Subjects

Overview

A painting of the Annunciation contains objects — an angel, a virgin, a lectern, a garden, a lily. But the subject is something else entirely: the moment God's message reaches Mary. The subject is the idea, the story, the meaning. It's what the painting is about.

Leonardo's subjects were largely determined by his patrons — the Church, the Sforza court, wealthy Florentines. He painted Madonnas, saints, mythological scenes, and portraits because he was commissioned to. But how he interpreted those subjects was entirely his own. The Last Supper isn't just a religious scene — it's a psychological drama. The Mona Lisa isn't just a portrait — it's an investigation of human presence and mystery.

This page explores the types of subjects Leonardo worked with, how he transformed traditional subjects through his unique approach, and the ideas and symbols that run through his work.

The Intention of the Soul

Leonardo insisted that a painter must go beyond form to capture character and meaning. "A good painter has two chief objects to paint: man and the intention of his soul; the former is easy, the latter hard, because he has to represent it by the attitudes and movements of the limbs." This was his central principle for depicting subjects: the inner life of every figure must be visible through outward gesture. He even suggested observing the deaf: "The movements of the dumb are more natural" for expressing meaning without words.

This went far beyond Renaissance norms. Earlier narrative paintings often had a certain formality — figures arranged gracefully but sometimes lacking individualized emotion. Leonardo broke from this by demanding real human emotion and variety in every figure. "The most important consideration in painting is that the movements of each figure express its mental state, such as desire, scorn, anger, pity, and the like."

Narrative Through Gesture

Leonardo was deeply concerned with istoria — the narrative power of a painting. He gave concrete, almost theatrical instructions: "If you have to represent a man of noble character in the act of speaking, let his gestures be such as naturally accompany good words; and if you depict a man of brutal nature, give him fierce movements… his arms flung out… and his head thrust forward." He specified down to finger positions: "If arguing, let him hold one finger of the left hand with his right."

His goal was that "a picture of human figures ought to be done in such a way that the spectator may easily recognize, by means of their attitudes, the purpose in their minds." Diversity was essential: "The second essential in painting is appropriate action and a due variety in the figures, so that the men may not all look like brothers." He based gestures on natural observation — reportedly keeping models grimacing for hours, and observing people in the street for authentic reactions.

The Psychological Portrait

In portraiture, Leonardo's impact was equally revolutionary. He transcended the stiff profile or three-quarter view portraits of earlier generations. His portraits sit in believable space, engage the viewer's eye, and contain mysteries of personality. He called the eyes "the window of the soul," and in the Mona Lisa gave them a moist gleam and layered glazes to follow the curvature of the orb beneath the lids — techniques to make them appear living and responsive.

Leonardo's concept of subject in portraiture was not just to replicate features but to convey the sitter's essence and mood. Ginevra de' Benci has a hint of melancholy intensified by the juniper behind her — a symbolic connection of subject and background. Lady with an Ermine turns as if someone has just entered her view — a momentary, natural posture that adds narrative to what had been a static form. As one scholar notes, "his portraits appear to think and feel."

Emotion with Dignity

While Leonardo advocated realistic expressions, he also knew when to rein them in. His female subjects — Mona Lisa, the Virgin Mary — exude tranquility and an inward smile rather than overt emotion, aligning with Renaissance ideals of serene beauty for elevated subjects. Yet within that serenity, he encoded emotional depth: Mona Lisa's ambiguity, Mary's introspective gaze at her child. He achieved a balance between naturalism and idealization — his subjects feel human yet elevated. This equilibrium became a standard for High Renaissance art.

The Paragone — Painting's Power Over Words

Leonardo used his treatment of subjects to argue painting's supremacy over poetry: "If you, O poet, tell a story with your pen, the painter with his brush can tell it more easily… If you call painting dumb poetry, the painter may call poetry blind painting. Which is the worse defect: to be blind or to be dumb?" He asked which communicates the subject's essence more directly — "the name of man or the image of man" — arguing the image transcends language barriers. For Leonardo, the proof of painting's power was precisely in how it conveyed subjects: emotion, narrative, personality, all visible at a glance.

War, Chaos, and Unflinching Realism

Leonardo's approach extended to the most violent subjects with unflinching specificity. His instructions for painting a battle are grisly: "In the dust and smoke of battle, let the air be full of arrows in flight… depict the conquered with faces desperate and fleeing… the victors full of fury… and see to it that you make no level spot of ground that is not trampled with blood." He called war "most bestial madness," yet believed the artist must show its raw savagery rather than any chivalric prettification. This approach governed his Battle of Anghiari plans — the most visceral subject of his career.

Allegory and Enigma

Leonardo also pursued unusual subjects that invited interpretation. His Leda and the Swan explored maternal love outside a Christian narrative through Ovid's classical myth. His late Saint John the Baptist transformed a traditional saint into an androgynous, smiling enigma — merging religious iconography with the same mysterious smile as Mona Lisa. These works invite active viewer engagement. Is John inviting us to salvation or smirking with secret knowledge? Is Mona Lisa simply polite or profoundly amused? Leonardo elevated subjects to engage the mind — much as sfumato engages the eye, his nuanced expressions engage the viewer's psychology.

The Last Supper (1495–1498)

Tempera and oil on plaster — Santa Maria delle Grazie, Milan

The moment Christ announces "One of you will betray me," and twelve men react. This is Leonardo's masterclass in narrative through gesture. Christ sits serenely at the center — a stable triangle, the calm eye of the storm — while the apostles erupt in groups of three, each expressing shock, grief, or disbelief in a unique way. John swoons in sadness. Judas recoils clutching his money bag with a guilty scowl. Peter lunges forward angrily with a knife. Thomas raises a finger in agitated query. James throws his arms out in astonishment. Philip points to his chest: "Surely not I, Lord?"

No two apostles have the same face or gesture — Leonardo distinguished old from young, passionate from thoughtful, choleric from melancholic characters. Christ is isolated against light through the window, symbolizing his impending sacrifice. Even without knowing the biblical story, one can sense something profound was said and see who might be guilty — Judas is shadowed, leaning back with spilled salt. Prior Last Supper paintings showed apostles with calm, nearly identical faces; Leonardo's made every figure a case study in expressing a state of mind through pose. This fulfills exactly his own rule: "the spectator may easily recognize by their attitudes the purpose in their minds."

Mona Lisa (c. 1503–1506)

Oil on poplar panel — Musée du Louvre, Paris

A portrait of Lisa Gherardini — but the subject transcends mere likeness. Leonardo kept the painting with him and may have continued refining it until 1516. Her subtle smile and her eyes that follow the viewer from every angle are achieved through sfumato — extremely fine layers of translucent glaze that blur transitions between light and shadow, making her expression appear to change with the light. At times more wistful, at times more mirthful.

As Walter Isaacson notes, Leonardo "transformed the portrait from a mere record of appearance into an expression of inner life." The hands are posed gracefully — she lightly crosses her arms, conveying poise and modest confidence. The vast landscape behind her — winding rivers and distant mountains — serves to enhance the subject: by placing her amidst nature's expanses, Leonardo suggests the universality and depth of the human soul. Her name "Gioconda" means joyful, and he has given her a subtle joy that captivates viewers five centuries on. This is where all Leonardo's theories converge: the object (her body), the science (sfumato optics), and the subject (her inner life) are inseparable.

The Virgin of the Rocks (1483–1486 / 1495–1508)

Oil on panel — Louvre, Paris / National Gallery, London

The Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus and John the Baptist, accompanied by an angel, in a rocky grotto. Leonardo eschewed traditional halos and obvious divine symbols; instead, he created atmosphere and expression that convey holiness and mystery. Mary gestures protectively over baby John while the angel presents him, and the Christ Child offers a blessing. The quiet emotional exchange between figures — Mary's hand above John signifying protection, the angel's knowing gaze drawing us into the sacred story — was a departure from earlier, more static Madonnas.

The rocky setting itself reinforces the subject — scholars interpret the jagged grotto and water as symbolic of baptism and the ancient plan of salvation. What's unique is that Leonardo moved the holy figures from a conventional architectural setting into nature, creating a dreamy, otherworldly mood. The delicate interplay of hands — four right hands in the center forming a rhythmic cluster — is pure Leonardian design serving the subject's unity. The soft sfumato of their features against the dark cave merges subject with environment to heighten spiritual mystery.

Lady with an Ermine (c. 1489–1490)

Oil on wood — National Museum, Kraków

Cecilia Gallerani, mistress of Ludovico Sforza, painted at about age sixteen. Instead of a static pose, Leonardo shows her turning to her left as if someone has just entered her view — a momentary, natural posture. Her face is illuminated with vitality; she smiles slightly — a precursor to Mona Lisa's smile — and her eyes are engaged. The ermine she holds is both symbolic (purity and Ludovico's emblem, the Order of the Ermine) and interactive: the creature's alert demeanor mirrors Cecilia's composed grace.

Leonardo connects subject to symbol seamlessly — her long fingers gently curl around the ermine, showing calm control and affection. Both woman and animal appear alive and in motion. By portraying her with this pet, Leonardo added narrative to a portrait — telling us about her learned, virtuous status. A contemporary wrote that it "lacked nothing but speech" — precisely Leonardo's aim. Compared to static profile portraits of the 1470s, this introduces a sense of time: she is turning, as if a story is happening just outside the frame.

The Battle of Anghiari (1504–1506, lost)

Known from Rubens' copy after Leonardo's cartoon — Musée du Louvre, Paris

A violent clash of warriors on horseback, specifically the fight for a standard in the 1440 Battle of Anghiari. Four men on raging war-horses grapple furiously for a banner. Their faces are contorted with rage — veins bulge, brows crease, teeth gnash. One horse bites at an enemy horse, eyes rolling. This is exactly what Leonardo described in his notes: "the passions and agonies of the combatants… the fury of the victors, and the mad terror of the horses."

The composition is a masterclass in capturing subject action — the tangle of men and beasts is carefully composed in a tight knot so that, despite the chaos, the viewer's eye focuses on the central struggle. Dramatic foreshortening throws the viewer into the fray. Every limb creates diagonal lines of force converging at the flag. The straining neck muscles, splayed hands, and twisted torsos are all anatomically convincing — a product of his studies of human and equine bodies. Although lost, it remains a pinnacle of depicting a historical subject with uncompromising realism. Modern attempts to find Leonardo's actual painting behind Vasari's later fresco continue — pigment matching Leonardo's palette has been found on a hidden wall.

Saint John the Baptist (c. 1513–1516)

Oil on walnut wood — Musée du Louvre, Paris

Leonardo's last major painting takes a traditional religious subject and transforms it utterly. Instead of the emaciated ascetic of tradition, his Saint John is androgynously beautiful, with curly hair and an enigmatic smile akin to Mona Lisa's. He points upward to heaven with his right hand while his left rests over his heart. The painting is the culmination of Leonardo's sfumato — John's features melt into shadow, the transitions exquisitely smooth, the dark tonality giving the figure a smoky aura, as if emerging from darkness into divine light.

The ambiguity sparked centuries of interpretation — some see spiritual ecstasy, others note a sensual undertone. Leonardo conveyed spiritual joy through subtlety: the saint's eyes are almost lost in shadow but the upturned corners of his mouth give a sense of bliss. John's traditional attributes are downplayed in favor of mood — engaging viewers to ponder the subject's meaning more deeply. This is "painting as poetry which is seen and not heard" — John's silent gesture speaking volumes. Leonardo showed that even a well-known religious figure could be reinterpreted with fresh psychology and sfumato mystery.