape. The saint kneels before a crucifix and holds a stone to his bare chest, an act of penance. Scholar and penitent are two familiar ways of showing the same person. A red hat, a skull or a book can help too, but none is exclusive to Jerome. [391]

Cecilia is the patron saint of musicians, but Raphael paints her listening rather than playing. She looks towards the angels above, holding a small organ whose pipes are slipping down. More instruments lie at her feet. She appears absorbed in the angels’ music. [400]

Other artists bring the instrument back into use. Artemisia Gentileschi’s Cecilia holds a lute across her body, one hand at the strings and the other on the neck. The instrument is not always an organ: the galleries also contain a violin, a harp and keyboards. [403]

Domenico Veneziano shows the wounds arriving through fine rays from the red vision overhead. Francis kneels with open hands; his companion sits nearby, shielding his eyes. [412]

Tura fits the same event inside a decorated letter G, cut from a choir book. The winding border can look like a separate frame until you recognise the letter. [413]

Antonio da Venezia’s Bartholomew holds a book in one hand and a knife in the other. The blade refers to the tradition of his death by flaying. We see the apostle alive and fully clothed, with the instrument that will become his identifying sign. [422]

El Greco adds a stranger detail. Beneath the white cloak, near the lower edge, a small creature is held on a chain. The Museo del Greco identifies it as the demon Astaroth, linked to Bartholomew’s story in the Golden Legend. [428]

In Ludolph Büsinck’s woodcut, the square’s stepped outline rises beside his head while he bends over a book. Other portraits give him a spear. [438]

The best-known story needs neither object. Thomas doubts the Resurrection and asks for evidence. Caravaggio brings his hand right to the wound in Christ’s side, with Christ guiding it and two men peering over his shoulder. The closely grouped heads make us follow the same small point of contact. [439]