It is not just crimson, purple, or scarlet. Venetian red is something more: it is indefinable. Layered hues, transparent lacquers, and warm, enveloping sensuality evoke the shifting glow of a candle flame, making surfaces vibrate with every play of light.
In the sacred themes of the Venetian Renaissance, red recalls the blood of sacrifice, martyrdom, and divine love—moments central to Christian tradition. In portraits and secular themes, however, it breaks free from symbolic meanings, expressing elegance, sensuality, and passion.
Red is a dramatic color that irresistibly attracts the viewer’s gaze, taking center stage. When worn, it commands attention, as if the wearer were performing under the spotlight: red must be worn with confidence.
Perhaps for this reason, it has always been a regal color, and in the collective memory of Renaissance Venice, the purple of Byzantine emperors was still vivid.
The noblest expression of red was visible everywhere: in the ancient mosaics of Saint Mark’s Basilica, in medieval altarpieces, and in the robes of senators. Reserved for solemn contexts and prestigious figures, by the 16th century it had also become prominent in private or allegorical portraits.
For the portrait of Laura, Giorgione applied delicate glazes ranging from red to the brown of fur, shaping the figure with a soft and natural light. The exposed breast, the fur edge brushing against the nipple, creates a strong charge of sensuality.
As in other enigmatic works by the artist, the identity of the figure remains unresolved: perhaps Flora, perhaps a courtesan, a nymph, or—as suggested by the laurel wreath—Laura, beloved of Petrarch. More likely, it is an auspicious portrait commissioned for a wedding.
The precious pigment was primarily obtained from cinnabar, a rare mineral containing mercury sulfide. Due to its cost, from the 13th century onwards, a chemical process using a mixture of mercury and sulfur—already known in China and the Islamic world—produced a similar pigment: vermilion. Easier to obtain and of more consistent quality than natural cinnabar, vermilion was widely used. Both pigments, thanks to their intensity and covering power, were employed in rendering drapery and fabrics.
These were often overlaid with transparent organic red lacquers, such as madder root lacquer, which gave red-orange and pink tones. Until the early 16th century, artists also used kermes, a red derived from an insect related to the ladybug, known since prehistoric times. Around 1520, cochineal—a new insect of the same family—arrived from Mexico on European markets, producing a lacquer of brighter color. With its transparency and intensity, cochineal quickly became popular among Venetian and Italian artists in general, who replaced kermes with this lacquer for brighter glazes.
In Flora, Titian reached exceptional virtuosity in his use of red. While seemingly less prominent than in other portraits, delicate shades of pink-red and orange permeate the entire painting: from the young woman’s auburn hair to her flushed complexion, to the luminous highlights on the velvet mantle softly wrapping her. The moonlit sheen of her blouse accentuates her rosy skin and the folds of the velvet. Like Giorgione’s Laura, this young woman is likely an allegory; the roses she holds suggest Venus, the goddess of love, but she is generally identified as Flora.
In stark contrast to Flora’s sensuality is the portrait of Isabella of Portugal, painted by Titian more than thirty years later. It was a posthumous portrait of Charles V’s beloved wife, who died at 35, perhaps of exhaustion, after giving birth to their seventh child.
Charles V’s request was less about remembering his wife’s true features and more about reaffirming her role as empress of the vast Habsburg empire beside him—a desire Titian fully understood. Gold, jewels, her hairstyle, and the play of light on the velvet of her garments and the curtain all convey the essence of royalty and Christian virtue.
The prayer book is open, and her gaze is lifted toward a point far beyond the viewer. Isabella no longer seems part of this world. Remote, like an icon, she appears to belong instead to the azure sky above the Dolomites that open behind her—a signature touch of Titian, who often referenced the land of his birth in his works.
The bodice is dominated by a deep red, likely created with cinnabar and cochineal lacquer glazes to intensify the tones and confer depth.
But red was no longer exclusive to queens and empresses, goddesses of love, or courtesans: noblewomen now favored this evocative and impactful color as well.
In Paris Bordone’s Female Portrait—he was a student and collaborator of Titian—the red of the dress imbues the unidentified subject with energy and an imposing presence. In the 19th century, critics believed her to be a Medici wet nurse, but the luxurious fabric, pearl necklace, and her bearing suggest a high social rank. The shimmering reflections on the velvet are achieved with lighter brushstrokes, simulating the play of light on the fabric.
A warmer, softer light illuminates her face, whose expression hints at a resolute character, as does her pose, with arms free rather than traditionally folded in her lap.
By the mid-century, Veronese brought greater freedom to the Venetian school, moving beyond the warm tones that had dominated from medieval altarpieces through the Renaissance heights of Bellini, Giorgione, Sebastiano del Piombo, and Titian, to name a few.
In this lady’s portrait—dated to 1565—while the velvet red remains saturated and dense, with some brighter highlights, the cool glazes of her blouse create a more ethereal effect and a complex interplay of colors. Her skin, though still tinged with pink according to Renaissance beauty standards, reveals cooler shadows achieved by blending light tones with touches of blue and gray.
The techniques of color experimentation, layering, and combining cinnabar, vermilion, and red lacquers would reach their peak in the 17th century in the Netherlands, with artists like Van Dyck and Rembrandt, aided by the advent of a new red: carmine cochineal, offering even more brilliant effects.
Venice had anticipated a trend that would span centuries, cementing its central role in art history. Red, with its infinite shades and symbolic power, remains one of the most evocative marks of this extraordinary artistic era, capable of achieving regal and sensual effects that continue to captivate art lovers today.
